Nada Surf

By: Robbie Chaplick

Two career roads diverged in a rock world. But Nada Surf took the road more traveled by, and it made all the difference. Instead of starting off their career as a hip, underground band, slugging their way toward fame and fortune, they signed the big contract with the big label that went for the big single--the MTV-friendly "Popular"--and then said label abandoned the 'Surf in a big way. For most folks, that's where the story ends--little band makes enormous novelty hit, and no one wants to hear it after the 85th play. After all, who is waiting for the next New Radicals single?

 

Two career roads diverged in a rock world. But Nada Surf took the road more traveled by, and it made all the difference. Instead of starting off their career as a hip, underground band, slugging their way toward fame and fortune, they signed the big contract with the big label that went for the big single--the MTV-friendly "Popular"--and then said label abandoned the 'Surf in a big way. For most folks, that's where the story ends--little band makes enormous novelty hit, and no one wants to hear it after the 85th play. After all, who is waiting for the next New Radicals single?

"There was no way we were going to be anyone's pet band when we appeared on MTV out of leftfield. That kind of marked us for the up-and-down," Nada Surf's guitarist/vocalist Matthew Caws explains from the band's adopted hometown of Paris, arguably the place where their fame is still cresting. "More than most bands, we had some serious elements working against us--the song "Popular," the fact that we got all these Weezer comparisons based on the fact that we share the same producer, we wear similar glasses, etc."

When it came time for the band to record a follow-up to their debut High/Low, Elektra couldn't spot the single, and Nada Surf refused to record a new "hit," so the label shelved the album. "Singles. It's almost a bad word. Too bad it's not four letters," jokes Caws. "My only real ambition is to not have to think about the business anymore."

Since U.S. business was null and void, the band turned their attention to Europe, where they were able to release their second album, the introverted pop-rock think-piece, The Proximity Effect, to critical acclaim. "Paris is sort of our biosphere, this alternate universe where things go according to plan," says Caws.

But with Europe in their pocket, the trio from New York still hoped to find their place in America. The first step was reclaiming the rights to The Proximity Effect. After a long battle with Elektra, they won the case and the album was finally released in the States on Mardev, their own startup label.

"The moment we put out The Proximity Effect, I bought a van and we went on tour--and more people showed up than on our third High/Low tour of the States, where we were on a bus and supposedly well-supported financially," says Caws. From that point on, Nada Surf was no longer the band with "that song," and were able to start the long and arduous trek towards the long-term success they had craved from the beginning.

"One of the things I'm happiest about is that I really feel like we've had two careers," Caws says. "You either have the slow climb, or you have the peak and fall. And we always wanted the slow climb, but we weren't allowed to have it, 'cause we got thrown up into the peak, and there was nowhere to go but crashing down. But," Caws adds, "now I feel we're doing this slow and steady Little-Engine-That-Could thing, and I'm much happier with phase two."

Last year, the 'Surf finished their most recent album, Let Go, and shopped it around to a few American indies, retaining the rights they fought so hard for in the first place. "That was the bridge that could not be crossed," explains Caws, who eventually led the band to Barsuk, home of indie pop stars Death Cab for Cutie and John Vanderslice. "We had a lot of time to just fool around, and it was sort of mood dependent," he adds. This mentality seems to lend itself to Nada Surf's most jarring songs, which delve into Caws's psyche with a piercing honesty. But for Caws, "there's a certain level where I'm insecure about my songwriting because I know it's very personal, and I wouldn't blame anyone if they just wanted to take the damn record off and not hear about my problems anymore."

On The Proximity Effect, the band has focused and honed their pop chops, churning out delicious hooks alongside double entendres and lyrics brimming with brilliant self-deprecation: "I know I have a negative edge / That's why I sharpen all the others a lot," croons Caws on "Blizzard of '77." Fans in North America who have yet to encounter The Proximity Effect may be thrown by the looseness of the record. But, in fact, it's just a pleasant side-effect of freedom.

"The record was made in such a vacuum, no one was particularly waiting for it," says Caws. "I think a lot of people thought we'd broken up, and that was kind of nice, because it felt like we were making our own secret record. And that's a good place to be."