And the bake sale went well, too
The Western States release debut album, sell cookies at celebration
Jen Zoratti

The Western States have just come out with their debut full-length album, but frontman Sean Buchanan wants to talk about everything else.

We have lengthy discussions about the post-grunge existence of Sub Pop Records and how the next Arcade Fire album will probably rock. We theorize about the disappearance of Swiss Chalet. We mutually decide that everyone should check out Zumpano, Carl Newman’s weird foray into orchestral-pop prior to becoming a New Pornographer.

Buchanan is a sneaky guy. As it turns out, his avoidance of the topic at hand is completely calculated.

“I feel self-conscious about talking about music seriously,” Buchanan says over coffee and apple juice. “Music is fun for me, and I want to keep it that way, so I feel a little strange talking about it so… seriously.”

Buchanan might be uncomfortable talking about the business of music, but he’s certainly unrestrained when it comes to talking about playing music. The Winnipeg roots quintet — filled out by Nicole Marion (guitar), Ashley Roch (piano, organ), Jerrod Falk (bass) and Joanna Miller (drums) — threw a huge CD-release bash at the West End on Jan. 26, the night before this interview, and Buchanan is still riding high on adrenalin.

“It was so fun,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “It couldn’t have been more perfect. There were a few problems going in, but we almost sold the place out and it couldn’t have been better, man-oh-man.”

He’s much like a kid on a massive sugar high — which makes sense considering the release party for The Western States also included a bake sale. Replacing the usual pins and T-shirts with cookies and date squares, the band came up with an ingenious marketing ploy to raise funds.

“Every band practice the conversation would always turn to baking,” Buchanan laughs. “We’d play music, then we’d talk about baking. Music, talking about baking, music, eating some baking.

“You know bands, local bands, who have T-shirts and they don’t even have a record out? That always makes me kinda depressed. We wanted to have merch you can’t say no to. I didn’t want to inflict that on my family, T-shirts they wouldn’t wear, whereas a cupcake or a cream puff, who’s going to turn that down?”

That’s a U of M marketing degree at work.

The 25-year-old singer/guitarist — “but I look like I’m 14” — is a student working on his second degree, and the other members also have lives outside the band. While other Winnipeg folk/roots heavyweights are busy being nominated for Grammys, touring the U.K. and lending their tunes to movie soundtracks, The Western States are quite content to keep the band slightly more than a hobby.

“If I wanted to give everything to music, I would have by now,” Buchanan says. “It’s my favourite thing to do. I devote all my spare time to it. I want to keep it something I love. Touring and making an album just seem like part of the fun for me.”

It’s a good thing, too, because The Western States are a really good band. Formed in 2002, the group has been a forceful live presence in Winnipeg for the past few years, sharing stages with the likes of The Weakerthans, Christine Fellows, Nathan and Feist. While an actual recording has been a long time coming, Buchanan says the young band needed that time to find itself musically.

“It’s kinda tricky, putting out a record,” he says. “We wanted to feel really comfortable with what we were putting out. When we started, we were just starting to play music. It took a while for us to get to know each other musically. We needed to get on the same page.”

Once that page was found, the fivesome had no trouble soliciting influential friends to help out with the recording process. One such pal was D. Ranger Jaxon Haldane, who signed the band to his Dollartone Records imprint.

“My friend Jaxon from the D. Rangers said he’d help us record,” Buchanan says. “That meant that all of a sudden we were able to get Canada-wide distribution. Once Dollartone came in, everything kind of came together.”

The album’s recording process was similarly inundated with friends helping out.

The Winnipeg roots scene is just as incestuous as the Montreal-Toronto indie pop contingent, so The Western States is rife with musical cameos by D. Rangers Haldane and Tom Fodey, as well as local mainstays Chris Carmichael and Bill Western.

Famed producer/musician Gurf Morlix, who happened to be in town working on Romi Mayes’ Sweet Somethin’ Steady, also jams with the States on the album. Buchanan chalks up the overwhelming support to a family-like, community-minded scene — only he doesn’t like to refer to it as a ‘scene.’

“I can’t have you write ‘scene,’” Buchanan says. “I’d rather say ‘community.’ The roots community is made up of such sweet, humble people. Everyone’s really supportive and nice. There’s no ego.

“Everyone was insanely supportive. If you had told me two years ago that the D. Rangers, Chris Carmichael and Gurf Morlix would play on our record…” he trails off. “Now Chris is playing with us regularly.”

The record itself is an impressive debut. With its slow jams, honky-tonk piano and bluesy melodies, it’s the perfect soundtrack to any rural Manitoba memory you might have. It’s lonesome but hopeful, and Buchanan’s voice sounds far more weathered than his 25 years might suggest. Echoing the troubadour spirit of the record, Buchanan doesn’t spend too much time looking back.

“I never want to think about it again,” he says of the disc. “It captured one moment in time. It’s what was going on in summer 2006. I’m really looking forward to never thinking about it again.

“Now we can play those songs however we want, you know? Eventually things start to bother you about the recording. The whole thing is a miserable experience — but it was absolutely fun.”

The frontman undoubtedly feels more at home onstage than in the studio, which is why the next Western States album will probably be a live one. Everything from the CD release/bake sale to our tangent-taking interview bears witness to the ethos of this band: they take themselves seriously enough to be respected but not so seriously that music stops being fun.

“I want to make a funky, weird-sounding record,” he says, “a record that sounds bad in a lot of ways but has lots of character. I want to be able to laugh during a session. I don’t want to think about it so seriously.”