Spaceships

Few empty spaces exist in the cramped Echo Park apartment of noise-pop duo Spaceships. A drum kit blocks a massive bookshelf overflowing with outsider literature, Carl Sagan books and '80s disaster movies on VHS. Two end tables are covered with production mixers. Two gray-black cats scale the thrift-store furniture. A guitar poses underneath a lamp. The dining room table doubles as a factory line for the bedroom-garage rock band's self-designed T-shirts and self-pressed 7-inch records.
"Doing it yourself is easier because ...," says Jessie Waite, Spaceships' guitarist, singer, engineer, mixer, producer, co-songwriter, shirtmaker, logo designer, publicist and show booker.

"... It's definitely not easy," imparts shaggy-haired Kevin LaRose, the soft-spoken but powerful drummer, co-songwriter and co-conspirator.

"It's not easier," the pixie-ish Waite corrects herself. "We wanted to do this and had no money or other options. We recorded the guitars and singing in our apartment and some drum parts -- with the silencers on. We bought plastic sleeves for vinyl, burnt CDs to sell on our Bandcamp page, and watched an instructional video on silk-screening. There was a lot of trial and error."

To accentuate the point, Waite grabs two wooden shirt-making panels etched with the band's emblem, a UFO soaring over a pair of pyramids, only one of which matches the precise Spaceships tattoo on her left forearm.

Spaceships' goal is permanence, or at least making enough from music to quit their day jobs. (He works at Amoeba, she works in postproduction.) Waite and LaRose, both 28, have been together since they met as freshmen at Boulder, Colo.'s Naropa University, a school inspired by Buddhism and the Beat generation. They were kicked out of their dorm -- the "intentional community" -- one Halloween.

"They brought witches to our hall meeting to lead us through meditation," Waite says, laughing. "Then they brought out a 'talking stick,' and each person took turns telling why they were pissed off at us."

The pair left the school soon after, sparking an eight-year odyssey that included a half-dozen colleges and several parental evictions. They finished at San Francisco State in 2010 and moved to Echo Park to start Spaceships. They'd been writing songs independently for years but only decided to work together after attending 2010's FYF.
"We just looked at each other and said, 'Why don't we do this? And we haven't been able to afford FYF since," LaRose half-jokes.
Spaceships' first year featured innumerable discarded songs, nearly empty support gigs and practice sessions. They released nothing. But their eponymous January EP and last month's similarly titled 7-inch are lo-fi, raw and irrepressibly catchy: a sweet spot between early Veruca Salt and former L.A. DIY queens Mika Miko. Spin hailed Spaceships as "the perfect combo of nasally disaffection and defiance."

No labels have yet shown serious interest, but Waite and LaRose are recording their first full-length and have begun playing bigger shows and helping to build a like-minded community.

"We're working with [art collective] FMLY to build a D.I.T. [do-it-together] venue downtown. It's going to be a co-op-type arrangement and really democratic," LaRose says.

"Hopefully, we won't get kicked out," Waite concludes. - LA Weekly

Few empty spaces exist in the cramped Echo Park apartment of noise-pop duo Spaceships. A drum kit blocks a massive bookshelf overflowing with outsider literature, Carl Sagan books and '80s disaster movies on VHS. Two end tables are covered with production mixers. Two gray-black cats scale the thrift-store furniture. A guitar poses underneath a lamp. The dining room table doubles as a factory line for the bedroom-garage rock band's self-designed T-shirts and self-pressed 7-inch records.
"Doing it yourself is easier because ...," says Jessie Waite, Spaceships' guitarist, singer, engineer, mixer, producer, co-songwriter, shirtmaker, logo designer, publicist and show booker.

"... It's definitely not easy," imparts shaggy-haired Kevin LaRose, the soft-spoken but powerful drummer, co-songwriter and co-conspirator.

"It's not easier," the pixie-ish Waite corrects herself. "We wanted to do this and had no money or other options. We recorded the guitars and singing in our apartment and some drum parts -- with the silencers on. We bought plastic sleeves for vinyl, burnt CDs to sell on our Bandcamp page, and watched an instructional video on silk-screening. There was a lot of trial and error."

To accentuate the point, Waite grabs two wooden shirt-making panels etched with the band's emblem, a UFO soaring over a pair of pyramids, only one of which matches the precise Spaceships tattoo on her left forearm.

Spaceships' goal is permanence, or at least making enough from music to quit their day jobs. (He works at Amoeba, she works in postproduction.) Waite and LaRose, both 28, have been together since they met as freshmen at Boulder, Colo.'s Naropa University, a school inspired by Buddhism and the Beat generation. They were kicked out of their dorm -- the "intentional community" -- one Halloween.

"They brought witches to our hall meeting to lead us through meditation," Waite says, laughing. "Then they brought out a 'talking stick,' and each person took turns telling why they were pissed off at us."

The pair left the school soon after, sparking an eight-year odyssey that included a half-dozen colleges and several parental evictions. They finished at San Francisco State in 2010 and moved to Echo Park to start Spaceships. They'd been writing songs independently for years but only decided to work together after attending 2010's FYF.
"We just looked at each other and said, 'Why don't we do this? And we haven't been able to afford FYF since," LaRose half-jokes.
Spaceships' first year featured innumerable discarded songs, nearly empty support gigs and practice sessions. They released nothing. But their eponymous January EP and last month's similarly titled 7-inch are lo-fi, raw and irrepressibly catchy: a sweet spot between early Veruca Salt and former L.A. DIY queens Mika Miko. Spin hailed Spaceships as "the perfect combo of nasally disaffection and defiance."

No labels have yet shown serious interest, but Waite and LaRose are recording their first full-length and have begun playing bigger shows and helping to build a like-minded community.

"We're working with [art collective] FMLY to build a D.I.T. [do-it-together] venue downtown. It's going to be a co-op-type arrangement and really democratic," LaRose says.

"Hopefully, we won't get kicked out," Waite concludes. - LA Weekly

Few empty spaces exist in the cramped Echo Park apartment of noise-pop duo Spaceships. A drum kit blocks a massive bookshelf overflowing with outsider literature, Carl Sagan books and '80s disaster movies on VHS. Two end tables are covered with production mixers. Two gray-black cats scale the thrift-store furniture. A guitar poses underneath a lamp. The dining room table doubles as a factory line for the bedroom-garage rock band's self-designed T-shirts and self-pressed 7-inch records.
"Doing it yourself is easier because ...," says Jessie Waite, Spaceships' guitarist, singer, engineer, mixer, producer, co-songwriter, shirtmaker, logo designer, publicist and show booker.

"... It's definitely not easy," imparts shaggy-haired Kevin LaRose, the soft-spoken but powerful drummer, co-songwriter and co-conspirator.

"It's not easier," the pixie-ish Waite corrects herself. "We wanted to do this and had no money or other options. We recorded the guitars and singing in our apartment and some drum parts -- with the silencers on. We bought plastic sleeves for vinyl, burnt CDs to sell on our Bandcamp page, and watched an instructional video on silk-screening. There was a lot of trial and error."

To accentuate the point, Waite grabs two wooden shirt-making panels etched with the band's emblem, a UFO soaring over a pair of pyramids, only one of which matches the precise Spaceships tattoo on her left forearm.

Spaceships' goal is permanence, or at least making enough from music to quit their day jobs. (He works at Amoeba, she works in postproduction.) Waite and LaRose, both 28, have been together since they met as freshmen at Boulder, Colo.'s Naropa University, a school inspired by Buddhism and the Beat generation. They were kicked out of their dorm -- the "intentional community" -- one Halloween.

"They brought witches to our hall meeting to lead us through meditation," Waite says, laughing. "Then they brought out a 'talking stick,' and each person took turns telling why they were pissed off at us."

The pair left the school soon after, sparking an eight-year odyssey that included a half-dozen colleges and several parental evictions. They finished at San Francisco State in 2010 and moved to Echo Park to start Spaceships. They'd been writing songs independently for years but only decided to work together after attending 2010's FYF.
"We just looked at each other and said, 'Why don't we do this? And we haven't been able to afford FYF since," LaRose half-jokes.
Spaceships' first year featured innumerable discarded songs, nearly empty support gigs and practice sessions. They released nothing. But their eponymous January EP and last month's similarly titled 7-inch are lo-fi, raw and irrepressibly catchy: a sweet spot between early Veruca Salt and former L.A. DIY queens Mika Miko. Spin hailed Spaceships as "the perfect combo of nasally disaffection and defiance."

No labels have yet shown serious interest, but Waite and LaRose are recording their first full-length and have begun playing bigger shows and helping to build a like-minded community.

"We're working with [art collective] FMLY to build a D.I.T. [do-it-together] venue downtown. It's going to be a co-op-type arrangement and really democratic," LaRose says.

"Hopefully, we won't get kicked out," Waite concludes. - LA Weekly

Few empty spaces exist in the cramped Echo Park apartment of noise-pop duo Spaceships. A drum kit blocks a massive bookshelf overflowing with outsider literature, Carl Sagan books and '80s disaster movies on VHS. Two end tables are covered with production mixers. Two gray-black cats scale the thrift-store furniture. A guitar poses underneath a lamp. The dining room table doubles as a factory line for the bedroom-garage rock band's self-designed T-shirts and self-pressed 7-inch records.
"Doing it yourself is easier because ...," says Jessie Waite, Spaceships' guitarist, singer, engineer, mixer, producer, co-songwriter, shirtmaker, logo designer, publicist and show booker.

"... It's definitely not easy," imparts shaggy-haired Kevin LaRose, the soft-spoken but powerful drummer, co-songwriter and co-conspirator.

"It's not easier," the pixie-ish Waite corrects herself. "We wanted to do this and had no money or other options. We recorded the guitars and singing in our apartment and some drum parts -- with the silencers on. We bought plastic sleeves for vinyl, burnt CDs to sell on our Bandcamp page, and watched an instructional video on silk-screening. There was a lot of trial and error."

To accentuate the point, Waite grabs two wooden shirt-making panels etched with the band's emblem, a UFO soaring over a pair of pyramids, only one of which matches the precise Spaceships tattoo on her left forearm.

Spaceships' goal is permanence, or at least making enough from music to quit their day jobs. (He works at Amoeba, she works in postproduction.) Waite and LaRose, both 28, have been together since they met as freshmen at Boulder, Colo.'s Naropa University, a school inspired by Buddhism and the Beat generation. They were kicked out of their dorm -- the "intentional community" -- one Halloween.

"They brought witches to our hall meeting to lead us through meditation," Waite says, laughing. "Then they brought out a 'talking stick,' and each person took turns telling why they were pissed off at us."

The pair left the school soon after, sparking an eight-year odyssey that included a half-dozen colleges and several parental evictions. They finished at San Francisco State in 2010 and moved to Echo Park to start Spaceships. They'd been writing songs independently for years but only decided to work together after attending 2010's FYF.
"We just looked at each other and said, 'Why don't we do this? And we haven't been able to afford FYF since," LaRose half-jokes.
Spaceships' first year featured innumerable discarded songs, nearly empty support gigs and practice sessions. They released nothing. But their eponymous January EP and last month's similarly titled 7-inch are lo-fi, raw and irrepressibly catchy: a sweet spot between early Veruca Salt and former L.A. DIY queens Mika Miko. Spin hailed Spaceships as "the perfect combo of nasally disaffection and defiance."

No labels have yet shown serious interest, but Waite and LaRose are recording their first full-length and have begun playing bigger shows and helping to build a like-minded community.

"We're working with [art collective] FMLY to build a D.I.T. [do-it-together] venue downtown. It's going to be a co-op-type arrangement and really democratic," LaRose says.

"Hopefully, we won't get kicked out," Waite concludes. - LA Weekly

“Exceedingly lo-fi L.A. garage-punk waifishness with frontwoman Jessie Waite’s vocals achieving a perfect combo of nasally disaffection and defiance.” - Spin

“Exceedingly lo-fi L.A. garage-punk waifishness with frontwoman Jessie Waite’s vocals achieving a perfect combo of nasally disaffection and defiance.” - Spin

There’s something endearing about fuzzy, lo-fi recordings. They just sound so much more genuine than overly produced tunes (and they probably are). I respect that. The LA-based duo, Spaceships, produces a hazy, true form of garage rock that gleams with reverb and static. Vocalist Jessie Waite guides the tracks with her delightfully wailing voice, as screeching electric guitar and pounding percussion promote a sense of punk-like urgency. With a self-titled EP (released in January) under its belt, Spaceships is playing some shows in California in April and is currently in the process of mastering a 7". Download the EP for free here. - Katrina Nattress - Deli Magazine

There’s something endearing about fuzzy, lo-fi recordings. They just sound so much more genuine than overly produced tunes (and they probably are). I respect that. The LA-based duo, Spaceships, produces a hazy, true form of garage rock that gleams with reverb and static. Vocalist Jessie Waite guides the tracks with her delightfully wailing voice, as screeching electric guitar and pounding percussion promote a sense of punk-like urgency. With a self-titled EP (released in January) under its belt, Spaceships is playing some shows in California in April and is currently in the process of mastering a 7". Download the EP for free here. - Katrina Nattress - Deli Magazine

L.A. band Spaceships claim they play bedroom-garage style rock and roll for the kids, and it’s hard to disagree. No matter one’s age, their fuzzed-out tunes have no place in the life of a real “grown-up.” Perhaps it’s because Jessie Waite and Kevin LaRose sing their melodies with a hint of twee. Perhaps it’s because the songs from their self-titled EP could perfectly be the soundtrack for one of those movie scenes where a bunch of teenagers throw a wild party while the parents are out of town. Whatever the source of exuberance may be, Spaceships (joined by Jude Evans when playing live) and their reverb-drenched vocals, chugging electric guitar and solid percussion do the job if you ever need help reverting to a young punk again. - Buzzbands LA

L.A. band Spaceships claim they play bedroom-garage style rock and roll for the kids, and it’s hard to disagree. No matter one’s age, their fuzzed-out tunes have no place in the life of a real “grown-up.” Perhaps it’s because Jessie Waite and Kevin LaRose sing their melodies with a hint of twee. Perhaps it’s because the songs from their self-titled EP could perfectly be the soundtrack for one of those movie scenes where a bunch of teenagers throw a wild party while the parents are out of town. Whatever the source of exuberance may be, Spaceships (joined by Jude Evans when playing live) and their reverb-drenched vocals, chugging electric guitar and solid percussion do the job if you ever need help reverting to a young punk again. - Buzzbands LA

L.A. band Spaceships claim they play bedroom-garage style rock and roll for the kids, and it’s hard to disagree. No matter one’s age, their fuzzed-out tunes have no place in the life of a real “grown-up.” Perhaps it’s because Jessie Waite and Kevin LaRose sing their melodies with a hint of twee. Perhaps it’s because the songs from their self-titled EP could perfectly be the soundtrack for one of those movie scenes where a bunch of teenagers throw a wild party while the parents are out of town. Whatever the source of exuberance may be, Spaceships (joined by Jude Evans when playing live) and their reverb-drenched vocals, chugging electric guitar and solid percussion do the job if you ever need help reverting to a young punk again. - Buzzbands LA

L.A. band Spaceships claim they play bedroom-garage style rock and roll for the kids, and it’s hard to disagree. No matter one’s age, their fuzzed-out tunes have no place in the life of a real “grown-up.” Perhaps it’s because Jessie Waite and Kevin LaRose sing their melodies with a hint of twee. Perhaps it’s because the songs from their self-titled EP could perfectly be the soundtrack for one of those movie scenes where a bunch of teenagers throw a wild party while the parents are out of town. Whatever the source of exuberance may be, Spaceships (joined by Jude Evans when playing live) and their reverb-drenched vocals, chugging electric guitar and solid percussion do the job if you ever need help reverting to a young punk again. - Buzzbands LA

In spite of my absence from the music writing world for the past couple of months in favor of occupying myself with mental restoration and the return of both Community and Mad Men, I’ve been keeping tabs on what’s been going on. And I’m slightly disappointed.

Of course, there have been some really good things put out within the past couple of months, but I’ve also been disappointed by the critical establishment’s big-upping of slightly blander sophomore efforts from decent bands, rather than scouring the underground to dig up new, exciting stuff. Or maybe I just feel this way because the void left by the lack of Douglas Martin Music being covered is something I’m entirely responsible for. There are great things on the horizon for loud and/or weird guitar music (with no fewer than three year-end-list-caliber efforts on deck from the man born Tim Presley), but before we get to them, there is a band I’ve been waiting over three months to tell you about.

A while back, I intercepted an email from Jeff about a band. If I were the type of person who actually slept, you could say I woke up to it. A two-piece from Jeff’s native Los Angeles, called Spaceships, he wrote in all-caps: “PLATONIC IDEAL DOUGLAS MARTIN MUSIC.” That’s the kind of thing that will get my attention at 2:30 in the afternoon. I took one listen to “inTheSun” and was naturally addicted: It’s loud, hooky, poorly recorded (obviously in a semi-purposeful way) and vaguely amateurish. It was perfect for those of us who wanted to like Colleen Green but ultimately found her to be a store-brand, lo-cal Best Coast alternative. On “inTheSun,“ Spaceships frontwoman Jessie Waite sings her lines like Times New Viking’s Beth Murphy from the band’s Siltbreeze-era, perfectly nailing the attitude of the best lo-fi, expressly because the best lo-fi couldn’t be less concerned with perfectly nailing the notes.

In the six songs on their extensively replayable self-titled EP, Waite and co-conspirator Kevin LaRose go a long way to capture the greatness of 90’s lo-fi without brazenly imitating the decade’s marquee indie acts. (Because honestly, where would Yuck be if Yo La Tengo had never murdered the classics?) They play with Clinton-era indie, garage, and even grunge with a true punk’s sense of irreverence, exceedingly competent at getting the sound and feeling right, but also defiantly infusing their own personality.

EP centerpiece “Ride Out There” begins as a dirge-like ode to mid-90’s Olympia but crests with a blistering punk coda, highlighting their attention to songwriting detail. EP closer (and highlight) “God Song” is as close as bedroom garage generally comes to a sprawling epic, with blaring guitar lines making way for the blast of chords in the chorus and an emotional climax that’s as cathartic as it is addictive. Waite is also a deceptively intriguing lyricist, with the few lines she has not buried underneath a patina of fuzz detailing the cognitive dissonance (“Crazy”) and the lack of co-dependency (“Painz”) in relationships. The general complaint against this style of music is “AHH CAN’T HEAR THE VOCALS,” but when bands usually clean them up, a lot of them don’t have much interesting to say. If Spaceships ever get to a point where pushing their vocals higher (and cleaner) in the mix would interest them, it’s safe to say Waite’s lyrics point to why this would be a good idea.

If you’ll allow me to be meta for a few seconds, I was thinking about the concept of Douglas Martin Music (a term, to be entirely fair and to make me not look like an egomaniac, was not something I made up) while listening to Spaceships the other day. I thought about how there’s a certain type of group that I’m always certain to write about and ultimately champion. This is evidenced by the lack of, well, anything written about Spaceships. But to be fair, they’re not some wholesale lo-fi band that I’m writing about just to provide content. As you can tell by the relative inactivity of Douglas Martin’s Dirty Shoes in 2012, I don’t do filler posts. I write about loud bands that deserve to be heard, which is what Spaceships are, and which I suppose is the entire basis of Douglas Martin Music in the first place. - Passion of the Weiss-Douglas Martin

In spite of my absence from the music writing world for the past couple of months in favor of occupying myself with mental restoration and the return of both Community and Mad Men, I’ve been keeping tabs on what’s been going on. And I’m slightly disappointed.

Of course, there have been some really good things put out within the past couple of months, but I’ve also been disappointed by the critical establishment’s big-upping of slightly blander sophomore efforts from decent bands, rather than scouring the underground to dig up new, exciting stuff. Or maybe I just feel this way because the void left by the lack of Douglas Martin Music being covered is something I’m entirely responsible for. There are great things on the horizon for loud and/or weird guitar music (with no fewer than three year-end-list-caliber efforts on deck from the man born Tim Presley), but before we get to them, there is a band I’ve been waiting over three months to tell you about.

A while back, I intercepted an email from Jeff about a band. If I were the type of person who actually slept, you could say I woke up to it. A two-piece from Jeff’s native Los Angeles, called Spaceships, he wrote in all-caps: “PLATONIC IDEAL DOUGLAS MARTIN MUSIC.” That’s the kind of thing that will get my attention at 2:30 in the afternoon. I took one listen to “inTheSun” and was naturally addicted: It’s loud, hooky, poorly recorded (obviously in a semi-purposeful way) and vaguely amateurish. It was perfect for those of us who wanted to like Colleen Green but ultimately found her to be a store-brand, lo-cal Best Coast alternative. On “inTheSun,“ Spaceships frontwoman Jessie Waite sings her lines like Times New Viking’s Beth Murphy from the band’s Siltbreeze-era, perfectly nailing the attitude of the best lo-fi, expressly because the best lo-fi couldn’t be less concerned with perfectly nailing the notes.

In the six songs on their extensively replayable self-titled EP, Waite and co-conspirator Kevin LaRose go a long way to capture the greatness of 90’s lo-fi without brazenly imitating the decade’s marquee indie acts. (Because honestly, where would Yuck be if Yo La Tengo had never murdered the classics?) They play with Clinton-era indie, garage, and even grunge with a true punk’s sense of irreverence, exceedingly competent at getting the sound and feeling right, but also defiantly infusing their own personality.

EP centerpiece “Ride Out There” begins as a dirge-like ode to mid-90’s Olympia but crests with a blistering punk coda, highlighting their attention to songwriting detail. EP closer (and highlight) “God Song” is as close as bedroom garage generally comes to a sprawling epic, with blaring guitar lines making way for the blast of chords in the chorus and an emotional climax that’s as cathartic as it is addictive. Waite is also a deceptively intriguing lyricist, with the few lines she has not buried underneath a patina of fuzz detailing the cognitive dissonance (“Crazy”) and the lack of co-dependency (“Painz”) in relationships. The general complaint against this style of music is “AHH CAN’T HEAR THE VOCALS,” but when bands usually clean them up, a lot of them don’t have much interesting to say. If Spaceships ever get to a point where pushing their vocals higher (and cleaner) in the mix would interest them, it’s safe to say Waite’s lyrics point to why this would be a good idea.

If you’ll allow me to be meta for a few seconds, I was thinking about the concept of Douglas Martin Music (a term, to be entirely fair and to make me not look like an egomaniac, was not something I made up) while listening to Spaceships the other day. I thought about how there’s a certain type of group that I’m always certain to write about and ultimately champion. This is evidenced by the lack of, well, anything written about Spaceships. But to be fair, they’re not some wholesale lo-fi band that I’m writing about just to provide content. As you can tell by the relative inactivity of Douglas Martin’s Dirty Shoes in 2012, I don’t do filler posts. I write about loud bands that deserve to be heard, which is what Spaceships are, and which I suppose is the entire basis of Douglas Martin Music in the first place. - Passion of the Weiss-Douglas Martin