With the String Cheese Incident in motion on its Roots Run Deep tour, today we’re sharing this piece that originally ran in the December-January 2004 issue of Relix.

Taut, imploring index fingers are thrust heavenward on this temperate Boston Saturday afternoon in October, appealing for manna in the form of a spare ticket or two. A garish blend of homemade signs also predominates, a bounty of exuberant penmanship and poor punmanship, exhorting passerbys to part with any extras. As turnstiles open and the designated starting time approaches, bustle begets frenzy as a swirl of limbs pushes forward with one collective intent…to get into Fenway Park in time for opening pitch of game three of the American League Championship Series. Red Sox vs. Yankees. Pedro vs. Clemens.

This tableau recurs, writ-crunchier and with a merciful modicum of “Cowboy Up Sox!” t-shirts at the Orpheum Theater a few hours later, anticipating the second night of a String Cheese Incident run. The fervor is mitigated slightly by the fact that as with its predecessor, the show has sold out so far in advance that some of the ticketless are resigned to their fate and off watching the game, hoping instead that a band member just might make a post-show sit-in elsewhere in the city (which most recognize as unlikely since the tour buses must haul up to Montreal for the next night’s gig- on the itineraries posted backstage this destination is accompanied by the admonition “BORDER CROSSING TONIGHT” with its “smoke ‘em if you got ‘em” subtext.).

By 6:45 the pace inside the Orpheum is rather languid as the load-in and any requisite orientation had taken place on the preceding evening. This allows employees to huddle around portable radios, emitting collective groans from all corners of the theater when Red Sox left fielder Many Ramirez hits into an inning ending double play at the close of the 6th and the Sox down 4-2. Oblivious to the on-field action a few miles away String Cheese Incident bassist Keith Moseley, who sits on a couch in the band’s dressing room with an acoustic bass in his hands and headphones plugged into his laptop. A hand-drawn lyric sheet is at his feet, as he works on Pink Floyd’s “Time.”

Moseley’s four bandmates soon ascend three flights of stairs, filling the slightly cramped quarters at the predetermined time to work on the evening’s setlist. Upon arrival, Bill Nershi picks up an acoustic guitar and begins rolling through the song with Moseley, the pair trailing off every now in an effort to identify the requisite chords. Keyboardist Kyle Hollingsworth, who a few moments earlier had been on stage silently practicing to 2,800 empty seats, sits down and soon offers suggestions with an earnest, affable air, soon aided by the arrival of his accordion. Michael Kang initiates a quick Google search in search of the tabs before stepping in with his mandolin. The confines of the room don’t allow for rehearsal gear so drummer Michael Travis sits back and bobs intently as the four run through the song. There is comfort and ease to their exchanges with no one member pushing the verbal or the musical dialogue.

The same holds true for the process of constructing the setlist, itself a balance of genre, vocal variance, tempo, principal soloist, hand-drum ratio and other considerations. On this evening, the list emerges through a half-hour of discussion and digression peppered with humor and instrumental emphasis (shortly after saluting “one of the best songs we wrote that we didn’t write” Nershi bounds into some bluegrass with Travis joining in on Moseley’s bass). Results are achieved through a number of iterations:

1. Hollingsworth solicits ideas and jots them down
2. Travis takes the paper to the corner and incorporates a number of these into a second setlist
3. Kang walks over, reviews the results and kneels to fashion his own variant
4. After the band parses through 3.0, Travis grips the Sharpie once again and lobs another version into play
5. Additional conversation yields a distilled option using the opening set from the first and the concluding set from the fourth
6. This extract is then revised when Mofro’s JJ Grey enters the room and the band remembers that it has invited him to sit in
7. A provisional final setlist is ratified only to be tweaked again prior to the second set after calibrating the vibe of the room and the stage

This has long been the String Cheese way, a prolonged exercise in participatory democracy. A few nights earlier the group had taken the stage without any songs delineated in advance, a decision that yielded the occasional vexing lull. “The idea was that we would each choose one.” Hollingsworth explains, “But if that choice didn’t seem appropriate to someone then we discussed on stage what would be the best song for the next spot. Meanwhile the audience was siting there….”

Kang adds, “Sometimes we spend so much energy trying to decide what we’re going to do that we can take energy away from what it is we’re actually about to do.”

The keyboardist laughs, "What we needed was a producer on the side saying, ‘You NEED to do this song.’

Indeed, it was a shared objective to avert any such stalemates that led the band to cede control of its latest studio project to British producer Youth. The resulting disc, Untying the Not sounds little like the band’s prior releases and at times, some would say, little like String Cheese. It is the group’s finest effort.

Prior to 2003 the Red Sox and Yankees had only met for one prior post-season series (and a playoff game in ‘78). Despite the historical rivalry (would say more deeply held on the part of the Sox and its fans due to a relative dearth of pennants- see Bucky Dent above, grumble grumble), the two teams have always competed in the same division which precluded any possibility of an ALCS match up until the advent of the Wild Card in the mid-90’s.

At the same moment that Major League Baseball altered its format, String Cheese Incident started to gain national favor in an alternate pastime through its own status as a Wild Card. The band’s atypical instrumentation and concomitant blend of genres felt novel and endearing, carrying a purity of intent (for instance when scheduling conflicts led Kang, Nershi and Moseley to seek a replacement for initial fourth member, mandolin player Bruce Hayes, it seemed logical to tap percussionist Travis because the band never thought to limit its efforts to any prescribed mode, opting for a more expansive, abstracted definition of its music).

Nershi recalls, “The funny thing about this band is the first shows that we played back on Western Slope- Crested Butte and Telluride we were like, ‘This is cool. We might be able to make a little money so we don’t have to get a real job or work as much at our other jobs.’ We loved playing music, we wanted a gig and we wanted to get together. But when we played…people just freaked out [Laughs] We were like, ‘What just happened there?’ And the fact that the crowd gave us so much back was our inspiration to work harder. I think what kept the band going for a long time was there were so many people digging the music. One of the best things about performing is you get so much love back and if you can keep generating it then you can keep the cycle going.”

However by the end of 2002 the band recognized that the nature of that reciprocal exchange had altered slightly. Kang explains, “We’ve been together ten years and played fourteen hundred shows or something like that and after a while you’ve got to mix it up, do different stuff and come up with new ways to recreate yourself. There was definitely a point last year when it started to feel a little stale and that is not something you want to feel as an artist especially with the kind of music we play that relies on switching it up and experimentation.”

“You get the point where you’ve been playing music together for a long time.” Nershi adds, “I know there are bands that have been playing for a lot longer than us and I’m guessing they went through a lot of this too. But as Mike says, we’ve played 1400 gigs or whatever and it’s not as easy to walk on stage and just be like, ‘This is the coolest shit that ever happened,’ because we do it all the time. There’s got to be something more than the excitement of. ‘Hey, we’re playing live in front of people.” Otherwise it’s going to stop happening for us and the people who come out."

Meanwhile, the band’s infrastructure grew apace with its popularity (and at times seemed to nudge ahead). The organization expanded into a range of branded enterprises (including SCI Gear, SCI Fidelity Records and SCI Ticketing which is currently embroiled in a lawsuit with Ticketmaster). In addition the quintet carries a sizable road crew to realize its laudably exacting production standards (an emphasis on sonic clarity has long been a String Cheese hallmark- for instance while still performing predominantly in clubs, the band lugged its own sound system from gig to gig). While those businesses functioning under the SCI imprimatur are self-sufficient units, the totality of these concerns did carry some additional collective responsibility for the artists.

“That’s one of the things that makes the whole musical experience get a little heavier.” Nershi affirms. “When you realize that you’re not just somebody out on the road having a great time playing your instrument and gigging and touring around different cities. Instead it’s ‘Hey I’m the head of business with employees,’ and suddenly it’s not as carefree as it used to be.”
“There’s a lot of maintenance and we find ourselves having to talk about a lot of stuff we didn’t have to talk about before.” Kang continues, “It just requires time and sometimes it can eat up the creative zest because there’s stuff you have to deal with. We were at a point where we realized we need to try to focus on what is really important, which is the music and put all the other stuff in the periphery.”

Nershi is forthright in acknowledging that all of the aforementioned factors reached a culmination, “When we finally got to the point where the whole machine behind us was running itself and we had made it to a certain level of comfort, I think we got a little complacent with our situation for a while. We used to go out every night onstage and even if there were only thirty-five people out there we’d say, ‘Let’s go out and play our asses off because we’re busting our asses driving around on the bus. Let’s see how much we can get these people off.” And then we got to this point where it’s like, ‘Oh yeah, this is all working, we’re doing okay now’ and maybe we didn’t put as much oomph into it. Then we realized that we have to shake it up a little bit and make it exciting again."

The path the band took to achieve this aim came through a few intense weeks in late winter 2003 that Moseley jokingly describes as “rock and roll boot camp.” It was here that a studio experience reinvigorated the String Cheese Incident and revitalized its live show.

While standing in the wings a few moments prior to taking the stage, Nershi is joined by SCI co-manager Mike Luba and Guster manager Dalton Sims who apprise him of the day’s events at Fenway. The trio is soon laughing in bewilderment at a confrontation in the fourth inning when 72 year old Yankees bench coach (and former Red Sox manager) Don Zimmer charged across the field at Sox starter Pedro Martinez during a melee in which Martinez pushed the AARP paragon to the ground. And while this tussle does not provide an altogether apt metaphor to describe the String Cheese Incident studio experience, it is worth noting that Nershi laughs, “That’s great,” when presented with moe. bassist Rob Derhak’s definition of a producer as “someone who takes your art and tries to make it his own.” Nonetheless, the guitarist also acknowledges, “right now the thing that gives me the most excitement and the same kind of rush that I had at my first gig in front of a lot of people is getting in the hot seat in the studio.”

It was Youth who lit that fire. The former Killing Joke bassist, who has gone on to produce, among others, The Orb, The Verve, Crowded House and James, first saw the band perform at the Berkeley Community Theater in October 2002 and came away ebullient: “I liked the vibe. I liked the idea of where they came from, where they were at and the potential for where they could go.” Far more importantly for the direction that the project would take, he viewed the String Cheese Incident through a perspective framed by European clubland. “They really are a dance band. They came on with a slow song and the crowd went freaking straight away. All their fans were dancing all they time. There’s not a lot of difference between what they were doing and the electronic rave thing in terms of the functional part of what actually occurs.”

So with the band’s sanction Youth set about bridging these parallel realms (String Cheese was not entirely unfamiliar with his aims as Kang and Travis have an affinity for electronica, although Moseley admits with a laugh, “to be honest I was a little scared when I read his discography and I didn’t really recognize most of the bands.” ). One song that manifests a near-perfect melding of approaches is the instrumental “Valley of the Jig,” which vests a bluegrass melody with house music beats. The transformation is all the more artful when one recognizes that some of “Jig” builds on ‘Red Haired Boy," a traditional Irish song long since transplanted to Appalachia where it has become a fiddle staple. Fitted with a new rudder it now crosses back over the Atlantic to its origination point butlanding in the dance club rather than the dance hall.

A second dramatic transformation came with “Just Passin’ Through” a collaboration between Bill Nershi and John Barlow that began as a crackling country-inflected composition laced with an ironic, dark humor. While the band was quite content with the song, Youth was not so easily appeased. "To me sometimes humor doesn’t go deep enough, it wears off pretty quick. They used to go into this instrumental jam in the end that had these different chords. It was a bit more melancholy and reminded me of Derek & the Dominos at the end of “Layla” where it goes into that piano section. I suggested that he sing the song over the chords and slow it down to give it new perspective on the lyrics and a different intention and atmosphere. It became a bit more moving emotionally. I think as a producer it is my role to bring out the emotional heart of a song."

Aside from countering Derhak’s Theorem, Youth’s comments hint at some of the backdrop to these sessions. On its previous album, 2001’s Outside Inside the band had asked producer Steve Berlin to capture animated live readings of its songs. This time the group granted Youth the freedom to push it further and he fully availed himself of this prerogative. While he acknowledges that “some kind of turbulence is always good creatively as long as it’s channeled constructively,” beyond any drama for drama’s sake the producer also counseled the band to reassess and simplify in service of the songs.

“They have a justly formidable live reputation, however making a great album is a different gig entirely. Even live sometimes I felt as if I was watching five solo artists. When it was their song they’d have the spotlight and then the rest of the band would be their backing band. So I said, ‘Let’s play a bit more as team,’ because using the studio as an instrument is a different art, the focus has to be more on the songs than the musicianship.’”

Travis in particular acquired a new reference point. "My general instinct on the drum kit is to put all the groovy little sixteenth notes in and make everything a little bit funky but he wanted the drum kit to be this very clean anchor. I saw the wisdom in it after he had me intersperse a tambourine part to give it a sixteenth note shimmer. It was a huge rock and roll education for me and now I think everybody has more gravity to their playing. "

Nershi agrees. “Trav and I were the brunt of what I thought were attacks on our entire musical worth and I still had the most satisfying creative experience I’ve ever had in the studio. One of the great lessons from this recording process was it’s okay to focus more on timing, execution and emotion. We’re realizing the spaces are just as important as the notes and I think that’s something that we’re going to keep learning.”

“After grinding it out for five months” Kang explains, “there is a deeper level of satisfaction than I’ve ever had with any of our albums.” Untying the Not may not carry the resonance of Dark Side of the Moon, the album most commonly held in comparison during the recording process. However, of all the band’s discs it leaps the closest to exhibiting the fundamental characteristic that Kang ascribes to the 1973 Floyd release: “an intention to make a deep emotional impact with the audience. If you listen to Dark Side now, its message still holds true. It’s timeless.”
“Although,” Travis amends, “there is that one song ‘Time’ so it’s not quite ‘Time’-less.”
“But aside from that song…” A deadpan Nershi trails off.

Indeed, the band has emerged from these turbulent sessions with its humor intact, enlivened by an album that is surprisingly String Cheese and rather Youthful. This exhilaration reverberates in the concert setting as characterized by Carolyn “Mountain Girl” Garcia in the band’s DVD Waiting For the Snow To Fall, when she proclaims, “Listening to the music developing on stage in the instant, to me, that’s better than baseball.” Following a 4-3 Red Sox loss to the Yankees, the Orpheum sways in accord.