“I really enjoy singing these lyrics; they’re a lot more cynical.”
Dave Bazan of Pedro The Lion is up front about his latest effort, Control. This intriguing oxymoron is at the core of Bazan’s songwriting. The driving force behind the band (Pedro is essentially a one-man show with a rotating cast of contributors), the lead vocalist/guitarist’s work is relentlessly dark and uncompromisingly depressing, yet delivered with the vigor and passion of a man with a skip in his step. The band’s past releases, while having the emotional consistency of noontime drizzle, always packed at least some small glimmer of hope on which listeners could lean.
Control, however, is a landscape of unending shadows, a sulfuric, bitter pill to swallow.
“This one doesn’t really have a twinge of hope, which has bothered some folks,” Bazan shares.
While listeners will not find a lone ray of happiness on the record, they’re sure to discover some of the most gorgeously constructed and insightful explorations into the darker half of the human condition this side of Joseph Conrad. Bazan’s lyrics are painstakingly precise, his words questioning every nook and cranny of existence over dirging guitars and weeping keyboards.
Control projects utterly pessimistic and lascivious views on commitment, faith, parenting and capitalism. The commentary seems somewhat strange, if not exceptionally brave, considering Bazan is a devout Christian. His frustration and devotion to his religion is brutally honest and artistically riveting.
A harrowing excerpt from the song “Priests And Paramedics” demonstrates Bazan’s unflinching lens.
“As the priest got up to speak, the assembly craved relief/But he himself had given up, so he himself offered them this bitter cup/You’re gonna die/We’re all gonna die/Could be 20 years/Could be tonight/Lately, I’ve been wondering why we go to so much trouble to postpone the unavoidable and prolong the pain of being alive.”
When asked about his faith and its relation to his art, Bazan seems eager to respond.
“There’s more and more pressure in Christian music to preach a unifying idea,” he explains. “That pressure is not part of any other musical genre. To me, it doesn’t matter what people are writing about, just as long as they have an intrinsic desire within themselves to write. I prefer to write about things that matter to me, rather than topics I’m supposed to talk about.”
Some of the “things that matter” to Bazan on this album include the psyches of failing relationships and the evils of corporate greed. He unmercifully assaults the cult of American economics, most viciously on the track “Indian Summer,” with the line “All the experts say you ought to start them young/That way they’ll naturally love the taste of corporate cum.”
“I witnessed the WTO riots in Seattle,” Bazan explains. “It made me aware that there is no true left represented in the national media. I dived into the writings of Noam Chomsky and Michael Perenti to get a better understanding of power and wealth.”
By incorporating his staunch political views into the songs of Control, Bazan has created a well-rounded, miserable masterpiece, a swirling world of characters questioning anything society deems pleasant. Each time, the narrator succeeds in removing a shallow mask, be it created by the media, the government or organized religion. Underneath are horrors almost too despicable for words, if it weren’t for Bazan’s prose.
Control paints the bleakest picture of human nature – Bazan couldn’t possibly be more excited about it.
“This is more of a rock record,” he confides. “I’ve always listened to more aggressive, guitar-driven music, and I’m very happy with the way Control turned out. It’s totally removed from the events of my life, but at the same time it is entirely my voice.”
When asked to name some musical influences, he lists his parents, with Fugazi as a distant second.
“My dad’s not a grandstanding person – he’s very real,” he says. “My mom’s incredibly passionate. She always felt what she sang. When she’d sing hymns with the church choir, my sister and I would always worry that she was going to break down and cry.”
This doesn’t come as much of a surprise. It’s apparent music is in his genes. Moreover, his records are filled to the brim with painful notes and diatribes, though Bazan never lets loose an empty whine. No matter how fictional Bazan’s lyrics may be, his records are so thick with passion, so gut-wrenchingly real, listeners will want to be there to catch him if he falls.
Appeared in Rockpile magazine.