Photo by Danny Clinch

Rockaway Beach is part of a remote peninsula on the outer edge of Queens, N.Y., sandwiched between JFK International Airport and Coney Island’s boulevard of aging amusement park rides and circus-freak dreams. The neighborhood’s demographics have changed considerably during the past half-century and the beach’s popularity among the city’s creative types has ebbed and flowed during that time.

Lately, some have even referred to the Rockaways as the “Hipster Hamptons,” a summer retreat for artists and foodies looking for a vacation without leaving the city’s five boroughs. It’s become so popular that several restaurants with impressive Yelp ratings have opened seasonal outposts there, though the area still feels isolated during the chilly fall and winter months.

Andrew VanWyngarden, one half of MGMT’s original core, started coming out to Rockaway a few years ago, shortly after he picked up surfing while working on his band’s sophomore album Congratulations in Malibu, Calif. In Rockaway, he’s part of a self-described bohemian community far enough from the city’s indie-rock epicenter to avoid current trends but close enough that VanWyngarden’s able to pick up local radio stations when he’s driving around in his car. Though he’s rubbed elbows with Paul McCartney, Jay-Z and Beck – and butted heads with the President of France – these days, the 30-year-old singer/guitarist/songwriter feels more comfortable among the artists and young families he’s met while living at the beach. One of his friends runs a coffee shop while another makes soap.

After renting for a period of time, he finally bought a house in Rockaway – his first property purchase – in early 2012. He spent six months renovating the space before Superstorm Sandy devastated the area. VanWyngarden escaped with a little water damage to his basement but many of his neighbors weren’t as lucky.

Occasionally, he runs into Manhattan expats like Patti Smith, who lives nearby. “Patti Smith told me she’s given up on Manhattan as a place for innovative, artistic people to really flourish,” VanWyngarden says over brunch at a hip, Southern-themed spot back in Manhattan on the corner of Joey Ramone Place – not far from where his model girlfriend lives and only half a block from where Smith helped home-birth the punk scene at CBGB. “She’s trying to find this fringe neighborhood that has infinite possibilities and she feels like Rockaway is that zone.

At another table, Parks and Recreation star Adam Scott types frantically on a Mac laptop and, before VanWyngarden walks into the restaurant, MGMT’s electro-anthem “Kids” blasts over the speakers – an infectious reminder of just how engrained he is in the Lower East Side’s DNA. Yet, like Smith, VanWyngarden feels increasingly removed from a scene he helped popularize.

VanWyngarden is enjoying one of his last free mornings before the MGMT machine really gears up for the support cycle behind their third, self-titled studio album on Columbia. They’ve just finished mixing and sequencing the record and, after brunch, VanWyngarden will head to Brooklyn to continue whipping MGMT’s live show into shape before they hit the road in just over a week. It’s proven to be a bit of a challenge: More than any other album they’ve made, MGMT is a headphone record, filled with dark, dense, psychedelic pastures and carefully edited synth experiments that manage to reclaim electronic music from the dance crowd. MGMT culled most of the album’s tracks from a series of marathon jam sessions that strayed from their traditional rock setup. For the first time, the five-piece live band plans to use backing tracks and sequencers on tour. Judging by the amount of thought they’ve put into the decision, their reasoning feels somewhat like Bob Dylan defending his idea to plug-in in 1965.

“We’ve always tried to recreate all these sounds live and had this moment of, ‘Who’s really impressed by this? And what type of entertainment value are we losing by being completely focused on all these parts?’” VanWyngarden admits, nursing a bowl of granola and a single pancake. “So we’re going to try to have some sequenced sounds that we’re playing with. But in a way, that still allows for extended parts and jamming.”

If VanWyngarden has come to represent MGMT’s reclusive, cosmic side, then co-founder and keyboardist Ben Goldwasser has assumed the role of the band’s cheerful, outgoing everyman. His enthusiasm for both MGMT – and music in general – drives the upbeat conversation over a Bloody Mary a few days later at a café across the street from his band’s Prospect Heights rehearsal space.

“So many people who came to see us thought we were using backing tracks anyway,” Goldwasser echoes. “We shot ourselves in the foot a little bit. At first, we were wondering, ‘Is this cheating?’ It really comes down to whatever makes it a more exciting show, especially if that means that we’re free to move around and involve more multimedia, interactive stuff.”

After living in New York’s Financial District and New Jersey, he moved to Brooklyn’s quaint, easily accessible Boerum Hill neighborhood. During his recent off-season, Goldwasser, also 30, produced former MGMT touring member Hank Sullivant’s forthcoming Kuroma record in his small apartment studio.

He’s a tech geek who avidly scours Craigslist and eBay for vintage equipment. At one point, he picked up a modular synthesizer from someone in the Netherlands who lives on a houseboat. Like VanWyngarden, he’s caught the DJ bug, but he’s quick to clarify that he’s more comfortable “playing records at a friend’s bar,” while his bandmate is working on a proper electronic music set.

Goldwasser has seen a range of shows around New York, too – from Neil Young & Crazy Horse at Brooklyn’s new, massive Barclays Center to Kasper Bjorke at the swanky rooftop space Le Bain to current MGMT obsessions Tame Impala at a number of Bowery Presents venues. Though stylistically different, their unifying integrity fits Goldwasser’s criteria for a good show.

“At this point in my life, I’m so annoyed by anyone who’s a traditionalist,” he says casually. “What is there about this tradition that allows you to be such a snob about it, especially something like rock and roll or punk – a style of music that was championed by the dumbasses? It’s fun to do something that would annoy a rock or electronic traditionalist.”

He isn’t afraid to get his feet wet either and, when he’s not in his own creative zone, he hangs out at psychedelic and postpunk-friendly DIY venues like Glasslands and 285 Kent. “You see so many bands and all they do is appeal to people who are like, ‘What if Jesus and Mary Chain had more songs…and synthesizers!’ What really excites me about playing live again is having a clean slate to try something new.”

Few bands of MGMT’s stature are as consistently overanalyzed and misunderstood. Part of it is due to the fact that VanWyngarden and Goldwasser grew up during the alternative-rock era when creativity and commerce were mutually exclusive terms, yet found commercial success on a major label after the big record companies were thought to be near-dead. It’s also because in the current wilderness of the entertainment industry, you need complexity to survive. VanWyngarden and Goldwasser are independent-minded musicians making unabashedly psychedelic music on a major label at a time when indie rock has become mainstream. They’re able to appreciate the finer things in life while laughing at highbrow pretension.

“We’re silly in some ways because we’re still making music for people who actually listen to high-quality records on their headphones,” Goldwasser jokes, “instead of for people who listen to YouTube with their crappy computer speakers.”

They’ve also studied rock history and realize its trappings but know they’re already part of the storyline. Even the name of their new record is an underhanded nod in that direction.

“We’re playing with the cliché of the self-titled album actually being a band’s second or third record,” VanWyngarden says with a smirk. “Also, a lot of bands we love put out four or five albums before finding their sound. But a lot of times those first four or five albums are the ones that Ben and I are more drawn to.”

Photo by Danny Clinch

VanWyngarden and Goldwasser started playing music together in 2002 at Wesleyan, a progressive Connecticut university for out-of-the-box thinkers interested in a top-tier education. Known throughout their college days as The Management, they specialized in party music that was both purposefully obnoxious – like an extended riff on the Ghostbusters ’ theme – and culturally iconic. (See lyrics like: “This is our decision, to live fast and die young/ We’ve got the vision, now let’s have some fun.” ) Using their shared roots in classic rock and jam as a launching point, they digested as much psychedelic and electronic music as possible. In particular, VanWyngarden credits Goldwasser with warping his brain, thanks to Mouse on Mars and Aphex Twin.

“We were way more in sync with our influences in college,” Goldwasser admits. “We were turning each other on to things all the time and, basically, listened to the same stuff. We’ve grown apart as far as the things we’re listening to now but we still turn each other on to music. In a way, it’s more fun to be like, ‘Well, this is my thing and this is your thing. Where does that meet in the middle and what do we make out of it?’”

Though MGMT briefly split up after college, early tracks like “Kids” and “Time To Pretend” spread virally through a series of inter-college social networks. While Goldwasser was still considering a career in social work, they signed to Columbia and, along with bands like Vampire Weekend, came to represent indie rock’s fresh-faced future.

After the release of Oracular Spectacular in late 2007, dance-numbers like “Electric Feel” became club staples while the album’s deeper tracks were still “out there” enough to keep the art-snobs interested, too. In addition to high-profile opening spots and remixes by acts like Justice, MGMT became fashion icons and sued the President of France for using “Kids” without
permission. Though most of Oracular Spectacular’s signature tunes were leftovers from MGMT’s college days, their sound opened the door for Passion Pit and Foster the People. Meanwhile, tributes ranging from Weezer’s live rendition of “Kids” to Katy Perry’s “Electric Feel” cover appeared on the pop culture radar.

Instead of following Oracular Spectacular with a hit-loaded album, MGMT dug deeper into their acid-rock influences musically on 2010’s Congratulations and, lyrically, took a grunge-like swing at the classic-rock fairytale.

“A certain group of kids have similar musical backgrounds,” VanWyngarden muses. “All of our parents played us classic rock – psychedelic stuff – from the ‘70s and late ‘60s. We’re possibly the last generation to grow up on that music. The mystical side of me thinks that there’s this development of what it means to be a human – wanting this medicine man, [this] shamanistic music to push us and open up different perspectives. That’s what psychedelic music does best.”

Congratulations received mixed reviews but cemented MGMT’s reputation as artists with principles. They grew into a live force, selling out multiple nights at Radio City Music Hall. Key songs like “Siberian Breaks” and “Flash Delirium” remain live favorites.

VanWyngarden had a major musical epiphany after Congratulations. “I got a little sick of rock and roll,” he says, before breaking interview mode and laughing at himself. “Which if I heard myself say that four years ago, I would be like, ‘What are you talking about?!’ I think a big part of it for me was, around 2011, I started getting back into electronic music. Something changed in my brain – I was able to hear heart, soul and a real spirit in electronic music for the first time. And then, at the same time, when I would try to listen to ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’ or ‘Brown Sugar,’ I could only hear something that was tired. Fun, but tired.”

“I think [Andrew and I] differ on that,” Goldwasser says after hearing his bandmate’s anti-rock comments. “For me, I’m really into this formalistic music – saying something subversive through a recognizable form. My ideal band is someone who’s completely referencing old forms but making the craziest sounds you’ve ever heard.”

Goldwasser grew up in a remote Upstate New York town with a population of less than 2,000. While he saw Phish in high school and attended the first two Bonnaroos with VanWyngarden in college, he didn’t develop his musical palate until later.

“I didn’t have a lot of friends who were into cool music growing up,” Goldwasser admits. “It wasn’t until college and the Internet that I could actually download songs that I couldn’t find at a record store where I grew up.”

Though he’s not ashamed to enjoy a nice restaurant or lounge, Goldwasser laughs about the perception that they are high-rolling club kids. “I don’t know what to do at an electronic concert,” Goldwasser says, recounting a time he was mocked at a European club when he tried to DJ. “That’s a totally foreign experience to me. But at the same time, it is cool that it’s a scene, even more than indie rock is now.” In an odd turn of events, though the members of MGMT have spent the past half-decade trying to distance themselves from their more youthful dance music, their new album is their most electronic album yet. A far cry from Oracular Spectacular’s hit “Kids,” MGMT’s abrasive keyboard flourishes are more antagonistic than escapist.

“I was obsessed with Phish,” VanWyngarden says with a knowing grin. “I remember Trey [Anastasio] talking about something he called the ‘kill mommy’ phase. At one point, he forced himself to step out and try something else. I think that’s what happened with us on this album with rock and roll.”

If VanWyngarden has become something of a poster child for a generation of indie stars raised on jambands, then he’s also brought Phish’s absurdist spirit and sense of community into the so-called “new psychedelic frontier.” Growing up in Memphis, Tenn., as the son of an alt-weekly newspaper editor, VanWyngarden had some early success playing music on the local jam circuit. He reminisces about a Phish summer run he did along the East Coast in 2000, smiling as he thinks back on simpler times and the shows that got him excited about music in the first place. In particular, he points to a noteworthy version of “Bathtub Gin” that Phish performed at Atlanta’s Lakewood Amphitheatre that year, as well as dates in Holmdel and Camden, N.J., as personal highlights.

“I think the most special show for me was probably when they came to Memphis back in ‘99,” he says. “They played at the Pyramid and the crowd sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to Trey.” (As testament to his fandom and leadership, VanWyngarden actually helped start the famous chant by distributing hundreds of flyers he had printed before the show.)

Things came full circle in 2011 when Anastasio stopped by MGMT’s dressing room at the Outside Lands Music and Arts Festival, and VanWyngarden got to watch Phish’s set with his mom and sister, side-stage.

In 2012, VanWyngarden and Goldwasser started sketching out their next batch of songs in Brooklyn, but quickly decamped to longtime producer Dave Fridmann’s remote Buffalo studio. Unlike Congratulations, which featured MGMT’s steady live band, they opted to work as a duo, in part, as a bonding exercise.

“Andrew and I hadn’t hung out as friends that much for a while because we’d been so involved in logistics, planning and making business decisions as a band – stuff that’s no fun at all,” Goldwasser says candidly. “It got to be stressful and when we weren’t doing band stuff, we were doing our own things – just regrouping after touring for so long.”

During multiple trips to Fridmann’s space, they spent hours improvising with a laboratory of musical toys. Some sessions were more productive than others, but the process opened up the creative floodgates. Fridmann served as their referee, keeping them motivated, pushing them to try different ideas and letting them know when they scored a goal. Then, they edited those jam sessions into songs.

“We wanted to be less inhibited with our musical decisions – let things bloom and grow because we had a bad habit of starting an idea and cutting it off,” VanWyngarden admits. “The moments that were really working – when Ben and I were grooving – were coming out of these extended improvisations. We’d have drum machines, Ben’s module loop, synthesizers and guitars set up. Sometimes we’d jam for two-and-a-half hours before we got to the really exciting meat.” “After touring and not being in the creative mode, we felt like, ‘Alright, is it going to be different?’” Goldwasser reflects. He points to a pair of November 2011 shows at New York’s prestigious Guggenheim Museum as a turning point. They wrote an entire set of new music specifically for an event tied to controversial Italian artist Maurizio Cattelan’s exhibition. Instead of formally documenting the shows, they let their new, mind-altering tunes live as part of the site-specific performance piece. “On our last album, we were really obvious about our influences,” Goldwasser adds. “The Guggenheim shows were about the sonics and the atmosphere – just setting the mood but not being as obvious about where it came from. Having the opportunity to make this one-off performance and then leave it was a nice exercise for us, too.” “We both love making sounds together, even though it is usually a point of contention as to the particulars of the sound,” VanWyngarden adds. “Dave was important: We would get something going, laugh and go onto something else and Dave would be like, ‘No guys, you should keep going with this.’”

VanWynGarden and Goldwasser performing during a Joshua Light Show residency at NYU’s Skirball Center, 9/15/12

Another factor in the duo’s evolving sound was VanWyngarden’s reconnection with electronic-driven music. “I had made this playlist on a flight with [The Orb’s] ‘Slug Dub,’ a 20-minute Stereolab song and some EAR. I took really good, clean acid in Hawaii and put the mix on. I had never listened to electronic music [while tripping] on acid and had this moment that I hadn’t had since college.”

The resulting collection of songs is the first record to truly reflect their kaleidoscope of interests. “Alien Days,” the album’s first single and opening track, serves as a conscious bridge to the band’s previous albums: a garage-pop song spiced with crazy synthesizer swirls and an extraterrestrial-sounding child’s voice.

“A Good Sadness” is an excerpt from a particularly menacing jam, while the possessed nursery hymn “Plenty of Girls in the Sea” is both MGMT’s catchiest and most twisted tale. “I think it’s cool that ‘Alien Days’ sounds like it could have been on either of our other albums, which helps to put down the whole [idea] that those two albums are so different from each other,” Goldwasser makes a point to say.

VanWyngarden, the band’s lyricist, says they stayed “pretty clean” for the recording sessions, though he did come up with the lyrically dark “Your Life Is a Lie” while tripping hard on acid by a fire. Throughout, they mix and match melodies with house-music precision and use those contrasts as unexpected hooks. Instead of relying on guitars, synthesizers and drum machines drive the 11-track album.

MGMT’s second half unfolds into a trippy, nightmare dream sequence until it reaches the album-closing noise-jam “An Orphan of Fortune” – a robotic climax built from leftover sound files. They also tacked on a cover of ‘60s flower pop group Faine Jade’s “Introspection.” (Some fans caught a glimpse of their new creative approach when VanWyngarden and Goldwasser played two sets of improvised music at New York University while illuminated by the Fillmore East’s pioneering Joshua Light Show this past September.)

“One of the things we bonded over in college was making crazy sounds on synthesizers,” Goldwasser says. “That was something we ended up getting back to on this album – making some noise that sounds like a dying cat.”

On a spring day in late April, VanWyngarden and Goldwasser meet for brunch at a Brooklyn Heights restaurant, a few feet away from the newly named Adam Yauch Park. VanWyngarden has on his trademark headband and a Australian surfer. Goldwasser sports a black leather jacket and thick, professor-style glasses. As he sits down, VanWyngarden points out that the restaurant is located in one of Brooklyn’s oldest buildings, which segues into a conversation about Internet conspiracy theories.

“I feel like so much information is available – pretty much everything you want to know is out there – so it’s hard to write about this abstract concept of ‘the man,’” VanWyngarden says. “It’s about trying to make sense out of the good and bad – embracing the pretty, utopian side of psychedelic music as much as the fucked up side.”

VanWyngarden and Goldwasser recently hosted a MGMT playback in their label’s conference room, but in a moment of reclaimed performance art, they brought a psychedelic light show with them.

“When we first played ‘Alien Days’ for the label, they were like, ‘This is catchy but why does it have all this crazy sound collage in the middle of the song?’” Goldwasser says. “Now that they’ve heard songs on the album that are basically entire sound collages, it makes more sense. “There are so many different entry points to the songs which lead you down this whole other path,” he continues, clearly dreading his upcoming press circuit. “I was quoted as saying, ‘This isn’t an album you’re going to get the first time you listen to it.’ I didn’t mean that as far as total digestibility, I mean that there are all these little moments you can hear when you go back.”

Like the best musical duos, VanWyngarden and Goldwasser have a natural yin-and-yang. In conversation, Goldwasser has a tendency to defer to VanWyngarden but his answers are usually longer and more involved. Sometimes they finish each other’s sentences, while other times they have differing opinions on their shared art.

“The new record is melodramatic – seeing the unreality of life as a movie,” VanWyngarden clarifies. “So there’s the drama of watching life unfold in this strange way.” “For me, I’m not thinking rock melodrama…I feel the musical weight comes from getting lost in the sounds and less from the narrative of ‘that is a song about this thing,’” Goldwasser counters. “We were joking about how we wanted to make the songs lyrically and emotionally weighty but have the music be really playful and inviting.”

As they’ve aged, the duo have gained some perspective on their legacy. “Ben and I started to see the first album as a wide-eyed, post-apocalyptic fantasy with this beautiful energy,” VanWyngarden reflects. “Congratulations was the result of us being naïve musicians and not knowing what we were getting into being in a band – it’s more melancholy, introspective
and closed off. We had to get that one out – like therapy. This one feels like the first breaths of feeling comfortable with the music we’re making and excited about being free to do whatever we want.

“It’s kind of scary that we’re taking risks,” he elaborates. “The album has this feeling of being overwhelmed – feeling this constant chaotic sensation – and trying to make sense of it and accept these multiple realities. I don’t know if it’s us looking for answers.”

He pauses for a second, searching for the name of the popular astrological theory about one beginning a new stage of their life between the ages of 28 and 30. “It’s our Saturn’s Return album,” he says.

A decade after they formed MGMT, Goldwasser and VanWyngarden are career musicians. Though they never suggest it, there’s also a good chance that they will outlast many of their peers – there’s already a weight to their canon. While they plan to rearrange some of their older songs for their new live setup, they’re trying hard not to alienate their fanbase.

“We’re thinking of it from the audience perspective,” VanWyngarden says. “I can understand wanting to be experimental but you don’t want to deny someone the simple pleasure of hearing a song.”

He still connects to his older lyrics: “I think it’s important to try to channel those feelings when you’re singing it and get into that zone.”

They also have their sights set on their next project. “It was a struggle to get into this creative process and make something new. By the end of it, we were ready to record a whole other album’s worth of music,” Goldwasser says.

“I’m sure it’ll be different – who’s to say how. I can imagine it being more poppy, for lack of a better word – more fun music,” VanWyngarden adds. “I stopped trying to guess how people are going to perceive MGMT,” Goldwasser admits. “When we were making this crazy music, we were worried that people were going to think it was meant to be totally obscure and challenging. It’s actually a celebration to get people excited about new music and the possibilities that are still out there. It’s this positive experience – we were so into the music when we were making it, and I hope that carries across to most people when they listen to it.”

VanWyngarden smiles and, as if to assure his old friend, simply blurts out, “To me, it sounds like MGMT.”