OK Go

So if you’re reading these words, you’ve probably seen that video.  I find even more endearing the video dance to “A Million Ways” that hundreds of amateur foursomes – kids and adults and church groups and school groups – have imitated in what certainly must be the world’s first international YouTube dance contest.  If you haven't had the pleasure, Google it right now and prepare to lose two hours of your life.

But I am here to say that OK Go is more than those videos.  The band’s frontman Damian Kulash sometimes makes big declarations like “We're trying to be a DIY band in a post-major label world” or “Our whole bag is having good ideas and making cool shit.”  

I find that convincing. 

Some of the other cool shit they’ve made lately: a record accompanied only by trombones, a play, an essay in the best-selling collection Things I’ve Learned From Women Who Dumped Me, op-eds in the New York Times and Huffington Post.  They’ve testified before Congress and played in the Senate chambers.  I repeat: they played music in the chambers of the United States Senate.  They’ve been commentators on All Things Considered.  They interviewed a member of N’Sync in the bathroom of Radio City Music Hall.  They have a project where they walk the streets with fans handing out burritos to the homeless.  They raised most of the money to buy a house for soul legend Al Johnson, so he could move home to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina.  

All these extracurriculars make a great story, and this is the story that gets the space in The Wall Street Journal and USA Today: OK Go is the polymath band who – with only five bucks and a camcorder – did what none of the giant record labels could, inventing a new way for a band to connect with fans and changing the way people think about music and the Internet.  Great story, though it overlooks the most important thing about the band:  its music.  What makes OK Go great is that they write and perform great songs.  

With this new record they seem determined not to let us forget it. Of the Blue Colour of the Sky is adventurously, emphatically musical – intricate, emotional, completely self-assured while it stakes out new musical territory.  The ear-worm catchiness of their earlier records is still there, but the writing is more focused and sure-footed and the guitar sound broader and more dimensional.  

The album’s named after an 1876 book about the healing power of blue light (is it necessary to point out here that blue light has no such power?) and the lyrics are mostly about brave attempts at hope in the face of hopeless situations, which makes it fantastically upbeat and also very sad.  The album’s last line sums it up: “Every day is the same, we’re praying for rain.” 

That said, it’s mostly a dance record.  Way more Prince than Leonard Cohen. Apparently some really sad stuff is happening in the guys’ personal lives – perhaps fueled by their ridiculous 31-month stint on the road, away from loved ones – and the way they’re expressing it is with infectious melodies, a sense of rhythm I can only describe as much feelier than before, and lyrics that seem either cheerful or trying-desperately-to-be-cheerful, depending on your frame of mind.  The rule of thumb in pop music that great records come after heartbreak seems to be at work here in spades. Damian sings mournfully in the barest moment on the album, “Can’t you love me?” and even the upbeat songs are about love collapsing.  “I’ve been trying to get my head around what the fuck is happening?” goes one of the catchiest hooks. “I’m trying to make some sense out of what you’re doing with my head.”

I listened obsessively for a couple weeks, and my favorite song – the one that would stick in my brain – kept shifting, which says good things. Right now it’s “Back From Kathmandu.” I love how forcefully and confidently and slowly it goes about its business, with a yearning pop melody, scraggly loose guitars over a loud slow beat and that “is it cheerful or is it sad?” thing in spades.  Dreamy verses lead to noisy, boisterous choruses about the power of love.  What else could you want from a pop song?

This is supposed to be a bio, so here are some of the abc’s of OK Go:  Damian Kulash (vocals, guitar) and Tim Nordwind (bass) met at summer camp when they were eleven and promptly formed a band called The Greased Ferrets that featured folding chairs played as drums. They claim not to remember any of the songs they wrote at the time.  “Claim” would be the key word in that sentence.  They met Dan Konopka (drums) in college, but somehow didn't form into OK Go until 1999, even though they all believed someday they'd have a band together.  Figure.  Andy Ross (guitar, keys) joined in 2005 after he met them through college pals.

A few years ago, OK Go performed at some live shows our radio program This American Life was doing onstage across the country. They were like human catnip. We had huge crowds and people of every age—high school sophomores to senior citizens—just LOVED them. The band simply overwhelmed the audience with this exuberant buzz of fun and happiness and youth and rock 'n roll. They were sexy in a way that had a kind of well-scrubbed pop innocence to it, but that also moved a friend to murmur backstage, "I want to fuck all four of them.”

Judging from the crowds at their shows these days, the reaction hasn’t changed much. They’ve been doing their thing – making cool shit – and thanks to the videos, that exuberant buzz has spilled across the globe.  But don’t let that distract you, the best part of OK Go is still the music."