The name Cory Gray might not be familiar to you, but crack
open the liner notes to recordings by some of Portland’s best local
bands. There, in the credits, you’ll find him. Primarily a hired gun
who lends his piano and trumpet skills to various acts, both local and
global, Gray is finally striking out on his own under the moniker
Carcrashlander. With a debut self-titled LP under his belt, it’s high
time Gray made the transition from the back of the stage to his
rightful position in the front.
Taking refuge from the Portland winter in a toasty Northeast bar,
Gray talks about his solo record. “This is definitely the first thing I
can take total responsibility for. It’s a solo project,” he pauses
before adding, “Well, sort of.” The reluctance to take sole credit lies
in the fact that the record’s list of collaborators reads like a Hush
Records roll call. Laura Gibson and Shelley Short lend their voices
alongside Gray’s morose piano work. Norfolk & Western’s Adam Selzer
and Dave Depper swing on by on numerous tracks, as does Greg Olin of
the Graves. It makes perfect sense, seeing as how Gray has returned the
favor and served his time as a member in almost all of these acts. So
his hesitation to call it a solo project seems justified—after
all, its very inception hinges on the efforts of so many of his
bandmates.
But Gray’s loose-knit approach to things is not just limited to his
lineup of contributors; he records the same way. The album was set to
tape over a period of years in Gray’s Portland home, Bear Creek Studios
(outside Seattle), and even a silent movie theater in Australia. “It’s
the oldest operational silent movie theater in the world,” says Gray.
“You can hear pigeons on the roof, a train roll by, and the clincher
was that they have this insane room of hard-wired instruments from the
’30s, and a vintage organ whose volume was controlled by slats in the
wall. You’d rotate the slats to hear more, or less, of each
instrument.”
You can credit unorthodox locations such as that theater for
establishing Carcrashlander’s ethereal sound. Throughout the record
Gray’s hauntingly soft voice feels ominous and cursed, like the initial
warning of something dire—a coalmine canary’s final black-lunged
gasp, or just the portentous sense that all is not quite right. But the
real delight of Carcrashlander is his dooming piano. Primarily centered
on the ivory keys, Gray’s arrangements feel cold. Not
Portland-winter-runny-nose cold. More like
snow-blinding-Montana-blizzard cold. That sort of deep chill where your
car doors freeze shut, but it’s little more than a non-issue, as the
roads are closed, and even if they weren’t, where would you go? This is
music that is meant to be played at a restrained volume. Indoors. Door
closed. Blinds drawn. Carcrashlander thrives in this intimacy.
As someone who has spent so much time playing key roles in other’s
productions, Gray wants to try something new. “I’ve consistently been
in bands for 12 years. This last year has been my ‘being in other
people’s bands and touring constantly’ year. I’m hoping 2008 is my
‘making my own music, and then touring on it’ year.”
Here’s hoping he makes that happen.