Features

Band Of Horses: Rock and Roll, the American Way

Photo by Dave Vann

Band of Horses are an American rock and roll band from Charleston, South Carolina. The emphasis in that statement should be on the word “American” and it is not used here to denote the nation so much as the notion: Band of Horses are an American rock and roll band from Charleston, South Carolina.

And, actually, that’s not entirely true. They’re American alright, but frontman Ben Bridwell first formed the band in Seattle before relocating to Charleston. His bandmates, meanwhile, have scattered themselves across the country’s wingspan, from New England to Southern California, from sea to shining sea. But it’s what they’ve done, not where they’re from—and, of course, their colorful commentary along the way—that gives them that “Born in the U.S.A.” designation. Band of Horses’ success, confesses Bridwell, “makes no sense to me, whatsoever.” Maybe that has something to do with it, too.

Bassist Bill Reynolds unwittingly gives weight to the “American rock band” designation when, unprompted, he tells me, “Ben is an American original.” And, like anyone in their mid-30s who grew up under the stars and stripes, Bridwell knows better than to believe that the American dream is anybody’s birthright. He is acutely aware that a set of unreliable variables, such as luck and good timing, are silent partners behind just about every success. And those things have had at least some kind of role in getting Band of Horses where they are today.

But Bridwell also knows that success has never come without hard work and, more important, that success will not stick without it. As Thomas Jefferson once reportedly said, “I’m a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work, the more I have of it.”

Of course, if it was up to him, Bridwell might have you believe that Band of Horses actually owes most of their success to a series of happy accidents. He’s persistently humble and consistently self-deprecating. When I mention how much I love the new album, Mirage Rock, he deflects the compliment by stating that, artistically, his songwriting has been on a “downward spiral” since the band’s debut, Everything All the Time, dropped in 2006. I insist that he must be joking. “Sorry,” he replies. “It’s a defense mechanism.”

Also, Bridwell has a frontman complex. He’ll tell you that the band is a democracy and that’s partially true. As a nation, so is America. When “We, the People” speak up about something, we can make our voices heard. If we’re loud enough, anyway. But the President is the only one that can press the red button. So, OK then, as a group, Band of Horses might be something of a democracy. But as an institution, Ben Bridwell is the Commander-in-Chief. And while he remains shifty about retaining that kind of title, the truth is, his bandmates stand united behind him, 100 percent. His approval rating is higher than any U.S. president in history.

“Ben is our fearless leader,” says keyboardist Ryan Monroe. “And his voice, to me, is the stamp. That’s what makes us sound like Band of Horses more than anything else. He’s essentially my boss and one of my best friends.”

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Like an inspirational montage about some star athlete who pulled himself up out of nothing from nowhere, Bridwell has come a long way from washing dishes for a living. “I was destined to just flip burgers for the rest of my life,” he says.

A part of him will never believe that those days are behind him for good, forever bracing for some kind of Cinderella moment when the clock will strike midnight.

It’s not impossible to see why Bridwell might feel that way even if, to the listener, his talents are obvious. (For he is absolutely a natural talent.) He’s also what they call a late bloomer. He didn’t pick up guitar or begin writing songs until he was already in his mid-20s. The first song that he remembers writing, the presciently titled “Part One,” ended up on the band’s first album. And it’s a good one.

Amazingly, Bridwell didn’t even learn how to properly tune a guitar until a couple albums deep. Initially, he would just de-tune a six-string until it sounded OK with where he placed his hands, “having no idea how to actually do real chords,” he says. “That’s where the ‘Funerals’ and ‘The Great Salt Lakes’ come from.” (He’s in agreement with fans that those are among his best songs.)

He took two guitar lessons before recording 2010’s Infinite Arms and he’s not sure if they were helpful or detrimental. He says that he wouldn’t be able to write another “The Funeral” if he tried. But at least he knows what a C chord is, now.