Once I create something, it’s no longer internalized and only mine to experience. Others experience all of it through their own eyes, ears, and emotional filters. At that point, the music is part of the fabric that makes them, that helps them through their own trials and tribulations. – Jacob Bannon

One night during my first semester of college I ended up getting involved in a labyrinthine conversation about music that ended up feeling like one of those formalized mating dances that birds of paradise engage in; adversarial and flirtatious at the same time. Bands and records were reduced to chips in a poker game, with each player bluffing about their hipster cred. The girl in whose dorm room I was sitting had pink hair, a lip ring, and an encyclopedic knowledge of gender-bending feminist spazz rock. Our ritualistic exchange ended up centering on hardcore though, and at the end of the night she gave me a copy of Converge’s Jane Doe. It was a record that would change my life as a lover of music.

That album seared itself into my car stereo and my memory, changing the way I related to every other heavy band. The men of Converge seemed to be playing at the bleeding edge of their technical abilities, blazing through songs at speeds that felt positively centrifugal, as if the entire operation was just about to break loose of that one rusty screw holding it together and go cartwheeling off into the void. Vocalist Jacob Bannon’s distorted howling was largely unintelligible, but his lyrics were poignant, and, when I finally got a chance to see the band live years later, his presence incendiary.

During the course of the ensuing decade I’ve followed Converge’s trajectory, and Bannon’s specifically. He co-founded Deathwish Records in 2000 and is a prolific visual artist. Jake has always struck me as an interesting figure; a lover of aesthetics with a fine eye for detail; a prolific writer whose emotions seem to spill onto the page; a charismatic frontman at the forefront of a genre that touts tolerance and unity while simultaneously being predisposed toward violence, or hijacked by it, depending on one’s perspective. We corresponded via e-mail this spring.

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People start feeling as though they’re entitled to give their opinion on something and that they should be heard. There may be some validity to that, but when it starts distorting the purity of what we feel like we’re trying to do as a band it needs to be corrected. So, accessibility is fine to a degree, but it’s a slippery slope. – Paul Meany

Of all the occupational hazards faced by rock musicians, the threat of the sophomore slump is the great equalizer. Regardless of musical style, off-stage behavior, or sales numbers, it’s an unavoidable fact that if you’ve done well on your first go-round, the stakes are going to be higher when you role out album number two. The expectations of fans and management can be crushing, particularly in a day and age when consumers are pushing for more and more access to artists, handlers have expectations around social media and fan engagement, and no one seems able to guarantee that a finished record will even make it to its release date without getting leaked. All of which is to say nothing of the self-imposed stress any artist faces when trying to live up to their own past successes.

Paul Meany knows all about the fear of the sophomore slump. He should. He lived through one. Following the release of their critically acclaimed debut, Meany and his band mates, who together make up Mutemath, a percussion-driven, jazz-inflected New Orleans rock quartet known for impossibly energetic live performances, were faced with the challenge of building on the measurable success of their first record while remaining faithful to their own personal vision.

After an agonizing journey through a creative desert, during which they shelved an entire album of material and brought in a second producer, Meany and company finally unveiled Armistice. For all the pains the band had taken to account for the opinions of others during the gestative process, their second album received a tepid response from both critics and fans. While Meany stands by the record, the process of making it clearly wore him out. So, when it came time to get to work on album three, Meany, along with drummer Darren King and bassist Roy Mitchell-Cárdenas, decided to hole up in the singer’s New Orleans home where they could be free from the chatter of the outside world. The fruit of their labors, Odd Soul, was released last fall. I reached Meany during an afternoon break ahead of a Valentine’s Day show in Salt Lake City.

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Designer and typologist Jon Contino has been busy with his clothing label CXXVI, using his skills to help those in need, and bringing down a righteous hammer of wrath on Forever 21. He also recently tipped readers of his blog off to the greatest LEGO video I’ve ever seen.

Rosecrans Baldwin’s “Paris, I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down” is due out in May.

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Filmmaker Eliot Rausch is getting ready to kick off the second season of his Pass The Bucket series, produced on behalf of Vans.

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Last but not least, Nitsuh Abebe’s just rolled out a fresh new column on rockism.

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During my time editing Ragged Band I’ve been privileged to speak with an incredibly diverse group of artists and thinkers. I look forward to each interview, and when the ensuing post goes up I enjoy hearing back from readers who have been inspired by the creativity, character, and diligence of artists they’ve often been introduced to for the first time. As time goes by fresh faces appear at the top of the site’s feed, but everyone I’ve spoken with remains on my radar.

In the spirit of looking back on the site’s first chapter I’m running an alumni post that’ll serve to bring those of you who haven’t been with us from the beginning up to speed on some of the folks we’ve featured over the past year. In fact, there’s so much going on that it’s gonna be a two-parter. Here we go…

Photographer and filmmaker Adam Sjöberg is keeping up a busy travel and editorial schedule as he works to complete Shake The Dust, his forthcoming feature-length documentary on breakdancing in the developing world. In the meantime, he’s entered a short film in this year’s Vimeo contest. It features the story of Arthur Hitchcock, a young man who walked across America to raise money and awareness around breast cancer after the disease took his mother’s life and left him parentless at 19.

Adam also recently announced plans to begin work editing a film incorporating footage from the last five years of Fauxchella, the annual alternative to the Coachella Valley Festival that he and his friends have been hosting for the last half decade.

If you’ve never taken the time to read Sjöberg’s essay on the year he spent couch-surfing, I suggest you do so. It’s a well-written confessional that gives perfect voice to some of the concerns central to Ragged Band.

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California film-maker Vern Moen’s Long Beach Film Company has released an official trailer for their forthcoming film, “Plastiki & the Material of the Future.” It’s narrated by none other than Mr. Alec Baldwin.

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Bryan John Appleby took his act on the road this winter for a successful West Coast tour that he and his backing band co-headlined with Seattle’s Deep Sea Diver. Appleby’s full-length debut, “Fire on the Vine” is now available on CD.

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Author and blogger Brett McCracken is still searching while also working on his forthcoming second book.

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Jordan Butcher continues to curate one of the best “inspiration boards” around, and is working on design projects related to the films Act of Valor, Mirror Mirror and American Reunion.

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There’s this idea that floats around — the one where critics are mostly just snobs and know-it-alls, the people who have heard everything and live to tell you why your taste is bad and what you should be listening to instead. But that isn’t really the goal, right? – Nitsuh Abebe

It can be difficult to grasp the speed at which the internet has moved, and, in moving, changed our perceptions of what is both normal and possible. Just ten years ago the web was a very different place. Blogs were only just gaining traction, and if you wanted any kind of group interaction with someone, small web boards and e-mail listservs were sometimes your best bet. No Twitter. No Facebook.

Ten years ago, current New York Magazine pop music critic Nitsuh Abebe was toiling away at a desk job, spending his lunch breaks and free moments sifting through threads on various message boards geared toward fans of independent music. Laboring in obscurity like any young twenty-something with literary aspirations and a boring day gig.

Over time he became acquainted with another young man, Ryan Schreiber, whose small music website, Pitchfork Media, would one day grow to become the most influential taste-making site in the history of internet-based music criticism. The Rolling Stone of a web 2.0 generation. Abebe began writing for Pitchfork in 2002, when it was still a fledgling startup. He still contributes regularly to the site, most recently in the form of his insightful “Why We Fight” column.

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If I only scrape a living, at least it’s a living worth scraping. If there’s no future in it, at least it’s a present worth remembering. – Mickey Smith, Dark Side of the Lens

At the southeastern tip of England, in the county of Cornwall, lies the town of Penzance. Head south out of town for three miles and you’ll come to the tiny hamlet of Paul. Host to wet, cold winters, and best known to the larger world for its various associations with piratical figures, it doesn’t seem like the kind of place that would have fostered a dedicated surfer, much less one who would one day become a highly respected, well-traveled photographer of the sport. But it did.

Mickey Smith is a mild-mannered fellow with a thick Cornish accent and a weakness for bad weather. In 2010, in the wake of his sister’s death, Smith released a short film that upended the hoary clichés of a genre fixated on the pursuit of endless summer. “Dark Side of the Lens” was filmed on the frozen western coast of Ireland in the middle of winter, and features towering cliffs, iron skies, and swirling black waters. As the images stream past Smith delivers a sort of mystical, stream-of-consciousness monologue on his life in the water. The film somehow manages to convey a sacred feeling without coming off as overwrought, an achievement largely attributable to the honesty of Smith’s narration, and the pure unbridled beauty and power of the land- and waterscapes he documents. Filled with wheeling gulls and thundering currents, they are places at once ominous and exuberant.

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In December, a couple weeks ahead of his appearance at the Portland Bazaar, Eric Trine told me about having recently given a talk where he described himself as an artist posing as a designer. By which I understood him to mean that, as a guy who makes stuff for functional use (tables, lamps, pot holders, chairs), he’s always trying to walk the line between aesthetics and usability. Lest I get confused, he later clarified, “I’m not a designer in any traditional sense.”

Most of the time, Trine, who rocks a hairstyle that’s half greaser, half California soul-wave, refers to himself simply as a “maker.” It’s a title at once utterly expansive and implicitly practical. The choice is indicative of his approach to his craft. He spoke at length about his desire to make beautiful, eminently useful things, often furniture, that people can actually afford. At one point we got to riffing about Design Within Reach, the slick modern furniture brokers whose moniker belies the price point of many of their offerings. “I want Design Within Reach to actually be within reach,” Trine told me. “As much as I respect high end furniture makers, I kind of want to disrupt that market. I want my stuff to be affordable.”

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After taking a break during the Holidays, we here at Ragged Band are looking forward to rolling out some excellent new content this quarter. We’ll be continuing our series of profiles and conversations with up-and-coming creators across a range of disciplines, starting with Portland artist, designer, and general “maker of things” Eric Trine.

In addition to resuming our normal posting schedule we’ll also be doing a 2011 Ragged Band Alumni Roundup that takes a look at what several of the talented men and women we spoke with last year are currently up to. As a preview, feel free to screen the new trailer for Vern Moen’s forthcoming film, “Plastiki & the Material of the Future.”

Yes, that voice you hear at the 50 second mark is Alec Baldwin. The film’s narrator.

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“I’m always grieving over my responsibility to the subject matter. I’m in there with cameras and then it blows up on the web and people want to know what it was for. Was it to just build my portfolio?”

The film that ended up winning the $25,000 grand prize for best video at the first annual Vimeo Awards was a gritty six-minute short that had also taken top honors in the documentary category. Last Minutes With Oden details the final hours of a three-legged dog and the transcendent mixture of anguish and gratitude experienced by his owner.

The first time I saw the film I was sitting in a friend’s office, surrounded by his coworkers. Within seconds, hemmed in by the desks of strangers, I began to weep openly. Something about the film’s raw beauty, the way it captures how the numinous and the mundane intermingle in our daily lives, made me want to share it with everyone I knew.

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With each book, especially if you’re a novelist, I think there’s always going to be a feeling like, “If this book doesn’t get published I’m going to throw myself off a cliff. And I hope a shark eats me on the way down to make the pain worse.”


In the spring of 2002 my brother referred me to an article on suits that he had come across online. The piece turned out to be the first in a four-part series on men’s fashion written by the editorial staff of a website simply titled The Morning News. At once down to earth and tongue in cheek, the series read like a guide to pragmatic decision making for working class dandies. I was hooked.

For the last decade I’ve continued to follow the online publication’s trajectory. In 2005 they rolled out their first annual Tournament of Books, in which novels are pitted against one another in a March Madness-inspired bracket tourney and judged by TMN’s staff writers along with a smattering of guest judges (including, um, Andrew WK). The winner was promised a live rooster. TMN quickly became a fixture on my daily tour of the internet. I became particularly intrigued by the work and mythos of one of the site’s co-founders, a man with a name so quirkily romantic it seemed lifted straight out of a Quentin Tarantino film.

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