"Yeah, there's a band, too, but I'm the chick singer, so who gives a flying *#@! about them!" says Sal, chick singer for Artificial Joy Club. "Seriously, though, we're very much a band -- I routinely get outvoted during band disagreements."
Heavy issues aside, Artificial Joy Club sounds large, strong and melodic -- and intellectually accessible in both their music and lyrics. Their Interscope debut, Melt, turns out music both blunt and poignant, music that's emotive.
Imported from Ottawa, Canada, Sal, guitarist Leslie Howe, bassist Tim Dupont, guitarist Michael Goyette and drummer Andrew Lamarche are not only great musicians, but outspoken and unapologetic, despite being from Canada. True to their heritage, however, they are funny and wryly observant. Drawn to junk/pop culture, urban folklore, and psychological introspection, Melt is strewn with references such as Vulcans, Kevorkian, lesbian porno, gerbils, Forrest Gump, pogo sticks, cheeky monkeys and Pete Best. "We don't consciously analyze any of this stuff," says Howe, "it just kind of seeps into the lyrics."
These elements were distilled through a collaborative creative process thousands of miles from home. Melt was written during an intensive month-long outburst when Artificial Joy Club's creative core -- Sal, Howe and Dupont -- were encamped in a single room in Los Angeles. "We worked 12 to 14 hour days for over a month with only one day off," says Howe. "Going out for Mexican food was our only diversion. Although we worked like dogs, it was one of the most exciting and rewarding times I can remember.
They knew they had created something very special, and left for home in Ottawa to rehearse, record and finish the album. Everything fell into place, and the band finished the album with glowing enthusiasm and pride. "'Spaceman' is sort of the emotional mascot track for us on this record. It embodies the emotions and feelings of the times we experienced together as a team while making this record," says Howe. "'No Shame' kinda lyrically sums up the last year of our rollercoaster ride, expressing the disappointment with our career, seeing other artists we know take off, but then realizing that in some ways it really doesn't matter, and all that counts is being able to make your own music."
Beginning in 1993 as Sal's Birdland, they released an indie album, So Very Happy. which they funded themselves, recorded in their own studio, and was produced by guitarist Howe. The album was picked up by MCA after receiving tons of critical acclaim - "Even though it sold double plywood," says Sal. The band then wrote and recorded a new album, Nude Photos Inside, again in their own studio with Howe producing, and signed to a world wide record deal with a Los Angeles label. "We soon found the joys of no promotion," says Howe. "At least my parents bought the album," reflects Sal.
With band morale at an all-time low, Sal, Howe and Dupont proceeded on the daunting task of writing a follow-up record for an disinterested and uncomprehending record label. Finally able to break free, it was then that they locked themselves away in the Los Angeles crucible which yielded Melt -- and a new band name. "We got pissed off, 'cause people kept saying 'Salzburgland' for Sal's Birdland, or just 'What?'," says Sal.
While the lyrics on the new album may seem to reveal a disturbed girl in need of help, especially on songs like "Psychic Man," "Sick and Beautiful" and "I Say" -- further investigation reveals a deceptively intelligent wit and bizarre sense of humor. "People talk a lot about my lyrics and make all sorts of guesses as to what I'm all about, but I don't slam my hang-ups over your head like some other artists do, which seems to be in vogue these-days," says Sal. "I'm just musically verbalizing my thoughts and viewpoints. If other people can relate or extract some emotion out of them, bonus, I'll be flattered, but I don't expect it, 'cause I'm just blah blahing about me."
