Death Cab For Cutie

Nick Harmer greets me at the door of Avast II Studios in Seattle’s Greenwood neighborhood. We’re ensconced in a quiet, residential part of the city—houses with windowsill figurines and tricycles dot the block—and it’s entirely possible someone’s grandmother lives next door, unaware the members of Death Cab for Cutie, the crown princes of Seattle indie rock, are completing their fifth LP, Plans, within the confines of this nondescript façade.

Death Cab hunkers down in its third studio this week; the mixing board blew up at guitarist/producer Chris Walla’s renowned Hall of Justice, then they were accidentally double-booked at Avast I. Bands of lesser character would be reduced to tantrum, hurling retro eyeglass frames and stomping their Pumas. It’s not an optimum day to have a visitor in the studio, much less a note-taking one. Still, Harmer is gracious and welcoming. (Hereafter, the bandmembers will be called by their first names. They’re so approachable that referring to them by surnames feels gratuitously prim.) He introduces himself and explains that because of the time crunch, I won’t get to interview all four members simultaneously, but that they’re glad I’m here. A kinder greeting I do not expect in the afterlife.

Nick escorts me down a labyrinth of halls into the control room. Its décor smacks of ’70s rec room—velour couches, overstuffed chairs and wood-paneling. An honest-to-god lava lamp gurgles in the corner. Jason McGerr is drumming in the glass-enclosed tracking room and the ferocity and precision of his syncopation blows me away. It’s like Zeus on a drum kit, if Zeus sported close-cropped hair and biceps like canned hams. Singer/songwriter Ben Gibbard sits in a nearby chair, wearing a navy blue cardigan and reading The New Yorker. “Hi, I’m Ben,” he says and shakes my hand before returning to the page. Chris introduces himself from behind the mixing board, his smile offsetting Greta Garbo cheekbones. I ask where I should sit so that I’m not in the way, and he says that anywhere is fine. I settle as unobtrusively as possible into a corner chair and enter the fast-paced, low-key world of Death Cab for Cutie.

Death Cab’s upcoming album is called Plans, but the band began, essentially, without one. Ben had recorded under the moniker All-Time Quarterback and, originally, Death Cab was conceived as another outlet for his songs. It was 1997 and Bellingham, Wash., was churning with little-known indie-rock talent. Local cassette-only label, Elsinor, released Death Cab’s “unofficial” first recording, You Can Play These Songs With Chords, and while Chris and Nick both appear on the tape, the roster was not yet locked. Chords sold several hundred copies and its relative success prompted Ben to permanently recruit Chris and Nick and original drummer, Nathan Good.

In the summer of 1998, Death Cab’s first CD, Something About Airplanes, was co-released by Elsinor and then-newbie label, Barsuk. While many songs, such as “President of What?” and “Champagne from a Paper Cup” were re-workings from Chords, Death Cab obviously possessed a wholly original, ephemeral it. Ben’s voice sounded almost feminine at times, but could swoop down to lacerate with lines like “He’s unresponsive ’cause you’re irresponsible” on “Amputations.” Chris’s interlocking melodies zigged where others zagged, and he found his niche as the band’s producer. Nick and Nathan’s weighty percussion anchored a ship that could otherwise have drifted into the Sea of Precious.

We Have the Facts and We’re Voting Yes, released in 2000, signaled Nathan’s departure and the arrival of his replacement, Michael Schorr. Facts swirled with ache and jangle and lullabies, and fans latched onto “Company Calls” and “405.” Seattle alternative weekly, The Stranger, notorious for flaying some awesomely talented local bands, declared the album, “Great as in majestic; great as in fearsome.”

Throughout this time, Death Cab for Cutie toured relentlessly and earned a reputation as a band whose live shows were so powerful, they were almost medicinal. The band started playing larger venues and sold-out dates became increasingly commonplace. And while most bands would’ve opted for a break, Death Cab ramped up and released the Forbidden Love EP later that year. More of a mini-album than a collection of one-offs, its opener, “Photobooth,” featured one of Ben’s most evocative couplets: “I remember when the days were long / And the nights when the living room was on the lawn.”

In 2001, Death Cab released its third full-length in three years, The Photo Album, and it became even clearer: the band was not messing around. Tracks like “Movie Script Ending” and “Why You’d Want to Live Here” became staples on college radio, and the band’s fan base continued to grow like sun-kissed sugarcane, or maybe a fullback on steroids. When Ben sang, “I loved you, Guenivere” on “We Laugh Indoors” his voice dripped menace and loss, and it resonated with anyone who’d ever said goodbye while looking over their shoulder.