"Seeds? Lots of nuts. I eat them," replies Raine Maida, lead singer of Our Lady Peace, when asked why the subject of of bird feed permeates the group's first album, Naveed.

Upon digesting his peculiar response, the band bursts into hysterical laughter while simultaneously exchanging glances of cosmic understanding.

But the Fellini-esque scenarios that punctuate our interview are the least of what makes OLP unusual. Whereas Maida, a former criminology student, possesses arresting good looks and an air of unbridled passion, Jeremy Taggart, the band's lanky 20-year-old drummer, hides behind thick black-framed Buddy Holly glasses and a smart ass wit. As for guitarist Mike Turner, he is impeccably well-dressed and shockingly verbose, particularly next to Duncan Coutts, the band's chronically quiet new bass player. To add to this strange combination, OLP decided to record its second album, Clumsy, in a grungy studio in Toronto's west end despite the lucrative alternatives made possible by Naveed's success.

In 1995, "Starseed" won Best Song of the Year at the Q-107 (a Toronto rock station) Awards and later that same year, OLP took home three CASBY (Canadian Artists Selected By You) Awards (staged by alternative radio station, CFNY 102.1 The Edge, also based in Toronto), for Favourite New Artist, Favourite New Release and Favourite New Song, for the Naveed album and title song. And their performance at last year's Junos was one of the show's highlights. In addition to bronze status, OLP boasts a cyberarmy of militantly loyal fans who have created web sites dedicated to interpreting Maida's lyrics. Particularly impressive is the home page, Our Lady Peace: The Cybersatellite, at http://www.golden.net/~steinman/OurLadyPeace, where cybergurus and fans alike surf pages upon pages of scholastic interpretations of Naveed or read dissertations on how "Starseed" is actually based upon the book The Starseed Transmissions, by Ken Carey.

Yet, despite these easily accessible clues, Maida remains committed to allowing his fans to interpret his lyrics any way they wish.

"The more general and open-ended you can leave lyrics, the more people are going to be able to take home for themselves and put their own perceptions on them, and not be so narrow-minded because someone is telling them specifically what you need to take out of a song," he explains, casually flipping his leg over the side of a worn studio armchair.

As for the band's videos for songs like "The Birdman," "Starseed," "Hope" and "Naveed," OLP has an odd perspective for a group whose popularity has been accelerated by the almighty power of MuchMusic.

"With songs, whatever we hear in our heads, hopefully we can get close enough to that on tape," explains Maida, on the verge of adopting a conspiratorial tone. "With videos, what we see in our heads might be difficult to present because... a director always has their own kind of movie that they want to do."

"But, I thought you were open to interpretation..." I ask.

"Yeah, absolutely. But umm, shit," he replies, his voice trailing off.

"See, she caught you there but I think I got ya, I think I got your back here," chirps Turner, the band's resident philosopher. "The video, like Raine said earlier, really reinforces a single interpretation."

However, arriving at a single interpretation of the band's persona would be about as easy as arriving at a single interpretation of Maida's lyrics. Whereas OLP have toured with bands as diverse as Ned's Atomic Dustbin, Robert Plant and Jimmy Page, Blind Melon, 54:40, and I Mother Earth, and have tasted success on both sides of the border, its members unanimously insist on taking a grassroots approach to the glitz and glam of the music biz.

"We decided to come back to this studio where we've recorded everything that we've ever written basically, instead of going to, like, L.A. or New York or somewhere expensive... we decided to come here and do things cheaply again, " explains Maida, proudly surveying the studio's retro decor.

"Undoubtedly, you're overwhelmed by the glamour of the facility," adds Turner, sarcastically, echoing my private thoughts.

"It's about music, it really is," Maida responds, guiding the conversation back to its original course. "It's about making a record. Fuck all the other stuff because it's not going to help you write a song."

"I don't remember reading about the making of Revolver or Sgt. Pepper or whatever and talking about how The Beatles were racing cars around the parking lot," adds Taggart, adjusting his glasses. "I remember being amazed by the work ethic and the amount of time they spent on the songs."

In addition to the months OLP have spent in a claustrophobic studio perfecting Clumsy, the band has been steadily cultivating its ability to perform live, and art that, by its very nature, precludes perfection. Says Taggart: "We're not a band that comes in after a gig and pats each other on the back. It's very rare when we're sitting down and go, 'That was good.' Most of the time we get mad and don't talk to one another for an hour and a half."

However, an hour and a half doesn't seem that long when one considers that bass player Chris Eacrett was permanently kicked out of the band and replaced by former film student Coutts.

"I think if Eacrett was still in the band, we'd all start to really get insular and try to do our own things personally and it would probably break everything up," says Taggart, with the diplomacy of a U.N. representative.

"He kind of shat..." begins Maida.

"Shat?" interprets Taggart.

"Shit! Shit!," Turner emphatically yells, employing his skills as an English Lit major.

"...Shit on the creative spirit of the band, on what we had on the first record," blurts out Taggart, seemingly disinterested in the conjugation of the verb 'shit.'

As for the band's long-awaited second album, Clumsy, it dares to be more experimental by veering in directions that Naveed avoided. Whereas the first single, "Superman's Dead," remains true to OLP's trademark aggressiveness, "Clumsy" begins with a more sombre piano interlude and the "Big Dumb Rocket" cleverly blends a spectrum of emotions. "Hopefully , this album draws you in a little more," explains Turner, "I think the other one tried to push the listener back a little. Everything was trying to be attacking. This one, I think, sits more at home with itself and hopefully draws people in on that."

Although the album's reflective tones are more inviting than Naveed's power-packed anthems, Clumsy's greatest allur rests in songs such as "4 am" which reveal the more personal aspects of Maida's psyche.

The songs seem a little more narrative and a little less obtuse, I strategically inquire, hoping to capitalize on an unguarded moment.

"Obtuse. And everything stops," Taggart announces, while spreading his arms and taking a deep breath of the studio's rancid air.

Suddenly, all four members are overcome with laughter.

"What? You like that word obtuse," I desperately ask, trying to make sense of the band's sudden hysteria.

"Have you ever seen Shawshank Redemption?" asks Taggart, sympathetically.

"No, " I reply.

"Just the way they use the word 'obtuse,'" says Maida, failing to explain the band's unusual collective response.

But this kind of strange chemistry is precisely what makes OLP's music so unique in the first place.