Nothing isn't driven by nihilism. In fact, the Philadelphia shoegaze quartet believes it’s a form of cynicism that really makes them tick. Sometimes, it feels like they’re simply misunderstood.
“That’s the typical assumption that people will throw our direction,” says Dominic Palermo, Nothing’s founder, guitarist and vocalist. “That’s because of what the band looks like from the outside. But those idiots aren’t really paying attention to what’s being said. There’s a huge difference between nihilism and cynicism.”
Nothing’s third record, Dance On The Blacktop, out now, certainly isn’t an escape into tranquility. It isn’t a happy-go-lucky album — Nothing doesn’t make those — but it isn’t a descent into utter misery, either. And while the guys in the band fancy themselves as deep conversationalists and late night cosmic horror academics, they’re surprisingly tongue-in-cheek by nature.
For example, the band agreed to meet and discuss the new album at Tom’s Restaurant in Manhattan, the diner made famous after being featured on Seinfeld, the “show about nothing."
They avoided the slathering of Mayonnaise on a BLT. They lamented the diner’s lack of au jus sauce. They were appalled at the price of potato salad. And they tried to explain the methodology behind their music.
“It’s always been about pulling value out of this f***ed up thing that we’re all stuck in,” Palermo explains. “That’s what the band’s philosophy has always been. And the music has mirrored that — lush soundscapes, vulnerable lyrics and tales of life’s experiences — and the confusion those bring upon a person.”
Dance On The Blacktop is an exercise in this philosophy: droning guitars, subdued yet emotive vocals and crashing percussion are in abundance on the record.
The album was recorded at Dreamland Studios with producer John Agnello, whose vast discography features artists ranging from Dinosaur Jr. to Sonic Youth. The Woodstock, NY, studio is actually in the middle of the woods inside of a church built in 1896.
“It was scary,” Palermo says. “We were hearing noises. There was this house across the field that had a sheet in the window with all these doll heads behind it. But I think the scariest thing was the amount of alcohol being drank.”
Known partiers, Nothing decided to self-impose a rule during the recording process: No booze until 2:00 PM.
“We recorded all day long, non-stop,” says Brandon Setta, who also plays guitar and sings. “We’d wake up, make breakfast, go right to the studio and record all day. At the end, we’d all make dinner, try to decompress and not talk about music. But all day, we kinda just partied.”
“There was a lot of space for us to be creative,” Palermo adds. “If you wanted to be by yourself, there was a room. It was a really serene scenario. The first record we did, me and Brandon were in this studio in Philly, it was like like a four-by-four garage.”
Working in Dreamland was far from the cigarette and Adderall-fueled claustrophobia of studios past — and working with Agnello meant finding the perfect balance between technical diligence and recording authentic tunes — flaws and all.
“It was really the first time that we’ve all sat in a room and played facing each other,” Setta says. “We’ve never really done that. We were playing like it was at a show.”
Agnello also presented his expertise in experimentation and detail.
“He loves getting sick tones,” Setta says. “Every day we would go in and reference a s**tty home demo. He’d be like, ‘We’re gonna make this sound insane.’ It would take an hour or more to set up a snare drum.”
“We’re not really gear dudes,” Palermo says. “We find some cool s**t and then we stick with it. But we’re also not stubborn. We’re always down try something new.”
Nothing’s 2014 studio debut, Guilty of Everything, featured a very lo-fi sound and was produced by Philly native, Jeff Zeigler, who’s known for his work with Kurt Vile and The War on Drugs. The band’s 2016 release, Tired of Tomorrow, was done by well-known pop-punk producer Will Yip.
“On the third record, we wanted to try to drop something just in between those two records,” Palermo says. “Something that still had that really big studio sound but also really indulged in the imperfections of live-tracking and taking advantage of the ugliness.”
Ugly isn’t the only unlikely adjective Palermo uses for his music. He speaks of its sadness with enthusiasm, too.
“When the music is being written,” Palermo says, “There’s always one thing for sure, we want it to be sad as f**k. How do we make somebody feel like s**t when they’re listening to this? Because that’s the kind of stuff that I listen to. I enjoy the more depressive stuff. When we’re writing, we try to build these fleeting moments with hope, but it’s building to a tragedy. You have this whirling sense of hopefulness, then you wash it back away.”
“We use the term ‘hopeful-sad’ all the time,” Setta adds. “I don’t really know how to explain it. It’s a major chord that is suddenly big and beautiful, but in the context, it’s miserable. It’s like a breath of fresh air, but you’re still completely drowning.”
Many of the songs on DOTB began in demo form, but some tracks, like “Zero Day,” were written entirely in the studio. The song’s video was shot on New Year’s Day in Philadelphia, borrowing scenes from the Mummers Parade, a working-class booze fest reminiscent of Mardis Gras. Nothing was able to turn it into what feels like an accidental New Orleans funeral.
“The theme of the song is very much about disdain for the whole circle of life, and the amount of agony...” Palermo says, laughing nervously. “People are just pulled out of complete blackness and dragged into life and then stuck in this rotational thing.”
The video, which features Palermo carrying his own custom-engraved coffin, is a dichotomy indicative of Nothing’s essence.
“We really just wanted to have an impact at the end,” Palermo says. “The first part is very stark and minimal. But it builds up to this big celebration of death.”
Palermo sits and laughs about the agony of life like it’s normal dinner talk. It makes one wonder whether the tattoo on his arm says more about his character than he’s willing to admit.
“Nobody exists on purpose. Nobody belongs anywhere. Everybody’s gonna die.”
“We’ve reached this comfortable point where we’re able to move in the chaos,” Palermo says. “We’re comfortable in the fire. That’s what this record really insinuates. It’s not that we’ve become more optimistic. We just stopped swinging fists in the air and learned to bask in the flame. We want to revolt in a different fashion, sit down there with a smile on our faces, as sinister as it may seem.”
Although Nothing’s parts have become more comfortable in their respective skins, it’s still a surreal experience interacting with their cult fanbase.
“We have a lot of crazy diehard people that hit us up constantly about lyrical content,” Setta says. “This song got me through this. I know that a lot of people are paying attention. You write something you feel and down the road someone else completely relates to it, it’s crazy.”
“I always think it’s funny when we’re doing these songs live,” Palermo adds. “We play these songs that are totally about disdain of human beings. They’re clapping and buying our stuff. They’re continuing our charade of life as musicians. You look at these people and like, you kinda hate them, but none of this would be possible if it wasn’t for them. It’s a really strange scenario.”
“When we did that first demo tape, I felt like it was gonna be like a eulogy,” Palermo says. “To be honest, the way that my life was going at that point, I thought I was gonna be dead in the next year. I was literally just ready to call it a day. But s**t changes. This life is ever so completely chaotic.”
Revel in the randomness, dance on the blacktop.
