If there’s hype swirling around Bear Hands—the latest indie rock offering out of Brooklyn—the band isn’t aware of it. And if the foursome is only practicing its faux humility, they’re doing a damn good job.
“Every time we’re featured in a magazine or online, it says there’s label buzz. I’m like, ‘What the fuck?’” says 22-year-old frontman Dylan Rau, whose unsigned band has been referenced as one to watch in Entertainment Weekly and several online publications. “Not one person from a label has come up to me and said, ‘We’re very impressed.’”
Words like “youthful,” “energetic” and “restless” rush to mind while listening to the guys conduct their first sit-down interview prior to a show at Pianos last month. The band’s inaugural, self-released EP, Golden, dropped Nov. 13, and now Rau, bassist Val Loper, drummer TJ Orscher and guitarist Ted Feldman impatiently wait for a record deal.
In the meantime, they’ll be channeling that anxiousness into a string of intense live shows, which have helped propel a whispered word-of-mouth to a media rumble, starting Saturday at the Mercury Lounge.
As Rau tells it, everything that’s happened to Bear Hands during its short, 15-month existence has been rather fortuitous. He was a fan of Loper and Orscher’s hardcore rock act In Pieces while attending college in Connecticut. When In Pieces broke up, Loper and Orscher relocated to Brooklyn, only to meet Rau, who had made the move after graduation.
“We met randomly at a Guitar Center. I bribed TJ into recording songs with me; I never offered Val any money, though,” Rau says deadpan. “It was half as a joke.”
Loper, who at 26 is the group’s elder statesman, didn’t take Rau too seriously, either.
“It was funny because we had no expectations, and then after the first night we said, ‘Whoa’,” he remembers. “We wrote two songs that night, and then recorded them the next day in three hours.”
What emerged is a well-constructed anthemic aesthetic, equal parts rhythmic rock and strident post-punk percussion. Early comparisons to Pavement and Ted Leo & the Pharmacists have stemmed from the four-track EP, but seem too derivative, especially after hearing the layered harmonies of “Sickly Brunette” and the incessant kick drum of “Golden.” The self-deprecating Rau claims the unique sounds were born out of necessity: “I think the percussive thing is a consequence of me being pretty shitty at guitar.”
But what he may lack in ax-wielding skills, the film grad makes up for with his alliterative and allusive verses: “Giant Jonah swallows the whale, and spends the next six months in his private hell.”
“I write the words more in terms of the sound and rhythm than meaning,” he says, “and maybe the meaning reveals itself to you afterward.”
Despite the vague lyrics and pun-intended moniker, Bear Hands is serious about an ensuing album. Admittedly, all four are holding onto their day jobs: Rau works in TV production, Loper in retail, Orscher is a bartender and Feldman’s a full-time student. But they have nine fresh tracks ready—as soon as the ink dries on a record contract.
“You hear that labels? We have a fucking full-length ready over here,” Feldman yells into the Dictaphone.
Nov. 24, Mercury Lounge, 217 E. Houston St. (at Ave. A), 212-260-4700; 8, $10/$12 (with Planes Mistaken for Stars, Kingdom of Magic, Goes Cube).
“Every time we’re featured in a magazine or online, it says there’s label buzz. I’m like, ‘What the fuck?’” says 22-year-old frontman Dylan Rau, whose unsigned band has been referenced as one to watch in Entertainment Weekly and several online publications. “Not one person from a label has come up to me and said, ‘We’re very impressed.’”
Words like “youthful,” “energetic” and “restless” rush to mind while listening to the guys conduct their first sit-down interview prior to a show at Pianos last month. The band’s inaugural, self-released EP, Golden, dropped Nov. 13, and now Rau, bassist Val Loper, drummer TJ Orscher and guitarist Ted Feldman impatiently wait for a record deal.
In the meantime, they’ll be channeling that anxiousness into a string of intense live shows, which have helped propel a whispered word-of-mouth to a media rumble, starting Saturday at the Mercury Lounge.
As Rau tells it, everything that’s happened to Bear Hands during its short, 15-month existence has been rather fortuitous. He was a fan of Loper and Orscher’s hardcore rock act In Pieces while attending college in Connecticut. When In Pieces broke up, Loper and Orscher relocated to Brooklyn, only to meet Rau, who had made the move after graduation.
“We met randomly at a Guitar Center. I bribed TJ into recording songs with me; I never offered Val any money, though,” Rau says deadpan. “It was half as a joke.”
Loper, who at 26 is the group’s elder statesman, didn’t take Rau too seriously, either.
“It was funny because we had no expectations, and then after the first night we said, ‘Whoa’,” he remembers. “We wrote two songs that night, and then recorded them the next day in three hours.”
What emerged is a well-constructed anthemic aesthetic, equal parts rhythmic rock and strident post-punk percussion. Early comparisons to Pavement and Ted Leo & the Pharmacists have stemmed from the four-track EP, but seem too derivative, especially after hearing the layered harmonies of “Sickly Brunette” and the incessant kick drum of “Golden.” The self-deprecating Rau claims the unique sounds were born out of necessity: “I think the percussive thing is a consequence of me being pretty shitty at guitar.”
But what he may lack in ax-wielding skills, the film grad makes up for with his alliterative and allusive verses: “Giant Jonah swallows the whale, and spends the next six months in his private hell.”
“I write the words more in terms of the sound and rhythm than meaning,” he says, “and maybe the meaning reveals itself to you afterward.”
Despite the vague lyrics and pun-intended moniker, Bear Hands is serious about an ensuing album. Admittedly, all four are holding onto their day jobs: Rau works in TV production, Loper in retail, Orscher is a bartender and Feldman’s a full-time student. But they have nine fresh tracks ready—as soon as the ink dries on a record contract.
“You hear that labels? We have a fucking full-length ready over here,” Feldman yells into the Dictaphone.
Nov. 24, Mercury Lounge, 217 E. Houston St. (at Ave. A), 212-260-4700; 8, $10/$12 (with Planes Mistaken for Stars, Kingdom of Magic, Goes Cube).
