Puscifer’s ‘serious play’ is the foundation of their creative process

On opposite sides of a stage, two fierce figures — one clad in industrial garb, the other in richly colored, stylish attire, faces painted with equally lush palettes — rev up. Each taps their feet the way a bull prepares to charge, creating a kinetic field around this rock ’n’ roll cage match. Behind them, drums pound furiously and guitars slip slick riffs into the atmosphere, combining to bring the tension to a boiling point.

Amid their respective hole-boring stares, these two towers of electricity move toward one another, their collective energy a magnet, giving their mission clarity. They clash and morph into one force of nature, wielding their power lyrically to pummel you with the opening verse of a song.

“You’re an idiot / You embody every bit of it / Even set a new precedent / Empirical.
Concrete evidence / Minimal due diligence / We’ve concluded what is obvious / You’re a bunghole.”

The power-tower double-teaming you is Maynard James Keenan and Carina Round of Puscifer. The setting is the video for the track “Self Evident,” from their new record, “Normal Isn’t,” which drops today, ahead of a U.S. and Canadian tour from March through May. The trio will play the Arizona Financial Theatre in downtown Phoenix on March 21.

Separately, each is a wildly talented vocalist. Together? A magical sonic alignment, whether they’re trading off on a round of lyrics or syncing up. In this case, no one raises the word “bunghole” back to the top of the zeitgeist quite like this since Mike Judge introduced us to Beavis and Butthead.

These characters, serving up songs and videos and additional ephemera, spring from a trio — Keenan, Round and Mat Mitchell, the guitarist and producer — who simply love to play.  They’ve been doing so for 23 years now, releasing their first record, “‘V’ is for Vagina” in 2007. Together, they’ve built a lore by developing the personalities they discover within as their musical journey unfolds. Along the way, we’ve met Billy D and his wife, Hildy Berger, Special Agent Dick Merkin and Major Douche.

“Carina would say that the characters come together because I was dropped on my head as a kid,” Keenan says with a mischievous miniature grin.

“And with Maynard telling us, ‘Hear me out,’” Round adds.

“Really, all the music comes first, so it comes from rhythms and melodies to start, and we build on those over time,” Keenan says. “As we work, we’re trying to figure out, you know, where this is going.”

He likes to call their dynamic “serious play.” It has always been this way, he says. “The earliest stuff, before Mat was involved, was absolutely from the hip.”

Keenan cites a lifelong love of comedy as a thread of influence: digging Monty Python, moving to Los Angeles and wading into the sketch comedy scene. While that’s present in music, he wanted to reshape it with an edge.

“That was all fun, but I’m rooted in storytelling and music,” Keenan says. “So I had to bring in the more serious element of something foundational, and that’s where Mat comes in. He really helped lay the groundwork for our direction. And we’ve created a playful, safe space where you just explore and go.”

It’s not always easy for bands to work together as themselves, let alone to craft personas that also have to interact. Yet these three evince a palpable sense of comfort.

“It’s trust,” Round says. “We work separately, so there’s an element of trust in what each other does individually, and then it gets thrown back, ping-ponged back and we work off of each other in that way. We have a symbiotic way of communicating, spoken or unspoken. Not everything hits right away; you just have to trust, let it sink in, let it morph into what it’s gonna be.”  

Armed with four studio releases and that well-established personal bond, the band is about to thrust “Normal Isn’t” on the world. While that aforementioned track, “Self Evident,” doesn’t address one person in particular, it certainly takes narcissistic agitators to task, pulling no punches. And yes, the current state of the country is an unavoidable boulder that Keenan and crew feel no need to ignore.

“I’m 61. I’ve seen some things,” Keenan says, addressing the record’s title. “I’ve seen us (the country) go through changes. Ups, downs, backs and forths, and I’ve never seen this. This is insane. Over the last decade or so, maybe some are starting to get used to the weirdness, but please don’t get used to this. This is not normal. This is not working.”

He admits, like most of us, that he doesn’t have any solutions, but he knows we have to “build something going forward that’s not this.”

We talk about counteracting the weight of the world with creativity, how that can save one’s own sanity to a degree, and, hopefully, offer some solace beyond oneself. Round says for her and most artists, it’s inherent.

“I would say, ask any creative person about that, and they’ll tell you the reason they started was to fix whatever problems or process whatever difficulties they are having as a human being. That’s why we’re creative, because we want to process whatever it is we’re experiencing. I’d say whatever is happening in the world, outside or within, if you’re a creative person, you’re always going to be driven to create.”

What they’ve created with this new record is not a flat surface to dance upon but rather a cave to lurk in and explore, fueled by fierce drums, synths, guitars and vocals. In some of its chambers, the tracks pull you into a frenetic vibe. In others, the music pushes you around as you brood.

The production is impeccable. “That’s all Mat,” says Keenan, who prefers not to be in the production room for the mixing. “Sitting in there while he’s tweaking knobs? Fuck no, hell no. We need to give Mat his personal space.”

Mitchell is happy to take it.

“It’s like a big puzzle, so when there are pieces all over the floor, you don’t need someone pointing out pieces that are in the wrong spot,” the producer says. “You know, it’s nice to kind of develop what the picture’s gonna be before I’m ready to present it. I’m not one of those guys who mixes a song in an hour; it takes time because A, I’m slow, and B, because our songs are different. Things vary from one to the next, so it’s not like we can create one bed and mix the whole record upon that.”

He’s made a record that sounds so clean and precise while avoiding the sterility that sonic clarity can bring. 

The title track is a march that subtly drives you through its four-plus minutes with speed and ease. It’s got a flow you can sway to as it uses a firm-but-gentle hand to imprint its message. 

“Normal isn’t / Forgetting doesn’t / Soothing hasn’t / Footing and balance ravaged / Settled never / Certainty over / Confidants fewer / Still Navigating the Triggers.” 

“Pendulum” is a gorgeously moody track. It’s dense and stark, allowing Keenan’s voice space for his breath to echo out after he finishes a sentence. As you lock onto that fleeting sound of air, Round’s voice enters the song, making the tune haunting, even as dance-y beats are introduced; its weight holds you. It’s a dreamy goth track that would be right at home on an ’80s album.

In fact, in December, Keenan, Round, Mitchell and drummer Gunnar Olsen released playlists of what they were feasting their ears on while recording “Normal Isn’t.” While there were some newer artists among their selections, particularly Olsen’s, the majority were among the best of ’80s goth and new wave: Bauhaus, New Order, The Cure and Lords of the New Church, just to name a few.

Round reminisces, talking about the ways music brings people together, and we talk about how vital human relationships are during the fucking turmoil dripping down the world’s walls lately.

“Coming together as a community is all we have. You need to share, break bread and you need art,” she says. Then adds with a laugh: “And sometimes alcohol.”

Keenan, who has been an Arizonan for some time now, has continued to create destinations in northern Arizona’s Verde Valley. Wineries like Caduceus Cellars and Merkin Vineyards, and retail spots like the Queen Bee Vinyl Cafe, where you can munch food, buy records and see bands, are all spots that have people flocking to partake of their offerings. He wholeheartedly agrees with Round’s sentiments.

“That’s all I really think I can do, honestly, is feed you up north,” he says. “We’re growing everything up here: mushroom factories, chickens for eggs, ducks for eggs, greenhouses and produce. We’re making wine, and then we’re gonna sing songs and tell you stories and hopefully in those stories there’s something that inspires you to explore.”

I ask him if that’s always been part of what he wanted to do: to build and grow.

“I think so,” he replies. “It’s taking care of people and feeding, metaphorically. And, as Carina said, art saves lives — that creative process of sorting through problems, coming up with solutions, and just being creative together. That’s what’s going to end up helping with weathering the storms.” 

“So, I think somewhere in me, having grown up in a small farming community, I think this was always something in the back of my mind, balancing the artistic point of view with the utilitarian’s ‘let’s feed people’ goal.”

A mix of mortality, a world gone mad and a collective myriad of experiences lived, these three people are on the same page.

Kindly, Mitchell asks Round if he can share something she said just that morning, and she obliges.

“She said she’s found a new appreciation of just sitting on her porch in the morning and listening to the birds, looking at your environment,” he says. “We can all benefit from slowing down, putting our phones down and giving ourselves a minute to pay attention to what’s around us. There’s something beautiful right outside your door.”

After a pause, Round smiles and adds, “And find the community that lifts you up.”