As a general rule of rock interviews, the last member of a band you want to talk to is the drummer. With a handful of exceptions, drummers are less exciting than singers and much more guarded than guitarists. Blame being sat out of sight at the back, perhaps, but only ardent fans of most rock bands even know the drummer's name.
With the Brooklyn-based sextet White Rabbits, the drummer dilemma is a particular problem. On paper, their rhythmically driven art-rock meets ska-pop relies on an Adam & the Ants-like pair of drummers. In practice, however, it can involve all six of them attacking their instruments as if pounding skins. Live, half are banging a drum at any given time, although that number can rise to five. The co-singer Stephen Patterson mostly plays piano, but he trained as a jazz drummer and uses sticks to thump a tambourine. At a recent London gig, the percussionist Matthew Clark played three drums simultaneously and beat the side of a bongo so hard that it keeled over.
Having an entire band who play like drummers makes for an exhilarating show. White Rabbits look and sound so good live that they were signed in America straight after their debut gig, and in Britain last year after Daniel Miller, the founder of Mute Records, watched them rehearse. Kaiser Chiefs booked them as tour support and David Letterman declared himself a fan after a blistering performance of their single Percussion Gun on his television show last year.
Yet for all their passion when performing, White Rabbits in person are so reserved that you occasionally wonder if they're awake. In a pub off Kensington High Street, in west London, Patterson and the guitarist Alexander Even spend the first five minutes of our interview quietly comparing the quantity of "white bits" in their midday bloody marys.
All they admit to having in common when they formed White Rabbits five years ago is a love of the Specials, Squeeze and Elvis Costello, and a burning desire to get out of Missouri, where they grew up, and where, at university, Patterson laid plans for a band with his fellow front man, Greg Roberts.
Advertisement
"From the moment we formed, we started saving to leave Missouri," Patterson says. "We worked 60-hour weeks and rehearsed every night for a year, then packed our bags and headed for Brooklyn. Why? There's no music scene in Missouri. Interesting things do happen [there], but not often."
For two years, the six shared an apartment and wrote and rehearsed. They took day jobs that ranged from waiting tables to working at a child-literacy organisation. Patterson put his BA in music to use (or perhaps not) making ringtones for mobile phones. "I had to pick a hit, then turn it into a horrible-sounding version of the song," he says. "On the plus side, I got to work with Prince. I turned Pop Life and Little Red Corvette into crappy Midi tones. Those were my masterpieces."
Still, the jobs paid for what sounds like a fantastic flat, with a basketball hoop, a swing fixed to the ceiling and a makeshift studio. "It was like the movie Big," Clark laughs. "We had a contest to see who could swing the highest and kick the wall. Weirdly, the neighbours didn't mind us playing rock'n'roll at 3am. It was the basketball that pissed them off. "
From the outset, the band's songs were built around rhythms and harmony vocals, but it wasn't until Patterson switched from drums to piano that they nailed their sound. "I had no idea what I was doing on piano, but that's when it got exciting," Patterson says. "I knew how to hit things, just not that many at once, so keys were confusing. The result was that, suddenly, we didn't sound like anyone else."
White Rabbits' debut album, Fort Nightly, was released to rave reviews in 2007, but the band weren't happy with it. "We wrote the album in three months," says Even, "then spent a year in the studio sucking the life out of it. Our main aim for our second album was for it to be recorded quickly and to sound as wild as we do live. "
Advertisement
Now, no track is allowed to last much more than three minutes: It's Frightening contains 10 songs and clocks out at just 33 minutes. "We started listening to Revolver and Rubber Soul, and realised that the best rock'n'roll records are concise," Patterson explains. "Just because a CD can hold 80 minutes, it doesn't mean every album has to be that long. The length of the songs matches our attention spans."
Suggest that having dual drummers has become White Rabbits' calling card and they positively glare. "We started out with one," Even says eventually. "But because we layer so many drum sounds on top of each other, it became clear we couldn't play live without two. Nobody wants to go to a gig and hear the songs they love sound watered down. It's definitely not a gimmick."
Right now, White Rabbits' main concern is another instrument. "I have a wonderful piano back home that I can't bring because some stupid law says you can't take a piano on a plane," Patterson says. "Mind you, I'd be scared to put her that high in the air. It might upset her. She's old and finicky, and incredibly heavy.
"A friend of ours has been filming us for two years for a documentary. We watched the footage the other day, and most of it involves us trudging the piano through crowds of people, down streets in the snow and rain, and up endless flights of stairs. The piano has become a metaphor for our band. It's a ridiculous, 400lb thing that causes us no end of trouble, but that we all love and can't leave alone."
It's Frightening is released on January 25 on Mute