Tom Lynch

Eric Bachmann appreciates fine lines—what they represent, how one decision we make can dictate complete prosperity or utter failure. Crooked Fingers, the band Bachmann fronts, had a record all about that released in 2005, called “Dignity and Shame,” and this month sees the release of the band’s fifth full-length, another examination of borders of fine lines, titled “Forfeit/Fortune.”

Crooked Fingers has always been a band in a constant state of transformation, musically or otherwise. While Bachmann’s initial dive into the indie-rock scene, as leader of nineties luminaries Archers of Loaf, led to comparatively similar results (of varying quality), each Crooked Fingers record has its own personality, its own disposition and way of expressing itself. Texturally, they’re different, sure—2000’s debut full-length was mostly just Bachmann himself; 2001’s “Bring on the Snakes” witnessed him getting a little bit outside his comfort zone; “Red Devil Dawn” (2003) had Bachmann going all acoustic, adding horns and strings confidently; the aforementioned “Dignity and Shame” was his largest departure, hightailing for pure, heart-on-sleeve pop, all the while embracing new Spanish influence. (The sad solo record that followed, “To the Races,” which featured mostly just Bachmann and a guitar, had some very pretty moments but was a bit lacking.) And now “Forfeit/Fortune,” which blends all of these elements, but also looks forward.

I’ve been a big Bachmann fan for some time. Archers of Loaf’s “Icky Mettle” and “All the Nation’s Airports” are two masterpieces in my mind (ballad “Chumming the Ocean” practically being a religious experience for me), and the first Crooked Fingers record, the self-titled collection released in 2000, stands as one my favorite records of this decade. “Forfeit/Fortune” isn’t quite the first record, or “Red Devil Dawn” (in my opinion, Crooked Fingers’ other major accomplishment), but it certainly holds its own. Horns and nylon-stringed acoustic guitars triumph—the Spanish influence is still predominant—and Bachmann’s growl hasn’t gotten any less affecting. “Phony Revolutions” is a standout, its trumpet groove infectious, a really great choice for the song. I’m most impressed with how the record ends; the last three songs—“Run, Lieutenant, Run,” “Modern Dislocation” and “Your Control” all show lasting power. “Run, Lieutenant, Run” begins as a Bachmann misery ballad but quickly turns into an unexpected, aggressive jam, “Dislocation” a kind of classic Bachmann pop charge and “Your Control”’s a giddy, New Orderesque duet with Neko Case, featuring a sweeping synth.

“I didn’t want to make a follow-up of any kind or anything, I want it to hopefully be different every time,” Bachmann says of the record. “I never know going in specifically what I want to do, it’s definitely a more liberating way to get started.”

He says he wrote a large number of songs for the new album, which he then pared down to a slim eleven. The cutting process wasn’t difficult. “I’m not sentimental in that kind of way,” he says. “I don’t have furniture, I can just throw stuff away. Everything I own should fit in my vehicle. I transfer that to writing songs. I don’t feel nostalgic—I’m not connected to them until they connect themselves to me.”

The last records have featured an increasing female vocal presence, not just backup either, sometimes straight lead vocal. Miranda Brown lends her talents to “Forfeit/Fortune,” doing various harmonies but also taking the lead on “Luisa’s Bones.” “I get sick of my own voice, as any reasonable human would,” Bachmann says. “I just like the idea…my voice is pretty present, and I don’t listen to my own music unless it’s when I’m making it. I’ll listen to it a year later, be like, ‘There was a bad decision, there was a good decision,’ but [having a new voice] a nice break every third song.”

Bachmann decided to release “Forfeit/Fortune” himself, and while he is using Internet outlets such as iTunes, the record’s only available at specifically chosen indie retailers, not the big-box stores the masses might look to first. He insists he’s just being practical. “It’s surprising that more people haven’t done it,” he says. “I have relationships with record stores. It’s like, ‘I know this store in Phoenix…’ or ‘I played that in-store at Amoeba.’ Best Buy doesn’t give a shit about me. I’m just trying to get through, I’m not making a social statement here.”

Bachmann says his goal to preserve the enthusiasm you have as a musician at 14, when you first start playing in bands. “Archers of Loaf had that natural naïve enthusiasm, and when we lost that the band wasn’t as good.” I ask him how he’s changed as songwriter from then until now, and he pauses. “I don’t know if methodically I’ve changed,” he says. “I know my music tastes have changed. My desire has become stronger. I like the idea of being a chameleon, or being able to write a record that doesn’t make sense for me to write. One of the most satisfying moments in my career was getting the negative response from fans that I got for ‘Dignity and Shame.’ It proved to me that I’m not a hack. Proved to me I could get new fans, too, that I’m pushing myself. It was rewarding in a twisted way, pissing off old fans. It’s why I know I’m developing as a songwriter.”

The first time I saw Crooked Fingers, Bachmann opened the set with a song from his first record, a slow, brooding and gorgeous lament called “Broken Man,” a decidedly tame way to open a rock show. I thought it a deft maneuver, and the crowd was clearly moved. The tone was set. I bring the memory up to him, but he tells me a different tale:

“I had a homeless I guy I knew on the street in Kansas, and he was hassling me, and I gave him a little change, and I put him on the guest list for the show. So he shows up. I’m opening for the Old 97’s—this is three years ago, in Lawrence. There’s about thirty-to-fifty people when I start, and it’s packed by the end. I open with ‘Broken Man.’ When I finish the set, I go to the bar to get a drink, and this guy comes up to me, and I’m like, ‘Hey, you made it to the show.’ And the first thing he says is, ‘Don’t ever play that song first again.’”

Crooked Fingers opens for Okkervil River October 14 at Metro, 3730 North Clark, (773)549-0203, at 9pm. $18-$20, and headlines a show October 15 at Schubas, 3159 North Southport, (773)525-2508, at 9pm. $12.

(2008-10-07)

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