| Over the Rhine | Everybody Has A Story... | Press Archive index
. . . Columbus Guardian by David Martin OVER THE RHINE It was death that brought Over the Rhine to the attention of IRS Records. At the funeral for a mutual childhood friend, a fan of the Cincinnati band crossed paths with the president of the label. During the mourning , a tape switched hands. "I'm sure he said to himself, 'Oh, great now I have to tell my friend I'm not into her band," says Over the Rhine bassist Linford Detweiler. "Anyway, he took it home and decided he really liked it." An IRS rep flew to Cincinnati and signed the band after watching a show at Sudsy Malone's. In the summer of 1993, IRS cavalierly re-released an OtR swath of demos, called Patience, with only a change in song sequence. The band finished the year touring heavily - they opened for Dylan and Squeeze, as well as playing their own shows and European festivals - before recording Eve for IRS. "We were pretty exhausted after touring. The four of us went in four different directions and got some head space." The album, the group's third, is a stream of down-tempo, but tightly constructed, pop songs with the beautiful voice of Karin Bergquist firmly leading the band. She's not a waif lost in the woods; she's the fire at the end of the trail. Detweiler laughs that so much of what he seems to listen to are "chick rock" bands. When pressed, he puts Bergquist "...somewhere between Chrissie Hynde and Sarah McLachlan, but I hate to do that." For Eve, the band hid away in a studio on a Massachusetts farm with producer Trina Shoemaker, a disciple of Daniel Lanois and Malcolm Burn. "We ended up doing most of the work in a barn, which is really a unique situation," says Detweiler. "The main thing was we were free from distraction. It was a nice change, after so much driving from big city to big city, to be out in the middle of nowhere with millions of spilled stars overhead at night and the whole nine yards..." The record was sewn up in New Orleans, a shift in scenery not lost on Detweiler. He enjoyed "...taking the quiet, New England night and pouring in a couple of gallons of whatever New Orleans is. Musically, we're sort of a mixture of some darker themes, fleshed out in lush and sometimes lovely swaths of sound. Or whatever." His statement is epitomized by the contagious single, "Happy With Myself." Bergquist sings like a satisfied vampiress, fresh off the kill, while guitars and drums loop behind. The rest of Eve may not be as radio-ready, but the genius of solid pop music is never trying too hard to lasso a hook around everything. There is a sturdiness on this record that performers like Natalie Merchant waffle at, but never quite reach. The band got its start in a neighborhood just North of downtown Cincinnati. "The cost of living is low and I like the sense of self-imposed isolation," Detweiler says. Their contract with IRS puts OtR in the same circle as Afghan Whigs and Ass Ponys, bands that've emerged from the conservative somnolence of the Queen City to sign big deals. In Cincinnati, Detweiler received his favorite compliment. A local English professor, one whom he respected, allowed his students to use an OtR show as the backdrop for a short-story assignment. Listening to Detweiler, it's not hard to fathom why such an occasion filled him with pride. His favorite moments on the road are those when he can write a letter or wander about the city, and, "without sounding too highbrow," duck into a used book or record store. The worst things said about the band he can only guess at. "I don't know: we're a bunch of pretentious assholes? With pop music, you tend to be surrounded by people who like what you're doing. If they don't they pretty much ignore you." |