by Nora gruenberg

Maldroid-the hardest working guys in Oakland


All Maldroid photographs taken by, Cameron Platt.

April 25th, 2008. I was at Chicago's Beat Kitchen shootin' the breeze after the Drastics' show when a group of brown and gold besuited fellows burst into the bar. After clashing together in the crowd, consummate schmoozer Todd "Tiffany" "Godley" Brown and I admired each other's sartorial selections. 
 
"That's fancy," I said, referring to the crest on his suit jacket. 
 
"Hey, thanks," he said. "I painted it myself." 
 
All of the guys wore similar jackets, ascots pulled loose. Where were the skintight junior miss jeans, obscure tee shirts and masks of perfect scenester ennui? Who were these brown suit-clad boys who burst into the Kitchen like puppies hungry for kibble in tin dishes? This was my introduction to the Oakland-based band, Maldroid. 
 
They'd just played a show at the Southside venue Reggie's with tour-mates and fellow Oaklandites, The Phenomenauts and Philadelphia band, The AKAs. They heard about a show at the Northside's Beat Kitchen and despite enduring tour bus hijinks, they decided to come up to see what was cookin'. As we chatted, Todd found out that I write for a journal that focuses on artists on the brink. I'd be happy to write up Maldroid, I'd said, so he gave me a CD and I kicked him my email address pick-up-style on a wrinkled cocktail napkin. When I asked what Maldroid sounded like, Todd looked up at the stained ceiling, finger poised on his chin in a posture of deep thought. Finally, he said, "AC/Devo." 
 

In-depth articles featured in The East Bay Express and The San Francisco Chronicle from early 2007 touted Maldroid as a band born "in reverse" because they managed to generate buzz not only before they'd cut their first album, but also before they'd played their first live show. 
 
That phrase describes the chain of events activated by creator Ryan Divine. After leaving Bay Area band Solemite, he withdrew to work on his own project. Eventually, he chose one song from a group he had penned and then honed with Johnny Genius, and parlayed that song into a low-budget video. He submitted a rough cut of it to the newly minted Internet phenomenon, YouTube, for its first ever video contest. Only after He Said, She Said won Best Video in late 2006 did he assemble Maldroid. Divine hand-picked members from other area bands to "eliminate the competition" and shore up what was at this time only his half-realized concept. Yet that half was enough to attract the attention of The Industry. In autumn of 2006, the newly assembled band was flown to New York City to discuss their win on Good Morning America. On December 9, 2006 they played their first live show at Blakes on Telegraph in Berkeley. 
 
They performed at South by Southwest in March of 2007, shared the stage with Spoon, Paramore and Modest Mouse at Live 105's Not So Silent Night in December and completed a national tour in the spring of 2008. These accomplishments didn't escape the notice of A&R reps from Columbia, Sony, Island and Def Jam. I can't help but wonder why they didn't sign with the first big label who could finance a polished studio album, made-for-radio singles and a marketing package that would jam Maldroid down the throats of the public? Isn't that the definition of "making it"? 
 
Maybe not for Maldroid. Instead of going big, they signed with San Francisco's indie label, Fuzz Artists, in 2007. Divine said they offered "the best of both worlds. Fuzz offered a 360-degree deal, they were involved in more than just the album, they were involved in merchandise, marketing. They made money whenever we made money, which meant they were more likely to be vested in us." 
 
Maldroid keeps its web-presence viable by updating their YouTube account and linking social networking sites to Fuzz's Blip.fm and URB's Next 1000 Artist Profile. The review on the URB page offers an accurate assessment of Maldroid's story, except for the opening line. Reviewer Shuyler Lindberg wrote, "Oakland's Maldroid has been riding a rocket to stardom since the band's inception in March 2006." I have to disagree. It seems to me Maldroid declined the offer to ride that rocket to fame, and instead decided to build the rocket themselves. Few artists face the big-time opportunity and exposure that Maldroid experienced before they'd even played their first gig, yet it appears they're taking a conventional route to stardom. For all intents and purposes, it seems to be working for them. While they haven't made the airwaves across the nation just yet, no one can say they opted to take the easy way to being a successful band.    
As promised, their rep set up a trans-continental chat with the guys after their tour. Mitchell Hargrave, my co-blogger, sat in on the interview, which alternated between a noisy nine-way conversation and a rapid-fire Q and A between Divine, Hargrave and myself. 
 
My first question was more of a suggestion. "What was your favorite city on the tour? Chicago, right?" 
 
The guys chuckled. Divine stepped in to tell us, "Chicago was cool. The Reggie's crowd was weird. They just kind of stood there with their arms crossed." Afterwards, however, "everyone was super cool, told us they liked the show. Chicago actually bought the most merchandise of any city." 
 
"What was that tour bus problem you encountered?" I asked. 
 
"Angel crashed the trailer into a post and totally ruined it. Some artist was like, 'I'll bend it and weld it for you.' So, he rewelded our axle in his studio." 
 
When we asked the ever-present question about their influences, Divine said jokingly, "Taste and smell really influence us. I don't know, whatever we're listening to." Despite the difficulty of distilling all influences into one answer, he threw out some of what they'd been listening to around the time they recorded, including Oingo Boingo, Talking Heads, MIA and Devo. This is when it was revealed that the "AC/Devo" description was credited to "some guy talking shit, but it caught on." 
 
More laughter, especially when Mitchell said, "Yeah, I never heard any AC or Devo in the music." 
 
The conversation veered to how they play with sounds and genres. Divine referred to their Pump it Up cover, saying they wanted to perform the classic Elvis Costello song "via The Hives." Mitchell then asked about some of their EP cover art. Why would they manipulate Nirvana's Nevermind cover, replacing the iconic baby's head with a crudely PhotoShopped robot's? Divine sat quietly for a moment. He told us it was a joke gone awry, one that Fuzz in particular did not get. Clearly artistic ability was not a deficit, in light of Divine's painstakingly created stop-action videos. What was the big idea? 
 
The idea was to release a series of EPs that toyed with famous records' cover art. Divine recalled being asked by the label if he "wanted to get sued?" While that joke fell flat, his penchant for juxtaposing concepts in the name of having a good time would certainly explain the presence of classic toys and comic books in their hand-made videos. The He Said, She Said video is but a nostalgic tribute to AHA's 80s video hit, Take On Me, which indicates Divine's desire to get back to when videos captured the audience with innovative concepts. 
 
This led to a discussion about how their image, the suits, the frantic energy and the robot schtick, started as an attempt to shake up the "pretentious" Frisco music scene. That sentiment was echoed in Robbie Salapuddin's 2007 Owl Mag feature in which Divine says, "We actually formed as an answer to the fact that most bands are crap," exclaims Divine. "I'm sick of all these kids whining about their girlfriends and bad haircuts." 

 




 

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