Hem

Contrary to typical images the borough may conjure, backyards do exist in Brooklyn. In fact, on an overcast October Saturday, Hem’s core members are gathered on a patio behind a row house in Brooklyn’s Carroll Gardens, brisk breezes summoning the season’s first sweatshirts and jackets.

This is the headquarters of Waveland Records and Hem Music, as well as the home of songwriter/keyboardist Dan Messé, his wife, Avra, and their almost two-year-old son, Reuben. As Dan, vocalist Sally Ellyson and guitarist/songwriters Gary Maurer and Steve Curtis circle around a patio table, a pregnant Avra sets out lunch inside for Reuben. Ellyson—just two weeks past her wedding day—excuses herself frequently to dote on the tow-headed tot, while Maurer smokes American Spirits and good-naturedly talks shop with Curtis. Hem’s music seems more influenced by domestic scenes like this than by any sense of ironic, of-the-moment trendiness. Brooklyn’s hip Williamsburg neighborhood, just a few miles away, might as well be another planet compared to the lush tenth-acre where Reuben gleefully pushes his toy lawnmower to and fro.

“I wanted to go back to a more innocent idea of what a song could be,” says Messé, a Michigan native with an MFA in music performance and composition from New York University. “I was just so sick of writing and trying to be cool [in my previous band], or trying to write ironic songs. It just wasn’t me. I wanted to write songs like ‘Horsey’ [from 2001’s Rabbit Songs] I didn’t even know what I wanted the song to be about, but I knew I wanted a song called ‘Horsey’ just as a statement against writing ‘cool’ songs.”

Prior to Hem, Messé composed soundtracks for corporate road shows, industrial films and theater pieces. It wasn’t wasted time, he says, noting it helped him hone his musical craftsmanship and find his voice in Hem. For example, he was commissioned to write music for children’s theater: “These were shows that went out in front of 2,000 kids. I actually went and watched the way [the audiences] responded to music. It got me thinking, what is the elemental thing that draws humans to music? It’s amazing watching these kids because they’re totally incapable of being polite. So as soon as something doesn’t work, all of a sudden every kid in the theater is looking around and throwing shit … they’re no longer captivated. I wanted to write music that could reach adults in the same way.”

In a musical landscape populated by artists arming themselves with irony and attitude, Hem’s nakedly honest approach stands out. Rabbit Songs, the band’s first effort, made many critics’ best-of-2002 lists.

Evidence of how Hem’s music connects so deeply with listeners can be found in a personal story—that of my first child’s birth. Before heading to the hospital, my wife and I had the presence of mind to gather up a few much-loved CDs for the nerve-wracking hours ahead; one of them was Rabbit Songs. We’d already fallen in love with the recording over the previous months, but on that day it became forever tied to our lives as the soundtrack to our daughter’s first hours in the world.

And we weren’t the only ones making connections with Hem. When NPR’s Bob Boilen featured the CD, the band received reports of listeners overcome with tears to the point of having to pull over their cars. Even legendary record executive Lenny Waronker recalled being floored when handed a copy of Rabbit Songs by E. of the Eels. (Waronker signed the band to DreamWorks shortly thereafter.)

The band’s latest, Eveningland, proves that Hem’s ability to tap into bittersweet feelings is no accident. Messé’s lyrics—delivered by Ellyson’s dulcet voice and backed by richly intricate arrangements—continue to mine deep veins of heartrending poignancy. Hem’s songs provoke feelings associated with a father telling his son to be brave; with committed lovers sharing an embrace in the darkest hour of the night; with a new child arriving the same day one receives news of a parent’s passing … or in our case, with the appearance of our firstborn.