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MAY 9, 2005
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Source: Entertainment Weekly

http://www.ew.com/ew/report/0,6115,1058164_4_0_,00.html

Prog Rocks Again

By Evan Serpick

Cedric Bixler-Zavala's hair is a perfect metaphor for his music. Angry curls balloon above the Mars Volta frontman's head, forming a spectacularly au courant hipster Afro, while around his shoulders it settles into a frizzy dome that evokes a '70s-era mullet. It spans decades, fuses styles, and is utterly original ­ just like the new brand of progressive rock he and a handful of other ambitious, exciting musicians are reintroducing to the mainstream.

The new prog doesn't yet have an official name (neo-prog? post-prog? prog 2.0?), but it's quickly gathering steam. Along with recent success stories like System of a Down and up-and-comers like the Dillinger Escape Plan, Lightning Bolt, and Coheed and Cambria, the Mars Volta create incredibly complex and inventive music that sounds like a heavier, more aggressive version of '70s behemoths such as Led Zeppelin and King Crimson.

Suddenly, after nearly 30 years of scorn, prog is cool again. ''Younger musicians are discovering the magic of Pink Floyd, Yes, and early Genesis records,'' says Lee Abrams, senior VP/chief creative officer of XM Satellite Radio. ''There's a backlash to the one-hit-wonder thing.''

And to the amazement of just about everyone ­ not least the bands themselves ­ new prog is as commercial as it is grandiose. On May 17, System will release Mezmerize, the first half of a double CD (the second disc, Hypnotize, comes out later this year), an album that's expected to be one of the summer's biggest releases. (Their last CD, 2001's Toxicity, went triple platinum.) Coheed and Cambria have built up a huge cult audience, selling 464,000 copies of their latest, which boasts the appropriately ludicrous title In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3. And the Mars Volta's second CD, Frances the Mute, recently debuted at No. 4 on the Billboard albums chart, a remarkable feat for a band whose dense, difficult music combines everything from salsa and noise-rock to electronica and hip-hop. ''We never expected this,'' says Mars Volta songwriter/multi-instrumentalist Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, whose band will open for System on a fall tour that could be dubbed Monsters of New Prog. ''When we signed to [Universal], we were like, 'Okay, we'll take this money and they'll drop us and we'll go back to making our records.' We're not really being influenced by outside forces. We're influenced by what's going on in our lives.''

When System of a Down released their self-titled first album in 1998, few people knew what to make of their smart, ultraloud music. ''Everyone told us not to scream [our vocals], but we kept on doing what we did,'' says System frontman Serj Tankian. ''Major radio stations vowed never to play any of our songs because it was too heavy.''

But then Toxicity changed everything. In the late '90s, Radiohead and Tool had proved that bands could sell millions by tapping into the epic spaciness of '70s prog. But with Toxicity's towering singles ''Chop Suey!'' and the title track, System blew the definition of mainstream rock wide open. After years of warmed-over nü-metal, now, finally, came some actual new metal, and its success opened the minds of listeners and radio programmers alike. Soon major labels followed suit, pushing a host of left-field hard-rock bands.

Mezmerize promises to be System of a Down's biggest and most ambitious album yet (the first single, ''B.Y.O.B.'' ­ short for ''Bring your own bombs'' ­ is already getting heavy airplay). So how did they win over rock fans more accustomed to conventional bands like Creed and Nickelback? Their success has a lot to do with the band's songwriting philosophy; by condensing their eccentricities into three-minute pop songs with irresistible hooks, they make the strange accessible. ''I wanted to find a way to mix prog into a song structure,'' says System guitarist and songwriter Daron Malakian. ''That's the challenge for me, to make it as interesting as a prog song. . .but not as long as one.''

It's a tricky balance ­ in this emerging scene, credibility is absolutely crucial, and success is often viewed with suspicion. ''The bands who have made it that we respect are bands that stumbled on commercial success by mistake,'' says Dillinger Escape Plan guitarist Ben Weinman, whose band will tour with Megadeth and prog standard-bearers Dream Theater this summer. ''When [success] is honest, you don't go to it. It comes to you.'' While System writes tunes that 13-year-olds sing along to, Dillinger's intense brand of intricate thrash might be too much for teens ­ or anyone, for that matter ­ to take. ''Every day I'm surprised by the things we're able to do, considering the music we play,'' says Weinman, whose band has managed to open for acts as diverse as Sonic Youth and Guns N' Roses. ''We're not doing anything for the sake of appealing to a certain audience.''

That was the idea the first time around, too. When prog initially hit, it began as a haven for assorted long-haired weirdos with their minds expanded by drugs and little concern for mass appeal. ''The early progressive bands of the late '60s were a reaction to the ultra-mainstream pop of the mid-'60s,'' says XM's Abrams. Early hints of the prog sensibility were heard on Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention's anti-pop double-disc opus Freak Out! in 1966, and progressive experimenters like Soft Machine and Can were soon making some of the most intriguing sounds of the era. ''We changed the world by saying my music can be whatever I want,'' says Yes singer Jon Anderson.

But by the mid-'70s, scores of unicorn-worshipping keyboard virtuosos were pumping out meandering epics with alarming titles like ''The Revealing Science of God (Dance of the Dawn).'' The genre had become bloated and ridiculous, and a fetish for complexity and virtuosity threatened to overwhelm the experimental part. ''We were just looking out to have fun,'' says Rush frontman Geddy Lee, ''and fun for us was playing stuff that was hard to play.'' Ultimately, the artifice proved too much, even for insiders. ''To tell you the truth, bands like King Crimson and Yes, they were for us a nightmare,'' says Holger Czukay, cofounder of the influential German band Can. ''Too ambitious.''

Then, with little warning and massive consequences, punk happened. The Ramones, Sex Pistols, Clash, and a generation of prog-hating young snots doomed the genre to almost 30 years of hopeless uncoolness. ''Basically it was like, 'You don't deserve all the money, so we're gonna give it to these young kids who don't care about progressive music, don't care about anything but real rock & roll,''' says Anderson. ''And I would say, 'Wait until they get money. They'll get better amplifiers, get better cars, and smoke better drugs.' That's what they did. It's the normal thing.''

The Mars Volta's Bixler-Zavala and Rodriguez-Lopez sit outside their manager's Hollywood office in sports coats and jeans on a hot afternoon, trying to make sense of their unexpected success. They look like extras from Welcome Back, Kotter, except with lots of tattoos and more attitude. They talk over each other and finish each other's sentences and generally act like an extremely hip old married couple. It's as if they've known each other all their lives, and actually that's not far from the truth: Bixler-Zavala and Rodriguez-Lopez have been making music together for more than 11 years.

Until recently, the duo led the innovative punk band At the Drive-In, which itself seemed poised for mainstream success. But just as their breakthrough album, 2000's Relationship of Command, started to take off, the band called it quits. At the time, it looked like a terrible move.

Bixler-Zavala and Rodriguez-Lopez quickly formed the Mars Volta and in 2002 released an ambitious EP. One year later came their debut album, De-Loused in the Comatorium, a bewilderingly indulgent concept album that couldn't have sounded more different from their past work. De-Loused sold 336,000 copies ­ as many as any of At the Drive-In's four releases. Why is the new band connecting? ''[The Mars Volta] is very much about the moment,'' says Rodriguez-Lopez. ''Things just kinda come out. As long as it moves us, as long as it makes us feel something, we use it. It's as simple as that. The most important thing is that the label left us alone. We work in the laboratory and then we go 'Here it is,' and they figure out how to sell it.'' Rodriguez-Lopez's approach to music can be summed up in a mantra told to him by one of his heroes, Can's Czukay: ''I'm not the best player in the world, but I know how to disturb.'' Apparently that philosophy is working. After seeing the Mars Volta at a recent show in Cologne, Czukay was impressed. ''I haven't heard such an excellent band in decades,'' he says.

Ironically, punk ­ the movement that nearly killed prog ­ is in many ways behind its comeback, since most bands associated with the scene have deep punk roots. The new prog is ''coming from a place of pure feeling,'' says Rodriguez-Lopez. ''It's much closer to punk rock than it is to prog, which was all about showing how technical you could be.'' But Dillinger's Weinman thinks there's less of a difference between the two genres than you might think. ''To me, this is the new breed of punk,'' he says. ''Punk isn't just writing punk music, it's being against what's mainstream. And that's what King Crimson and all those bands were doing. They were writing the music they want to write, and that's punk rock.''

Even so, it's hard to think of the new-prog bands as truly punk. ''Progressive sounds fine to us,'' says Rodriguez-Lopez. ''We take it as the literal word progressive, moving forward ­ the idea that you can take elements from the past and make something new.'' As Coheed and Cambria frontman Claudio Sanchez puts it, ''The good thing about being a progressive rock band is not having any walls ­ being able to do whatever the hell you want. We want to touch every part of music.'' Even the parts played in 11/8 time on glockenspiel.


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