Fiery Furnaces
Eugenia Williamson chats with the sibling indie-rockers who make up Fiery Furnaces
By Genie Williamson
Published: February 24th, 2004 | 9:08am
My friend works with a woman who babysat for several families when she was a teenager. One family sticks out in her mind as a shining paradigm, a brother and sister named Matthew and Eleanor Friedberger, who were quiet and literate and contemplative. "They were so smart and well-behaved … they were the perfect children," she gushes. "I always knew they'd be famous." When confronted with this information nearly 20 years later, Eleanor laughs, "She must have been stoned."
Oak Park, Illinois is made for families. It's a gorgeous old leafy suburb of Chicago known for its diversity and superior public school system. It's got a great library, three well-maintained public swimming pools, a famous ice-cream parlor and several high-end toy stores. In short, it's got everything possible to make a kid feel happy and secure and entitled to be there. It comes as little surprise, then, that the Fiery Furnaces, a brother and sister act whose forthcoming LP is called Blueberry Boat and whose ethos is one of charmed innocence, should hail from such a place.
Matt Friedberger, the multi-instrumentalist brother-half, says it plainly, "We don't know what we're doing … We made [our first] record for our own enjoyment." Gallowsbird Bark, their impossibly charming debut that made quite a few critics' year-end top ten lists. The record is a freewheeling, exhilarated, messy tour of noisy, bluesy garage rock whose free-association lyrics, sung by sister-half Eleanor, are fixated on exotic locations and fantastic premises.
They passed through Chicago in support of the record, marking the first time they headlined their hometown. The band played the Empty Bottle, a small venue that's made its reputation as a showcase of emerging talent. They filled it with a mishmash of people one would not typically associate with a smoky rock club. When asked who their fans were, they're quick to respond. "Gay men," says Matt. "Gay women," says Eleanor. "Anyone with a strong stomach and a well-developed sense of pity," Matt says, "or people who live in group homes." "People in recovery," Eleanor deadpans.
The Friedbergers play off each other, both musically and in conversation. They sometimes seem like an old married couple; impossibly close, at odds, at odds with their closeness. This insularity works its way into their sound, which seems independent of much of the product making its way out of their adopted home of New York. "We don't come from a scene or a community that grounds [our music]," Matt explains, "We're more arbitrary than that. I don't think that skateboarders or NPR fans would like our music, and we're not defined by our fans."
Rather, they are defined by their energy. Onstage, Eleanor's presence focuses the manic sounds coming from the other players. Both bandmates and audience look to Eleanor to see where the show is going. Their sets seem nearly improvisational, adding to the sense that these siblings are letting you into a world they concocted together years ago in a suburban basement. There's a strong possibility that, given the chance, they'll let the whole world into their basement, one album at a time.
Issue #35
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