F the hardcore
scene felt that hon-
esty was as important
as authenticity, that illusive
ability to "keep it real," then
California's Farside would be your
favorite band. It's a boastful claim,
considering the band has not released
a full-length record in five years. Yet,
Farside
12
L
these former scene darlings were on their
way toward greatness (or at least being really
good) until real life seemed to get in the way.
Now, some four years after their last release, Farside
has returned with The Monroe Doctrine, seventeen
cuts of signature post-hardcore, pre-emo
rock that exists somewhere between the
sensitivity of Mineral, the Prozac rock of
The Promise Ring, and the band's own deep-
seated hardcore roots. But is the scene ready
for Farside's triumphant return?
"It's not like we were sitting on our asses not
doing anything. We had our lives," explains the
band's guitarist and vocalist Kevin Murphy at
the onset of the band's summer East Coast tour.
Murphy, along with guitarist and vocalist Popeye,
drummer Bob Beshear, and former bassist Bryan
Chu (who was replaced by newcomer Sean
Rosenthal after the record's release) didn't offi-
cially call it quits after the band's last EP in 1995.
"We all finished college, which was a priority for us.
And everyone had real relationships that were very
important," says Popeye, adding that the band moved
to separate corners of California, which made play-
ing out, much less practicing, a challenge. Despite
Farside's long history of varied geographies, it seemed
like the daily commute became a grind.
Of course, that covers only half the story. The fact is
the members of Farside felt they had to grow up. "I was
really unhappy with my life and it was important to me
to feel like an adult," admits Popeye. "At the time, I
thought that if I continued doing the band, I would have
to push those things off further," he says. Indeed, three-
quarters of the band got married, and they all started on
careers. Chu teaches, Beshear builds animatronic
dinosaurs, and Popeye works as a journalist, while Murphy
had managed a chain store prior to his recent move from San
Diego to Orange County.
But while Farside vacillated about their future, a lot of
bands that Farside had influenced blew up. "We totally missed
the boat," concedes Murphy. "We had labels that were con-
siderably larger than Revelation expressing interest in us, but
we just never, at least half the band, never entertained the
thought." The foursome are now trying to make up for lost time
with The Monroe Doctrine, named to pay homage to the band's
long-time engineer, Jim Monroe. Despite its length, The Monroe
Doctrine is surprisingly consistent, save for "El Bobo the Cranky,"
which rivals Vinny Stigma's song about a beer-drinking dog for stu-
pidity. Despite the years of musical inactivity, Farside shines on
gems like "I Hope You're Unhappy," "Moral Straitjacket," and
"Better Than Crying."
Yet, it's unclear whether anyone is still listening. "This East Coast tour
is sort of a litmus test, a testing ground to see if anyone cares about
us anymore," says Beshear. And if all goes well, they plan on a full tour
of the States and Europe later this fall. In addition to finally playing shows
again, Murphy recently started writing a column entitled "The Kid Will
FAR
ARSID
Have His Say', which appears on the Revelation Web site. Rather than kiss-
ing up to the same scenesters that he hopes the band plays for, Murphy
seems more intent on challenging the punk rock establishment's rigid codes
and regiments. Now that's punk.
Sitting on a bench in New York City, it's clear that the members of
Farside are not hardcore icons. They don't wave a banner in protest of
some injustice or act as the mouthpiece in support of some grassroots
cause, a potentially dicey proposition in a scene that seems to obsess
over banner-waving and cultural activism. But if the scene judged its
bands on how truthfully it reflects its own reality, then these guys
would be superstars. -Joseph Epstein
MERVYN'S
CALIFORNIA
KOHL'S
GOODY'S
FAMILY CLOTHING
SEARS
LAVAS