Dig deep enough through the archeological record of the 1990s underground and the lines between post-hardcore, indie rock, and emo begin to blur. Looking back on the work left behind by the Van Pelt, it’s as if those styles were less offshoots branching out in different directions than tributaries flowing into a larger pool. Originally active for just four years, the Van Pelt released two full-lengths before breaking up in 1997. Both releases heavily reflect their time and place. Some elements sound dated, even clichéd, to our modern ears after decades of overuse: the undistorted guitars, the somber tone and cerebral lyrics, the trebly production that progresses to Albini-like room ambience from one album to the next.
If you’re allergic to these sounds, the Van Pelt aren’t the best vehicle for overcoming your prejudices. Dozens upon dozens of bands have yielded songs like the vaguely punkish, uptempo pogo-jangle of “You Are the Glue,” for example, off the band’s 1996 debut Stealing from Our Favorite Thieves. In several respects, the Van Pelt were stereotypical of their era, but if you look past the cosmetic features, Thieves and its ’97 follow-up Sultans of Sentiment provide a zoomed-in perspective on a group of overlapping movements coming to a head more or less at once.
Period aficionados will rejoice over the historical value here: out-of-print titles by an obscure band with members who would go on to better-known acts like Blonde Redhead (bassist Toko Yasuda) and Jets to Brazil (guitarist Brian Maryansky). But nothing on either album positions the Van Pelt as a “missing link” within a greater narrative arc. Instead, what comes across in hindsight is just how much rock’s fringe had encroached on the mainstream and vice-versa. In an ironic twist, the Van Pelt were offered deals by several major labels but only one indie, Gern Blandsten. Averse to being groomed into “the next Nirvana,” the band remained independent.
It’s hard to say whether the Van Pelt would have broken had they chosen the opposite path, but it’s easy to picture the production on Thieves beefed-up and window-dressed. Easily the more derivative of the Van Pelt’s two albums, Thieves nevertheless crackles with personality and energy, not to mention hooks. In a parallel reality, at least tens of thousands of people are looking back on their teenage years getting misty-eyed at the way “It’s a Suffering” soundtracked their summers. The song’s chorus is so big and full of a sense of promise that it rivals anything Foo Fighters ever struck gold with.
On the other hand, frontman/guitarist Chris Leo keeps one foot defiantly planted in art rock and post-punk, too. Leo—brother of Ted Leo, who supplies backing vocals and percussion—spikes much of Thieves with somewhat non-melodic verses that border on the spoken-word style of the Tragically Hip’s Gord Downie and the Jesus Lizard’s David Yow. Much of the lyric sheet reads as prose. This is unsurprising given that Leo would go on to publish novels, starting with 2004’s White Pigeons. But he had already reeled-in his wordplay in favor of economy and space by Sultans of Sentiment.
Sultans doesn’t quite flow with the same continuity as its predecessor, but it’s a major step forward in terms of production and vision. In some respects, the album sounds as anchored to its time period as Thieves does—Leo and Maryansky weave-together arpeggios and chords as so many of their contemporaries did—but the improved fidelity exposes the unique fingerprints in Leo’s songwriting. Sultans was written and recorded during a personal low point for him, and whatever plagued him at the time remains buried under heaps of metaphor. Still, the album is completely devoid of the youthful bluster from just a year earlier. Somber and reserved, Sultans is, in a manner of speaking, heavier.
When the Van Pelt wander off the beaten path, such as on the folky violin-laced “Don’t Make Me Walk My Own Log,” they sound like a band on the hunt for their own voice. You can debate whether they ever found it, but the Van Pelt might have been more ahead of the curve than anyone could have rightfully guessed in 1997. Watching live clips of Sultans-era material from a brief 2014 reunion, Leo and company recreate the vibe of the original recordings with an accuracy that few bands ever nail after that much time has passed. The songs sound even heavier with age, and surprisingly in-tune with current sounds. Perhaps they contained an adult wisdom that the Van Pelt were unable to convey back then. Whatever the case, they were onto something.
