Miles Kurosky, the frontman of Beulah, is losing at computer solitaire. But it’s still before lunch, so the game’s not over yet. He’ll stay put inside his San Francisco apartment until the PC deals him a potentially winning game.
Kurosky’s about to have a lot more down time on his hands – his indie pop band Beulah is breaking up.
They’ll end their eight-year run on Thursday, with a final show at Castle Clinton in Battery Park.
“There’s a mortality to being in a band,” he says. “A lot of bands should think about it more.”
With the end in sight, Kurosky, 35, is pondering his next move. He doesn’t need a day job – yet. “Maybe I’ll go back to being a mail boy,” he jokes.
Kurosky (guitar and lead vocals) and Bill Swan (trumpet, guitar, vocals) met in a corporate mail room in 1994 and began recording together in 1996.
They’d record onto cassette tapes in bathrooms, living rooms and their offices – one song a month for 16 months. In 1997, they released their debut disc, “Handsome Western States,” then added members to the band. They’ll split as a six-piece.
Calling Beulah a “hobby that went awry,” Kurosky said the band has done everything it set out to do.
The original goals were small – to put out a 7-inch record and tour the country, both of which they accomplished within months.
Four albums later, the group is sending shockwaves through its devout fan base – especially because the group’s fourth and final effort, “Yoko,” was a brilliant heartbreaker.
The band decided to leave while it was on top.
“You want to leave them wanting more,” Kurosky says. Without question, “Yoko” did that.
A darker album than previous efforts, it was written and recorded after four of the band’s six members had relationships fall apart – three members got divorced and Kurosky broke up with his fiancée.
The members, says Kurosky, knew Beulah would disband when they recorded “Yoko.” It became a goodbye album in many ways.
“There were no fights,” says Kurosky. “We just realized that we had reached our peak.”
One might imagine that the studio sessions would have been a serious downer, but, in fact, the members had more fun recording and subsequently touring then ever before. “We were relishing it and soaking it up, for once,” Kurosky explains.
It’s been a long time since the thrill of their first show, in Oberlin, Ohio.
“It was a big deal,” he says of the early days. “Now, it’s like, ‘Get us the f— out of Amsterdam.’ We became so spoiled.”
In the wake of the break-up, he also realized how much fans loved Beulah.
Perhaps that’s because the band is so accessible – it takes requests through the Web site beulahmania.com, and every e-mail gets a reply. After a show, the members mingle with the crowd at the bar.
But then, Kurosky’s always said he’s just a “normal guy.”
He newly addicted to golf, drinks beer and played high school football.
But normal guys don’t lay their deepest feelings out on an album and sing lovely melodies set up against guitars, strings and piano.
“I couldn’t write about anything else. I tried to be witty and poetic, but I could only be honest,” he says, referring to “Yoko.” “I couldn’t write anything but what I felt.”
Kurosky admits his upcoming solo disc, on which ex-Beulah members will likely appear, will probably be seen as Beulah’s fifth album.
There’s already been a reunion request – when a tour documentary is released this fall – but Kurosky won’t bite.
“I just want to keep the memory pristine,” he says.
He’s finished playing solitaire now and ready to seize the day.
“I won, so I quit, just like with Beulah,” he says. “The minute I win, I quit.”