Seaknuckle Week

Note: The following is part three of a three part series that is part of Seaknuckle Week here at Frederick Playlist. All three parts will run in this week’s 72 Hours as one single story, though Frederick Playlist is the only place you can find all the videos to accompany the writing. We will be publishing two videos with each post. Today’s videos feature the band running through pre-production on one of their songs. They will be holding an EP digital release party on Friday at Cafe Nola and we will also be there as part of our effort to spread the word about our upcoming Frederick Music Showcase. For now, though, behold part three of our three-part series chronicling a day in the life of Seaknuckle.

It’s almost 5 p.m. and Seaknuckle have turned their attention to the second song of the day, “Little Animals.” Shultzaberger is navigating his way through the complex and aggressive groove that’s as angular as it is quick. He liked the first take, but he wants to keep at it, performing the song five, six, seven times with hopes of taking what they like the most from each performance and pasting it together for an end product.

Phelps, for his part, has faded. Sprawled out across Vlachos’ bed, he looks like he just returned home from a 48-hour party and fell face-first onto the first mattress he saw (which, all things considered, might not even be entirely untrue in this instance). No more than 10 minutes pass before that lifeless body has somehow fallen to the floor, face down, unconscious, without anyone even noticing.

As he’s resting, it’s hard not to be reminded of something he said earlier in the day. When we speak, he is unemployed with hopes of landing a job at a greenhouse. Jalette works for Anthony Owens Remodeling and Repair. Shultzaberger picks up bookkeeping work for his girlfriend’s business, Offbeat Threads, in the winter, though he also works at Upward Enterprises, helping out with team building exercises on ropes courses. And Dabson, pink Macho Man shirt and all, works overnight at the Washington County ARC.

Back when he was still able to stand, Phelps was outside with Dabson and Jalette, discussing his goals for the band.

“Social media is an integral part of making it,” he opines, stretching his voice to emphasize his next phrase: “Which we fully intend on doing.”

There’s something so pure about the way he says it. It’s as though he has no choice. It’s easy to meet local musicians who spend their time promising how committed they are to their craft. Each one wants to make it a full-time job. Each one is willing to do whatever it takes to get there. Each one has a dream they want to achieve.

But Phelps? There’s a hunger in his eyes that’s not common. In fact, it’s somewhat unsettling to witness. To him, this music thing is non-negotiable. It’s do or don’t. It’s a means of survival. It’s his life, sure, and of course it’s his passion. But it’s also what he’s good at. Actually, it’s probably what he’s best at. In theory, he could go work in a greenhouse for the next 50 years, but there’s something behind those glasses that suggests precisely how impractical that would be for a guy like him.

“Bands around here go nowhere because they don’t know how to do it,” he said hours before he wound up on the carpet. “And neither do we. We don’t know how to do it.

“But,” he adds with measure. “We’re learning.”

And almost on cue, as that thought flashes through my brain, I hear a collapse. Jalette, who was sitting on one of Vlachos’ parents’ deck chairs, crashes through the apparatus, its legs giving out from underneath him and dropping his entire body onto the snow-filled grass. Vlachos’ mother races out to see what happened and check if Jalette is OK.

He laughs a laugh that would make Seth Rogen blush before leaning back into his now-broken recliner.

“I don’t even know what just happened.”

Note: The following is part two of a three part series that is part of Seaknuckle Week here at Frederick Playlist. All three parts will run in this week’s 72 Hours as one single story, though Frederick Playlist is the only place you can find all the videos to accompany the writing. We will be publishing two videos with each post. Today’s videos feature guitarist Jon Phelps recording a scratch track on one of their songs (above), as well as the band explaining why you should go to their digital EP release party Friday at Cafe Nola. (below). We will also be at Cafe Nola as part of our effort to spread the word about our upcoming Frederick Music Showcase. For now, though, behold part two of our three-part series chronicling a day in the life of Seaknuckle.

It began in late 2013. Phelps and guitarist Joe Jalette have been friends for years, each learning how to play their instrument from the other. Shultzaberger and Dabson eventually found their way to the duo via other local bands that achieved varying levels of success. The former played with such Frederick acts as Silent Old Mtns., Heavy Lights, The Marylanders and Katie Powderly, while the latter describes some of his former projects as the “worst bands ever.”

Their first show was at the MET on New Year’s Eve in 2013. Later in 2014, they released a four-song EP, “Nailed It,” that was cut during a weekend in Baltimore at Mobtown Studios. They’ll mark the digital release of the EP Friday with a show at Cafe Nola.

“It’s our fault,” Jalette admits when asked about the difference between a record-release event and the upcoming event at Nola. “The EP has been out for a while now, so it’s not really a release party. But we wanted to get it on iTunes and Spotify and all that, send it to blogs and contact critics.”

“Yeah,” Phelps interjects, peering through his thick-framed glasses. “We want to make sure they hate it.”

Yet even if “they” hate it, it won’t be for a lack of the band trying. Part of why Vlachos is so valuable to the current Seaknuckle equation is his ability to keep the band organized. So much so that he maps out social media schedules for each member (on this day, Jalette is supposed to tweet something from the band’s account at 1 p.m., while an Instagram video for later is said to be in the works).

Earning a degree from Drexel and currently working as a monitor for the Frederick Community College music lab, Vlachos is picky about who he works with. Ideally, he says he would like to produce only a handful of bands. Having known the Seaknuckle guys for a while, he insists there was something about the group that attracted him almost immediately.

“The most important thing is the songwriting,” he says. “If you don’t have a good songwriter in your band, you’re screwed. The thing about Seaknuckle is that not only do they have one good songwriter, they have two.”

And it’s at this moment, that you can hear one of those two good songwriters — Phelps — yell at one of his band members as pizza-flavored Combos shoot through the air. The trio of Dabson, Phelps and Jalette recently returned from a beer run and the bassist picked up a bag of the pretzel-encrusted snack. He invited everyone to dive in.

They did, and now what started as a Combo war has magically turned into a moment of camaraderie: Everyone wants to see how far away someone can stand while pitching the food into each other’s mouths. Feeling the wind of a Combo rip past him, Vlachos can’t help but laugh.

“We’re trying to be really self-sufficient,” he concludes, as the room erupts in cheer. Mercifully, a Combo landed in a mouth, and if only for a second, it appears as though the true goal of the day has nothing to do with tracking drums.

Note: The following is part one of a three part series that is part of Seaknuckle Week here at Frederick Playlist. All three parts will run in this week’s 72 Hours as one single story, though Frederick Playlist is the only place you can find all the videos to accompany the writing. We will be publishing two videos with each post. Today’s videos feature the band running through pre-production on one of their songs (above), as well as the band’s collective opinion on the movie “American Sniper” (below). Seaknuckle will be performing at Cafe Nola on Friday to commemorate the digital release of their EP, “Nailed It.” We will also be there as part of our effort to spread the word about our upcoming Frederick Music Showcase. For now, though, behold part one of our three-part series chronicling a day in the life of Seaknuckle.

“Were you on the click the whole time?” Jonathan Phelps, the lead singer for Seaknuckle, asks his drummer, Colin Shultzaberger, as the final lingering notes of their song escape into silence.

“Almost,” Shultzaberger responds in his typical modest tone. “I lost it a little in the middle part.”

These are the kinds of exchanges the Frederick indie/post-rock quartet have more often than not these days. For months now, they’ve been reserving their weekends for work at Maryland Mix and Master, a basement studio in Monrovia run by Myles Vlachos, who himself has become the de facto fifth member of Seaknuckle, adding suggestions to their songs and helping guide them through the always-rigorous process of recording an album.

It’s barely noon, and the guys have a lofty goal for the day: track drums and bass for two songs. Before laying down the performances that will be heard on the record, however, the group repeatedly runs through whichever song they are about to record. They do it to get the tempos just right (hence the aforementioned click-track debate). They do it to make sure their instruments will sound exactly the way they are intended to sound. They do it to better their chance at achieving an impossibility: perfection.

And that’s odd, considering how part of the band’s genius is its imperfection. Spend a day with them and you’ll see why. Rarely is a breath wasted without an accompanying joke, a joke often hilariously inappropriate and unequivocally offbeat. By the time this final bit of pre-production for the day’s work comes around, Phelps estimates he’s cracking his fourth or fifth can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Bassist Matt Dabson is donning the same type of hat Cousin Eddie wore in “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation,” all the while expressing his intense un-ironic lifelong passion for professional wrestling.

When I assume my position in a tiny hallway of the performance area as they rehearse, the following exchange occurs:

Phelps: “Would you like anything to drink?”

Me: “No, I’m good.”

Phelps: “Coffee?”

Me: “No, thanks.”

Phelps: “Water?”

Me: “Really, I’m OK.”

Phelps: “Poison?”

It’s a mindless, predictable quip, but it lands as solid as the drums Shultzaberger plays. The singer’s face is straight and nobody really laughs. The tone with which he speaks goes beyond deadpan, making me wonder if A) he might somehow own a vile of poison and B) he’s the kind of person who might actually try to poison me. In hindsight, it’s hilarious. In real time, it plays like a threat.

Still, it’s clear that there will be no time for poisoning anybody today. There is work to get done, and the bulk of the songs that will be on their album are almost completed. The home stretch for the recording process is within sight. Despite their ability to be seriously unserious, the vibe in the room is very much workmanlike.

Or, well, that is until a discussion about the album title breaks out.

“We don’t really know how to Instagram or anything like that,” Dabson explains between takes.

“Wait!” Phelps interrupts. “That’s what we can call the album: ‘Instant Grammy!’”

Everybody in the room laughs. A lot. And within seconds, you can hear the click track echo through the headphones, one last try at perfection creeping its way back into each band member’s ears.