Creeping Toward Bethlehem

A major label recording contract. Big-name producers. Lazy nights in the Jacuzzi. San Francisco's Creeper Lagoon has got it made, right? Not exactly.

Dan Carr needs earplugs. Not because he plays bass in a rock band. And not because that band, San Francisco indie darling Creeper Lagoon, is currently ensconced in a Hollywood studio recording its debut album for DreamWorks Records. Dan Carr needs earplugs because, as he laments with a sigh, "Tomorrow is a gardening day." The dawn will bring a small army of landscapers, wielding noisy leaf blowers designed to remove debris with maximum efficiency from the putting green just below Carr's third-story window.

Creeper Lagoon is marooned -- stranded in the L.A. suburb of Sherman Oaks, inside the Premiere, an immaculate condominium complex with all mod cons and full of screaming children with a sick propensity for waking up well before musicians with hangovers. For Carr and his bandmates -- singer/guitarist Ian Sefchick, singer/guitarist Sharky Laguana, and drummer Dave Kostiner -- the situation has begun to resemble a sadistic experiment in sleep deprivation. "I called up the management," explains Kostiner, a natural crack-up with an easygoing demeanor. "I was like, 'We're a rock band, OK? We don't get up until 11:30. Can you please ask [the gardeners] not to start until 10 o'clock?'" To paraphrase a song from the Talking Heads (whose ex-guitarist Jerry Harrison has produced half of the band's upcoming record), the Premiere is not Creeper Lagoon's beautiful house. And instead of beautiful wives, there are only lonely girlfriends back in San Francisco.

There is, however, David Byrne's immortal question: "Well, how did I get here?" How did Creeper Lagoon arrive at a two-bedroom condo in suburban L.A.? How did they come to record their sophomore album for one of the largest entertainment conglomerates in the world, with four different producers, including Flaming Lips confidant Dave Fridmann, Harrison, and one extremely talented upstart who's written songs for Celine Dion and Aerosmith? The answers lie at the intersection of Hard Work, Talent, and Unswerving Dedication. Right now, Creeper Lagoon is stopped, waiting for the light to turn green.

The Band Who Would Be King: David Kostiner, Sharky Laguana, Ian Sefchick, and Dan Carr.
Wild Don Lewis
The Band Who Would Be King: David Kostiner, Sharky Laguana, Ian Sefchick, and Dan Carr.


Wednesday, March 1, 12:47 p.m.
The gray, nondescript building at 751 N. Fairfax Blvd. is like many gray, nondescript buildings in Hollywood. But this one, Cherokee Studios, is where Creeper Lagoon hopes to prove itself worthy of the Great Indie Hope yoke that a legion of supporters has saddled it with. Despite words to the contrary from naysayers and, notably, the band members themselves, Creeper Lagoon means a lot to a lot of people. I Become Small and Go, the band's 1998 debut album, was filled with the kind of sublime, heartbreaking tunes that inspire true fandom. The two years since that record's release have been punctuated by near-incessant touring, as well as a less-than-productive songwriting stint on a farm near Ione in the Central Valley. Now the pressure is on to produce.

But at the moment Creeper Lagoon is getting stoned. Actually, Laguana and Kostiner are getting stoned while Carr lights a cigarette and reclines on a couch built into the spacious, wood-paneled control room of Cherokee's Studio B. Last week Carr's father had a heart attack, induced by years of smoking and stress. He's all right, but between drags Carr is vowing to quit and get some exercise. Sefchick arrives, looking burnt and disheveled, dressed in blue satin workout pants and a wrinkled T-shirt; his sandy blond mop of hair matches the three-day stubble on his face. Sefchick and Laguana spent last night at the Universal Studios amusement park, conveniently located up the road from the Premiere. The duo managed to get behind the scenes -- literally -- before being booted by a janitor. "The prices were outrageous!" Laguana, 29, tells Kostiner and Carr. "It was, like, rampant consumerism at its worst."

The door opens again to reveal a youthful-looking, thin man with bushy blond hair, dressed in a white tae kwon do uniform: Greg Wells, the producer for these sessions. Coming to Los Angeles from his native Ontario, Canada, in 1990, Wells is a prodigious musician, composer, and producer who's worked in one capacity or another with k.d. lang, Ozzy Osbourne, and the Crash Test Dummies. His songwriting credits include tracks recorded by Celine Dion, Aerosmith, Diana Ross, and Jon Bon Jovi. He is 31.

1:13 p.m.
Wells asks the engineer, who's been busy all morning bouncing tracks from the previous day's work, to play back a song tentatively titled "Here We Are." As the opening strains emerge from the large, expensive studio monitors, it's clear that despite things up at the farm going wrong, Creeper Lagoon has managed to do something very, very right. "So long to the life you always knew," sings Sefchick, over simple acoustic guitar strumming and clean cello lines played by Laguana. All talking has ceased. Sefchick hangs over the large mixing board, his fingers fiddling mindlessly with a plastic tie. Kostiner leans forward with his chin on his hand, staring at the floor. Wells stands behind Tom, the engineer, who methodically adjusts faders. Both are nodding to the song's lazy beat. When it's over, there's a brief silence, followed by a critique. Kostiner and Sefchick are concerned that some of the programmed beats don't mesh with the drums. Laguana agrees, and sits down at the computer to start editing.

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