Thursday, December 12, 1996

311 in Progress (Detour Magazine)

Put 311 on stage, and there is all the impetus to mosh, pogo, slam- and the chance to get painfully dunked under a motley mix of sweaty kids in baggy pants. That's understandable. A 311 show can reach the level of a rain dance, all the whooping and writhing in anticipation of something to come. It keeps coming, from the crutchy guitars and staccato raps, to the occasional injuries of the numb and enthralled.

"I always make a point of encouraging positivity." says lead vocalist Nicholas Hexum. "The energy is such a cathartic release that it seems like some people misinterpret it as violence. But to me it's just a joyous, spastic dance.

"Apparently, when we played in New Jersey last week, someone got stabbed at a show. It really bums me out when stuff like that happens because anybody that really listens to the lyrics know that we're nonviolent. It's just that our shows are so entergetic people might get confused.

"I love to mosh myself." He continues. "I mean, I had a blast moshing at the Pantera show. But they, on the other hand, say things to the crowd like, 'Our crowd are fucking violent and I like that!' I think it's kind of lame. I love their band and I love their music, but we say the opposite: 'Go crazy and be wild, but don't hurt anybody.' It's not supposed to be about impact, it's supposed to be about a dance situation."

During the show, a contagion of collectivity encircles the band just as it does the audience. Vocalist SA Martinez is the secret shaman, slinking his lean, shirtless torso like a wet reed. Any audience member coherent enough to consider what's going on wonders what unifies the electrified group ina gaping concert hall. Drummer Chad Sexton verbalizes the expierence: "It's a weird mental state when we're playing for an hour and a half. I definately see it in terms of energy and energy release, and a different state of consciousness."

Stamping the live sensation into a permanent groove means occasionally breaking from the annual 100-odd-day tour and cutting an album. On their third release, 311, the band reaches a new level.

"On this record we kind of learned what to do and what not to do from our first two records." says Hexum. "We recorded in a real studio, we finally picked a producer we wanted to work with. Back when we lived in Omaha and we were daydreaming and listening to Bad Brains records, we were like 'One day we're gonna work with Ron St. Germain, he's made some of the greatest-sounding records, raw but clear."

This fine new album may take their sound to radio stations and clubs, but for those who want to get into 311's consciousness, there is still a single maxim: music is a public collaberation- not some strategy formulated in a $1000-a-day studio.

In Hexum's view, "When we're playing live and seeing the people dance and rock and mosh, that's just an extension, an evolution of what's happening for thousands of years, all the way back to an African circle of a couple of guys beating on a drum while other people dance, into the middle centuries of someone playing a flute. We're really just one tiny speck on the continuum." Like an atom, this tiny speck can wreck some serious chaos.

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