audio-files

Swagger, sludge and dissonance

Across Tundras aim for perfect sound

By Tuyet Nguyen
nguytuye@mscd.edu

Crouching over a mess of guitar pedals, Tanner Olson has his guitar strapped on his back as he fumbles with the cords. The rest of the band is killing time-Heath Rave is methodically pounding the drums while Kyler Sturtz noisily strums the bass. A glaring red spotlight fills the stage like some bad omen. There's no guitar sound and Olson is visibly frustrated. Friends in the audience wince in sympathy. Broken strings, out-of-tune guitars and equipment mishaps; it's an off night for Across Tundras, to say the least.

"We totally fucked up and it was terrible," Sturtz said. "We totally blew (it)."

Outside of Rock Island, Across Tundras compulsively vents about their botched show, opening for current buzz bands Pelican and Red Sparowes. A little intoxicated, Sturtz and Olson litter their rants with cursing and explanatory sighs. Sifting through the complaints, it becomes apparent that sometimes it's more than just technical prowess that can make or mar a performance.

"If you're just playing a garage or some fucking warehouse or something like that, it's like you don't really have anything to prove," Sturtz said. "But here, (Rock Island), it's like maybe you have something to prove. That set aside, it just kind of fucks with everybody's emotions and atmosphere in general, I think."

Olson continued: "We felt like we should go tonight and play a really good show because we knew there would be a lot of people here and it didn't happen. We try not to get caught up in all the bullshit and that's why I don't feel bad about it now."

Across Tundras considers every facet of a show integral, from the size of the venue to the size of their equipment. Having a fondness for an excessive setup, they are a heavy band-literally. Stacks of vintage amps normally crowd their playing and, in the past, they've been asked to leave some of it at home. As far as reputation goes, being known as audio gearheads is one of the nicer rumors floating around about them.

The three migrated to Denver from Sioux Falls, S.D. at different times for various reasons: school, divorce and jail, respectively. Each carried his own baggage, but it might have been Olson who carried the heaviest load. Dropping his name in certain Midwest hardcore circles is sure to provoke a scope of reactions, some positive and some decidedly negative. His history is tied up with bands that helped define those scenes, including Examination of the... and Spirit of Versailles. On a gossip level, he's turned a few heads with tales of thievery and promiscuity.

These are stories that Olson has, admittedly, talked into the ground. Here in Denver with his new band, his old reputation isn't good for more than a grin and some sarcastic laughter.

"To be honest with you, I think that (my) name probably has had a little bit of bad press," Olson said, quick to separate his past from his present. "I think we as a band work hard and if we decide we want something, we put that goal out in front of us and that's what we work towards. I think we're already on our way to establishing ourselves as a band, which has nothing to do with me."

Abandon, then, any preconceived notions of what Across Tundras might be and what's left is an aggressive rock band with either remarkably good luck or exceptionally good work ethics.

The trio is slated to nationally release its debut EP on Minneapolis-based label Feeling Faint. Paul Romano, whose portfolio also includes heavy-hitters Mastodon, Earth and Godflesh, will provide the artwork. On tour, the band has supported notable acts Breather Resist and Yob. Locally, they've shared the stage with Cult of Luna and Jucifer. All this and they haven't even reached their one-year anniversary.

Having more than just good connections, the transplanted locals are serious, even autocratic, about what they do. Their music swaggers with weighty amplification, sludge-inspired guitar drones, and vocals ripe with dissonance. On stage, their demeanor gravitates between pensive aural absolution and spacey self-indulgence. So wrapped in their own playing, they've acquired an attitude backlit by their lumbering sound. When rubbed the wrong way, they won't just take the burn and let it heal. They pick at the scabs and sometimes end up with a scar, such as their excommunication from the Larimer Lounge.

After a series of complications and misunderstandings with the club and its promoters, Across Tundras finally decided they'd had enough. Olson recalls the last incident that set everything off. It was initially an issue of payment that escalated to more than just a simple band-versus-venue situation. It was a stand for local music, Sturtz said, against a business they feel treats local bands with little regard.

"We got banned from there after we told them we never wanted to play there again," Olson said. "I realize the Larimer brings good bands around, but that's no reason for us to totally let them fuck us every time we play there."

Maybe it was just a clash of egos, but Across Tundras is unwavering in their position and apathetic about the outcome.

"The biggest thing ... is that the Larimer Lounge told us that we would never make it as a band without (its) backing and support," Sturtz said. "And that's a bunch of fucking bullshit."

Brimming with arrogance is usually a career pitfall. For Olson, Sturtz, and Rave, it's less egocentricity than a willful haughtiness that owes a debt to the subversive music scene they grew up in. Punk rock principles in a doom metal casing-the quality of their sound is tightly linked to the vitality of their community.

"All these bands can be successful and they can do this and that, but it doesn't really change that underlying ethic that we all have of friendship," Olson said, before adding the holy refrain of every musician, "And doing it for our love of playing music."

Emerging from under the pretense, it finally comes down to this: Across Tundras, for all their hype and pomp, are as straightforward about themselves as any band can be. They won't deny enjoying the spotlight, but they admit it's their own self-interest that makes it shine.

"This band, I feel, is happening," Sturtz said. "Whether people like it or whether people come to our shows or whether we sell whatever we sell; it's all personal, you know? I could give two shits what other people think about, but the fact that it means so much to us three that are in the band, that's totally cool with me. You don't really need anything else beyond that."