Backstage with Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
Edward
Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros: not your average psychedelic indie-folk
rock band. As seen frolicking barefoot in the grass in their rose-tinted
2010 hit “Home”, the Zeros performed at St. David’s Historic Sanctuary
Church last Sunday at South By
Southwest. Backstage, front-man Alex Ebert struck me as an artistic
force to be reckoned with. To begin with, his wardrobe was a clash of
time periods. Shrugging a Donovan-esque
jacket over floral-patterned leggings that gave way to All Star
converse shoes, Ebert looked like he woke up in three different decades.
When I raised my camera to take a photo, he covered his face with his
hand, revealing pen scrawls from his palm down to his forearm. His
presence was intoxicating; he had a certain aura about him. We said
hello by a stained-glass window and I felt as if I were standing in a
room with a prophet.
When I asked why Ebert chose “Edward Sharpe” as a stage name, his answer was expectedly ambiguous.
Ebert: “I don't know. I'm not sure. I wrote a story, that's all. The character's name was Edward Sharpe.”
The music was hypnotic; soothing drum beats and ‘nah-nah-nahs’
from the ten-piece band backed up Ebert, who sung in his signature
lazy-voiced style, looking almost out of place with a clean-shaven
jawline and shoes on his feet. Aside from sporting the usual hippie
getup, his behavior onstage was mysteriously erratic. He sat down. He
stood up. He held his face in his hand while he spoke. At times he read
the lyrics from a crumpled up
piece of paper or even directly from his arm. Ebert had become a
swaying branch in the middle of a campfire—a desert poet reciting to a
crowd at “Burning Man”.
I inquired about the “Magnetic Zero’s” origin, wondering if alliteration played a part in the name.
Ebert:
“Sonics are involved, vowels and shapes of the mouth. I don't know how
this stuff works. You know, you throw the football and you catch up to
it; that's my philosophy.”
Of
all the live music dives to pick from at SXSW, the Zeros selected a
church — undoubtedly by design. The vaguely spiritual band throws in
audience cheers and clapping effects in their music to create an
atmosphere of celebration, much like being in a sanctuary on Sunday. “It
creates a feeling of participation,” said Ebert. “I never really went
to church growing up, but I would see wild church services in movies and
be really taken with it. The celebratory aspect of that is a big part
of what we’re doing.”
But
Ebert, himself a Jesus-lookalike, took religious symbolism one step
further in the making of his band. The ostensive leader of the
neo-hippie movement, Alex Ebert performs as his
straight-out-of-the-sixties alter ego “Edward Sharpe”, preaching songs
of love to massive crowds at Bonnaroo
and Coachella. All white tunics and sandals, his self-branding as a
Messianic figure shines brightly in the music video of “40 Day Dream” in
which Ebert wanders through the desert as the Christ, adorning fellow
band members with crowns of thorns as they follow him further into the
wilderness.
“Do you have any spiritual inclinations?” I asked him point blank. “Or do you make up your own thing as you go along?”
Ebert:
“I have my own thing, my own connection. And that connection clues me
into the fact that we all have that same connection, and therefore we
are all sort of on equal footing spiritually speaking, even if some of
us seem to be sort of more advanced on some level than others.”
But here's the kicker. Ebert got his start in the music scene as a lipstick-wearing frontman
for the new wave dance-punk band “Ima Robot” back in 1998. His previous
incarnation sung sharp-edged techno tracks with lyrics like, ‘It’s cold
in space/So won’t you stay/I’ll always be a lover in captivity’” (see
the music video “Lovers in Captivity”). From this 360° turnaround, it’s
no wonder Ebert’s new birth as “Edward Sharpe” wasn't warmly embraced by
the critics. His obvious homage to 1960s folk-rock draws frequent
accusations of being contrived performance art, one that clownishly
imitates the psychedelic bands of days gone by.
When asked what he thought of the critical response to his newfound 60s alter ego, Ebert denied the existence of such a thing.
Ebert: “There's no alter ego. My alter ego, me proceeding Edward Sharpe, was killing me before Edward Sharpe. I feel much more close to who I am and I'm getting closer and closer to who I am as I progress, really.”
Now
the "authentic" Alex Ebert, as seen leaping up and down onstage with a
tambourine around his neck in the documentary “Big Easy Express”, has
faced relentless backlash for his overly positive lyrics and almost
counter-cultural cheerfulness. Songs like “Let’s Get High” overflowed
with optimism, raising eyebrows among the music critic community.
Rolling Stone jeered “Ebert's over-emoting”, asserting that the lyrics
"I feel the love, I feel the power," from "In the Lion” grew wearisome.
Some critics found Ebert’s feel-good love anthems and heavy-handed
sentiment enough to cause nausea. “Praise The
Lord! Crack the windows wide! Let the sunshine in! It’s a beautiful new
day and there is no place for the skeptical, cynical or critical,”
mocked music critic James West of DIY Magazine. “If their sky-facing
euphoria and sentimentality can’t be matched, then the whole thing can
be terribly nauseating.”
But backstage, Ebert backed up his journey to “Edward Sharpe” as an ongoing lesson in self-forgiveness.
Ebert:
I more or less came to [forgiving myself] fifteen years ago when I was
twenty, but how long it takes to enforce that and have it ingrained in
part of your DNA, that takes practice and really doing it.”
Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes supports a cause that has since faded into the patchwork of
American history — the hippie movement, a brief flash in the pan
sandwiched between JFK and Jimmy Carter, one that 60s fans like to be
reminded of for kicks and giggles. Ebert summed up his beliefs that
Americans came out of the supposed failure of the hippie movement
disillusioned, cynical and self-conscious.
Ebert: “What you get is a culture of irony, sarcasm, and sort of safe modes of political thought where everything is a roast and nothing can be taken too seriously. Earnestness goes entirely out the window and becomes uncool…I think that’s the era that we’re living in, this sort of hyper ironic hyper self-aware, basically cowardly state.”
He
declared his independence from mere cover-band nostalgia. “We’re not
the ’60s ride at Disneyland,” Ebert said. “It feels like something with
history behind it and that is building off of history, but it doesn’t feel nostalgic.”
Alex
Ebert’s (or Edward Sharpe’s) mission to fight back the modern-day
mistrust of sincerity and cheerfulness using hippie tropes of peace and
love may seem far-fetched to some. But is the former punk artist a true
believer? Fans of the musical prophet may have to follow him into the
wilderness to find out.
“Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros” will be releasing their first live album on March 16th, Live In
No Particular Order: 2009 – 2014, a double-album featuring more than
two hours of music from performances around the world. All proceeds from
album sales go to Big Sun Foundation, a not-for-profit California
Corporation dedicated to finding sustainable communal living.
