Some Sort of Poison
::: thealbum::: ...Some Sort of Poison began in 2003 when a friend of ours hooked us up with an opportunity to use the studio at a local college. We recorded for about nine months and were nearly finished when a kindly and well-intentioned professor accidentally deleted the album. So we did what any rational human being would do: cried for a week. But when the tears dried, we soldiered on and invested all our savings in a home studio. After more than a year of experimentation and trying to figure out how to mic a snare drum, we finally got things right and let Rob come out of the basement again, final mix in hand. When we were writing the album, we were listening to a lot of Alice in Chains, Incubus, and Soundgarden, while later, when recording, we started getting into the raw sound of Stone Temple Pilots' Tiny Music and P.J. Harvey. For Jason and Rob this became a general fascination with noise, and resulted in the digital headtrip that starts the album (the title track), as well as guitar-based soundscapes (noisescapes) in 'The Ballad of...' and 'Sinner'. An eclectic set of short interludes open the album up in even more directions, including a jazz guitar solo and an intimate, almost tender take on the 'Silence is Rape' chorus. Some of our favorite tracks on ...Some Sort of Poison are 'Silence is Rape,' a biting diatribe against the corporate media for ignoring for years the atrocities in the Congo (inspired by a 2004 The Nation article by Jan Goodwin), and 'Shiver Shake Chills,' a regretfully, bitterly honest look at grappling with a close friend's addictions. ::: thisisradiowhore::: Rob's vox have drawn comparisons to Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots and Brandon Boyd of Incubus, while Kenny's jazz-informed syncopation has been strongly influenced by his music studies at Towson University. Jason has a serious noise fetish, and Jon smacks that bass around like it's nothin'. We formed in 2001 and played around Delaware, Pennsylvania, and Maryland for 3 years under a previous name. Some of you might remember that... On stage, we take our cue from the kind of rock bands we love to see. Rob spins his own, more slinky (fluid, sensual, rhythmless) version of the Jagger-esque rock n roll frontman, while Jason careens around the stage tearing into his mutant telecaster, treating it with the respect a guitar adorned with industrial staples, a bottle opener, and a pair of cheap costume earrings deserves. At the end of a show one night in Newark, the next band in the line-up watched in horror as Jason dragged his tele offstage by the strap, the pop songsters visibly flinching each time the head of the guitar smacked a stair. We'd like to point out, however, that we've never broken anyone else's shit at a show. Just ours. Thank you and good night. ::: end:::.