Deastro hurtles through space and lands in Detroit

By Melanie Cox McCluskey
Published: June 9th, 2009 | 9:35am

Bound by heartstrings, orbited by soaring futuristic samples, electro-maestro Deastro layers harmonies out of the incongruous elements of his life.

“My whole approach to music is that it’s in between my grandma’s basement and outer space,” says Randolph Chabot, the dreamy synth-pop musician behind Detroit-based Deastro. Chabot unleashes that mix of underground vintage and heavenly, unlimited hope with the new album, Moondagger (Ghostly International), Deastro’s first studio album recorded with a full band.

Chabot self-released his first three albums before hooking up with digital download site eMusic to issue his best home recordings for Keeper’s. Then Ghostly International included Deastro’s electro-fueled instrumental track, “Light Powered,” on Ghostly Swim — the label’s collaboration with Adult Swim — and re-released Keeper’s in late 2008.

As he emerges from the basement of his parent’s home in suburban Sterling Heights, Michigan, hours before departing for his first trip to London, Chabot explains how he sees Moondagger contributing to the Detroit music scene. Chabot and three friends from the old neighborhood (the same band that’s touring with him through the summer) recorded Moondagger at the White Room. Housed in the Capitol Park Building, the studio served as a way for him to give back to Detroit. Chabot goes on to praise his home state’s scenic beauty, rural charms, wind-powered towns, and supportive music scene. “No matter where I go, this is home,” Chabot says. “You can’t beat Michigan, in my opinion.”

After living in Minneapolis, Arkansas, and Baltimore, Chabot returned to Detroit to find its art and music community accepting of the philosophical changes he was going through. “I was very Christian, then I wasn’t a Christian anymore, and people were really receptive to what I was doing,” says the 22-year-old. “At the same time, [Detroit is] really challenging because there’s a lot of great musicians here, especially in the older scenes.”

The way Chabot sees it, Moondagger is an early contribution to Detroit’s cultural landscape. His dream is to start an artists’ community center in the inner city to help kids form bands and foster musical talents. “We’re inspiring the culture here, and I’d like to be in a more direct position to start something of my own,” says Chabot, who studied youth development in college and would like to be a teacher someday. “If the culture here in Detroit can grow and burgeon, we can get people to move back because there’s something there again.”

Chabot began singing in a preschool choir and continued through his childhood, including a Detroit production of “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” from ages 7 to 10. He received his first acoustic guitar at age 5 and had started creating techno music by 12. Meanwhile, he spent his formative years listening to Unwed Sailor, Pedro the Lion, and Sufjan Stevens; he attributes Deastro’s shoegaze influence to Starflyer 59. “The older I get, the more I realize how much I’ve been influenced by those bands, how much hope there is in everything they do,” Chabot says. “I’m not sure if I’m into the idea of being a jacked-up rock star.”

While Animal Collective, Wavves, Gang Gang Dance, and Women are all on Chabot’s heavy rotation, the Christian music influence from his youth is undeniable. Also feeding into Deastro’s songwriting style are classical musicians like Igor Stravinsky. The resulting Moondagger swirls shoegaze fuzz into poppy, danceable keyboard melodies reminiscent of the Postal Service and the Cure. Lyrics about children, prayer, and angels belie Chabot’s religious upbringing and clear-eyed soul. Poured on top is a whimsical, fantastical sensibility and, of course, that voice: smooth, sincere, and mellowed beyond its years.

Chabot, who wrote all of the songs on Moondagger, brings a mini-keyboard everywhere he goes. When inspiration strikes — from words, classical music, a random act of kindness — and sticks around for days, Chabot stops, puts his head down, and lets his imagination run. The music, he says, just starts playing. “It’s almost like what the surrealists call ‘automatic writing.’ It’s like automatic playing,” Chabot says. “I’ll pound out notes until I’m like, ‘Oh, that’s it.’ And all of a sudden, all of these notes start playing: ‘Oh, that’s the song right there.’”

Throughout his songwriting process, Chabot remains true to his belief that music is a gift intended as a collective experience. From there, Chabot pushes Deastro into a kind of alternate universe — a state of mind existing somewhere between grandma’s basement and outer space.

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