Enon Slows Things Down

During the first half of the decade, John Schmersal, the guiding light of Enon, churned out ditties so quickly that he made hyper-prolific songwriter Ryan Adams seem like a slacker in comparison. But after years of affixing fresh compositions to the band's website on practically a daily basis, he decided that he no longer aspired to be a poster boy for musical overachievement. "Who wants to be that?" he asks.

So Schmersal made some adjustments. He and singer Toko Yasuda, his Enon bandmate and significant other, moved from New York City to Philadelphia, where they purchased a house — and while they promptly outfitted the dwelling with recording gear, they also sought to strike a better balance between music and life's other attractions. "It was really a chance, an opportunity, to explore new things. Even mundane daily things," Schmersal says. "I even stopped ingesting music like music fanatics do. And that's one of my things now. I'm not obsessed with finding out about things. I let myself find out about things at my own pace. And it goes for music creating as well as music listening for me.

"I don't think it was necessarily something where I was like, 'Oh, I should really cut back on my songwriting,'" he continues. "It think it was more wanting to have the energy to do things like that instead of feeling like you had to. Enjoying it and having to enjoy something are different things."

This distinction comes through clearly on Grass Geysers...Carbon Clouds, Enon's latest release on the Touch and Go imprint. Reviews of the disc have tended to overstate the simplicity of its sound: While the recording is certainly more straightforward than previous CDs like 1999's Believo! and 2003's Hocus Pocus, "Mirror on You," "Dr. Freeze" and other highly pleasurable tracks sport production and arrangements marked by plenty of cleverness. Still, the studio shenanigans support rather than overshadow the songs, allowing the enthusiasm and exuberance of Schmersal, Yasuda and drummer Matt Schulz to come through loud and clear.

"The goal with this record was not to obsess over the recording of it — the sounds, the texture of it — and just really kind of approach it like a regular band," Schmersal confirms. "We made a record that wasn't slathered with dressing, like on every song, having so many layers to it." The project was completed in "a tidy month," he estimates, "and that's like recording the basics at a studio for two days and doing some overdubs at home in a few days — but relaxed, with many days not doing anything music-related." The breaks gave Schmersal an opportunity to indulge in some of his other current passions, which he says "are more about being at home and doing things at my home." That's an unusual confession for an indie-rock icon to make, but he feels his domesticity has paid artistic dividends. "Certainly for myself, at least, it's recharged my batteries," he notes.

Such serenity contrasts sharply with Schmersal's time in his first major band — Dayton, Ohio's Brainiac. Although not a founding member (he replaced original guitarist Michelle Bodine a couple of years after the group's 1992 genesis), he was on board for the combo's rise through one of the most exciting periods in recent rock history. He recalls a particularly memorable gig at a house party in Fort Wayne, Indiana, "where they physically tore the banister off the staircase. You're like, gosh, that doesn't really happen every show, you know?"

By the arrival of 1996's outstanding Hissing Prigs in Static Couture album (their Touch and Go debut), the Brainiac boys were on the cusp of broader stardom, with Beck and other big-name performers inviting them to open shows and several major labels bidding for their services. But as they were on the cusp of signing a contract with Interscope Records, disaster struck, literally, when lead singer Tim Taylor died in a May 1997 automobile accident. His passing spelled the end for Brainiac and the Interscope deal even as it left Schmersal's world in turmoil. He'd totaled his own car the previous week, shortly after moving to Newport, Kentucky, and as a result, he couldn't get to his day job, across the Ohio River in Cincinnati. In the briefest of moments, he went from being a budding rock star to broke, unemployed and stranded. "There were so many things happening at once," he allows, "and change caused more change."