Once, there was a story, with a girl and gods and stuff and a vase. Now, there's a band, with a guitar and drums and stuff and a bass.
Pandora's Box Cutter started in a basement; in a few basements. Somewhere, buried in Sioux City, we got curious. The local jazz scene, against the local mainstream, was asking for progressive thinking. Punks were screaming real loud, and kept losing houses to play.... Blues never wasn't the blues, garnering most of the sweet spots' attentions. This was after the 90s. The metro was both growing and dissipating, giving it up to the meat packers, mall developers, and private clinic operators. Air was addictive; comfortable and hated. Jess and I had to get out of there.
A few trips north made my heart burn. You see, we had begun recording with a re-mixture of Delhi, a weirdrock prog group for which Jess had drummed many years. Since the others were mainly residing elsewhere, mix tweaks were up to the home team. After a fortuitous purchase, Mr. Jess Skadburg was the proud owner of a DIY audio plugs'n'whistles machine; this thing got us wet. After our summer tour sessions, the "basement stuff" went and got real. Hours and days and weeks were spent chopping, writing, listening. This was to do.
Soon, those rumors of schools that let you record all day got us tingly enough to head up to 'em. Here, the Twits (Minny & St. Paulie) sat, staring at each other across the river. We didn't know it yet, but the electric field of churning temperature change, water, and hordes of humans got our gravity at hello. Inevitably, we both enrolled with Minneapolis' Institute of Production and Recording, filled with Music Tech old-skoolites. Once diggin' in to the studio and the block (J.D. Hoyt's happy hour burgers 'n convos; "Dood, Sex World sells cigarettes still!"), musicians started appearing to us lit-faced, anew by our shared circumstance. We wanna play it and someone wants to hear it. Recruitment for other PBCers led us eventually to Alex Ramsey and Matthew Ventura, keyboardist extraodinaire and baseman right hand, respectively. This quartet had us rollicking through the early wham hits of recent yore, and, Man, it was wide. Shows and Studio 2 pushed us to a daily dose of creatin'; we were on a boat, mfr.
After graduating and building another basement studio, Pandora's Box Cutter cooly amassed arrangements from every member. Metal fusion, dirge pulse, flailing circus scorchers, winding poprock hurls. It was hard to stop. But, living together all the time can get difficult (ask everybody), and ultimately caused the band to break up. After performing with several other groups (Daydream Johnnies, Hayduke Lives!, Stratagem Wile, Foodstamps, Aphrodisiaddicts), Jess and I saw the necessity of PBC's reinvigoration. I plugged into that dirty Yamaha 100, and old songs were remade a la White Stripes duo stylee. We pounded out 8 new tracks in a couple months, and I saw people smiling. Though the new sound slammed and excited people already, I itched for someone else to help cover the broader genre scope we were touching upon. A Craiglist ad here, and a Facebook message there, and in jumps Brian "the Spidey" Sheehan. No smarter mouth could man the low end thump than this wily character, and now the space sans guitar hits you hard in the tootsie roll. With this new lineup, Pandora's Box Cutter's penned enough for two albums; the first is currently in production. The third is currently being written, and the fourth is currently being imaginatively outlined.
Oh, and we don't hate country music anymore.
We take some requests. We will play with you. Travel is coo. Wanna do a mixmedia thang? Or a thinkin' about thinkin' party? PBC is down. Probably especially with an email.
Towards Goodly Hopeful Feelings Amongst the Dirt,
Nathan Reeder [+]