By Melanie Windover

Source: Chart Magazine, June 1999

In days of old, interviewing them had been described as anything but a party: They're difficult, they're moody, they're pretentious. Or are they? These days, there's a new Tea Party on the horizon. This band is no longer concerned about how the critics perceive them, nor do they worry about being misunderstood.
Their frontman has even adopted something of a new persona: "A kinder, gentler Jeff Martin," he chides. Drummer Jeff Burrows mocks their old reputation, saying "We're dark and brooding, baby." Bassist/keyboardist Stuart Chatwood acknowledges that the band's confidence has sometimes seemed self-righteous in the past, "So if you've got a problem with it..." he jests. Hell, they even smile in their newest batch of publicity photos! (Raine, are you getting all this?)
Relaxed encounters at two Toronto-area music studios, a Harbourfront boathouse cafe, and via Ma Bell offer revelations far beyond the expected as final preparations are made for the unveiling of TRIPtych, their fourth full-length album. The exotic title refers to three distinct segments comprising one entity (usually applied to religious icons or artistic photographs), just as each member of The Tea Party is integral to the functioning of the band as a whole.

JEFF MARTIN: Proud musician, evolving human

My first encounter with the Gothic prince reveals a demurely-dressed gentleman; his dark, shoulder-lenth locks are drawn back into a ponytail. He paces with great calm, as if he were a methodical pirate trying to decide which village next to pillage.
"Sorry, I pace," he says in a gentle baritone. His new choice of facial hair design reeks of a slick, Spanish-lover look -- "an Antonio Banderas theing," he later calls it, and asks, "How do you like it?" His three-quarter-length black jacket is the piece-de-resistance of his tres-Euro ensemble; an import from Transylvania, perhaps? He wastes no time playing a selection from TRIPtych.
"Touch" is one of 12 new songs infused with an especially strong sense of melody. The music attacks with force, and locks itself in the brain after only one listen. "Touch" displays a dark, raw veneer, layered with Martin's trademarked vocal depth. The music is charged with that undeniable Tea Party power, linked with an eerie catchiness. And of course, there's the usual dark aura, a la lilting keyboards and lone notes wailing sparsely at the song's finale.
"What do you think?" asks Martin. No one outside the band has heard a note of the album yet -- not even their record company -- so honest feedback seems a fair exchange fro the sneak preview. More sonic explosions follow in short order, and each song's climax is followed by an expectant "How was it?" After awhile, Martin no longer asks his question; instead, he flashed an inquisitive look, then impatiently taps his foot in jest.
"Underground" is a movie unto itself, not just a cut from a money-sucking soundtrack. As the slinky opening gives way to swirling shadows, it evokes the mood of a David Lynch film, compressed into a few brief, haunting minutes. Elsewhere, "Samsara" -- inspired by the Herman Hesse Buddhist novel, Siddhartha -- rings like a metallicized "Dance Of The Seven Veils." Martin's playing on the esraj (an Indian violin) sounds like a serrated-edge knife being drawn across guitar strings.
But this isn't another Transmission, nor is there Splendor or Twilight here. TRIPtych is an album in its own right; still very much a Tea Party effort, but on a mildly lighter tip.
"If we go any darker, we'll be lost in the mud," Martin says. "It can be self-indulgent to go that way for a continued period of time."
Then again, don't expect it to be all sunshine and rainbows -- maybe a sunshower.
The darkness of The Tea Party's music reflects the darkness embedded in its creators. This is, after all, a trio that's gained notoriety for taking themselves way too seriously. Yet, funnily enough, a subsequent meeting with Martin reveals a man who, as he himself says, "can shake with the best of 'em" as he grooves around the control-room console at Metalworks Studio.
After awhile, a mental picture of Martin sailing through the streets of Los Angeles on his re-vamped 1961 Lambretta scooter (a hobby he has in common with his pal, Todd Kerns) with a beanie propeller whizzing in the wind doesn't seem so fantastical.
So what happened to the Jeff Martin of old? The Martin who was just too weird to socialize with? Who was forced to endure incessant physical and vocal comparisons to the late Jim Morrison?
The personality deficiency that Martin says prevented him from opening up to people has since given way to a man who's more comfortable with his rockin' role. He has nothing to prove to anyone anymore, so he's lowered his shield to a level of comfort -- but not apathy.
"Obviously we've been accused in the past of taking ourselves way too seriously, and [of] pretention; which is all true," he says with pseudo-pomp.
"But the thing is -- what those critics of ours don't understand -- is that, O.K., we're musicians, you know? Not sounding arrogant, [but] musicians of a certain level with a certain ability, right? And we have to always challenge ourselves, or we'd be done. And also, we've got to go around the world and play this record for a year-and-a-half... So if we just did these little pop ditties, just, like, 'Oh irony, irony, irony,' and all that stuff, I'd kill myself. I think it would all be over."
Martin is brimming with pride at the very thought of TRIPtych. It's more about "exotic sonic landscapes" this time, he boasts, complete with the proverbial envelope-pushing. He's made efforts to really sing the songs this time out, exercising his full vocal and emotional ranges.
"[My singing] is no longer in the doldrums of baritone, and sounding like Jim Morrison incarnate or [Glenn] Danzig... [It's] a very different template of emotions, as opposed to just, 'You. Stay. Silent,'" he sings, in a monotonic self-parody of his chanting vocal on "Fire In The Head."
Martin has once again assumed the role of musical guard dog for the band, taking the reins of both production and mixing in order to preserve the characteristic Tea Party sound. Outsiders continue to be shut out of these technical endeavours, leaving "Jeff Martin: Control Freak" feeling like he's part of the biggest independent band in the country.
But Martin's "control" is relaxed enough to allow for give-and-take with his bandmates -- which resulted in a stripped-down feel for the tracks on TRIPtych.
"I'm the type of producer, if there's a track open, I have to have something on it," he whispers, like a mad professor. "You know, it's like I've got an addiction or something. No empty space! Fill it all up! Stu [a guy who "painted once," according to human drum machine Jeff Burrows] was good with that, because Stu's very much a minimalist. He's just like, yelling at me all the time: 'It doesn't need it! We don't need it!' And I'm, like, 'No, no! We need to put a kitchen sink in!'"

JEFF BURROWS: You spell the name right; we'll embrace the hook

An exhausted Jeff Burrows attests to the plumbing scale-down over coffee at the Toronto harbour. He has his trusty old been-around-the-world blue suitcase at his side, since he's ready to take flight for home in Windsor, Ontario. He's brain-dead today, he says, but doesn't seem it, as he roars through his responses, dancing from seriousness to sarcasm. He even jokingly threatens to induce labour during one of our many congenial laugh-fests (At interview time, our intrepid writer was just five days away from the due date of her pregnancy.--Obstetrics ed.)
Jeff Martin holds Burrows in high esteem, as "the best rock n' roll drummer in Canada." Martin says that the way Burrows lays down rhythms "is all about sex, and he doesn't even know it." Burrows himself calls his style "swingy."
If The Tea Party was a voodoo doll, Burrows says he'd be the heart. The guy who takes the straight pins of criticism a little harder than his bandmates. Burrows hasn't always been able to dismiss the cheap shots, but the Led Zeppelin comparisons of old don't bother him anymore (though he was never into Zeppelin himself).
He sees the critics' negativity as a lack of ability on their part, a cop-out. And he's learned the rules of the publicity game.
"If your name's in print," he says matter-of-factly, "and people see The Tea Party, and the picture's half-decent -- and this might sound shallow -- but [if] they see 'The Tea Party Is Shit,' [and] it's a good picture, they see "The Tea Party." The picture. I don't care if it says 'Shit,' or 'The Tea Party Is Amazing.' It doesn't really matter."
Besides, he's got the band's biggest fan at home. His three-and-a-half-year-old son is already a mimic of Jeff Martin's strutting moves and rock poses; he's also the resident DJ in the Burrows home. His progression into dad's musical catalogue has jumped to the roots of Splendor Solis. That is, when it's not time to let loose and spin some Raffi.
"Proud" is a word that Burrows uses frequently when he discusses TRIPtych. This is an album with more "singles potential" than any previous Tea Party release. As far as Burrows is concerned, any one of the 12 tracks could work as a single -- and the record company's estimate isn't too far behind. (They've finally gotten to hear the album by the time of the Burrows interview.) This kind of radio accessibility is a luxury they've yet to experience. It's the Tea Party's new foray into melodyland that's paving the way to radio, though Burrows isn't sure whether the trip should be attributed to evolution or age.
"[More melody] just seemed like the next step," he says. "You know, trying to better yourselves as writers, as opposed to making sonic architectural things; try[ing] to make a complete song, and not just using a standard mathematical equation for the perfect song: Verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, chorus, fade. But to try to do something with melody, to have clever hooks, you know; it's what everybody tries to do. It's self-improvement and the ability to sleep with oneself at night."
There are hooks a-plenty on TRIPtych, from the twisted-'60's-guitar pop of "Heaven Coming Down," (the official first single, and the first-ever Tea Party song to feature a "bay-bay" in the vocal) to the lush, tambourine-sprinkled "The Messenger." The newfound simplicity of these songs -- though still dowsed in Tea Party-brand sex-appeal and soul -- should render them more easily reproducible onstage than their previous epics.
This time, when the band members finally clamber onto the tour bus, the usual "Fuck, how are we gonna do that onstage?" bewilderment is likely to be less prevalent. As The Tea Party tour to support TRIPtych, maybe Stuart Chatwood won't have to position himself with "two hands on the keyboard, one finger on the bass guitar and one foot on the pedals" for every song. (Tea Party Twister, anyone?)

STUART CHATWOOD: We're big enough already; let's just make music

"We're prepared to do whatever it takes... [even] if I have to use all my limbs to create [the] sounds live," musical martyr Chatwood says calmly. "It's always frustrating for us as a band, because sometimes maybe we do overdo it in the studio. [Then] when it comes time to play live, we're like, 'Oh, goddamn it, why'd we make it so difficult? We could've just kept one guitar line in.' Besides, we're three people. You know, we sort of squint our ears."
Chatwood's sense of humour is unmistakable, even through long-distance telephone wires. Speaking from Montreal 10 days after the TRIPtych mixing session, he's equal parts joker and eloquent orator. He asks as many questions as he answers, perhaps suggesting a post-Tea Party career in journalism.
The Tea Party is a few weeks away from rehearsals for an intimate club tour sponsored by the fine brewers of Pepsi-Cola. Stuart laughs insanely at the mere mention of this unlikely match-up, and admits that the corporate angle has made him a little uncomfortable.
"Here's an interesting way to look at it," he says. "This is how I try to rationalize it, myself: We're going to do this tour, people are going to get to see us for free... We're not making a lot of money on it. In exchange, Pepsi will advertise on the radio and in print for us.
"At the clubs, there'll be Pepsi coasters at the front where you come in. There'll be nothing around the stage; we're not going to sacrifice that. I mean... everyone has their line of integrity."
In other words, don't expect to see a line of limited-edition Tea Party Pepsi cans ("Collect 'Em All!").
"If the price is right, baby..." he laughs. "I really don't want to insult the intelligence of our audience, to think that we drink Pepsi. You know, I don't order a Jack Daniels and Pepsi."
If big-ass corporations like Pepsi are lining up to get in bed with The Tea Party (Pepsi isn't their first corporate suitor), can mainstream radio be too far behind? Does increased melody lead to heightened accessibility? "Heaven Coming Down" would fit quite comfortably between the sheets with Peter Gabriel and Natalie Imbruglia.
"I don't want to get onto those stations," he says, referring to those that spin such material. "I mean, everyone wants to expand their fan base in Canada, [but] I'm happy where it's at. I don't want to prevent anyone from listening to us, [but] I think I'd have very little in common with the type of people who would listen to MIX 99, or whatever it's called, in Toronto."
In addition to a huge Canadian following, frequent touring Down Under has inspired a rabid and burgeoning Australian audience for The Tea Party. This summer, they're not playing on the EdgeFest tour, as they did in 1997 and '98; rather, they're building worldwide momentum by returning to Oz, and plan to hit the road again in Europe as well. Unlike many Canadian musicians, The Tea Party don't judge their career based purely on Stateside acclaim.
"I would like to see us grow [in the U.S.]," Chatwood admits. "I wouldn't want to be a superstar, but I would like to get a fair shot. I'd just like to make sure that our music got out there to the right channels."
Whatever airwaves transmit TRIPtych, it's apparent that this is a band who'll never revert to day jobs.
"We want all of our efforts to go into writing songs and playing instruments," says Chatwood. "We don't want to water that down with any distractions."

EDITOR'S NOTE:
Writer Melanie Windover ended her journey to motherhood a week after chatting with Stuart. A TRIPtych-influenced (or is that induced?) Aria Kathryn Steen can now claim her rightful status as the youngest-ever Tea Party fan (having heard the new album before she was ever born!).






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