DARK & STORMY

The music of Detroit quartet Protomartyr is frantic, unflinching, often dark, sometimes brutal, and always as taut as razor wire. But beneath the piercing guitar shards of Greg Ahee, the roiling bass lines of Scott Davidson, the Motor City-fueled drums of Alex Leonard, and the post-punk sneer of lead singer Joe Casey lies a refreshing blend of narrative compassion. Casey might bark about depressing dive bar scenes, but he does so through the wide-eyed gaze of children who watch their parents struggle. The band might craft cohesive concept albums about mortality and the ancient philosophical dilemma of how the mind operates in relation to the self, as they did on 2015’s The Agent Intellect, their third record in four years. But every song packs hope for the future as well as broken-hearted longing for the past.

Those dualities are precisely what deviates Protomartyr from the lowbrow garage-rock norm. Here’s a humble band from The D, playing uncompromising music while achieving success on a national stage. Here’s a group of relative nobodies — Casey didn’t even sing or write lyrics until he joined the band in 2008, and he insists that Protomartyr comprises normal dudes still “flailing” through their shows — completely owning every stage they take.

Folio Weekly Magazine chatted with Casey about the band’s unconventional style, its evolving persona, and its still-uncertain future.

Folio Weekly Magazine: Given the fact that Protomartyr plays dark, sometimes antagonistic music, does its success feel natural?
Joe Casey: Since this is my first band, I don’t really know what would be natural and what would be unnatural. To me, the success is surprising. But I don’t want to knock it. We put the work in — but I know tons of bands that put the work in.

So what sets Protomartyr apart?
Early on, we decided that we were going to do as much realistic touring as possible. A lot of bands can’t do that because it’s a financial hole, but we were willing to put money into the band  — really, to lose money — to tour.

You’d never sung before joining the band, but on The Agent Intellect, you seem to be really coming into your own.
I don’t know if I’ve started singing yet. [Laughs.] Eventually, I’m going to hit a couple notes. I am starting to get used to being the “singer,” but it’s still a work in progress.

How about Protomartyr’s live show? Is that another work in progress?
Yes. We didn’t really know if we were doing it right or wrong when people told us, “You guys have a really weird stage presence.” We joke that we’ve been touring so much, we’re going to have to start working on our dance moves. But really, it’s just us flailing through the show — and me trying not to forget the words. That’s a result of once being a band that would play four songs and say, “Fuck off,” to now rising to the level of what people expect and playing for an hour. And occasionally doing an encore, which is a bizarre notion.

Your lyrics pack such an evocative, detail-rich punch. Have you always been a writer?
No — getting the opportunity to write was one of the reasons I was excited to be in a band. I’m not a journal-keeper; I’ve tried in the past but failed. I went to school for English, too, but was always too lazy to put pen to paper.

Is it too simplistic to read your dark, often-depressing lyrics — and the agitated, often-aggressive atmosphere of Protomartyr’s music — as a response to living in Detroit?
I didn’t think our music was particularly dark or depressing until people told us that. [Laughs.] I don’t think the city has that kind of affect on us. I like writing lyrics that are specific to Detroit because that’s what I know. People can take universal themes from them if they want, but if I aim for universal themes when I write, I end up writing shitty songs without even knowing it.

The Agent Intellect dropped in October. Are you already writing new material?
2016 is going to be different, because our tour dates go well into the fall, and we’re not a band that can break out the ukulele on the road or sing in the shower. We also hate sound checks on principle, so we’re not going to hang out and jam. The good thing is, when we get back to Detroit, we’re all going to be unemployed. So, hopefully, we’ll be able to throw ourselves into writing new stuff. I’m already chomping at the bit.

So the success of the band is finally affecting your normal lives? I know you’ve worked a regular job for years.
Yeah, that’s new for us. We hung onto our jobs as long as possible. I was also disappointed to find out that our drummer, Alex, is almost 30. I used to think of us as an old guy [Casey is almost 40] and a group of young guys — but now the young guys are starting to feel the passage of time, too.