Lee AdcockThe night is young in Austin. The Shepherds gang have gathered around one of the dozen card tables at the food truck station. The Shouldies crew are somewhere around here as well, but no one knows where they wandered off to. Drummers Ryan York and Adrian Switon are poring over the schedules and plotting their next moves. Meanwhile, guitarist May Tabol reminds York that their mutual friend, who plays “folk music, but slutty,” should be performing at Sellers down the block soon. Bassist Vinny Restivo insists we ride over there on the Bird scooters conveniently parked behind us. Alas, Switon heads off in another direction, and York and Tabol would rather walk. But guitarist and vocalist Jonathan Merenivitch swaggers up to a scooter, and he and Restivo fiddle with the app on their phones as we head off on foot.
Like many bands from around the world, Shepherds journeyed to Austin in March for the multimedia festival South By Southwest. If you’ve been around in Atlanta, then you’ve likely seen their post-punk stomp in action, though maybe not as a five-piece. Merenivitch and Switon originally formed as a trio with Peter Cauthorn back in 2011, but only this version of Shepherds has graced SXSW. That’s because last month, four years after releasing their tense first LP Exit Youth, their sophomore album Insignificant Whip finally saw the light of day. Despite the protracted gestation, these blue-eyed songs address dilemmas that progressive millenials of all sorts can still relate to today – the quicksands of nostalgia that flood YouTube, the unchecked egos of dudebros, the obsidian-clad standards for black men in America.
“My hope for the record [is] that you identify with the songs, and they reflect what’s going on with you,” Merenivitch tells me over the phone. He recalls the one tweet he spotted about Shepherds, back when Exit Youth first came out: “I listened to Shepherds, and I have anxiety. And when I listen to their music, it reminds me of my anxiety. And it relieves that anxiety.” But whereas their debut caught listeners like invisible tripwire, Insignificant Whip catches us in a thin, smoky mirror. What we see might look alluring on the surface, but the darkness around the edges creeps up when we stare long enough at ourselves.
Tell me about it
When I first met Merenivitch at the EARL, he struck me as a connoisseur. I joined him at the infamous corner couch, as the virtuoso duo Tonstartssbandht were holding court on stage. “It’s so unnecessary, all that noodling,” he told me. “They’re really just posturing.” How refreshing! Finally, there was someone else in the room with the same hunger for disruption. Not long afterward, Merenivitch played Mammal Gallery under his solo project Thalmus Rasulala, named after his favorite blaxploitation actor. He was a man of discerning taste, but he discerned more than the aesthetics. And for that, I wanted to keep in touch.
As Shepherds cut swaths across the city for a few years, spirited cuts from Insignificant Whip like “Savor Your Sons” and “Perhaps This Was a Thorned Blessing, Pete” became staples of their sets while fans like me learned to shove to the front to revel in the tom-driven jubilation. Like many an artist these days, though, Shepherds had to save up dough for the next chapter. They also needed a label who could do the release justice (or, in Merenivitch’s words, someone who was “on [top of] their shit.”) Fortunately, they found Arrowhawk Records, headed by multi-tasking master Alyssa DeHayes in Athens.
Credit: Meghan Dowlen
Stoic benchmarks
Thanks to all those years of gigging, any fan booting up Insignificant Whip should recognize the first song. From the buoyant bassline to the rich jangle of guitars to Switon and Merenivitch’s pitch-perfect refrain, “Savor Your Sons” leaves an impression. Yet, while Shepherds seem to channel the blue-eyed revival of soul from the ’80s, they speak to the modern renaissance of recognizing and subverting toxic masculinity.
“When you’re a kid, you have your parents, basically, and they’re trying to guide you in a particular direction,” Merenivitch explains. “And sometimes the lessons they teach you guide you in the wrong direction.” In particular, he says, “Savor Your Sons” speaks to mothers, and “how even they can be these avatars of sticking to some sort of traditional ideal of masculinity. And even they can prevent you from accessing a part of you that is more sensitive, or more nurturing.”
Despite these misgivings, Merenivitch still had an exceptional example of manhood to live up to. His father, Jarrow Merenivitch, joined the March on Washington in 1963 to rally against discrimination in both the workplace and the community. Sixteen years on, when he worked at Procter & Gamble, he co-wrote a seminal paper with Dan Reigle called “Toward a More Multicultural Organization,” which defined and addressed inequality in the office for both minorities and women.
Still, the younger Merenivitch recalls his father as a stoic figure. “I can’t remember him ever admitting a moment of sensitivity,” he says. “That obviously has had an effect on me as I’ve gotten older. And maybe I can’t access certain aspects of myself that I’d like to, because this has been my benchmark.”
As Merenivitch points out, though, he’s hardly the only black man who’s had to wrestle with the macho archetype. The climax of Insignificant Whip, “Long Eyelashes,” describes a YouTube video that Merenivitch found of Tupac Shakur as a teenager when the iconic rapper had not yet forged the celluloid hero that we remember from the early 2000s. “There’s this very feminine energy about him,” Merenivitch explains. “He seems like this sensitive, feminine art school kid. And there are elements of what you would see of him later on there. There’s this combativeness to him, but there’s also this self-awareness.”
As the song progresses, we watch Tupac shift into his more familiar thug-life persona. But we also see Merenivitch, as he recognizes his own divided self in the video: “Sometimes I feel like myself / sometimes I feel like the other / sometimes I feel like no one else at all.” With this revelation, he starts to wonder: “Man, how does that happen? What the fuck does that mean?”
To answer that question, Merenivitch looks beyond the lines of color and turns, yet again, to YouTube. In the sneering “Your Imagined Past,” we see older men reliving–and rebuilding–their memories of years long gone, “when men were men / and women were hated.” Through their comments, these idle spectators stamp their desired version of history all over the web, clinging stubbornly to expired ideals. Granted, as Merenivitch is quick to point out, he’s not entirely innocent of this. “I recognize that aspect of myself that is arrogant and is engaging in some sort of toxic nostalgia,” he admits. “We all need to collectively shed these ideas, shed this arrogance, have a little humility, have a little fucking self-awareness.”
That unsavory arrogance extends into “Close, But Not Far,” an angular confrontation between an artist’s drive to create and, well, everything else in their life. “The things that are most important are the connections that you make, the human connections,” Merenivitch says. “And sometimes our art isn’t going to supply that.” While he draws some inspiration from other people in the scene, he also recalls times when he’s honed in too closely on his own music. “I definitely have some dental issues from yearly ignoring my health, in the pursuit of some rock and roll ideal,” he confesses. “But now I’ve got insurance, which is fantastic. I’m going to the doctor, and it’s really wonderful.”
Confessions and distractions
Admissions like this are ultimately what separates Insignificant Whip from marble-slab pedagogy. Instead of simply lobbing critiques at arrogant men, Shepherds admit their own weak points and move ahead. In rosy closer “Perpetual Yearning,” the band pleads for kindness from the audience, now that the album is out in the public eye. The last refrain of “I tear my heart straight from the speakers” almost sounds sweet, but our protagonist is actually wincing in anticipation of the public’s gaze, as the expressions and ideas behind his work are revealed. Any artist who’s published or exhibited can likely relate to that shudder.
“It hurts when you put out something and people ignore it or don’t pay attention,” Merenivitch says. “But you keep doing it because it’s something that’s very deep inside of you that you’re trying to express. And if you don’t express it, then it’s terrible.”
As for Switon, the drummer-about-town is relinquishing his signature spot on the toms. He shares the spotlight with Merenivitch on Insignificant Whip, particularly on the rousing “Perhaps This Was a Thorned Blessing, Pete,” where he shows off some Billy Idol-esque swagger. While Switon certainly matches Merenivitch on the mic, I’m still surprised to hear that the double-drum battery was never what the latter frontman wanted for Shepherds.
“Looking back, I always thought that Adrian’s drums were a distraction that I wished I could have separated from this band,” he tells me. And now, looking back on our interview, I can see what he means. While that stage-shaking stomp can bring the house down, the garage shtick masks the tender core that Shepherds hope will resonate with like-minded listeners.
Besides, for the next album Merenivitch intends to steer the band away from rock entirely. “I’m tired of the idea of making music that sounds like something a band would make 30 or 40 years ago,” he says. “I’m trying to go past that and be influenced by things that are relatively newer. Or just things that are not rock music. I mean, I love rock music. It means so much to me. But musically, I’m just like, let’s do something different.”
Merenivitch rattles off names like Frank Ocean, Sade, and D’Angelo – a much more sensual headspace, in other words, than the knee-jerk tension of Exit Youth or Insignificant Whip. He reveals the group is in the process of penning new music, so the gears are already in motion for this soulful shift.
Stunning cinema
As our conversation tapers to an end, Merenivitch still proves to be the consummate connoisseur. We discuss the cultural landscape at large, the division of audiences’ attention, and the real estate of movies and video games that draw consumers away from gigs and recorded music.
Yet, while franchises like the Marvel Universe do choke out space for newer or more mature properties, Merenivitch–who claims that comic books were likely his introduction to literacy–doesn’t discount their authenticity as art. He compares watching Captain America: Civil War to Paris, Texas, a Wim Wenders film from 1984 that he watched around the same time. Both features, he says, explore grief and disintegrating relationships with tact and grace.
“If you really think about how innovative it is to have a 22- or 23-film-long sustained narrative… that’s never been done,” Merenivitch adds. “And to have it be relatively consistent, with not that many continuity issues—it’s stunning cinema, it really is.”
Fighting words? Potentially. But Merenivitch’s populist approach mirrors what he hopes to achieve with Shepherds. By reflecting slices of life, the music connects people on levels that individuals can’t reach on their own.
“I’ve always felt that I was isolated from people, in some ways,” Merenivitch admits, and any artist who’s had to retreat to their bedroom, their local library, or a familiar coffee shop to compose can no doubt relate. “I feel like I’m inarticulate sometimes, and the music is the only way I can articulate that sometimes. So the very idea of making connections through this music that I’ve put so much effort to put out–it means so much more.”
Shepherds will celebrate the release of Insignificant Whip tomorrow night, Dec. 13, at Flicker Theatre & Bar alongside O Key, the Vassar Blondes, and Ottoman Slap. Doors open at 8 p.m. Admission is $8.
More Info
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