By Christian Schaeffer
By Daniel Hill
By Joseph Hess
By Joseph Hess
By Allison Babka
By Gina Tron
By Kelsey McClure
By Roy Kasten
It's an unseasonably warm January night in St. Louis, although you'd be forgiven for thinking you were in London: The remnants of the recent snowstorm have melted, and a thick, viscous fog hangs in the air, making extreme caution a necessity when driving through south city. At a rehabbed dwelling not too far from the taquerias and hipster retail shops of Cherokee Street, the fractured-folk quartet Theodore is playing a house party.
The party guests have come for the music but are momentarily sidelined by the spread of homemade goodies laid out by the hosts. Between a Crock-Pot full of bacon-wrapped chicken wings and a plate of beet Reubens sits a tip jar full of ones and fives, which is soon to be split between Theodore and its opening act, the Omaha acoustic duo Outlaw Con Bandana. Coolers of Stag beer are stationed throughout the three-story house, and a sense of bonhomie is shared among the friends and strangers.
On the house's top floor, a decent-size bedroom has been converted into an intimate concert space. About 30 people are huddled near the makeshift stage where Theodore is about to start playing. Bypassing a customary greeting to the crowd, the quartet launches into "Death's Head," the climax of its soon-to-be-released album, Hold You Like a Lover.
To understand Theodore is to see the band in action. For this song, J.J. Hamon replaces his guitar with a harmonica; he runs it through a maze of effects pedals, which turn its reedy tone into pinging sonar distress signals. Andy Lashier curves his body into the frame of his upright bass, while drummer Jason Torbitzky fights the desire to kick the turgid, intensifying song into overdrive. At the center of the improvised stage, singer and guitarist Justin Kinkel-Schuster turns from folk troubadour to punk-rock preacher, delivering the song's ominous, entrancing refrain from somewhere deep and dark: "Death's head next to you all night long/Will hold you like a lover till the morning comes."
Most bands don't have the stones to open up a show, no matter the size, with their best song — much less one concerned with the heavy themes (e.g., the wheels of fate and the wages of sin) frequently found within its catalog. But Theodore's years of gigs at home and on the road, as well as a seemingly endless supply of songs from Kinkel-Schuster's pen, have helped it forge a shared vision and almost telekinetic communication.
Theodore is already known as one of the most dependable, accomplished bands in town. However, the release of Hold You Like a Lover, which is being released on the new indie label Moon Jaw Records, will give Theodore its greatest shot at national exposure. (Moon Jaw is an imprint of Absolutely Kosher and Misra Records, two record labels whose roster includes acts such as the Wrens, Sybris and Centro-matic.)
In a sense, Lover is a continuation of the seeds sewn on Theodore's 2007 debut, Songs for the Weary, a record with its feet planted firmly in the folk/alt-country tradition. It's also somewhat of a departure — by design — from 2008's vinyl-only Defeated, TN. Based on a box of letters found in an abandoned house, Defeated catalogued a family's dissolution through a haze of alcohol, prison stints and desperate attempts at reconciliation. After such a structured record, the band found it somewhat challenging to compile an album without an obvious over-arching story arc.
"Like with Defeated, we knew that [these new songs] went in this order before we ever recorded them," says Hamon, in reference to the process of compiling Lover. "But after we recorded them, we weeded out ones we didn't want to come out and spent two or three nights trying to make them into something workable, into the right order."
But if Lover lacks the concept-album narrative of its predecessor, it retains Theodore's knack for writing great songs about bad situations. Nearly every protagonist in Kinkel-Schuster's songbook is deeply flawed: the cuckolded would-be murderer in "Back From the War," the deadbeat dad in "One Good Fall" or the meth head in "Half Pint." Yet for their sins, these characters are not unlovable or unredeemable. They're simply good people who can't stop doing bad things.
At the house party, Kinkel-Schuster introduced a new song by saying, "This is a song about being a shitheel." When asked if his characters are ever anything but shitheels, the songwriter offered insight into his process.
"As a writer, it's important to never give myself the benefit of the doubt, so I'll always come at it from that perspective of not having a position of moral or any other type of authority," Kinkel-Schuster says. Torbitzky echoed the sentiment. "That's why bad news always makes the newspaper, and why we're interested in reading the books of Raymond Carver, things about failure and the human condition. No one gives a shit about the good things."
All this would give a bleak view of Theodore's songs and the members' outlook on humanity in general. But like Carver's fiction, remorse and the hope for forgiveness hang in the background of the band's humble, regret-soaked universe. We have to sin before we can be forgiven.