Get in the mood music

Magonia make it soft

by John O'Neill

Magonia's Greg Passler figured the band were well on their way to bigger things when he scored a deal to have six of the trio's songs featured in a documentary film. It was a small company, but one that prided itself on its avant-garde work. "Unfortunately," says Passler, "I neglected to ask what the documentary was about. I was new to [the business] so I was more focused on compensation, what the songs were worth to us and what would be fair for them."

Avant garde became more like wet and hard; the film was a Playboy Channel "documentary" on prostitution. While it did feature interviews with real-life hookers, the film also examined the joys of group sex and partner swapping. The band got together to watch the program, which Passler calls, "a step above porn. It was amusing and uncomfortable at the same time. I'm watching it and thinking that it's interesting how people see your songs differently. But I don't know if I want to write porn music. Our bass player, on the other hand, thinks it's the best thing in the world. He wanted to sell the tape at gigs. Everything is a learning experience."

Though Magonia's music could be seen as a score to carnality (especially that soft, woman-directed stuff), it's because they are able to leave so much room for self-interpretation. The music could fit just as nicely in an early-morning New York street scene, in some dusty bar room on the south Texas border, as background to rain water dripping from flowers on a PBS special, or as the soundtrack to a junkie's bathroom shooting gallery. It can conjure up images that are beautiful and lilting, stilted and lonely, hard and stark. Their second self-produced disc, dust, is a half-hour excursion into the ambient side of town; guitar, bass, and drums lay out seven sparse, minimalist instrumental tunes that rely on open space and restraint. Experimental and collaborative, Magonia stay clear of typical instro fare (neo-surf, lounge dreck, spy themes, Berklee-style extended guitar-wanking, and bass improvs) to churn out fresh, atmospheric, and well-thought-out pieces that send us to a variety of accidental places. It's up to you to decide where to land.

"At first it was very strange for all of us, because we had no singer, so I tried to do guitar parts that would stand in there," says Passler of his unintentional beginning with bassist Parrish Heppanstall and drummer Scott Sasek. "We tried to audition singers but they would all end up saying, `There are already melodies in the song.' So we gave up after a while and recorded a CD."

Splitting time between playing out live (they hit the Above Club with Huck this Saturday) and wanting to feature their work in television and movie soundtracks, Magonia grabbed the ear of Arnold Communications (of Volkswagen fame), which, after hearing dust, signed the boys up to a licensing deal for a new Passat commercial. Within weeks, the band had a healthy five-figure check in the bank and had made a career step up from their smut soundtrack. Having acquired a booking agent and a promotions team, Magonia are indeed on the road to success and, perhaps, in store for a few clams.

"We bought a bunch of stuff we were renting, so our studio is essentially our practice space," says Passler of the VW windfall. "You get royalties [determined] on how many times the commercial airs. I have yet to see it on TV. What we'll get? I won't know till I see my ASCAP statement. Twenty-five bucks?"

As for the band's future, Passler readily admits that he's "been very lucky with Magonia. It's a fun band for all of us, and it's collaborative. It's creative and rewarding. We're trying to tie it all together. People seem to like us live; we constantly sell discs at shows. It would be nice to generate some income from this. I teach guitar, which I love, but it would be nice if it evened out a little."

All Dried Up

After nine years, four bass players, four full-length albums, four EPs, a flock of gigs, and a truckload of indifference about it all from the Worcester music scene, Puddle are finally ready to toss in the towel. According to singer/guitarist/songwriter Dave Parent's master plan (which we're still pretty perplexed by, in all honesty), the long-running punk group were always meant to fold after his well of previously-penned songs ran dry. Though an interesting concept in theory, it was a plan that ultimately sold the band -- and anyone who might have taken the time to believe -- short.

When they first released . . . And They All Began with A, in '93, it was the Wormtown equivalent of Nevermind, a smart, sharp kick to the ribs for which anybody could root. The band's future seemed bright indeed. But somehow along the way, Parent stopped caring about the possibilities. The music was always important, but supporting it wasn't. After bassist Greg Olson left (the balls to Parent's brains), the trio seemed to lose heart; the spark that once made Puddle so powerful couldn't start a grease fire. In the post-Olson era new releases were accompanied by a release show, a week's worth of coverage from the Worcester print-media triumvirate, and little else till the next planned release. While they continued to make good music, the thrill was gone. And that's because the end was always there on the horizon. With a calculated demise, there was no need to grow as a band, no reason to work toward bigger goals, and, other than Parent completing his song cycle, little reason to try. Ultimately, there was no way for us to care -- there was no return on the emotional investment.

The band play this weekend at Ralph's with Olson back for this final stand, an it's sure to be a blast. All the old material has been re-released on disc and will be available for sale, and anyone interested in the music history of Wormtown should probably own it, if only to listen and ask yourself "What if?"

Adios boys. You broke our hearts and, while you might have faced down your past, you never lived up to your potential. In the end, we hardly knew ya' at all.