The Lashes
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The Lashes

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Music

The best kept secret in music

Press


"..vagrants, journalists and music fans, take note. The Lashes will do it. They are not kidding around." - American Music Press April/May 2005


"the Lashes grabbed onto their market by reminding us that we all have emotional issues to sort out by rocking a guitar, torn jeans and a box of Kleenex. The Lashes were a pleasure, their stable of listenable and energetic songs ensuring that the first third of the show earned its share of the cover." - Performer Magazine


"Listen to The Stupid Stupid, produced by John Goodmanson (Sleater-Kinney, Harvey Danger, Unwound), and it's obvious the Lashes don't fit [the] album title." - The Stranger


"...their chaotic sound-like a rainbow lollipop with a bitter aftertaste-should be in excellently epileptic form tonight." - The Seattle Weekly


If...the opening song on this four-track EP by Seattle's The Lashes, is indicative of what the band are capable of, then Hot Hot Heat and Weezer will soon be shooting worried glances over their shoulders at this sprightly six-piece. Riding on a chorus so catchy you'll swear you must have heard it somewhere before, its bristling mix of new wave, power pop and buzzsaw guitars gives new meaning to the word infectious." - Kerrang!


For all the self-created hype and press The Lashes got before their album was even recorded, this is a fine release and a great start. And as with any good crush, we want more!" - Three Imaginary Girls


"The Lashes are a sassy, image-conscious Seattle septet that gleefully plumbs the infinite goodness of raucous geek-pop in the vein of the Buzzcocks and Weezer." - The Austin Chronicle - SXSW


"The Lashes are six young men that write and perform some of the smartest, catchiest power-pop style punk today without sounding trite or retro." - betterPropaganda


Discography

The Stupid Stupid 2004
Get It 2005 (release date TBA)

Photos

Feeling a bit camera shy

Bio

Of the many archetypes available to young musicians on their way up, from manufactured idols to dinosaur supergroups and everything in-between, one model remains by far the most romantic, the most inspirational, the most rock: the gang. Your typical new band consists of itinerant strangers coming together to, you know, play music or whatever. They're often too cool for interpersonal connection, and consequently, too easily scattered by the adversity that goes hand-in-hand with building a life in music.

But then there's that rare breed--and you know them the first time you lay eyes on them, whether it's on stage or walking down the street--founded on brotherhood, its members inseparable from one another both in and out of the practice space, a band whose collective identity is greater than the sum of its individual personalities, a band whose music reflects a great collaboration, not only of musicians, but of best friends looking to make life a little more interesting and fun for one another.

Ladies and gentlemen of the press, meet The Lashes. You're going to love them.

The six handsome devils who comprise the band's menagerie are in each other's pockets 24 hours a day. They share living quarters (a hilariously cramped warren of tiny rooms in a North Seattle basement plastered with show flyers and guitar strings), cigarettes, drink tickets, day jobs, van space, food, and clothes more readily than most people share oxygen. Yet, for all this togetherness, The Lashes are remarkably together. Spend an hour or two in their company and you can't help noticing how infectious their camaraderie is. They seem frankly psyched to have one another's backs. Probably because they know how lucky they are.

Singer Ben, a born rock frontman who's as sweet as he is cocky, as smart as he is swaggering (Best. Interview. Ever.), has always been at the heart of the band. He founded The Lashes in February of 2000, shortly after moving to Seattle from the backwoods of Spokane, Washington--which is four hours and several cultural lifetimes away from the Emerald City. It took him a few years, however, to assemble the ideal line-up. To do so, he turned to friends from back home (Scotty and Nate) as well as the friends he was making in his new hometown (Eric, Jacob, and Mike). All these guys had grown up in small towns, from Wasilla, Alaska to Fremont, Nebraska, where being heavily into rock 'n' roll instantly made you a freak. Nonetheless, they all grew up fronting bands, collecting records, and living, breathing, talking, and playing music. The Lashes quickly became the repository of six lifetimes worth of rock dreams. But these things take time….

Over the past five years, The Lashes played countless local shows for no money and few people, writing and practicing songs, sharing houses, jobs, and friends together, all the while dreaming up the means by which they could make their band "the best movie ever." The zen challenge of being in a young band is learning how to have fun even when no one is paying attention. The Lashes got that part down right away, and soon, their infectious spirit started casting a spell in Seattle and beyond. Their raucous sound--a blend of catchy, anthemic, and romantic power pop in the vein of Cheap Trick, The Cars, and more obscure '70s art pop groups like The Shoes, The Raspberries, and Big Star--took shape in the interplay of Eric and Scotty's nimbly forceful guitars, Jacob's secret-weapon keys and harmonies, Nate's rock abandon, and Ben's fearless, hooktastic vocals. And it goes without saying that you can't be a great rock band without a great drummer. Mike is The Lashes' eleventh drummer, and the thunder and finesse of his rhythmic intensity proves that the wait was well worth it.

The shows were getting better. The word was starting to spread. Things were starting to make sense.

But it required a fluke of electricity for The Lashes to really get their shit together.

Midway through a Lashes set at Seattle's Crocodile Café, in early 2003, when the band was still a four piece, with Ben still playing guitar as well as singing, the amp he was playing through exploded in the middle of a song. Not shorted out. Not "failed." Exploded. Burst into flames. (We have witnesses.) It was a moment of truth that might have destroyed a lesser band. Instead, a lead singer was born. Ben threw down his blue '66 Fender Mustang, grabbed the mic, and performed the rest of the show for all he was worth. (To this day, Scotty plays the fabled Fender Mustang handed down to him from Ben.) The response from the band's devout audience was overwhelming. A few months later, the current six-piece line-up (two guitars, bass, keys, drums, and singer) was firmly in place, and after years spent cultivating a loyal following, these swaggering, drunken, gifted underachievers knuckled down and got serious--not too serious, but still... The results have been staggering.

Following their obscenely catchy debut EP on