Midlake and the ties that bind

When we speak, singer Eric Pulido is in his home in Denton and when I ask how he is, he points to the scene outside his window. “I’m looking at our downtown square on a beautiful Texas day and lunch is on the horizon, so I'd say… not bad!” When his childhood friend, drummer McKenzie Smith joins us, it’s immediately clear from the connection between the pair that Midlake are in rude health, a reunited band of brothers.

Having introduced themselves with 2004's Bamnan and Slivercork, Midlake’s career has taken in personnel changes and pauses, but they remain a key influence in the world of independent music. When we spoke to Bella Union founder Simon Raymonde about the pivotal moments the label’s history, the first event on his list was the signing of Midlake, describing The Trials of Van Occupanther, as “one of the best we’ve ever released, people still talk about it and rightly so, it’s a very, very special record.”

After an eight-year hiatus, Midlake, completed by guitarists Eric Nichelson and Joey McClellan and keyboard player Jesse Chandler, returned last year with the excellent For The Sake of Bethel Woods. The first studio record since 2013’s Antiphon, which was written after the departure of Tim Smith, their then main songwriter.

Despite their musical parting of the ways over a decade ago, Pulido explains they’re still friends with their former bandmate, and remain a source of support for each other. “I love Tim. He sent me his new album, which is beautiful. We respect and encourage each other with what we're doing. Tim left of his own volition, I don't think it was joyful for him to be doing it anymore, especially in the context of how we did or do things, with one of those being putting out an album and touring it. Do we all wish it could have just been, ‘We're this band of five, we stay together, grow and evolve and it stands the test of time?’ Yes. But the reality is that never could have sustained.” Midlake’s evolution had been a series of necessary changes, where everyone in the band now is happy to be a part of it. “It wasn't anybody kicking anybody out. It was just saying ‘I want off this train’ and then us in hindsight going, ‘Man, I think that was the most healthy thing for everybody.’”

They reunited with Smith on the song “The Fairest Way", for the tenth anniversary release of The Trials of Van Occupanther, an album which Pulido feels created a level of expectation that affected their creative relationship. “It can cut both ways, the way in which we worked or wanted to work. It all became a difficult storm. And with that being not present and Tim saying, ‘There's a 10-year anniversary, let's get together and spend a couple days in the studio and put out this song’, it was ‘Well, why couldn't we always do that?’

Following the release of Antiphon, Midlake realised they needed to pause, which Pulido says was “a very intentional break.” Each band member continued to make music and started families. Looking back, Pulido explains that Midlake’s way of working was so all-consuming, it was inevitable it would take its toll. “Before we took a break, so much of what we did during that first long stretch of Midlake was so wholly invested in that, whether it was how we recorded or trying to balance everything else with a life of being on the road. You're physically gone, and we toured pretty heavily.”

During their hiatus, Pulido, Smith, Chandler and McClellan formed BNQT, a collaboration with Grandaddy’s Jason Lytle, Band of Horses Ben Bridwell, Franz Ferdinand’s Alex Kapranos, and Fran Healey of Travis. Pulido explains that whilst they were on break, the door for Midlake remained ajar, rather than shut. “We said ‘Let's stop, we may pick it back up, we may not. If we do, I don't know what that will look like.’”

They all stayed in Denton, and when the pandemic hit, conversations about writing together again gathered pace. “Being stuck inside really helped us to try and flex our inherent artistic desires” Pulido says, “we love to create, we love to make music and we love one another. So we thought ‘How can we do this, whether remotely or in small groups?’

Bands reuniting is often a commercial decision, an opportunity to make money from touring, to play lucrative anniversary tours, however Midlake’s coming back together couldn’t be further than that, instead it’s driven by lifelong friendships and the need and joy of playing together. One only has to listen to Live at The Roundhouse, released earlier this year, from their show in April 2022, to hear their continued delight in performing and the chemistry between each of them and the audience.

Smith tells me lots of people have told him the same thing about their live record. “I’m glad that’s translated. If you're in the room with us, you can see it in our faces and how we're interacting, and I'm so stoked that's the reality at this point. There's a bit of a sadness and an unfortunate element about it, we were a band for so many years and there was a chemistry. The band has gone through a lot but it’s amazing to still have so much fun doing it and to truly feel, ‘Wow, this is the band we always wanted to be’” he tells me. “Really, it’s this lack of stress and pressure, where there's a personality thing, a musical thing and a freedom to just enjoy that thing more.”

When he reflects on Midlake’s earlier incarnation, there’s a sound of relief in Smith’s voice that things are very different now. “There were times when it wasn't as fun. Not everything you do when you're making art is has to be centered around fun, but the older you get, if you’ve got to be away from your family, it's more enjoyable if it is fun. And if nothing else, at least not miserable, and at times we have been that band. I'm glad we've moved on from that, it just took some different things to happen…”

Pulido finishes his friend’s sentence for him, which prompts them both to burst into laughter. “Let's just say Ed, we're not doing it for the money, I can promise you that!”, he laughs. “I'm glad it translated on the live record, because there were times in the past where people would be, ‘Are y’all OK?’ Part of doing this now affords us to be together, to hang out and play music. There's something about getting to play music every night to people that are singing your songs back to you.”

When it came to recording For the Sake of Bethel Woods, for the first time in their history Midlake enlisted someone outside of the band, John Congleton, to take on the producer’s chair. In keeping with their familial ethic, Congleton wasn’t a big-name producer drafted in to add polish, Smith had worked on other artists records with him before, including St. Vincent’s eponymously titled fourth album. “I've done a lot of sessions with John and the drumming is a lot simpler, it’s very different to what I do on a Midlake record. And thankfully because we have a long history, and John is a very intuitive and musical and creative person, he didn't try to make me drum differently with the band.”

Smith tells me he loves the freedom he has drumming for Midlake, citing Hal Blaine, Jim Keltner and Jim Gordon as inspirations. “People that have a more minimalist approach, that have made their mark in the music industry by playing on classic songs, but they're not playing like the way I'm playing in this band. If I was going to tell somebody what to do in a recording session, I would say, ‘Do not do what I'm doing in Midlake’, It's completely different and it doesn’t make sense for most things!”

Pulido also found Congleton’s guidance invaluable, most importantly in terms of knowing when they’d recorded a great take, rather than their previous method of re-recording, only to realise they’d gotten what they wanted much earlier. “I'd never worked with John before and Midlake had never worked in that type of way, where someone else was turning the knobs and making executive decisions for us, not that we didn't have opinions, but he would make the executive decision and it helped us go into a room and just play. It was a two-week session and we actually ended in 12 days, and that’s absurd for Midlake!”

They drove to Congleton’s studio in Dallas each day and would go through the songs methodically, but when it came to record, Congleton helped them to speed up. “John is notorious for making quick executive decisions. It was a little bit of ‘Wait, that was good enough?’ Like, that's it?’ And he'd be, ‘What's wrong with you guys?! It's great!’”, Pulido says. “We used to record tracks and sounds to a fault, where there was this law of diminishing returns, where I was like, ‘I think we hit the peak about three weeks ago.’ It was that evolution of trusting those around you, but also someone coming in and being a part of the record like John was. That was a new thing, of saying, ‘We're inviting you in to be a part of the decisions of this album and we want you to enjoy it and to have your stamp as well.’

Working with Congleton helped Midlake to realise that evolving their process was not only enjoyable but the way forward, and Pulido feels there’s now no turning back. “I think we’re always going to work with somebody now. Working in that way and trusting each other is a strong thing. And to be honest, even in the past, when we would belabour things, we'd come back to the first take and be like, ‘That was kind of strong.’

Smith attributes their previous fastidiousness to an unhealthy culture within the band, where they’d overthink everything, which he now feels was often to the detriment of the joy they had playing together. “It had to be painstaking, and, man, over time, that really sucks the joy of playing music and being creative.” He cites the sessions they had with the producer Jonathan Wilson, before Tim Smith left the band, as an example “We played the songs in a really free and natural way and recorded in a very old classic way, Jonathan is a great engineer and producer.”

When they listened back to the recordings, Smith recalls that some band members expected Wilson to tell them it wasn’t good enough, but his response the opposite. “He was ‘It sounds great, let's move on’, and that was not an acceptable thing for this band for many years. It's really nice to release that now, to be creative and free and go quickly. Life’s short.”

I ask Smith if he thinks taking time away from Midlake enabled them to do that, to have a confidence to trust in the first take? “I think we're all in a place that if we listen back and it sucks, we know it sucks. That's definitely a healthier sentiment if you can do that. It's a big conversation and it’s not black and white. There are cases to be made for being extremely meticulous and that works sometimes for people, but I'm glad we don't do that anymore.”

Given their body of work, longevity and influence on other artists, I put it to both of them that perhaps Midlake haven’t gotten the credit they’ve been due over the years. They both laugh good naturedly, and Pulido deadpans, “That’s a loaded question!” Their collective response gets to the heart of Midlake and what they’ve achieved - humility and thankfulness, rather than feeling hard done by. Pulido tells me that “it warms our hearts when we hear something like Simon saying we played a big role in the story of Bella Union, and artists that were to come maybe had a similar outlook.”

Pulido frames it within the world of independent music that they drew inspiration from, where they themselves would go onto inspire others. “That lane didn't really exist for a long time, and to be a part of any of that legacy feels special to us” he reflects. “How that's equated now can sometimes seem so disingenuous, of lists that you get on a certain radio station, or a score that you get on an album.” Pulido has been in the industry long enough to know that radio play and press coverage can boost album and ticket sales, but the respect of his peers is the ultimate accolade.

“For me, I love it when other bands that we respect and know, know and respect us as well. In some ways it helps to solidify that we're doing it right. I'm not saying I don't appreciate album sales or fans coming to the shows, because that obviously helps you to sustain and do it. I think with ourselves and our own desire to keep creating, and those other artists out there, you live together in this small world of appreciation, and that means something.”

Smith thinks the fact that they’ve managed to keep doing what they love and have such a loyal fanbase is a huge achievement, citing how hard it is for bands to get a break in the current climate: “I can't imagine trying to be a young artist or band trying to make it right now. I'm sure bands have said that for decades, but I feel we got just under the wire of the indie world of the mid-‘2000s. We're not a huge band, at all, and we probably never will be, but I'm thankful for even being afforded the ears to hear us over these years and that still come and see us.

“We have a lot of credit, and we have a lot of musicians and artists that respect us. We can go to Israel, Istanbul, Holland or Germany and have shows where people will come and love our music. That's an accomplishment, that's really, really hard to do.”

Perhaps the highlight of For the Sake of Bethel Woods, in keeping with a story of a band of brothers, is the song “Noble”, written about Smith’s son, Garrett Noble Smith, who was born with semi-lobar holoprosencephaly, a rare brain disorder. Smith describes the lyrics, penned by Pulido as “a beautiful gift.” Garrett is about to turn four and Smith says his son is a “amazing, every day is a gift, but I don't know what's going to happen. The time when that was song was written was definitely a scarier time. I didn't know if it was going to make it to the album, but it did and it turned out to be a really special thing that we get to play it live.”

The impact of the song has prompted fans to seek Smith out to share their own stories with him. “I started realising quickly that this song is bigger than just our world, and specifically my world, because it was affecting a lot of people around the world who had similar situations, which was a really nice thing to have happen and unfold, where I felt connected those people. I'm glad that the song touched them, it was really special.” He then turns to his friend, “Eric, the lyrics and the melody of that song are something special, thank you”, to which Pulido replies, “My pleasure.”

“Noble” is also a testament to Midlake’s current way of working, where the emphasis is on a collective vision. Pulido explains, “I might have written the lyrics and melody, but Jesse wrote the chords, McKenzie wrote that drumbeat and we created something together, it wasn't a ‘here it is’. I depend on the band so much, and how I write, and we write, to make the songs come to life how they do, more so than we did in the past.”

This month sees Midlake return to Europe, with a string of shows that include Black Deer Festival and some intimate club shows, of which Pulido says, “We’re going to have some fun little tricks in our back pocket to share with the audience.” Talking about how the live experience compares with tours before their break, they both feel it’s now completely different. For Pulido, “it feels really comfortable and natural, more so than ever. That comes with time, but it also comes with trust between your bandmates. The feeling that you're all there together, leaning on one another and playing off of one another.” Smith thinks the difference is that of night and day. “We had some areas in the band that were fun, but this is a new chapter and it's very really exciting. When we toured last year, every night when we got up there, I felt like ‘I'm going give it my all, every night.’”

As for the future, Pulido says the plan is to keep working, evolving, raising their families, and nurturing their friendships. “We're writing and trying to set up some recording time, but it's a constant evolution. Like any band, the balance is key, we might not be touring as extensively, but we still have things to say, and we enjoy doing it. And as long as that can remain, we'll find a way.”