âSupposedly itâs the water you use that makes the difference, but I donât know what the science behind that is,â keyboardist Jesse Chandler says. âIâll recommend you some amazing bagel places to check out if youâre ever in New York, and word to the wise: supposedly if youâre heating up a bagel, youâre supposed to wet it first. Thatâs supposed to help with the âmouth feel.ââ
Chandler involuntarily cracks a smile, and his bandmates join him in a fit of laughter. âI canât believe I just said that word in an interview,â he says, laughing.
âIâll tell you what, Jesse. The Andyâs [Bar] kitchen isnât being used at all, so if you want to start your bagel empire down there, do it,â interjects singer/guitarist Eric Pulido, referring to the Denton bar which some members co-own.
âYouâre going to need to import that New York water, baby,â jokes drummer McKenzie Smith. âItâll be called âJessie Chandlerâs Mouth Feel â wet your bagel.ââ
The abundance of laughter and food talk is a candid snapshot of Midlake in their element: relaxed, spontaneous, with an excess of freewheeling energy. The band is gearing up to release For the Sake of Bethel Woods, their first LP in nine years, on March 18.
Midlake became woven into the fabric of the then-burgeoning folk-rock revival with the release of their 2006 breakthrough album The Trials of Van Occupanther and its hit single âRoscoe.â Soon, tours with the likes of Band of Horses, The Flaming Lips, Cold War Kids, and festival slots alongside Daft Punk and at Coachella in between fellow indie-rock trailblazers Arcade Fire and future EDM titan Diplo became Midlakeâs home away from Denton.
The band then found their most ardent following in Europe (where they earned a fan in Ricky Gervais partially because of their 2010 follow-up album The Courage of Others and its incorporation of sounds by the likes of Pentagle, Fairport Convention and Jethro Tull.
Chandler says that, particularly in the U.K., people often come up to the band and tell tales of Midlakeâs music being passed between generations. âSomeone once told us after a show, âI named my son Roscoe,ââ he says.
âRoscoeâ was later was named the 90th best song of the 2000s by Rolling Stone magazine.
So, what have the men of Midlake been up to for this near-decade? âTwo masterâs degrees,â jokes Pulido. âSide projects, solo stuff. We stayed active, stayed friends and did stuff together like [the band] BNQT. I just think it was a conscious decision to do other things because we were so immersed in doing Midlake. I think it was healthy to branch off and do other musical things, play with other folks and be with friends and family.â
âI never stopped,â says guitarist Eric Nichelson. âWe were always working, and when we took a break, I still did that, but with my own things. When we came together and said âHey, letâs make a record,â it wasnât hard at all. We just shifted our focus.â
The last time Midlake was on the radar, they had just undergone a sea change with the departure of the bandâs longtime singer and sole songwriter Tim Smith (no relation to drummer McKenzie Smith) in the midst of preparing for their fourth album.
Undeterred, Pulido took up vocal duties and the band started over with a new, collectivist approach to songwriting, resulting in a new album, 2013âs Antiphon, that was written and recorded in six months.
âIt was daunting when Tim left, because he had such a pivotal songwriting role,â Pulido says. âWhether it was because of our own stubbornness or willingness, we really wanted to do what we said we were gonna do. Not only to our fans, but to our label, and to ourselves.â
Midlake decided that the songwriting duties would be shared by the bandâs six members, a decision that continues with For the Sake of Bethel Woods. If anything, according to Pulido, the bandâs collectivist writing identity has only improved on the new record.
âEven McKenzie got into that side of things as well,â he says. âObviously, his rhythms have been huge to the band for so long, but even just writing âGoneâ was one where McKenzie was the core of that idea. I felt like it was easier, more natural, and enjoyable.â
âYou would think that situation could be a âtoo many cooks in the kitchenâ kind of vibe,â Chandler says. âBut I think we figured out a way, especially on this album, to just move things a lot quicker. Part of it is just perspective from waiting so long and working on a lot of other projects. We got a lot of perspective that didnât come during the first incarnation and ended with touring Antiphon. It seemed like it was sort of a frenzy from the beginning of the band all the way to the time to pause and reflect. Everybody went and had kids, among other things.
"The perspective you get from that time off, youâre able to get the essence of some of the ideas quicker as a band than before rather than waiting for one guy to come up with stuff. Youâre sometimes twiddling your thumbs not knowing what to do.â
Guitarist Joseph McClellan agrees. After working on his own solo project under the moniker Joseph M, it was easier for him to bring his own songs to the table for Midlake.
âI feel like Iâm definitely growing as a songwriter, learning things about myself and how I create,â he says. âItâs a lost opportunity if these people arenât able to have their voices heard in this situation, as opposed to being directed, âThis is what I want you to play.â Thereâs creativity and information that is lost if you donât utilize it.â
Pulido compares Midlakeâs newfound communal attitude to that of his all-time favorite band, The Band. âThereâs a comfort where youâre not the star, youâre just the sideman. It takes the pretense away,â he says.
Despite Midlakeâs freewheeling Big Pink-like approach to summoning music from the ether, the recording of For the Sake of the Bethel Woods marks the first time the band has worked with an outside producer, in this case DFW studio stalwart John Congleton (St. Vincent, Swans, Angel Olsen, Guster). So, while one person wasnât calling the shots when it came to songwriting, the band says it was helpful to have somebody else doing so when it came to laying down tape.
âAbsolutely,â Pulido and McClellan say simultaneously. âThereâs no overthinking things or overanalyzing,â McClellan says. âYou can come up with a million different ideas, so you have to have somebody say, âThatâs the one.â The famous quote from John during the sessions was âCould do âŚââ
âPart of recording in general is getting in a psychological state where thereâs this balance between being self-conscious enough that you can sort of edit as you go along but not too self-conscious that you think everythingâs just shit,â Chandler says. âJohn was really able to help us with that in a way that nobodyâs feelings were hurt, and nobody has to be controlling or tell people what to play. It was really helpful to have someone there that we all trust.â
Nichelson says: âAt first, you donât know what to expect, because it was different from how we had ever done things, but it was fine. Everyone let go of that really fast. It was a positive experience. I hope we get another chance to do something like that because it was a fresh thing.â
Pulido says that on prior records the band produced themselves, it was difficult to settle on a certain take or idea since there was so much overthinking being done by everyone in the room.
âLike Jesse and Joey were saying, thereâs just an interpersonal relationship with each other that at this point that someone in the band is liable to become âthe filter.â Itâs like, no, Johnâs that guy," Pulido says laughing. "Weâre going to let him be that guy and trust him, lean on him. I just think thereâs no going back now. It was such a great experience.â
âI think, for all of us, a lot of the time we work better when first or second takes end up staying,â Chandler says. âSometimes in the past without a producer, itâs been like, âWell, letâs just try that again, and maybe the next one will be better. Maybe the next time weâll get it.â Then 4½ hours later everyone hates the song at that point. But with John there âŚâ âDid you say 4½ hours later?â Smith interjects. âI think you mean 4½ months later.â
Everyone laughs with the exception of Chandler, who knows the feeling Smithâs talking about all too well. âEverybody has the music in them already,â Chandler continues. âThe drum takes especially. Those first one or two takes have the most magic, and having someone like John say âLetâs just stayâ and everybody just goes âOKâ without discussing it amongst ourselves was really helpful.â
âThereâs the extremes,â Nichelson says. âI think Iâm somewhere in the middle. In between liking to work on things and just sort of letting it rip. Tim is one extreme, but the process on this record with John Congleton was the other extreme of âWeâre not going to mess with it too much, weâre just going to play and let it rip.' First takes, etc. There is a balance, and I probably wouldnât go as far as Tim would, but thatâs why I hope we get another chance to do this. Weâve just scratched the potential of what we can do together.â
Drummer Smith, who up until this point has been relatively silent, takes the reins. âI donât like tinkering. Iâm anti-tinkerer. Even starting with Antiphon, the previous albums were made in such a different way; thereâs an art to the process in which those albums were made. Writing individual drum parts, crafting it and being so meticulous with everything. Some drummers know every fill theyâre going to play on every section of every song before they go into the studio and record, whereas Iâm just the opposite at this point. I donât enjoy that at all. I like knowing very little information about the song other than kind of the structure. âŚâ
âItâs because youâre a âjazzerâ at heart,â Chandler interjects.
âKind of, but I also feel thatâs how John Bonham would approach a song, too, or a lot of other drummers,â Smith says. âThere was a freedom. Like they knew the song, but when they went in to record it, it was more about the energy of the performance. Drum fills might change, but itâs about being reactive to the performance, being in the moment of creating something. I donât look at it like âHereâs an opportunity for a drum fill, watch me go!â I try to play the drum set as part of the song and react off the vocal lines, react off whatâs happening around me. Most of that happens in its most pure and raw form in the very early takes. Thereâs a different part of your brain thatâs working when you donât know something very well.â
Smith, who describes himself as an âunabashed Rush fan,â says that the mindset of writing an extraordinarily intricate piece a la Rushâs âTom Sawyerâ that is reproduced every night on-stage exactly as itâs done on the record is admirable, but itâs not the mindset he or the rest of Midlake have when going in to make the magic happen.
âI love that feeling of being in the room, no one knows whatâs gonna happen, and the producer says, âHey, just go do your thing, Iâm not even going to give you much information at all,â and Iâm like 'Cool.â I think thatâs the best way to do it,â he says.
âSometimes your gut instinct might be wrong, and after working through some stuff you might end up in a totally different place. I feel like I do my thing, and I like my thing, which is why I think in this band it works well. Itâs changing from where we were initially.â
This mindset isnât limited to the drums; Smith says that improvisational excitement is present in everyone in the room.
âIâm around other musicians that are great, and I think thatâs what makes this band great, everyone has their own unique, individual personality,â he says. âItâs been very freeing to support one another. There isnât this pressure like, âJesse I want you to be something that youâre not.â âJoey, I need you to play guitar in this way that you donât normally play, I want you to do this for me.â
âInstead, you just say âJoey, what do you feel like doing? Play something.â When you allow musicians to just be themselves within a certain context and have an outside ear like John say âYeah, this vibeâs not workingâ or âYou guys are on to something,â that really is helpful, and thatâs kind of how the whole album was done. I wasnât joking when I said 4½ months later. We spent months on ridiculous things in the past that in the end ever made anything better. In fact, I think we have historically ruined lots of good music by beating it to death. Allowing your mind and heart to be open, by going into a room and letting it happen, and then walking away is really freeing.â
All this âfreewheelingâ talk of âfreedomâ reminds Chandler of For the Sake of Bethel Woodsâ initial inspiration: the 1969 Woodstock Festival, which Chandlerâs late father attended. A painting based on an image of him in the massive, mud-logged audience, captured in the Woodstock documentary, is the albumâs artwork.
âThat event obviously was just a moment in time over a weekend,â Chandler says. âEven though they recorded it, it was just a fleeting moment in time where all this music just passed through the air.â
Before Midlakeâs reformation, Chandler had a dream in which his father appeared to him and instructed him to continue making music. That moment marked the beginning of the return of Midlake. However, one conspicuously absent component from Midlakeâs journey this time around is founding bassist Paul Alexander, who decided not to rejoin the band after their hiatus.
âWe met at the end of 2019, before we started the process,â Pulido says. âI donât want to put words into Paulâs mouth, but I just felt like he was in a different place.â
During that meeting, the band went around the table and asked, âWhoâs in?â Smith recalls that while he, McClellan, Pulido, Chandler, and Nichelson all agreed that the time was right, Alexander politely opted out.
âWhen we got to Paul, he was like, âIâm not going to do it. You have my blessings to keep going, please keep doing it, Iâm just in a different place now. A healthy, different direction. It was a great ride, love you guys.â Sad in some ways, but itâs just a chapter thatâs closing.â
It was especially bittersweet for Smith, as he and Alexanderâs meeting was the impetus of Midlake back in the halls of University of North Texas in 1997.
âLove the guy,â Smith says. âBut it was just his time to move on.â
âJust like we learned a lot from Tim, we learned from Paul as well,â Chandler says. âAll of the sonic things he could do.â
Holding down the low end on For the Sake of Bethel Woods is bassist Scott Lee of fellow DFW roots-rockers The Texas Gentlemen. Lee has been a part of the extended Midlake family for a number of years now, having played on the BNQT album and on the members of Midlakeâs various solo projects.
âScottâs great,â Nichelson says. âHe and McKenzie have played on a lot of records together. Theyâre a great rhythm section.â
One of the reasons Midlake decided to reform when they did was their relationship to the Denton community that birthed them.
âThe bandâs been around so long, and weâre all still in this little town,â Chandler says. âI think that a lot of bands that have stood the test of time sort of scatter like how families scatter. To me it was a no-brainer, weâre all still in this town, none of us have moved to L.A.â
âYet,â Smith says with a laughing scowl.
âYet,â Chandler agrees bittersweetly.
Pulido says that while he may not keep in touch with the North Texas music/art scene as much as he should (other than a select few musicians like Jonathan Tyler and Sarah Jaffe) the reason he and the rest of Midlake have remained in Denton is more of a practical one.
âItâs pretty cheap living,â he says. âTo start a business like a bar or a studio like Joey and McKenzie did, or to even own a home, itâs a difficult thing to do, and itâs even become progressively more difficult thing to do in this town as prices rise, but Denton has historically had all of the things that we would want or need and be affordable to do so. Grow your family, put your flag in the ground, and say âI want to invest in more than just what Iâm doing. I want to be a part of what the town is doing.â It really has become that place because of that.
"Itâs really difficult to move from that and change that scenery, especially as we grow older, have kids and such. There have been a lot of music and arts â because of the university â that has grown and stayed, but Iâm curious how thatâs going to change over the next five, 10 years.â
âI do wish we had a good bagel place, but thatâs just me,â Chandler says with a laugh. âCall it âBethel Bagels,ââ jokes McClellan.
The camaraderie of Midlake is a sight to see. At one point, Smith is humorously recounting one of the bandâs European tours circa 2009 when Chandler nearly jumps the gun.
âTell him who opened for us.â
âJesse, donât mess my story up or Iâll have to karate chop you in the neck,â Smith says calmly.
This time Chandler laughs along with everybody else, and yields the storytelling rights to Smith: âOur label was like, âThereâs this band with a record coming out, I think it would be great if they supported you.â We were like âSure, whatever.â So on the first night of the tour, we saw a bunch of younger women in the front area and we were like âWhat is going on here?â Weâre not used to this,ââ Smith says laughing, in reference to the bandâs tendency to attract an older, predominantly male crowd.
âAs soon as the opening act was done, all of those young people would clear out and we would see the actual, older Midlake fans, seated back in the theater area. Itâs funny in hindsight because that band was Mumford & Sons.â
The rest of the band laugh and shake their heads.
Smith shrugs and makes his point: âSo, if you want to be huge, just open for Midlake.â Pulido turns to me and says, âIf you ever interview Marcus Mumford, tell him he owes us 300 pounds for his liquor cabinet.â
âDuring that tour, we went to a pub near our hotel to meet up with Marcus Mumford,â Smith says, resuming the role of raconteur. âPeople started whispering, everyone spotted him, he started getting ambushed and eventually he said, âWe gotta go.â Over [in England] there was a service before Doordash where we had 300 pounds of booze delivered, and around the time we got back to Marcusâ flat, the party started dying down and Marcus said, âAll right guys, thanks for coming.â We all looked at each other and said, âDid we just stock Marcus Mumfordâs liquor cabinet?â
With all of this camaraderie and such a no-pressure environment, what was the biggest challenge Midlake faced during the recording of the new record?
"As you mature, youâre able to realize what a finished song, album or piece of art is. Youâre able to recognize that more easily than when youâre 20. Youâre like âWoah, I can do this and this and this,â the feeling that you donât have to look or be cool anymore.â âJesse Chandler
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âDeciding on where to have lunch,â McClellan says.
âThe second half of the day might have been a little less productive after lunch,â Pulido says with a laugh.
âTo me this has been the least challenging record that weâve ever made,â McClellan says. âWhich all comes down to trust. We all trust one another, which was hard to accept in the beginning. I have a lot of respect for these guys and their abilities. For me, that will be the process going forward.â
On whether the freedom can be excessive without the comfort of constraint, Nichelson says itâs a nonissue. âItâs a positive thing,â he says. âTimâs vision for the songs was very specific. The whole process was trying to get into his vision, there wasnât time to think âWho am I as a musician? It was always through his filter. Everyoneâs such a great musician in their own right, so thereâs no apprehension.â
âItâs very freeing to be trusted. I wouldnât go back,â Chandler says. âThough thereâs little things that maybe Iâd want to change in past songs or past things, I wouldnât ever go back and do a 'George Lucas special edition,ââ he says. âMaybe thatâs just the jazz musician in me. Itâs just a fleeting thing, and it's just a snapshot of what we were doing at the time, just like this is. Iâm already thinking about what we could do next to develop this method. As you mature, youâre able to realize what a finished song, album or piece of art is. Youâre able to recognize that more easily than when youâre 20. Youâre like âWoah, I can do this and this and this,â the feeling that you donât have to look or be cool anymore.â
âNo one is really ever cool,â Smith says. âSo many things in the last five years; weâve all had children, weâve lost our parents, weâve been through a pandemic,â Chandler says. âCollectively, everybody has been through trauma. It puts things in perspective for sure. Makes you realize what really matters. I donât think any of us were willing to put ourselves through any additional trauma to make a record.â
âAmen!â Smith shouts.
âThereâs sort of a trance-like state you get in when youâre recording,â Chandler says. âEven when youâre just messing around. Your mind is sort of blank and it feels like youâre hypnotized. Youâre trying not to overthink things. As you get older and you get more experienced, youâre able to get to that place easier.â
âIs thatâs whatâs going on when you space out, Jesse?â Pulido interjects.
âEither that, or Iâm thinking about bagels.â