March 18 2003

By Will York

SOME IMPORTANT LESSONS to remember should you ever decide to interview Wolf Eyes: 1) Don't ask nerdy questions about their equipment. 2) Don't try to hold a nuts-and-bolts aesthetic discussion of their music. 3) Don't interview them all at once on speakerphone unless you're ready to deal with a barrage of sarcasm and puzzling jokes.

Needless to say, I made a few of these mistakes during my interview with these Ann Arbor, Mich., avant-cavemen party-noise heroes. But it turned out OK, because the jokes kept me from trying to ask too many of the egghead questions I had scribbled down beforehand. So we ended up talking on the phone about oxygen bars (they tried to tell me there are seven in Ann Arbor, which is a ridiculous lie), why all of the people I know from Michigan are crazy ("Everyone here is fucked up – even the mayor!"), and who was better, old Mötley Crüe or old Van Halen (correct answer: Manowar).

I asked about their equipment, and all I got was something about a paper bag, a broom, and a VCR. Which highlights the importance of lesson four: make sure you have a decent phone connection, or else you're gonna get confused.

Scary and sweaty

Many of you are probably asking, "But who the hell are Wolf Eyes, anyway?" Let's see, their names are Aaron Dilloway, Nate Young, and John Olson; they've been around since 1997; and they've got about 50 albums out already. They make raw, scary electronic music that sweats like a flu sufferer in a sauna and causes people to uncontrollably bang their heads in slow motion. Then they either break something or bear-hug the person standing next to them.

But beyond that, maybe it's better to start off by saying who they're not or what they're not, which is an industrial band. Just like seemingly everyone else in the rock underground these days who gets referenced in terms of music from the late '70s or early '80s – Gang of Four, Wire, New York City no wave, ESG – Wolf Eyes have been linked to that era, anointed by some as heirs to the tradition of early industrial pioneers such as Throbbing Gristle and SPK.

"We're totally into those bands," guitarist-electronics wielder Dilloway admitted. "But we're not...." He paused, and vocalist Young finished his sentence. "We're not into 'sex and death to the utmost extreme,' " referring to the morbid, "shocking" preoccupations that helped define industrial's heyday. "We like to have fun."

"People say that stuff just because of our instrumentation," Olson added about the industrial comparisons. "But then if you say that, then if you say, 'Oh, guitar, bass, and drums,' then I guess the Roger Sisters are the same as Fleetwood Mac or Eddie Money. That's just stupid."

A lot of Wolf Eyes' aesthetic actually does point to that era, from the barrage of self-released cassettes they've churned out to their chosen instruments – a mess of primitive, rewired electronic equipment that looks like it's been salvaged from the junkyard – to the low-budget, photocopied black-and-white artwork that adorns many of their releases.

Still, viewing Wolf Eyes as a neo-industrial band misses the point. Whatever the surface-level sounds might indicate, you have to go back to the fact that they're from Michigan – and people from Michigan who make noisy rock music are invariably nuts – to understand where they're coming from.

Grave throbbers

Specifically, Wolf Eyes emerged from the familial corner of the Michigan rock underground that has also spawned bands like 25 Suaves, Couch (which Dilloway played in), Nautical Almanac (which Young founded in the mid '90s, though they've since moved on without him), and a pre-stardom Andrew W.K. Along with Bulb Records – home to releases by all of the above artists – Dilloway's Hanson Records has been a major center of gravity in this scene since the mid '90s. Meanwhile, Olson's American Tapes, despite forming more recently, has been on a kamikaze mission to fill in the cracks left empty by the other two labels with a near-weekly barrage of low-budget cassette and CD-R releases.

Stylistically, this is a diverse set of bands with distinct influences; but strip away the veneer and they have a whole lot in common. For example, 25 Suaves may be channeling Motörhead and AC/DC, whereas Andrew W.K. is mainlining Sparks (the band and the diabolical alcohol-caffeine-taurine-cough syrup beverage), and Wolf Eyes is ingesting Throbbing Gristle, but at the bottom of it all is the same throbbing, primordial caveman beat and the same party-till-you-puke attitude. Listeners might think Andrew W.K. is being simplistic and stupid when he sings, "We wanna have fun and we wanna get wasted," but the basic, less literal sentiment he's getting at explains more about where these bands are coming from – and their success – than any studied analysis of postindustrial culture ever could.

True, Wolf Eyes are nowhere near Andrew W.K.'s notoriety or marketability – and barring drastic unforeseen changes, they'll likely remain that way – but zealous testimonials from fellow musicians are easy to come by.

"Unbelievable religious experience!!!" an anonymous member of Rubber-O-Cement, past touring partners with Wolf Eyes, wrote in a review of their December 2001 show at Oakland's Stork Club on one Internet message board, Brutal Sound FX. "I wish it never ended, it was primally satisfying neanderthal ooze with it's first beating heart grinning on top of the cave sludge. I cannot say enough about this show. I'm so frukkin glad to be alive."

"They got people jumping, yelling, and crowd-surfing to essentially pure noise," Numbers keyboardist Eric Landmark wrote on an Internet list, Sprockmorgue, describing the same show. "It was awesome. They bring the future."

Tom Smith, mastermind behind now-defunct free-glam-noise legends To Live and Shave in Los Angeles, summarized the band's attraction: "They're cool guys with great record collections who have an intrinsic drive to rock without resorting to cliché."

That said, the pleasures of Wolf Eyes are lost on a lot of people. It's understandable. They're a mercurial band, and a lot of their appeal depends on whether you encounter them on an "on" night or hear the right record in the right mood. Besides, anyone expecting to simply to go the store and find the one CD that summarizes what all of these people are talking about is bound to be disappointed, or at least perplexed. That's partly because there are so many Wolf Eyes releases out there and partly because their recordings, until recently, haven't even attempted to duplicate the sensation of their massive live throw-downs. Even a standout release such as 2001's widely praised Dread (Bulb/Hanson/American Tapes) pales in comparison.

The ever-honest Smith had his theories. "I love their music as it stands, but I'm more hopeful that they will soon break free of their moorings and really go apeshit," he said. "I wish that they would slow down and be less concerned with documentation. Prolificacy is admirable but unnecessary. I'd rather hear one incredible Wolf Eyes album every 18 months than have to sift through 62 solid, yet somewhat homogeneous cassettes, CD-R's, wire recordings, and papyrus scrolls every three weeks."

People's party

The closest they've come to making that incredible record is last year's Dead Hills (Troubleman), which is notable for capturing the primal thud at the heart of the band's sound with clarity and forcefulness that have been lacking in the past. It's a lucky coincidence that their most convincing album so far has also come out on the biggest – and trendiest – record label they've worked with to date. Still, until they land a spot on the Warped Tour or go on the road with their old friend Andrew W.K., they seem destined to maintain the cult status of so many of their Midwestern compatriots. The important thing to remember is, it's not an exclusive cult. Wolf Eyes take their music straight to the people, whenever and wherever they can. Bowling alleys, basement parties in rich kids' houses – it doesn't matter.

"We can go anywhere with our jams, man," Olson proclaimed. "We just played the Detroit Institute of Art. And we've played restaurants and shit. We wanna play a Pizza Hut or something like that. Or a basketball court."

"Set us up a gig in S.F. at a Taco Bell," Dilloway added, and before I could say, "Come on, man, don't you know we have real taquerias out here?" the band was in the middle of imagining a scenario of people throwing cheese and beans at one another and dunking people's heads in the sour cream. Like the steamrolling power of their music, their quick verbal repartee is something you don't want to get in the way of.

"We love what we do, and that's what it is," Olson continued. "We're good friends. We got 9-to-5 jobs, we're filthy, we're dirty, we're in a cold basement right now, but we fuckin' love that. And it's a celebration every time we play. It's a celebration, man ... with a bunch of middle fingers."

Wolf Eyes perform with the Sheath, Curse of the Birthmark, and K.I.T., March 26, 9 p.m., Bottom of the Hill, 1233 17th St., S.F. $7. (415) 474-0365.