"We're not an ideology. We're a rock band that has different ideas."
Dennis Lyxzen, mouthpiece for Swedish underground upstarts The (International) Noise Conspiracy, is probably more than a little sick of pointing this out. After all, the quintet's kick-ass soul-rock is every bit as potent as its radically anti-capitalist; one needn't be a black-masked revolutionary to feel the groove. The music press and countless indie-rock chat rooms seem bent on presenting the band's admittedly attention-grabbing political ideas as its sole reason for being, but for Lyxzen, the music, the beliefs and the interpersonal dynamic are inextricably intertwined means to T(I)NC's tuneful, passionate end.
"Everything is interlinked; it's not like we're this percent music and that percent politics," says the singer. "Everything we do is a mix of everything that we're into, all of our interests mashed together."
Certainly, the choice of subject matter provides a handy focal point for a band that seems to revel in remaining an enigma on other levels. Nobody knows what they're really like, but when was the last time you heard a rant about updated socialist tenets spewed over what sounds like The Stooges channeling Motown? Lyxzen and company (Inge Johansson, bass; Lars Stromberg, guitar/vocals; Sara Almgren, guitar/organ; Ludwig Dahlberg, drums) wholly agree that the message is as important as the music — they just want everybody to know that the opposite holds true as well.
And it's starting to take. It wasn't a handful of anarchist squatters that vaulted T(I)NC's second proper full-length, A New Morning, Changing Weather, into college radio bible CMJ's Top 10. Folks outside the hardcore punk/pol/hipster milieu are getting into the disc, and the law of averages says it's the infectious, energetic sound, rather than the sociopolitical outburst, that's initially drawing 'em in. Which is, of course, perfectly in sync with the Conspiracy's, well, conspiracy.
"We're trying to not be part of a scene, a sect of culture or subculture or anything," Lyxzen says. "We're just a band that plays music. We think some of things we're talking about are far too important to confine to a certain youth culture. That's a big part of why the band sounds like it does.
"Whenever you form a band, you have to realize that not everybody's gonna come to shake the socialist fist. A lot of people just come to see a concert, and that's something we count on. It would actually be quite frightening and kind of weird if 400 people showed up and everybody looked the same and wanted the same thing," he says with a laugh. "So that's something that any band with something to say has to realize, that a lot of people just show up to have fun, and that's fine."
This desire to disseminate their ideas to anyone and everyone, and their accessible style itself, both seemingly run counter to the insular and often irritatingly elitist punk scene that spawned The (International) Noise Conspiracy. Lyxzen's prior band was the abrasive, confrontational Refused, a schizoid hardcore outfit posthumously deified in fringe-music circles. Other Conspiracy members came from similarly iconoclastic and cred-dependent outfits. When the five elements convened in 1998, aspiring to nothing more than making a few 7-inch singles and playing some shows around Europe, there was much more emphasis on exploring influences and interests than on holding true to some perceived separatist ethos. As the band gained momentum — first with their sessions collection The First Conspiracy and then with 2000's acclaimed full-length Survival Sickness (released in America on punk standard-bearer Epitaph Records) — breaking with punk's microcosm became an ever more prominent aspect of the group's aesthetic.
"When we toured with our old bands, there was definitely a scene that we catered to. "We're a part of this scene, we only play with these bands,'" Lyxzen says. "But with this band, you really can't pin down the crowd at the shows. It's very mixed, and that's a very cool thing. We're very excited to have a different crowd. This band is definitely us saying that punk rock and youth cultures aren't that important."
While he admits with a laugh that several of his close friends consider T(I)NC's sound "too soft" for their hardcore tastes, Lyxzen isn't feeling any guilt about their direction. Rather, he sees its seductive, celebratory vibe as an obvious asset in the band's attempt to spread its ideas.
"There comes a time when you just get tired of screaming in people's faces," he says. "There's a certain subversive element in actually getting people to dance before they realize what they're dancing to. You almost sneak your way into people's consciousness. It's definitely a different approach, switching the focus from militant "fuck the police' kind of stuff to something more passionate and inspiring, so the political aspect looks like more of a good time."
On A New Morning, Changing Weather, The (International) Noise Conspiracy have upped the ante again, besting their already impressive catalog with an unmatched combination of energy and songcraft. More diverse, yet much more cohesive, than previous efforts, A New Morning finds the band fully aware of its strengths and working them with the manic enthusiasm of the possessed. The sweaty, ass-shaking rhythms eschew any allegiance to punk-rock dogma. They're founded instead on a soul-fueled, edge-of-chaos revival feel that makes the old double-time speed-pop formula seem flabby and asthmatic by comparison. T(I)NC's incorporation of R&B influences seems much more confident and comfortable this time around, an observation echoed by Lyxzen:
"We've all been fans for a long time, but it's just something that's kind of tricky to pull off, and I think we're finally getting the hang of it. We wanted to do something that's kind of sexier than most rock stuff. Most punk rock is just kind of genderless, there's very little sex to it. We just wanted to add that."
The upbeat delivery, the unabashed sensuality, the disdain for punk-scene protocol — they're all a part of The (International) Noise Conspiracy's master plan. Why preach to a handful of the converted when you can confuse, unsettle, and (hopefully) intrigue a world's worth of unsuspecting ears? The Refused fan might think it's wimpy. The Punk Planet reader who came away from an interview with the impression that the band members were cold, humorless political demagogues might be further flummoxed. The MTV2 viewer might shimmy around his or her apartment for three minutes, without ever giving two shits about post-structuralist Marxist theory. And all of that's fine with the band, who will continue to exploit any and all means made available to them for spreading their concepts, much to the consternation of those who feel that sociopolitical theorizing is best left to the disaffected underground "elite."
"If you're a very punk-rock kind of person, and think that punk should stay separate from the mainstream, then of course you shouldn't be on MTV, you shouldn't talk to Alternative Press. But for us, it's never been about that," Lyxzen says. "It's always been more about getting these ideas out there.
"If some schmuck wants me to be on MTV, I'll go on there and talk about squatting, talk about shoplifting, and people will listen because nobody else is talking about it there. If they'll let us be there, we'll be there, causing some trouble."
Grammy Whammy. As we hit (and some of us ignored) our deadline this week, the nominees for the 44th Grammy Awards hoo-haw were announced. And get this — St. Petersburg folk songstress Shana Smith's alter-ego, the kid-centric Shana Banana, is up for one. A Grammy, that is. Her CD release Music & Fun For Kids, already the recipient of various parental association top picks and critical acclaim, was nominated in the Best Musical Album for Children category. In addition to her efforts as a touring folk musician and local open-mic scene organizer/promoter/cheerleader, Smith has made the time to dream up an educational, inspiring and tuneful role model and deliver her to children nationwide. Congratulations and good luck, Shana, and if you need a date for the ceremony who looks great in one of those tuxedo T-shirts, feel free to contact me via the Planet office.
Scott Harrell can be reached by e-mail at scott.harrell@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Nov 22-28, 2001.