Transcendentalism with the Turn-Ons

As I sat uncomfortably on my black leather couch moments ago, surrounded by dudes hollering at each movement of the football game on TV, and suffering from carburetor-like hearts rattles and fuming stomach exhaust thanks to the uncharacteristic decision to drink coffee, I yearned for the comfort of just one thing -- and it wasn't a girl: I already fucked that one up. It was the glossy, hallow, hook laden tunes of the Turn-Ons, a band from Seattle introduced to me by my sister's husband Damon -- a guru of little-know acts, steeped in cherished nuggets of musical info.

Though their first album is a lo-fi, acoustic-driven nod to T. Rex, it's the Turn-Ons' next set -- the highly melodious, lushly written and produced 'East' -- which defined a joyous era of my life: the summer between junior and senior year in college when I had my first apartment in Seattle, a gorgeous, motivated, and intelligent girlfriend, and an internship at 'Tablet,' an inner-city, liberal arts and culture magazine.

With a reverb drenched, shoegazery sonic rooted in simplistic yet refined indie rock songwriting, the Turn-Ons allow comfort in pain, and ease any situation with a viscous coating of majors, minors, and sevenths. Their tunes came to define the squalor of my small basement apartment (a popular lyrical topic -- Read "Skyscrappers" and "Sideways"), the inner workings of my relationships, and predominantly narrated -- in both melody and lyric -- my ever move that summer; In retrospect, I can hear the fluid, hazy riffs and murky piano melodies as I dove into Lake Washington at night and paddled into the glimmering, animated panes of water; walked across Seattle Center beneath the Space Needle at night, inhaling the summery air between my teeth; when my eyes burst all over my then girlfriend's colorful, kaleidescope-like skirts; and sank my toes in the sand at the beach, watching the sun sink, strumming my guitar as wooden morsels cackled and shot from smoky bonfires.

Ever since, the Turn-Ons have released a few more records, 'Parallels,' and soon, 'Death to God.' Both have a similar sonic -- again, one layered in near-arena filling chorus hooks, and endearing, gorgeous verses and Travis Devries tinny, drawn out and emoting vocals. But sadly -- despite numerous national tours, including spots opening for successful acts, and some national press -- this band have never garnered the praise and credit they deserve.

Now, though I sit on a raggedy, brash steel chair roughly twenty feet from the clamor in my living room, where dudes continue to high-five and clang beers and fucking scream at the top of their lungs (the Jets and the Patriots are tied I guess), I'm comfortable, and feel a million miles away -- well, actually about 3,000. When I close my eyes I'm transported back to the plastic blow up mattress of my basement apartment, where I lay on my college-bought blue duvet cover, peering down the space's narrow hallway, over my record collection and long-sold Fender Rhodes electric piano, and out the window at the black berry patches of urban Seattle, wondering what will happen next.

Here's one of the more rockin' tracks from 'East': "Neighborhood Killer"




Here's a tune more characteristic of the band's overall sound -- "Stop Waiting" off 'Parallels'



Check out the Turn-Ons' MySpace page.