Nada Surf

"I came home two days before Christmas," you say. "And it was sort of like being dropped onto a moving train."

Yeah, it’s time for you to be popular again. Okay, that. We probably need to rehash this part because your fans are still curious. There was a hit song, yes, back in ’96. It was called "Popular" and it made you an MTV regular. It was a nice, quirky song. You yelled and offered important etiquette, relationship and grooming tips: "Being attractive is the most important thing there is/If you wanna catch the biggest fish in your pond/You have to be as attractive as possible/Make sure to keep your hair spotless and clean/Wash it at least every two weeks/Once every two weeks."

But then the fallout with the label happened, and there was a while when you wouldn’t play that song, a while when people wondered why not. There were other labels feeding you stories, phone calls that went unreturned: "It sounds kind of pathetic, you know, because you should really be able to run your own life." You can say that now, now that things are going so well.

There was also the former manager, a guy you’re still fond of, who suggested that your band break up. You despised all the business machinations, so you just did what you wanted and waited everything out. (Do you remember Nada Surf at Champale’s record release party at Luna Lounge a couple years ago? You were about to play the Bowery Ballroom, and that venue was unhappy that you were doing a free show at Luna, but you just kind of shrugged. You were here to support your friends.) There was a bunch of downtime when you worked at the neighborhood record store.

"The fact that we knew the band was going to get busy again was almost an excuse to not get my life together," you say.

Welcome to the busy time. In February, your new album, Let Go, will be released in the United States by little-indie-label-that-could Barsuk. (You were also seriously talking to Astralwerks, whom you think the world of, but you didn’t want to give up ownership of your music. "It just seemed silly," you say.) The album has already done well in Europe, where you’ve just returned from playing in front of huge crowds with the Vines and Ed Harcourt. Mojo and NME have been nice. The rest of 2003 is pretty much mapped out. And, yes, you’re ready to play your hit single again, whenever you feel like it.

"We play it almost every night these days, just because it’s fun, but only if it’s a really crowded room," you say. "It depends on how it feels. This is going to sound totally stupid, but it’s only fun to play if it feels like a pop moment, you know. Because they still play that song in indie discos a lot in Europe. When we play it in France, for example, people kind of freak out. And that’s fun to watch. It makes them happy. There’s no point in us playing it if it’s going to be just, like, flat."

Your new album (and, yes, you titled it before you had heard of Avril Lavigne) is going to be embraced by people who label it as emo or as power-pop. And it’s probably going to be pissed on by some people who label it as emo or as power-pop. You think the "emo thing is hilarious" because you sort of predate all that. But when you write lyrics like "Making out with people/I hardly know or like/I can’t believe what I do/late at night," you know you’re inviting the Jimmy Eat Dashboard Eyes comparisons.

Which is fine, because your album is more mature, more wide-ranging than that. There are Teenage Fanclub moments, Simon and Garfunkel moments, and even something that sounds like Soundgarden. It’s a little hard to describe, even for you, a former rock writer.

"I once said that [Nada Surf’s sound] was like chocolate chip ice cream without a lot of chips," you say. "The only thing I can say is that it’s rock that’s not particularly showy. Like, there’s no solos, and there’s no real blues element. I love blues, but I just kind of stay away from that whole area. That’s about it."

There are a couple standout tracks: the melancholic opener, "Blizzard of ’77," which you sometimes play during show encores; and the reflective but rollicking "Killian’s Red." Your lyrics about being disconnected and disjointed and disenchanted but still optimistic are spot-on.

There’s a story about how one of your producers thought one song sounded like the Foo Fighters, and it’s kind of unclear whether that’s bad or good. Because, as people have pointed out , you may be sort of emo, but what makes you good is that you can out-rock all them mopey college radio bands. Your live shows kick ass. What’s more, even on a hot label like Barsuk, you’re sort of an elder statesman. Well, that guy from Harvey Danger plays with the Long Winters, and, you know, he stopped playing his hit song, and we all know what happened there.

You deserve a lot of credit for getting your band to the point where they can just concentrate on playing shows again. Yes, you say that being careerist is something you don’t like. Who wants to wake up, go jogging and then make phone calls to business people all day? Still, it was on your shoulders here. There were all the meetings and long phone conversations and big phone bills. Because, ultimately, it was still up to you to find your band a new home.

I remember making small talk with your band mate, Daniel, last February. When I said something about Barsuk, Daniel, who had just returned from Spain, simply smiled and replied, "Yeah, Matthew’s been talking to a lot of people." You were trusted, and also beloved, I realized that same week in February, during that insane Brooklyn music festival. The big, friendly bear of a security guy at Northsix said he really liked you. You showed up at Galapagos to watch your happy friends in the Mink Lungs. Yeah, you’ve been a Brooklyn neighborhood boy for a while.

You still remember practicing in a space that threw illegal parties a decade ago. "It was painted silver on the inside," you remember. "With fountains and strobe lights and machines that just made the smell of cinnamon really strong. Just great stuff."

The neighborhood is much different now, but so many of your pals and collaborators are still here, and you "still think it’s some kind of golden age even after all this time." It was and still remains a great place to be creative and a great place to hide out, you think, and you know of what you speak.

But for much of the next year, it won’t really be home. It’s time to pack and promote and play once more. It’s time to hold on to part of the past, while taking a new, more peaceful path. It is, as you like to say, rock o’clock. Yeah, it’s time to let go.

Nada Surf plays Mon., Feb. 17, at the Bowery Ballroom, 6 Delancey St. (betw. Bowery & Chrystie St.), 212-533-2111. />