"drop your melancholy slacks..."
I was taken aback by "Smaller Monsters" by Portland indie-rock quartet Worthington. It feels to me like an artfully drawn caveat, reflection or eulogy. Kurt Foster's vox are evocative and pristine in tone and not what you would imagine in an indie rock band and as he perfectly, emotionally recites Jake Stebner's vast yet thoroughly obtuse lyrics that draw you in but are so curious with touches of sad awe and even wtf moments I am, yes, ultimately taken aback. There is also double time electric guitar rhythms, an amazing drumbeat with open high hat splashes on the snare, dire piano, a rolling thunder of bass and ambient tones I can't identify. Beautiful, haunting, brooding stuff. The kind of sonic poetry I am fond of.
Discussing “Smaller Monsters,” guitarist/songwriter Jake Stebner notes, “I remember bringing ‘Smaller Monsters’ to the band with big plans for us to arrange it like a noisy battle anthem, but our ruthless arrangement process somehow transformed it into one of Worthington’s most intimate songs. The decision to build off the 4-track demo version’s bass and guitar tracks, instead of tracking the drums first, could’ve resulted in a disastrous waste of our precious studio time. But after Kurt, Omar, and Oren had chimed in, Mikey had laid down his lovely piano track, and Larry had back-masked Oren’s crash for the beginning’s 15-second crescendo and captured all those cool little studio noises that I love - everything had come together so wonderfully that we didn’t dare meddle with those lo-fi tracks that had gotten us off to such a good start. And it ended up being my favorite song on the record!”
Now besides the emotional edges here I was also taken aback that this song is a the first single from the reissue of their 1988 debut album, "He Was Not A Micromanager" set to drop September 24th (2021) because it doesn't sound dated in any way. I look forward to hearing more from the Portland band that apparently only crafted this one album. The many details about Worthington, comprised of Kurt Foster (vocals), Jake Stebner (guitar, songwriting), Omar Ferrari (guitar), Michael Williams (bass) and Oren Williams (drums) and the trajectory of the band and their individual lives are outlined in their bio below the links I have provided.
Reading Worthington's Bio I am reminded of how America loves mediocrity (for a myriad of reasons). That explains McDonalds and The Jonas Brothers. I am also reminded of how bands I love like The Pixies and The Pretenders didn't receive any love early in their careers until they went elsewhere, to Europe in their cases and gained respect and followings there. I am reminded of the countless bands I have known through the years (including my own) who broke apart when they shouldn't have not because of success not yet gained but because they never really truly learned the truth of artists that do have success. That hard truth is that an artist should make their art for themselves only because it fills a deep need, because they have to do it like breathing. I hope this reissue fills any voids and exposes their music to a wider audience. I am looking forward to hearing the album.
-Robb Donker Curtius
THE FACTS AS WE KNOW THEM - PRESS NOTES:
https://www.instagram.com/worthingtonband/
https://worthington.bandcamp.com/
The story of how Worthington’s promising 1998 debut album slipped through the cracks is one of indie rock’s great unsolved mysteries. A dynamic, intricately structured collection of 14 songs, "He Was Not A Micromanager" lays out a blueprint for a mature sound that would become popular a decade or so later when The National and Car Seat Headrest redefined the genre.
THE FACTS AS WE KNOW THEM - PRESS NOTES:
https://www.instagram.com/worthingtonband/
https://worthington.bandcamp.com/
The story of how Worthington’s promising 1998 debut album slipped through the cracks is one of indie rock’s great unsolved mysteries. A dynamic, intricately structured collection of 14 songs, "He Was Not A Micromanager" lays out a blueprint for a mature sound that would become popular a decade or so later when The National and Car Seat Headrest redefined the genre.
In a late-’90s Portland scene that was catapulting Elliott Smith, Sleater-Kinney, the Dandy Warhols and others to national recognition, Worthington should have been along for the ride. The five friends that formed Worthington while in college in Walla Walla, Washington had made all the right moves. They landed in Portland in 1996 and sought out Larry Crane, whose then-new Jackpot Studios was where Smith, the duo Quasi, Stephen Malkmus and other local notables went to record. They played shows at now-legendary clubs like Satyricon and EJ’s. And they wrote, practiced, recorded and then released "He Was Not a Micromanager", as ambitious a debut as any of its time.
“I was always baffled that the album didn’t get more attention when it came out,” says Worthington guitarist Omar Ferrari. “Even though everything going on around us was different, the people in Portland were primed to appreciate and be open to something different that was original and creative.” And yet ironically, the robust Pacific Northwest music press, always on the lookout for the next
big thing, barely noted the release. Were lead singer Kurt Foster’s baritone vocals too smooth and stylized? Did Jake Stebner’s thought-provoking lyrics strike listeners as too indirect? Was the album too complex? London’s NME was the only major media outlet that weighed in, comparing Worthington to The Band, R.E.M. and Uncle Tupelo in the same breath and calling the song “Smaller Monsters” a
“chilled classic.” It was the type of review any musician would love, and while it was certainly appreciated, the band members lament that the album wasn’t even available in England. Soon enough, it wasn’t available anywhere. "He Was Not A Micromanager" would be the band’s only record, or rather, CD. When CDs gave way to streaming during the early aughts, the album essentially disappeared.
Until now, 23 years later, when this wrongly overlooked album will finally get a proper re-release, remastered and mixed by Crane in his now-state-of-the-art Jackpot Studio. "He Was Not A Micromanager" will become streamable and downloadable, and available for the first time on vinyl. Which is why Foster (vocals), Stebner (guitar, songwriting), Ferrari (guitar), Michael Williams (bass) and Oren Williams (drums) recently gathered via teleconference, getting the band back together, pandemic-era style, to share their intriguing backstory and explain their motivations for introducing their lost album to a new generation.
The band’s story starts not in the Pacific Northwest but in sunny Southern California, when Foster, Stebner and Ferrari became friends in junior high school. Stebner’s father and stepmother Jann Browne, a well-known country singer, turned the boys on to iconic Americana artists like Emmylou Harris, the Byrds and others. Sometimes, famed musicians such as Harris and Iris DeMent would even drop by and jam at the Stebner household. At the same time, Foster, Stebner and Ferrari were discovering the region’s punk scene. Ferrari mentions his love of SST bands, with Stebner adding, “We were Descendents freaks!” The Smiths, Joy Division and the British New Wave were other early influences. From there, the Worthington narrative takes some unexpected twists. The three friends were raised as Seventh Day Adventists, and after high school, headed north to the University of Walla Walla, a fundamentalist Christian school. The faith pretty much prohibits drinking, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll and mandates vegetarianism. At the school, they met Michael and Oren, “the other weirdos in the dorm that had Joy Division posters on their walls,” says Foster. “We became quick friends, and the next thing you know we were making music. Badly at first.” Soon enough, uniting behind Stebner’s witty lyrics and winding melodies and Foster’s deep and melodic vocals, the band started on the trajectory of other Pacific Northwest acts of the era, playing shows at clubs locally, then in Seattle and Portland. After graduating in 1996, the five friends moved to Portland, hoping it would become the home base for their music careers. Named for the Seventh Day Adventist-backed plant-based food manufacturer, Worthington—a sort of ironic homage, as they were no longer practicing members of the church—the friends worked hard at making the band a success in between shifts at their day jobs. Stebner says, “I wrote the bulk of the songs in the back of my 1983 Honda Accord on lunch breaks while working a really shitty job as a medical records clerk.” They all held down steady jobs, but Michael Williams says they worked on the music tirelessly, practicing three to four times a week in the lead-up to recording He Was Not A Micromanager. The amusing title, Stebner says, was lifted from a news report about the death of the singer-turned-U.S. Congressman Sonny Bono, where a colleague described him with the bizarre non-sequitur. It also fit the lyrical themes about mundane work experiences that Stebner was exploring in his songs.
The 14 tracks cover an astonishing range of sounds that somehow encapsulate the band’s eclectic musical tastes, from Byrdsian jingle jangle to sparse Joy Division–like rhythmic segments to Guided By Voices-esque quick-hit, two-minute lo-fi jaunts. Pressed for a favorite, Oren Williams responds bluntly, “I love the whole record.” Indeed, 23 years later, his bandmates and longtime friends feel strongly that "He Was Not A Micromanager" needs to be heard. They highlight songs such as “Light Industrialize,” a slow-burning, waltz-like epic riding a squall of fuzzed-out guitars, or the peppy, bass-driven “Winter Rules,” where Foster pushes his voice up an octave, as close as he gets to sounding gleeful on the record. “Party Foul” and “A Faster Ceiling” are more visceral, and surprisingly reflective of the Portland indie-rock style of balancing pop sensibilities with post-punk attitude. In other words, these songs should have at least connected with their hometown audience. “I made many apologies to the guys in the band and people on the street that my voice was too nice,” says Foster. “I was a choirboy.”
Fortunately, the time for hand-wringing is over. Worthington may not have succeeded back then, but their only existing album, which for nearly two decades didn’t exist, is very of its time in 2021. The guys have gone their separate ways, into careers and families—and in some cases other bands—and now they have reunited to right a wrong, to correct a small hole in the fabric of indie-rock’s evolution.
“We don’t feel like enough people heard it at the time,” Foster says, drawing head-nods from his lifelong friends. As if to prove that their dynamic was no fluke, the five guys in Worthington remain close today, and even recorded a breathtaking cover of Tom Petty’s “Walls” during the pandemic, exchanging files digitally. There might even be a reunion show this fall. Hopefully this time around, Portlanders, and everyone else, will take notice.
“I was always baffled that the album didn’t get more attention when it came out,” says Worthington guitarist Omar Ferrari. “Even though everything going on around us was different, the people in Portland were primed to appreciate and be open to something different that was original and creative.” And yet ironically, the robust Pacific Northwest music press, always on the lookout for the next
big thing, barely noted the release. Were lead singer Kurt Foster’s baritone vocals too smooth and stylized? Did Jake Stebner’s thought-provoking lyrics strike listeners as too indirect? Was the album too complex? London’s NME was the only major media outlet that weighed in, comparing Worthington to The Band, R.E.M. and Uncle Tupelo in the same breath and calling the song “Smaller Monsters” a
“chilled classic.” It was the type of review any musician would love, and while it was certainly appreciated, the band members lament that the album wasn’t even available in England. Soon enough, it wasn’t available anywhere. "He Was Not A Micromanager" would be the band’s only record, or rather, CD. When CDs gave way to streaming during the early aughts, the album essentially disappeared.
Until now, 23 years later, when this wrongly overlooked album will finally get a proper re-release, remastered and mixed by Crane in his now-state-of-the-art Jackpot Studio. "He Was Not A Micromanager" will become streamable and downloadable, and available for the first time on vinyl. Which is why Foster (vocals), Stebner (guitar, songwriting), Ferrari (guitar), Michael Williams (bass) and Oren Williams (drums) recently gathered via teleconference, getting the band back together, pandemic-era style, to share their intriguing backstory and explain their motivations for introducing their lost album to a new generation.
The band’s story starts not in the Pacific Northwest but in sunny Southern California, when Foster, Stebner and Ferrari became friends in junior high school. Stebner’s father and stepmother Jann Browne, a well-known country singer, turned the boys on to iconic Americana artists like Emmylou Harris, the Byrds and others. Sometimes, famed musicians such as Harris and Iris DeMent would even drop by and jam at the Stebner household. At the same time, Foster, Stebner and Ferrari were discovering the region’s punk scene. Ferrari mentions his love of SST bands, with Stebner adding, “We were Descendents freaks!” The Smiths, Joy Division and the British New Wave were other early influences. From there, the Worthington narrative takes some unexpected twists. The three friends were raised as Seventh Day Adventists, and after high school, headed north to the University of Walla Walla, a fundamentalist Christian school. The faith pretty much prohibits drinking, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll and mandates vegetarianism. At the school, they met Michael and Oren, “the other weirdos in the dorm that had Joy Division posters on their walls,” says Foster. “We became quick friends, and the next thing you know we were making music. Badly at first.” Soon enough, uniting behind Stebner’s witty lyrics and winding melodies and Foster’s deep and melodic vocals, the band started on the trajectory of other Pacific Northwest acts of the era, playing shows at clubs locally, then in Seattle and Portland. After graduating in 1996, the five friends moved to Portland, hoping it would become the home base for their music careers. Named for the Seventh Day Adventist-backed plant-based food manufacturer, Worthington—a sort of ironic homage, as they were no longer practicing members of the church—the friends worked hard at making the band a success in between shifts at their day jobs. Stebner says, “I wrote the bulk of the songs in the back of my 1983 Honda Accord on lunch breaks while working a really shitty job as a medical records clerk.” They all held down steady jobs, but Michael Williams says they worked on the music tirelessly, practicing three to four times a week in the lead-up to recording He Was Not A Micromanager. The amusing title, Stebner says, was lifted from a news report about the death of the singer-turned-U.S. Congressman Sonny Bono, where a colleague described him with the bizarre non-sequitur. It also fit the lyrical themes about mundane work experiences that Stebner was exploring in his songs.
The 14 tracks cover an astonishing range of sounds that somehow encapsulate the band’s eclectic musical tastes, from Byrdsian jingle jangle to sparse Joy Division–like rhythmic segments to Guided By Voices-esque quick-hit, two-minute lo-fi jaunts. Pressed for a favorite, Oren Williams responds bluntly, “I love the whole record.” Indeed, 23 years later, his bandmates and longtime friends feel strongly that "He Was Not A Micromanager" needs to be heard. They highlight songs such as “Light Industrialize,” a slow-burning, waltz-like epic riding a squall of fuzzed-out guitars, or the peppy, bass-driven “Winter Rules,” where Foster pushes his voice up an octave, as close as he gets to sounding gleeful on the record. “Party Foul” and “A Faster Ceiling” are more visceral, and surprisingly reflective of the Portland indie-rock style of balancing pop sensibilities with post-punk attitude. In other words, these songs should have at least connected with their hometown audience. “I made many apologies to the guys in the band and people on the street that my voice was too nice,” says Foster. “I was a choirboy.”
Fortunately, the time for hand-wringing is over. Worthington may not have succeeded back then, but their only existing album, which for nearly two decades didn’t exist, is very of its time in 2021. The guys have gone their separate ways, into careers and families—and in some cases other bands—and now they have reunited to right a wrong, to correct a small hole in the fabric of indie-rock’s evolution.
“We don’t feel like enough people heard it at the time,” Foster says, drawing head-nods from his lifelong friends. As if to prove that their dynamic was no fluke, the five guys in Worthington remain close today, and even recorded a breathtaking cover of Tom Petty’s “Walls” during the pandemic, exchanging files digitally. There might even be a reunion show this fall. Hopefully this time around, Portlanders, and everyone else, will take notice.
Worthington, indie rock, alternative rock, Portland, reissued album, "He Was Not A Micromanager", "Smaller Monsters", passionate lyrics, divergent vox, pristine, raw, emotional edges,
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