The Gary, Chub

On Chub, Austin band The Gary (none of the members of which, it should be said, are actually named, y’know, Gary) manage to take hold of three of my favorite elements of late-’90s indie-rock, the flat-sounding vocals and understated but still powerful guitars of all those dead-serious Touch and Go/Dischord bands from that era (think Arcwelder, Fugazi, and Silkworm, for three) and the warm, melody-leading bass of fellow Austinites Silver Scooter. Which, for my own selfish part, is a combination I’d love to hear happen more often.

The result is strong, erudite, restrained-yet-bitter, almost methodical indie-rock that doesn’t so much knock you down and invade your head as step past you with a hard look, sit down inside, and start reading your books, all uninvited. The Gary rocks with a ridiculous amount of restraint, surging and rolling along with barely a nod towards the audience; they can roar and burn, but fuck it, they don’t need to. Why play an ace when a two will do, after all?

These guys aren’t out to be rockstars or blow away any observing scenesters, but rather are playing pretty much for themselves and for people who understand them; they make a point in the press materials of saying they each moved to Austin for reasons not connected to music, which is a nice change from the “get to Austin to make it!” mentality that happens far too often. I get the feeling that The Gary is just three guys who work, have families, and want to make music they themselves would like to listen to, and assuming that is really the case, I respect the hell out of ’em for that.

The closest musical comparison I can get to, really, is Arcwelder, both in terms of the “flat” singing (heck, bassist/vocalist Dave Norwood comes across almost like Johnny Cash on “Damn Machine”) and the churning groove of the music itself. On tracks like “Expiration” and “Freeways,” the band plays low and loose, with the bass and Paul Warner’s drums driving things and Trey Pool’s scraping-yet-melodic guitars sliding back and forth across the top. Pool’s guitars can be utterly beautiful when he wants them to, as on the mostly-(all?-)instrumental “Freaks Go Forward,” which sounds like it could’ve fallen off of the aforementioned Silver Scooter’s The Other Palm Springs, but he mostly tends to play things more Silkworm-style, with the guitars as embellishment where needed.

Out of the songs on Chub, it’s difficult to pick one best track, but I find myself coming back to “Expiration” and “I May Have a Drink,” in particular, over and over again — the former has a solid majesty to it that I love, while the latter puts up a somber, all-knowing facade over doubt and desperation, finally cracking when Norwood flips the repeated “I assure you, it passes” line around and demands, “Assure me it passes.” That combination of pleading uncertainty and resignation hits home, hard.