By Madeline Court
Six years ago, a power pop garage band from Nashville scored a record deal with a major label and moved to LA to live out their rock star dreams. The exact record label is not important, neither is the name of the music executive who jumped onstage just to sign them first, because in the end, it didn’t work out for The Pink Spiders. Theirs is a long story fraught with artistic differences and harsh bottom lines – one we’ve all heard a million times before. Lead-singer Matt Friction, for one, doesn’t want talk about it, especially now that The Pink Spiders are back together.
“I have no regrets about anything that we did,” says Friction.
In 2002, before their brief stint of Warp Tour fame and stellar record contract, The Pink Spiders were ambitious, agentless, and broke in Nashville. On a mission to bring their flavorless power punk to as many new audiences as possible, they sold plasma and slept on subways. It was typical for the band to play a show a night in those days-a smart strategy considering their talent for high-energy performances. Looking back on the band’s salad days, Friction sees no gritty glamour or excitement in living life close-to-the-bone.
“That’s not DIY, that’s more like suffering because you’re young and dumb and don’t know anything.”
Friction also shrugs off the fruition of the band’s exhaustive touring and self-promotion- the three album contract they landed in 2005. Though he concedes a small nod to luck, he attributes the extraordinary opportunity to being “really good.” But his tone, which sounds disarmingly like a middle schooler mouthing off to a detention supervisor, suggests that he’s just sick of rehashing tired stories about selling plasma. He is, however, adamant about two things: that he will never give up music and that his friendship with Bob Ferrari, the band’s drummer, and its bassist, John Decious, is unflappable.
“There was no point that any of us were ever on bad terms with one another. Everyone wants some bloody story, but the long and short of it was that everyone got tired of doing it and went home,” says Friction.
In the months leading up to the band’s hiatus in August 2009, Friction stopped enjoying music. Touring and meeting the demands of the label became increasingly stressful. Decious and Ferrari had left The Pink Spiders a year before and were playing together in another band. Other friends of Friction’s had stepped in as replacements.
“What we should have done is taken a break instead of running ourselves into the ground,” says Friction, breaking character and allowing himself to express a regret.
In his song “Gimme Chemicals,” Friction sings: “If I could do it again, I’d probably do it all the same, but I’d try to cut back on the cigarettes.” It’s not surprising that the original Pink Spiders – Decious, Ferrari, and of course, Friction – were hanging out again not long after they split up. They realized that whatever dynamic they had together, musical or interpersonal, was something special.
“It’s not starting anew, it’s just restarting after a much needed break,” he says.
The Pink Spider’s music packs a lot of noise. Friction’s voice is simultaneously powerful and boyish, emotive and caustic. Their extensive discography begs comparison to a harsher, more energetic Blink 182 or Sugarcult. When asked how he feels about reemerging in an indie scene dominated by loop peddles and laptops, Friction admits that he listens exclusively to classic and late 70s rock- he can’t say what bands are popular nowadays.
“I’m an old jaded asshole,” he laughs.
Maybe because the band was never over, or maybe because he’s just that kind of guy, but Friction sounds decidedly apathetic about touring and recording with The Pink Spiders again. He’s especially uninterested in speculating about where he sees the band in a year. I’m about to switch gears and ask him if he has any advice for aspiring musicians, but he cuts me short.
“Hey I don’t mean to be rude,” he says, “but I have to go meet a guy.”
