28 February 2012
In 1997, when Thursday left the dark bowels of New Brunswick basements to play venue stages across America, no one tagged them as a band with longevity; not even those behind the instruments. It wasn’t the fact the band vocally deterred fans from buying their EP while onstage, or their tumultuous relationship with Victory Records in the early years, or even frontman Geoff Rickly’s debilitating health issues. Perhaps it could be attributed to the naivety surrounding the six players, and the underground music overturn that Thursday were so heavily a part of.::VIEW LIVE SHOTS FROM THURSDAY'S SIDEWAVE SHOW IN SYDNEY
Regardless, fifteen years later, after six albums and a plethora of musical merits - which among them count The Buzzcocks and The Cure as peers of the band - Rickly, Tom Keeley, Tim Payne, Tucker Rule, Steve Pedulla and Andrew Everding were, up until November 22 last year, proud owners of a proverbial flip of the bird to any who classed them as a passing product of a dying scene. The announcement of their split may have been placated with a string of US tour dates and an Australian swan song with Soundwave festival, but that didn’t stop any tears for the post-hardcore veterans.
“Brett from Bad Religion, who’s also our label owner, got a little teary eyed when I told him,” says Rickly while in Sydney. “That made me get teary-eyed because he’s one of my heroes. When someone like that tells you he wishes you weren’t breaking up it’s just like ‘ughh’,” he laughs. “Oh man don’t make me cry, don’t make me cry!”
The mood at Thursday’s final live dates sits at the height of the emotional spectrum; fans in the US have expressed their appreciation sans aggressive mosh-pits, with more cries of thanks than for one more song. “It was all tears,” says the New York-native. “The amount of tattoos, stories and notes, people throwing flowers onstage; it was really something.”
Thursday have chosen to keep the reason for the disbanding (surprisingly it was singular) a secret. But he will say it was because of one particular member. “There were personal circumstances from one of our members, that he wasn’t going to be able to do it anymore [sic].”
As Rickly explains, just because the band had proved their endurance doesn’t mean it had gotten easier. His health issues and battle with epilepsy were made public in 2003 when a reaction to his medication while on tour caused months of internal stomach bleeding. It’s unclear whether illness or the fact he made a paltry $10,000 through the band last year - forced to live off funds generated from selling his possessions and working in kitchen stores - contributed to the break up.
“I don’t really want to get into it because I feel like people would be mad at them,” he admits, happy to leave a more positive legacy. “We just talked about whether or not we wanted to be one of those bands that just changes members every year or whether we wanted to be remembered for 15 years of being one band and having one vision. “It just made sense to us. Fifteen years was a good run, everything has to come to an end so let’s make our ending a good ending, rather than a lame one that takes years - with some crummy records thrown in.”
At 33-years-old, Rickly could potentially swing his career in the opposite direction without looking like the lone, mature-aged bookworm at the university library. It’s clear the breakup wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction as most members have already moved onto other projects. Guitarists Keeley and Pedulla are both in television production with Keeley currently casting an upcoming sci-fi film Ender’s Game between recording with the Blackjets. Keyboardist Everding and drummer Rule contribute to multiple acts; Rule’s most recent teaming saw him play the Ellen Show as a session drummer for UK band The Wanted, and Payne has indefinitely put down the bass to play family man. As for Rickly, he’ll continue his work as a philanthropic crusader between freelance writing and a hushed small screen venture with the TV producer who worked on Monk.
“I expect that’s mostly how it will go, each cheering each other on, each checking in on each other because we really do care about each other, actually.” In fact, the only Thursday output we can anticipate will be in exchange for our own charitable actions. “We’re thinking of giving away unreleased material and all you have to do is sign up to a non-profit organisation’s newsletter,” he explains. “Or turning our website into a gateway to get to non-profits.”
Using what has now become an underground players’ blueprint to generate world issue awareness was a natural progression for the six-piece. Their lyrics expounded a search for understanding from the very beginning as their goal was more focused on grasping life itself than the major label dream. “I think us not trying to have a career was such an important part of the band,” says Rickly. “We didn’t set goals for the band, that’s not what we were interested in. After that, it was just about trying to keep up with it.”
‘It’ refers to Thursday’s seminal sophomore Full Collapse, a record as frantic as it is guideless, but Rickly says that was half the appeal. “That’s the record that really changed things for a lot of bands… It was a big turning point in underground music,” he remembers. “People liked it because it sounded so new and there weren’t any bands doing stuff like that before.
“But I think the reason people really cared about it is because we sounded so young and innocent, we didn’t sound like we were trying to win you over, there was something so innocent and unplanned about the whole thing.”
Choosing Thursday over various film and art schools lead to public explorations of mental illness, unforgiving cruelty and the art of empathy; the band’s records and delivery have been mimicked by hundreds since but according to Rickly, their work doesn’t come close to the songs of those who inspired it.
“You never hear your work the way other people do. It still doesn’t touch Fugazi, it still doesn’t touch any of the bands I’ve grown up on but I’m glad so many people love it.”
While the end of Thursday was confounding for some, there is a certain logic to it. The band had come to a point where they had to practise what they preached for so many years, and to continue under a different agenda would only be to dig themselves a plastic grave.
“It’s all about compassion, all of our songs, all of our music, it’s all been aimed at understanding, love,” Rickly muses. “For an aggressive band we have quite a hippy ideal,” he jokes. “But we call them crusties now though. No, just kidding.”
The microphone may have stopped swinging but the aftermath will be just as emblematic of their career’s camaraderie, a legacy Rickly has amicable hopes for. “I hope it’s being transparent, being inspiring, being true to yourself. I hope that’s what people remember Thursday for.”
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