Rogue Wave

The Bay Area band emerges 'Out of the Shadow'

By Mairead Case
Published: April 4th, 2005 | 10:41am

It seems like everyone has profiled Rogue Wave. There are comparisons to the Shins, to Simon and Garfunkel, and — maybe because of drummer Pat Spurgeon's curly cloud and guitarist Gram LeBron's bright grin — even to the Muppets. There is talk of how frontman Zach Rogue, who believes in this band so much that he changed his last name for it, made the album upon release from cubicle-dom. Above all, people talk about how nice the band is, how they smile and love each other in ways both sincere and genuine.

When I mention this press conformity to Rogue, he laughs. “Yeah, we're a new band right now, so if somebody's writing something, they want a narrative: 'I lost my job, poor me. I made a record, then I got lucky.'” This is true, but it's not the whole story.

Rogue waves, as described in Neal Stephenson's Cryptonomicon<, are waves that appear out of nowhere for no apparent reason. It's a fitting analogy for the band's inception. In 2002, Zach Rogue, formerly Schwartz, was living in the Bay Area, working 80 hours a week at a dot-com, and using what free time he had rehearsing with the Desoto Reds. When he lost his job, Rogue blasted into Chapter Two. He bought a one-way ticket to New York and recorded an early version ofOut of the Shadow in producer friend Bill Racine's makeshift studio. “I wasn't consciously making an album,” Rogue remembers. “But I needed to complete my life.”

Once back in the Bay Area, Rogue changed his name, named his band, and placed an ad on Craig's List. Lickety-split, the quartet — Lebron, Spurgeon, and Sonya Westcott, recently replaced by Evan Farrell — had assembled and layered Rogue's demos (4-track, Pro Tools, acoustic guitar and vox) with Moog, lap steel, and harmony. Next, Sub Pop signed the newborn band. “I think they really empower their artists,” Rogue reflects. “Sub Pop makes us feel like we can accomplish whatever we want.”

Despite the fact that one can now find Shadows on record shelves nationwide, things aren't entirely rosy. It's the same old story: we're happy, we're making good music, but when do we eat? Rogue believes that it is completely acceptable, and possibly even necessary, for bands to supplement their income, not through “the KKK or Philip Morris or an evil corporation,” but in a way that expands the audience and doesn't compromise integrity. (Somehow, when Rogue drops words like “love” and “integrity,” you believe him. He's that kind of guy.)

Consequently, Rogue Wave has exclusive tracks on i-Tunes, plus a Buddy Holly cover on the soundtrack to Aspyr Media's Stubbs the Zombie video game. “It was a wonderful experience,” says Zach. “A creative exercise.”

And what about the songs themselves? For all their kaleidoscopic color, many Rogue Wave songs are tinged with melancholy and emotional complexity. Take “Endgame,” the most often sampled track from Shadow which begins with a heart-kick of guitar and drums, a cadence that feels like sunlight through leaves. Then the chorus comes: “It feels so bad, but it seems so right.”

“It's about my parents' relationship and how that's reflected in my own,” says Rogue. “There's more than one dimension here. It's not just 'Things are great! Let's love each other!'”

The same can be said of much of the band's oeuvre. Each song is a weighty chunk of thought, color, and sound, and if you turn your headphones to loud, it can feel as if your head-top is about to spin off. Rogue, who pens each song himself and then workshops it with the band, is inspired by a multitude of sources, including a J.T. Leroy novel. Sometimes, his rather unpredictable handwriting will visually inspire a new direction. At others, it's the time of day.

“I do my best lyric writing in the middle of the night,” says Rogue. “In the mornings, my brain's more primal, so it's a better time to add guitar and piano, then pull it together in the afternoon.” Poignantly, even injury, in the form of chronic back pain, can bring inspiration. During the last bout, which sidelined him from a fall tour with Helio Sequence, Rogue spent a lot of time lying on beds, strumming away. The combination of guitar-on-chest and weakened back muscles resulted in a new head voice.

When a song gels, Rogue likes a few blurred edges. This doesn't mean dissonance, but rather a healthy mystery that keeps each track fresh, listen upon listen. “I like it rough,” Rogue says. “The mistakes you see are often what make you want to come back.” This same idea is manifest in one of his favorite albums, Guided by Voices' Bee Thousand. “It's a jolt of genius,” he says. “Your ears want to complete these melodies, and you imagine it sounding like a full, high-fidelity recording, but it's not. It's always incomplete, perfectly incomplete.”

Perhaps the most comforting incompleteness is Rogue Wave's own. They'll be touring throughout 2005 with Bay Area siblings Two Gallants and Kelly Stolz & the Herms, and hope to release a new album in the fall. Best, they'll continue; rent be damned. “I believe,” says Rogue, “that if you are doing something that matters to you, you'll figure the rest of it out.”