Sometimes, the measure of a good rock band nowadays is the quality of the jokes they tell between songs.
In that regard, Atlanta four-piece Microwave succeeds brilliantly. Without looking up from his tuning knobs, bassist Tyler Hill tells the audience at Austin’s Dirty Dog Bar about the band’s mock entrepreneurial endeavors. They are making Scott Stapp Scotch Tape—yes, it’s named after Creed’s famously troubled lead singer—and it’s going to be a Very Big Deal when it hits the shelves. Hill keeps the joke running for several songs, taking it one step further by introducing a spin-off to their already imaginary product: a new beverage called Scott Stapp Scotch Tape Scotch.
This is what rock and roll has come to.
Thankfully, Microwave back up their ridiculous banter this evening with incredible songs and commanding stage presence, easily outshining every other act on the four-band bill. Lead singer and guitarist Nathan Hardy alternates between a tender, high-pitched croon and blood vessel-popping scream as guitarist Wesley Swanson controls the energy in the room with catchy riffs and slabs of raw, ambient noise. Hill diligently holds down the foundation with drummer Timothy “Tito” Pittard, who bounces in his seat as the music envelops him. Hardy and Swanson bang their heads furiously. Hair flies everywhere.
This is a far cry from the band that wrestled with touchy microphones and unresponsive monitors at sound check 90 minutes earlier, and certainly not the same timid bunch who stuttered through an interview in the alley behind the Dirty Dog. But that’s because Microwave is not a band of pretentious, jaded, interview-savvy rock stars; they’re four regular dudes who finally have a shot at seeing the world and living their dreams.
All four members of Microwave met through playing in different bands and frequenting the same bars in Atlanta, solidifying their lineup in late 2012. The following year, they released their first EP, Nowhere Feels Like Home, a heavy, brooding affair inspired by the likes of Mew and Fear Before the March of Flames. They scaled back the aggression and upped the melody on their full-length debut, 2014’s Stovall. Described by Pittard as “aggressive-indie-post-hardcore,” the album shifts effortlessly between straight-ahead rockers and mellower, atmospheric tracks that allow the band some breathing room and showcase Hardy’s stunning vocals.
The album caught the attention of Jamie Coletta, director of publicity and promotions at SideOneDummy Records, who signed the band last summer. “That didn’t sound like a local band’s shitty demo that I’m used to hearing at that stage of a band’s career. That sounded like the makings of Manchester Orchestra,” she says. “It took me back, but without feeling like it was dated or it was a copy. It was nostalgic, but still really fresh and modern.”
Lyrically, Stovall is shockingly personal and largely autobiographical. As the primary lyricist, Hardy pulls no punches and covers every base required for the genre. Relationships gone sour? Check. Crippling self-doubt? Yep. Sleeping in your car and going to bed hungry because you’ll literally do anything to live this goddamn dream? You bet.
Even more interesting, however, is the prominence of a less frequently explored lyrical theme: the loss of faith, stemming from Hardy’s Mormon upbringing and subsequent denouncement of those beliefs. “I was really heavily involved for the first part of my life, and I stopped being part of that probably like three years ago, around the time that we started with Microwave,” he says. “And that is for sure a theme, just ‘cause it’s sort of like a current event, I guess. An existential crisis.”
This crisis has gotten easier to deal with as Hardy’s come to terms with his beliefs, but it still played heavily on his mind during the songwriting process. “I’ve been afraid of, I don’t know, offending people I’m close to,” he says. “But I guess you have to write about what’s on your mind, and the messages you want to convey, regardless of how people will interpret it or if they’ll be offended.”
This sentiment also applies to the rest of the band, as they all hold different beliefs—not that Swanson is concerned. “I think there’s all kinds of people in the world, and everybody should be allowed to express themselves. I don’t necessarily identify with all of Nathan’s lyrics in general, not just regarding religious stuff,” he says. “It is what it is. You’re never gonna agree with people all the time.”