Ryan Lee

It's a Sunday afternoon and Ryan Lee is sitting in one of the oversized booths at the Loring Pasta Bar. His green fingernail polish shows little sign of distress as he nonchalantly massages the side of his glass. The thin, carefully spaced spikes of his red hair appear quite unfamiliar with the flattening effects of a hard hat or the sweat of manual labor. Though Lee's demure comportment doesn't suggest long hours with jackhammers and rivets, there is this sense of industry, a finessed sort of metallurgy that pervades Lee's debut release The Pride Before the Fall. Eric Smith's drums rumble along with brittle insistence, Lee's vocals are given a metallic buzz, while Matthew Freed's bass shivers below it all and samples clank and clamor in the crevices of nearly every song. The album's dynamic, intimate postmodern pop rivals anything released by a Twin Cities band in the past year.

As mature as his songwriting is, Lee came late to music. Originally from Janesville, Wisconsin, the 28-year-old musician studied drama for a couple of years in college before dropping out "to do the whole starving actor thing," as he puts it. "That always seemed exciting to me." Exciting maybe, but mostly frustrating, plus there's the whole starvation thing. Lee says it was the creative constraints he experienced with theater that eventually led him to songwriting.

"Songwriting just came along and hit me so hard, so unexpectedly. It was more of a release for me than taking directions from a director. I could write whatever I wanted to and sing whatever I wanted to," he says. Similar in spirit to Halloween, Alaska, or Wilco's Yankee Hotel Fox Trot, The Pride Before the Fall offers technology-enhanced melodiousness and song structures that have been opened up and allowed to breathe. Lee's adventuresome approach to instrumentation is apparent from the first track on the album, "I Pretend," an eerie tale of a married man who's being stalked by a male would-be home-wrecker. It begins with shimmering, strung-out sitar lines that give way to resonant percussive thuds. But as is common throughout the album, the song's churning, hip-hop-flavored rhythms are wound tightly, allowing Lee's beleaguered vocals to be cradled by the synths that hover warmly in the emptying space.

That approach continues on "You (the Obvious)." Here, Lee, Freed, and Smith marry their rumbling rhythms with sweet and gentle melodic lines, creating a moment that is heavy with vulnerability. When Lee pines, "I still hope for the worst/I guess that's the saddest part/But I could still force a smile if you wanted me to," you can picture him curled up in tangled bed sheets, pleading into the phone. At the end of the song, intermittent chimes from a glockenspiel lend the proceedings an indie nursery-rhyme feel.

Lee's sometimes off-center approach to lyrics (he insists he never writes about "girls") is most evident on "Policia Falsa," a song he wrote about being mugged at knifepoint a few years ago on a beach in Rio De Janeiro. It begins appropriately enough with an industrial growl, and soon Lee's heavily processed voice laments, "I can't find a way to bring back one single piece of dignity/Because you feed the fear that will always be inside of me/And after this I will never cry for you."

"I guess I just write about stuff that I don't like to talk about," Lee says. "The name of the album reflects a sort of inevitable vulnerability. I guess I kind of just wanted to stay locked up in my basement."
- City Pages, Minneapolis (April 6, 2005)

Eerie bleeps, pulsing rhythms, and mysterious shadows poured through colorfully backlit white sheets which were draped in front of the BLB stage. The immediate drama of Ryan Lee’s CD Release show mirrored the depth of the band’s excitement to unveil the result of their two plus year effort. I was mesmerized by the theatrical elements which were sustained throughout this show with the aid of the masterful lighting. At times spooky and mysterious, at others playful, the lighting was perhaps the best I have seen at a show in some time. I realized how integral it can be as to a great live performance, actually an instrument in and of itself.

The music of guitar/keyboards/vocalist/songwriter Ryan Lee and band mates, bassist Matthew Freed and drummer Eric Smith, defies definition . . . not rock, nor pop, nor folk . . . simply mysterious and compelling. It encompasses numerous influences from East Indian to Spanish to industrial to Calypso to Celtic, and everything in between, yet never sounding scattered. Every time their music swings within reach of a label, it veers back away. Lee’s quote says it aptly, “Think traditional rock music and then go the other way.”

Lee’s skillful guitar was infused with Spanish and classical references. At various times the band reminded me of Dead Can Dance or Calexico. Sometimes the bass and drums reminded me of those of Big Hat or of Siouxie and the Banshees. At others, I could hear Santana-esque rhythms. There was a clear, solid bass groove thread provided by Freed. Smith’s drums were also exceptional.

The immediacy of first song “Instant Confession” featured Lee’s simple keyboards accompanied by his warm, gravelly voice exposing raw emotion. The light show of white rings and beams of color contributed to the intricate beauty of the show. Compelling layers served to make a big sound richer with so much stuff going on that it seemed it was being created by more than three guys. The cool sound effects and sampling made the music particularly mystifying and futuristic. On some songs, I was reminded of some of the best futuristic techno music of Star Trek and science fiction movie soundtracks.

At times, Lee’s voice was ominously stark, with a huskily emotive whisper emerging from a depth of anguish. At others, he barely harnessed unresolved bitterness, such as in “Too Close To Home” (to a parent) – “If you won’t ask me how I feel, I can’t tell you I’m hopeless . . . frustrated . . . scared of everything.”

The band included a faster, poppier version of Bonnie Raitt’s, “I Can’t Make You Love Me,” It retained the plaintive blues of the original and the acoustic blues guitar riffs, accented in this case by a glockenspiel.

Red-headed Lee, a warm, personable guy talked with the audience between songs and shared stories of the songs and the making of their first CD, The Pride Before the Fall. Lee revealed, “I’m shy. I write songs because I’m shy.” Then he asked, “Have you ever sat outside someone’s house for hours in your car?” which drew surprised laughter from the full theater house. He quickly added, “Neither have I! But this is about someone who has.” And with that he went into, “I Pretend.”

I liked Lee’s music most when it visited darker places (which was often), and when it incorporated layers of industrial samples and soaring vocals that often sounded Celtic in origin. There’s a passion in Lee’s voice that effectively gets emotions out in the open. Lee informed me after the show that he loves to write songs about his personal life, his family, his work. He writes frequently whether he’s at home or in his car. I felt lucky to have experienced the unexpected treat of of a Ryan Lee show. This is one group that seems quite likely to go places.
- howwastheshow.com (Cyn Collins)

Local Songwriter Ryan Lee looks disheveled and irritable on the cover of his new album The Pride Before The Fall, like he’s had enough of the world for today and would appreciate some aspirin and a large glass of scotch. The crankiness extends to his lyrics as well: “I’ve never been one for serenity,” he growls in one typical verse. But Lee doesn’t need sunshine and sweetness to make Pride a fall worth taking—he and his trio have whipped up an assured, diverse collection, wrapping Lee’s confessional words in a mélange of rock balladry, trip-hop, folky electronica, and touches of world music. Standout tracks include the strummy “Aftermath” and the rumbling “Instant Confession,” which features a splendid guest vocal from Katheryn Barrett.
- The Onion (March 10, 2005)

Singer-songwriters are understated exhibitionists. They are driven to write and perform music as a way to purge themselves of experiences too painful or complex to examine in the mundane light of daily life. They may do it under the guise of high art, or with political undercurrents, or even in a state of utter ignorance—but make no mistake, they all do it.

Local up-and-comer Ryan Lee is no exception to this rule. His contemplative, narrative-driven lyrics speak of intense emotions and scarring experiences. His earnest, expressive vocal delivery draws you into the jagged landscape of his imagination, and his undulating melodies suspend you there.

But Lee has other goals besides baring his soul to the listening masses. With former Domo Sound bassist Matthew Freed and drum whiz Eric Smith backing him up, he’s working to subtly shift the expectations of Twin Cities music lovers.

“We’re trying to offer some different things in our live shows,” Lee explains. “We did a gig a few weeks back that included a fashion show. We’re trying to mix in some different elements, offer something to potential audience members besides,‘Come see three bands!’ Because no matter how good those bands might be, it’s still just three bands playing a club. We’re trying to do some visual stuff, some lighting stuff—to make it a different experience.”

Lee’s new album, The Pride Before the Fall, is also a bit of a departure from the typical local fare. Sure, there are guitars and keyboards and infectious beats, but you couldn’t quite call it rock. And the band members realize this sometimes translates to black-sheep status for their group.

“Minneapolis-St. Paul is very much a rock and roll town,” Freed says. “That’s the predominant sound here. And we don’t really fit into that too well. We’re not a guitar-based rock band at all. We’ve played shows where people just look at us as if they’re thinking, ‘What IS this?’ So that’s a hurdle for us.”

But it’s a risk they’re willing to take, an envelope they’re willing to push. Armed with their cheerful sarcasm, boundless ambition and an arsenal of gear that would put Moby to shame, Lee, Freed and Smith are preparing to invade the Cities with their freshly hatched musical experiment.

The Pride Before the Fall sprinkles well-chosen samples and programmed beats atop an ambitious collection of songs that veer from pop to rock to folk and back again. Some of modern rock’s bravest innovators lurk below the surface of this album. Neil Finn looms large in the loyalty-themed lyrics, circular acoustic riffs and soaring vocal melodies of “Unconditional.” Lou Barlow prowls through the vocal doubling and melancholy glockenspiel of “What’s Worse.” A young Thom Yorke haunts the rough-hewn distortion and sparse arrangement of “Too Little Too Late.”

But Lee’s lyrical technique sets him apart from his influences. He shuns the norms of meter and rhyme in favor of lucid narrative honesty, a technique that makes some tracks seem more like stories set to music than plain, old, run-of-the-mill songs. He examines traditional themes of love and loneliness articulately and contemplatively, then tackles parental conflict, the drug addiction of a loved-one, and his experience being mugged on a beach in Brazil with equal grace.

And the album is adventurous, brave and pleasingly diverse. Tracks like the semi-industrial, East Indian-influenced “I Pretend” are bound to bouncy pop numbers like “Aftermath” by Lee’s fearless, passionate vocals. And although that link can wear thin at times, the album is remarkably cohesive for such a varied group of songs.

A self-taught guitarist since his teens, 28-year-old Lee is a relative newcomer to songwriting. He moved to Minneapolis in 1994 to attend college and try his hand at acting. When those plans unraveled, he moved back home to Janesville, Wisc., to get himself sorted out. In an attempt to remedy his frustration and boredom, he started experimenting with songwriting in his parents’ basement. When he returned to the Cities in 2000, it was with a new dream in tow.

Lee and Freed were acquaintances during college, but didn’t begin their musical collaboration until years after graduation. While Freed was still with Domo Sound, Lee was honing his chops in a duo called Decibel. Since they crossed paths often at local shows, Lee made sure to give Freed a 4-song EP he’d cut with Decibel. It wasn’t until a year later—after Domo Sound had called it quits—that Freed gave it a careful listen and recognized Lee’s raw talent. Soon after, the two musicians were experimenting, rehearsing and collaborating.

“It took a little bit of trying this out, trying that out,” Freed explains. “We did a couple of shows with just the two of us. Then we started working on the album. We basically realized that we needed to come up with a good album before we could really do much with what we had.”

Lee and Freed spent a little over two years hammering away at this album, much o - Pulse of the Twin Cities (March 9, 2005)

Local dour-pop troubadour Ryan Lee has come through with a slow-burning winner on his debut longplayer, The Pride Before the Fall, and fans of the Love-Cars textured brooding emoti-pop should warm to Lee’s tunes rather quickly. Shifting from the sort of spritely, acoustic pop that wouldn’t sound out of place on Cities 97 to darker, electronic-inflected material, Lee and his band (Matthew Freed and Eric Smith) cover quite a bit of ground on Pride, a lengthy 13-song endeavor. Although a proper CD release show will have to wait for the spring, that doesn’t mean you can’t catch Lee for yourself right here and now. - Pulse of the Twin Cities (January 26, 2005)

Ryan Lee is fairly new to the songwriting game. His debut album, “The Pride Before the Fall,” includes some of the first songs he’s ever written – but you’d hardly know it. A few tracks have the highly-experimental, growing-pains feel of a first effort, but overall this pleasingly eclectic group of songs speaks of a strong talent growing stronger.

“The Pride Before the Fall” shies away from traditional, guitar-based pop. Instead, Lee serves up a progressive hybrid of folk-pop and electronica. The holy trinity of acoustic guitar, bass, and drums form the backbone of most songs – but they are augmented by tasteful samples and programmed beats. Bassist and producer Matthew Freed (formerly of Domo Sound) helps shape Lee’s vision of stylistic amalgamation. And since computerized percussion will always lack a vital warmth, Lee wisely incorporates drummer Eric Smith to round out his complex sound.

Lee’s lyrical style is more prose than verse, often trading the memory-triggering rhyme for the evocative power of narrative. This effective technique forces the listener to pay attention to song content, and frees the songwriter from trite, formulaic lyrical structures. Tracks like the semi-industrial, East Indian-influenced “I Pretend” and contemplative ballad “If Anything” are fearlessly rhyme-free for entire verses. The song structures are also experimental and unusual; very few follow the verse-chorus-verse-chorus pattern. And although Lee has a frustrating penchant for long, silent pauses halfway way through his songs, his overall musical instincts are outstanding.

To top it all off, Lee is blessed with the perfect pop voice. He has enviable range, perfect pitch, and a knack for frank emotional delivery. The album contains a run of songs – “Policia Falsa,” “Guilt,” and “Too Little Too Late” – in which vocals are run through a distorting processor, rendering the songs robotic and inaccessible. But aside from those tracks, Lee’s gorgeous voice shines on every track.

Ryan Lee pushes boundaries with a fearlessness accessible only to musicians whose talent remains unsullied by formal training. “The Pride Before the Fall” is a stellar debut that will appeal to all open-minded pop fans.
- mnartists.org (March 30, 2005)