If that all sounds a little whacked out, just ask Coheed and Cambria guitarist Travis Stever what he thinks.
"I've never been a fan of comics," Stever says of his band's far-flung imagery, "but it all turned out really cool. If you're into rock but you're not into any sci-fi or fantasy kind of shit, then you can really dig the music. At the same time, if it's the kid that's really into the sci-fi part of it, then they have something to dive deeper into."
Let's assume you're that kid who wants to "dive deeper" with Sanchez and Stever. Get ready, because this story line is more twisted than an Aldous Huxley mescaline binge. In its barest form, C&C's sci-fi opus is about a rebel orphan fighting galactic, apocalyptic forces. Easy enough. It starts with the band's first album, 2002's The Second Stage Turbine Blade, which is actually part two of a quadrilogy that introduces Coheed Kilgannon and his wife, Cambria. It seems our hero, Coheed, is a bit tortured, missing memories because he carries a gene that, if activated, will destroy the universe. Ouch. The story continued in 2003's album In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3. We find out that everyone Coheed loves -- his wife and three of his kids -- ends up dead. The latest album, Good Apollo I'm Burning Star IV, Volume One: From Fear Through the Eyes of Madness, and its accompanying graphic novel were released last summer -- wherein Coheed's only surviving son, Claudio Kilgannon, sets out for brutal, glorious revenge. In a direct nod to George Lucas' backward storytelling, the prologue -- Volume I -- will be released sometime later as the final chapter.
Got that, sport? And you thought the Mars Volta was convoluted.
The whole sci-fi epic format is Sanchez's vision, a series of concept albums in the vein of artists his father had turned him on to -- Pink Floyd, Queen, Jethro Tull. Judging by Stever's tone, the rest of the band plays along, since the conceptual element doesn't interfere with the music. It's all an evolution from Sanchez's original project, a pop-metal trio called Shabutie.
"We were searching for a new [name] and came up with a bunch -- some shitty, some good," Stever says, "but we ultimately decided to take the name of Claudio's side project, which was Coheed and Cambria. He had the story going along with it, so, by adopting the band name, we took in the story as well."
So now Stever is a partner in the execution of Sanchez's grand scheme. Despite his limited interest in the Kilgannon story line, he has submitted to being reimagined by the art he participates in, a notion that really isn't all that different from the underlying themes Good Apollo takes on. "What happens with the new album is that the writer [Claudio Sanchez/Claudio Kilgannon] steps into the story and you see everything from the writer's perspective and how the story begins to take over his life," Stever explains.
Sanchez's romp might sound like the sort of brainfuck that could send you screaming down the rabbit hole, but Stever isn't worried. In fact, the new story line finally makes sense to him. "It's much easier to follow since it's the writer going a little kooky and getting sucked into the story. I see how the lyrics connect to that."
Stever might not give a damn about comic books, but, as Sanchez suggests with the new album, what you create creates you right back. It's a reflexive kick in the ass that begs the question: What does the future hold for Coheed and Cambria when the Kilgannon story line is complete? When you are one thing for so long, how do you become another?
"I don't think we have that quite planned out yet," Stever answers. "We'll see what happens."