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Die Princess Die
2002-Present
Featuring ex-members of Camera Obscura, Freedom From Saturn, and
Radio Wendy. A towering wall of sick, invisible sound so loud it
flaps your pant legs and shakes your teeth loose from their shiny
pink gums. Their sound is big, thick, loud, and dense. It's tough
to tell where the guitars end and the bass begins. The four members of Die Princess Die have backgrounds as
varied as a drawer full of mismatched socks. A licensed stockbroker, a retired wedding dress salesman,
an ex-Air Force man who did a stint in the brig, and a native of Slovakia smuggled out of the Iron
Curtain as a child -- what they had in common was a love of altered tunings and big amplifiers.
In 2003, a year after forming in San Diego, the band relocated to Los Angeles. A year later, they released
their self-titled full-length on Cut Lips (CD) and Rococo (vinyl), as well as a split seven-inch on
Kill Shaman and a contribution to GSL’s “Golden Grouper”compilation,
in the process perfecting a sound described by the Austin Chronicle as “louder than highway
construction and dirtier than Internet porn.” Another critic, upon seeing the band perform at SXSW, wrote,
“[…] it was like watching a violent crime in progress. Maybe you know it's wrong,
and you know somebody should do something, but you nonetheless stand there transfixed.”
It’s true that DPD shows are sometimes frenzied -- one left a member with staples in the back of his head --
but their music has a subtle afterbite unsuggested by their name or reputation. Cuts on their second
full-length, “Lions Eat Lions,” recorded by Alex Newport (the Mars Volta/the Locust) and released on GSL
(CD) and Rococo (vinyl), are rich in layered atmosphere -- hot but cold, loose but tight,
raw but sophisticated, all at the same time. A band with stage presence to burn in a scene
that could use more of it, DPD is a wildfire waiting to happen. Stand back. No, come closer.
>> Die Princess
Die website
See Also
The Manifolds, The Pope, Days End
Press
"When the singer of Die Princess Die snapped four songs into the band's set, it was like watching a violent
crime in progress. Maybe you know it's wrong, and you know somebody should do something, but you nonetheless
stand there transfixed. In this case, the guitarist in question -- of a great band who has absolutely no desire
to play anything remotely close to pop music -- let the loud, scratchy, unhinged rock possess him.
He started by taking off his guitar and throwing it at the wall. His band, probably used to such behavior, kept playing.
He then picked it up and threw it the other direction across the stage. The band kept playing. Then, after a moment's
contemplation, ran and threw himself into the rhythm section, scattering drums across the stage and flattening both the
drummer and bassist, both of whom took a few minutes to get up." -- Contra Costa Times |
