By New Times
By Derek Askey
By Mark Deming
By Serene Dominic
By Jason Keil
By Robrt L. Pela and Amy Silverman
By Jeff Moses
By Serene Dominic
For the group's upcoming album, Censored Colors (scheduled for release September 16), Portugal. The Man increased the spontaneity factor by going into the studio straight from touring, allotting itself just 2 1/2 weeks (about half the band's usual allotment), and bringing in a pair of other musicians as producers.
"Going into it, right away we knew it was going to have more instrumentation," Gourley says. "We added cello, violin, trombone, trumpet . . . a lot of instruments got used on this album. Working with other musicians, there were so many ideas getting thrown around the room."
Gourley describes a routine in which, after finishing tracks for one song, he'd begin writing another song to have ready for the group to work on the next day. "There was a lot of working until three or four in the morning and waking up at eight in the morning to start all over again," he says.
Now, even the casual rock fan knows that bands tend to be terrified by the prospect of writing from scratch in the studio. So why doesn't PTM draw on its pre-existing material — especially when it always has a bunch on hand?
"It's the way I've always done things," Gourley says. "For some reason, my mind does not work in the way that it should. I can't remember anything. I'll write songs on tour and get really stuck in the groove of editing and over-working until the song is just garbage. I need to just throw something out there and leave it as is, use the melodies as they come to me. This time around, we had so many different people to jam with in the studio that it made it a lot more relaxed."
And what about recording the drums last? The challenge with doing so is that bands usually rely on the drummer to keep the tempo steady enough for the rest of the players to be able to record their parts. Surely there's some method to PTM's madness, right?
Well, not really.
"I have no idea how it works," Gourley confesses, laughing. "I feel like, if we question it too much, we'll lose it and not be able to figure out how we did it in the first place."
But on further reflection, Gourley does offer some insight. "I guess everything before this new album was pretty much sampled, in a way," he says. "I would sit down and play guitar and we would copy and paste and we would build songs, more like a hip-hop producer would do it."
Gourley recalls a chaotic process for the band's first album, Waiter: "You Vultures!" By the time they hooked up with drummer Jason Sechrist, Gourley and bassist Zach Carothers had already done most of the recording on their own.
"We had gotten so into it," Gourley explains, "that we made the whole album with a drum machine. It was really funny having Jason come up and record over top of that stuff. Because, when you're using drum machines, you can do such crazy shit. There were high hats everywhere and extra snares. Jason had to deal with a lot."
The drum-machine aesthetic isn't surprising when you consider that PTM started out as Gourley's pet project while he was still fronting Portland, Oregon post-hardcore outfit Anatomy of a Ghost. Gourley and Carothers — high school friends who grew up outside of Anchorage — had relocated to Portland to play in Anatomy of a Ghost but were starting to feel stifled creatively. Gourley's initial intention for PTM was to wed the psychedelic texturing and pop richness of the Beatles to the driving feel and hard-hitting sonics of Wu-Tang Clan. However, by its second album, last year's Church Mouth, PTM had evolved into a densely layered cross between psychedelia and progressive rock.
And though the band's high-pitched vocals and modern twist on prog warrant obvious comparisons to like-minded acts such as The Mars Volta and Circa Survive, PTM's sound stands apart, thanks to a distinctly boogie-rock feel that layers the music with the aroma of the 1970s but never veers into overt retrophilia. For the new album, PTM simultaneously refined and expanded on the sound it achieved on Church Mouth. Unsurprisingly, several of the songs arose from on-the-spot improvisation. "For some of the stuff, we just jammed live, and then took pieces of those jams and wrote songs around them," Gourley says
PTM's affinity for improvisation stems from an initial European tour where the band arrived with 25 minutes of music prepared, only to discover that it had been booked to play for an hour and a half each night. Today, Gourley stresses the importance of stretching the songs out in concert, of expanding them beyond their familiar parameters. But, again, this is yet another place where PTM approaches things backwards. Many songs on their touring set list have little to do with their most recent album. So chances are, when you see PTM live, you're going to be treated to new (and ever-changing) presentations of older material.