SHOKO HORIKAWA and Jesse Hall are sprawled out on the grass
of a Southeast park. There is wine. A little dog stomps through our
interview. The sun is out. It’s just about perfect. If there were ever
a pair of musicians that can appreciate such a time, it’s Experimental
Dental School. Back in town after a Canadian tour, and prepping for yet
another five-week American trek, Horikawa and Hall are undeniably
content squinting beneath the soft haze of the summer sun.
But for Horikawa and Hall, it’s not all lazy afternoons in the
grass. In fact, it’s two against the world. To them, Experimental
Dental School is not a hobby, it’s their life: They follow a daily
practice regimen. They pack up a compact car—the true advantage
of playing in a two-piece band—and spend weeks upon weeks
crossing the American interstate grid. They board a plane and traverse
Europe—where the band is best appreciated—and are preparing
for their inaugural tour of Japan later this year. Hall best describes
their move-or-die philosophy: “I’m not really happy unless we’re
playing or spending time writing.”
It’s a constant hustle for the relocated pair, who, in abandoning
their hometown of Oakland, lost a band member in the process. Drummer
Ryan Chittick remained in the Bay Area when the band headed north, but
EDS failed to miss a beat, with Horikawa rotating to the kit as the
band thinned down to a close-knit duo. After a pair of recordings that
illustrated a sprawling range, but little direction, the latest
incarnation of EDS released the superb Forest Field. While the
10-track album is available in tangible CD format, its main
distribution point is as a free download (experimentaldental.com/free).
“The idea, from the beginning, was ‘let’s give it away,'” says Hall.
“Obviously that’s not an original idea—that’s being done a
lot—but when I really thought about it, it’s so awesome to be
able to not have $10 stand in the way of somebody enjoying our
music.”
Forest Field is both caustic and gorgeous. Hall is all rough
edges, a technically precise guitar/bassist—his custom-assembled
guitar is modified with a lone bass string—with a rough and
unyielding post-punk howl. He is the masculine foil to the amorous coo
of Horikawa. Yet while her voice is left exposed amid the difficult
time changes and technical wizardry of most EDS material, Horikawa
holds her own behind the kit. A ferocious drummer with a tender
voice—”I have an explosive side and a very soft side,” she
politely explains—Horikawa is the post-punk equilibrium to Hall’s
untamed recklessness, the balance that holds this duo together, and in
the live setting she is one of the most entertaining figures you’ll
ever find onstage. The sheer skill and unbridled joy she expresses is
enough to renew the faith of any doubter, those whose musical
appreciation has numbed over the years.
A fragile balance is the crux of what EDS creates on Forest
Field. A battle played out in song, the two dismantle their stiff
arrangements (think meticulous blasts of math rock, akin to A Minor
Forest), with a steady dose of visionary pop music (Blonde Redhead’s
Melody of Certain Damaged Lemons is a good comparison). “Shoko’s
personality is very different than mine,” Hall explains. “She has more
of a flower side, I have more of a machine side.”