Rockers Simon Dawes horse around on the mean streets of L.A. (Painful aftermath not pictured)
“There was a drummer we wanted to play with named Simon Dawes,” explains vocalist Taylor Goldsmith. “He played with us a couple of times, but he would always explain that he never wanted to capitalize on his art because he didn’t want to fall into the business side of things.”
“It’s probably one of the worst band names of all time, because we constantly have to deal with people thinking that we’re a solo artist,” laughs guitarist Blake Mills. He says the band members occasionally kick themselves for choosing such an enigmatic name, but admits it’s a great way to get people talking about the band, especially with pals back home concocting stories and feeding these name game “theories” to the local press.
But when it comes down to it, the band’s music speaks more definitively than its moniker, through the constant honing of their craft and their flair for improvisation. Their songs contain delectable rhythms, strong melodies and catchy hooks with folky undertones rooted deep in Americana.
“It’s not always feel-good music,” Mills says. “We’re young adults growing up and thinking about the world. A lot of those thoughts are what’s coming out in the songs.”
Founded by Goldsmith and Mills, and rounded out by bassist Wylie Gelber and drummer Stuart Johnson, who recently left the tour for personal reasons, Simon Dawes has drawn comparisons to a number of ’60s rockers, including The Kinks. Although they certainly don’t mind these comparisons, the band is quick to emphasize their music has grown up a lot since their debut album Carnivore was released last September.
“At the time we were making our record, which is what everybody is basing (the comparisons) off of, that’s what we were listening to,” Mills explains. “It’s really easy to have your music sound like the stuff you’re obsessed with. Since then, the direction we’re taking the band in has matured, and our influences have fanned out.”
The refusal to be pigeonholed by their influences, has led to an increased comfort onstage and a penchant for live experimentation. Dawes play what they want how they want, even if it means drastically extending a song or playing four ballads in a row.
Goldsmith says they probably improvise more than they should, which can be risky for a young band, but he embraces the resultant imperfections as an integral part of the band’s music. “We all respect the songs and want to be proud of how we perform,” he says, “but, sometimes, mistakes or moments that aren’t quite perfect, when those go by, there’s more humanity. It’s easier for people to relate.”
Sticking to their creative goals could mean sacrificing global rock star status and even radio play, but Simon Dawes seem content being honest with themselves, and with audiences, by playing their songs their way.
“We try to think about how we would respond (to our music) if we were in the audience,” Mills says. “Sometimes what we want to hear isn’t necessarily the best thing for campaigning (for) new fans, but it doesn’t have to be a compromise all the time like people think. ‘Oh, you’ve got to do a little bit of this and get your hit out there, and then you can do whatever you want.’ That’s a myth. There might not be millions of people responding to your originality, but it’s still enough that if you put enough work into it and tour for awhile, you can make a living.”
MISLEADING MONIKERS
Fujiya & Miyagi — Three British guys trying to sound like German guys, named for two Japanese guys. That’s just needlessly convoluted.
Echo and the Bunnymen — Rumour has it that Echo was the drum machine, but the band denies it. Their version? It’s just another stupid band name.
Ben Folds Five — When they were riding the success of their abortion ballad, “Brick,” this North Carolina trio was often asked where the other two members were. Truth is, Folds just liked the alliteration.
Lynyrd Skynyrd — One of rock’s better “screw off” gestures. The pride of Jacksonville, Florida named themselves after Leonard Skinner, the rock ’n’ roll-hating gym teacher who tormented them in high school.
Metallica — Not the L.A. thrashers, but the Edmonton band who tried to commandeer the name in 2004. Even changing the name to Metallicugh (picture one of James Hetfield’s drawn-out grunts) wasn’t enough to ward off the bigger band’s lawyers.
