Middle Earth Seeks Higher Ground
by Jeff Nelson
When my friend and I arrived at the address given to me by Erik, the bass player, the house was completely dark. “We’ll be in the back, in the studio,” Erik had said. “Just let yourself in at the gate.”
This was definitely a rock and roll house. Foxtails a foot high choked out whatever was left of a once tidy front lawn. A tree badly in need of a pruning hung low over the cars and trucks parked haphazardly among the weeds. Stepping into a puddle, we pushed the gate open and walked into the gloomy back yard, where the moonlight revealed the ruins of a once happy suburban landscape; lawn furniture, a barbecue, and a serpentine garden hose gave silent testimony to other tenants, other times. A muffled electronic wail beckoned us toward the bleak building at the rear of the yard. This was it. The secret hothouse of Middle Earth.
Pushing open the door, the muffled wail was transformed into a deafening onslaught of sound. The band was completely absorbed in the music. Ignored, we stood in the shadows, waiting to be noticed. Strands of tiny colored lights hung from the beams overhead and a bank of amplifiers piled against the far wall blinked dimly. A couple of groupies, one in dreadlocks, one with a frat-boy haircut, lounged on a dirty sofa. I moved toward them and shouted Hello. They shouted something back that I didn’t hear. I nodded my head politely.
The band was nearing the end of the song, and the music rose to a crescendo of drums and guitar. Julian Colberg, the lead singer, leaned heavily into the microphone and let out one last, hypnotic cry. The guitars and drums slowly skidded to a stop. A moment of silence, and then congratulations and introductions all around.
In addition to Erik Weinhold, the bassist, and Julian, the singer, there is drummer John Dolmayan and Fabrice R. Favre, lead guitarist. Together they are Middle Earth, a garage band that is hip, fast, and tinged with enough seriousness and sarcasm to make them a favorite with bohemians and punks alike. In concert, they bob and weave, pouring on a set of metallic grunge that leaves the young (sometimes very young) crowd worshipping blissfully at their Stonehenge of sound. Part Pearl Jam, part Sabbath, a hint of Jethro Tull, these boys rock in a foggy garden of herbs that ain’t all parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Sometimes dopey, (“This next song is for the American Indian, who has been taking it up the ass!”), sometimes divine, (stretch out and listen to the haunting “Look Around” sometime), Middle Earth walks a line between the naive idealism of youth and serious social commentary.
Meanwhile, back at the hothouse, the band flopped out on the sofa and earnestly answered my questions. How does the band work together? “It takes about six or seven months for a song to ferment, to become what it’s going to become,” says Fabrice. “Sometimes I’ll bring over a riff, or maybe three parts of a song, and John will be like, ‘Wait a minute, how about this?’ and he’ll sing it to me, and I’ll mimic him on guitar, and I’ll come up with a different part of the song.” And the lyrics? “I write the lyrics,” says Julian, although John has been known to come up with a song every once in awhile. Their best song? “I can’t really say I have any favorites, but ‘Death of a Son’ is special. That was a song that just came out of my heart. I wrote it in twenty minutes. That was pure magic. The lyrics were written on a tiny scrap of paper—they just came to me from somewhere. From a writer’s perspective, it’s probably my best work.” Does the music have a message? “Definitely. Our music goes out to everybody,” says Fabrice. “We actually come off being a very ‘down-to-earth about our land’ type of band,” says Julian. “We’re very concerned about environmental issues,” says John. “You have to be. How can you not be, and live on this planet?” “I consider our music more of a communication,” says Fabrice. “It’s letting people know about feelings and emotions. By listening to the music, by getting into the music, you can feel it.”
But this is not a band that likes to sit around answering questions. They like to play, and so the evening ended with an impromptu performance of a new song, one still under construction. The electronic wail once more flooded the room, and the colored lights blinked slowly over the heads of Erik, John, Fabrice, and Julian. My friend and I coasted on the sofa, on a Tuesday night, somewhere in the Valley, lost in a garden of Earthly delight. ♦