NYLON - October 2007 - (Page 104) CRAZY FROM THE HEAT Though pretty high-profile as indie rock bands go, the Fiery Furnaces are often accused of paying no mind whatsoever to commercial success. The prolific Brooklyn-based, suburban-Chicago-reared siblings Eleanor and Matthew Friedberger may root their sound in the blues-rock of their hometown, but they tend to couch it in arcane lyrics (“I went to the Armenian Brotherhood Bible Church at 5556 Harold Way”; “A special commission of Navajo basketball coaches and blonde ladies”), backwardstracked vocals, out-of-tune, out-of-date instrumentation, and seizureinducing song structures. They made a record with their grandmother. Even the Fiery Furnaces’ two most accessible releases, their 2003 debut Gallowsbird’s Bark and 2005 B-sides EP, are, in the best possible way, pretty freakin’ weird. Still, multi-instrumentalist Matthew is clearly a melodic genius, and Eleanor’s two-bit alto and foxy stage presence make her one of the most beguiling frontwomen in the business. One suspects that if they really wanted to, they could jostle for airplay and denim sponsorship with Maroon 5 and Fall Out Boy. So it’s something of a surprise to learn, upon sitting down over beers to discuss their excellent (and, yes, weird) new album Widow City, that the Friedbergers have always intended to conquer the world. Or are they joking? One can never be sure. “We play rock music and we expect the records we make to be hits,” says Matthew. “When we’re done playing each one we say, ‘That sounds like a hit to me.’ Every one.” “Everybody thinks that way and talks that way,” says Eleanor. “If it wasn’t for those evil forces conspiring against the band,” says Matthew, “it would be a million seller.” What evil forces? “I don’t know! Maybe you can find out for us with your journalistic talents,” says Matthew. “There must be, otherwise we would be million Brother-sister duo the Fiery Furnaces are as scattershot in conversation as they are on record. And that’s a good thing. By Eviana Hartman. Photographed by Thomas Prior sellers. We’re flabbergasted. We’re famous from here to Mars. But have we replaced Coldplay in the hearts of the 10-year-olds from Malaysia? Not yet.” Eleanor: “Do you ever think about bands like Coldplay that write songs for non-English speakers?” Matthew: “That’s what they do.” Eleanor: “The lyrics are, like, rhyming sky, my, pie…” Matthew: “That’s the genius of a Bono or a Chris Martin. You think, oh, Bono must be a moron. But no, not at all.” Eleanor: “I never thought he was. I think he’s a genius.” Matthew: “He’s a genius because he’s able to have the 10-year-olds of Malaysia swoon for him. The 16-year-olds of Tajikistan. The 37-year-old bald men of Chile. That’s the audience we aspire to have and there’s some sort of conspiracy that prevents access to them. An evil conspiracy.” Interviewing the Furnaces tends to provoke answers like their lyrics: a shitstorm of literate non sequiturs. A conversation about Frank Gehry is abruptly switched by Matthew to Gary, Indiana; questions about the new album inevitably lead back to rapid-fire exchanges of one-liners about that conspiracy theory. Eleanor: “There’s also the new, um, Prozac zombie rock that’s taking over the world.” Which bands are those? Eleanor: “You can just guess.” Matthew: “If you suspect a record is by a Prozac zombie, it probably is.” Eleanor: “Not that we think it’s bad if you need antidepressants.” Matthew: “We’re not against pharmaceutical drugs. I think the pharmaceutical industry is a tremendous industry that gets bashed in ways that are insensitive.” Eleanor: “I just hope that therapy is corresponding.”
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