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Orange County Register , CA
July 31 2005
Making news
By BEN WENER
The Orange County Register
Questions, questions, more questions - and few answers: Rarely has a
band inspired as many unsolvable head-scratchers as the one-of-a-kind
System of a Down.
For starters: How in the world did something so bizarre and
brilliantly antagonistic become so immensely popular? How did it
become the new giant of heavy rock?
It helps to start with some standard-issue queries, ones greener
journalists still ask, the sort initially put forth a decade ago when
L.A.- based System rose from the ashes of an ordinary metal band
called Soil, the first venture to pair polar-opposite creative forces
Serj Tankian (37, vocals and lyrics, primarily) and Daron Malakian
(29, guitars and music, primarily).
Obvious Question No. 1: What in the world is a System of a Down?
Best answer: You decide.
"It means different things to different people," Tankian has said.
"That's the beauty of it." For the record, the name's genesis started
with a poem by Malakian, titled "Victims of a Down." "System" was
substituted because it seemed stronger. "Everything is a system,"
Malakian has said.
Obvious Question No. 2: How do you describe, System's music, which
resists definition?
Every rock writer has tried to reduce its complex amalgamation of
art-rock, surreal political abrasiveness, Arabian exoticism, thrashy
metal and Frank Zappa absurdism to simple terms. Yet, as often occurs
with groundbreaking sounds, no one description has gotten it entirely
right.
Most pundits give up and dub the group a genre unto itself. The more
daring devise clever summations heavy on references that make critics
chuckle, like this stab from the June edition of Blender:
"Imagine the 'mamma mia' section of Queen's 'Bohemian Rhapsody' set
to a Bulgarian wedding dance as played by Slayer and punctuated with
a gaggle of vocal personal ads ranging from TV pitchmen to agitprop
hucksters to death-metal growlers to muezzin calling the faithful to
prayer - basically, Gilbert and Sullivan at Ozzfest." I'd add: As
fronted by a bouncing and wailing guy who looks like Rasputin on
leave from a stint with Oingo Boingo.
I asked Tankian if he's found an apt description. He paraphrased the
oft-quoted quip: "Talking about music is like dancing about
architecture."
Then there are some seemingly straightforward questions that remain
unanswered even at this late point, with the outfit having issued
four monster albums (2001's "Toxicity" racked up sales of 3.5
million) and about to embark on a stateside tour Thursday in Long
Beach while waiting for the November arrival of the second half
("Hypnotize") of a split-apart double-album that began with May's
"Mezmerize," which debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard album charts.
The first imponderable: Why must every piece about System of a Down
mention that the band members are of Armenian descent?
That's a puzzler even a cursory glance at recent System clippings
proves true, one a reader reiterated to me after I pointed out the
quartet's shared heritage in a review.
To listen to System's albums, and consider its roots, it would seem
crucial to note. Three of members of the quartet - Tankian, Malakian
and bassist Shavo Odadjian - attended the same private Armenian high
school in Hollywood. (Drummer John Dolmayan joined the group in
1996.) Not surprisingly, System's music, and especially Tankian's
maniacal vocal style, is often laced with striking,
idiosyncraticstrains each member was raised with at home.
Further reason to play up the Armenian angle: On its self-titled,
1998 debut, System finished with a song, "P.L.U.C.K. (Politically
Lying, Unholy, Cowardly Killers)," that condemned the Ottoman Turks
of 1915-23 for the ethnic cleansing of Armenians, which killed 1.5
million, and the Turks of today for refusing to acknowledge the
atrocity occurred. The band, whose grandfathers were survivors of the
genocide and fled to Iraq and elsewhere, also plays an annual
L.A.-area show every April 24 (called "Souls") commemorating and
aiming to boost awareness of the bloodshed.
Considering all of that, how can one not point out that these guys
are Armenian? It's too intrinsic, isn't it?
"Well, yes and no," Tankian told me by phone from Rotterdam, the
Netherlands, where System was midway through a European tour. "The
problem we've had with articles from the beginning is that we just
don't like being put in a box. At first they called us an Armenian
rock band. Then they called us a political band, which some people
still call us. We're always finding more adjectives that put us in a
box, and anytime that happens, we naturally rebel against it.
"I think some people are probably tired of hearing about us being
Armenian. You know, Black Sabbath was an amazing band, but people
didn't focus on them being English the whole time. The Beatles had
lots of political and social commentary in their songs, but no one
really called them a political band."
Yes, but people eventually did brand John Lennon a political artist,
at least partly. Likewise, though Malakian now contributes as many
scathing indictments to System's lyrics as his goateed, curly-haired
partner in barbed lunacy, it's Tankian who represents the activist
face of the group. He is both the mouthpiece of its material and
co-founder of the protest organization Axis of Justice with friend
Tom Morello, formerly of Rage Against the Machine, now with
Audioslave.
Sometimes the invective in System's songs is blatant, as in "Sad
Statue," about generational apathy, or "B.Y.O.B.," which wonders "why
do they always send the poor" to fight wars; other times it's
over-the- top and screwy, as is the case with the phallic,
quasi-operatic "Cigaro," in which bragging comparisons of male
anatomy becomes a starting point for globally aggressive stratagems.
Regardless whether the focus is outwardly social ("Prison," the new
"Violent Pornography") or inwardly anguished (the demented, suicidal
"Chop Suey!"), the foursome remains best known as outspoken critics
and caricaturists in an era saturated with meaningless pop and
largely devoid of resolute political outcry, apart from token
anti-war tunes.
But Tankian balks at the thought that System is spearheading a fresh
infusion of spiked diatribes into rock. "We do have a lot of
political and social stuff in our songs," he says, "but there's just
as much humorous stuff and personal narrative as well."
As for drawing attention to the Armenian genocide: "I wish (it) was
something that we wouldn't have to talk about. It would be great if
politically things were resolved and we wouldn't have to talk about
it again. Nobody really wants to. But it's a terrible tragedy and it
continues to affect us. It is a part of who we are, but it doesn't
fully define our music."
So if terms like "art-metal" and "Armenian rock" don't paint a full
portrait of System, how would the band prefer to be described?
"How about nothing?" Tankian responded, laughing, perhaps realizing
that won't happen. "How about just our name? I'd rather not do
interviews. Just have journalists smoke one and enjoy the music and
write whatever they want. Then you're dealing with the actual
stimulus and subject matter, not the afterthought or the mental
breakdown of it."
Which brings us back to that perplexing afterthought no one, either
in the group or merely observing it, can figure out.
The second imponderable: How did an act as strange as System of a
Down get to be so unbelievably popular?
"Man, I couldn't tell you that," Malakian told Blender recently. "I
mean, four Armenian guys? Who do you market that to? And our sound
like 'B.Y.O.B.' - that'sa single?"
Yet it is, dominating modern-rock outlets like KROQ/106.7 FM and
causing fervor among fans like nothing since the dawn of grunge.
Tankian can't explain System's success, either, though "one thing I
can say is our music is very honest. That might strike a chord with
some people."
The band's ascendancy seems to rest on two resonant factors: 1) Its
music defies categorization at a time when few others are pushing
boundaries, thus appealing to people looking for something different;
and 2) it gets at the heart of what many people, young and older, are
feeling during times of war abroad and political acrimony at home.
System ponders difficult issues that can't be resolved in four-minute
songs; it raises questions but doesn't offer answers.
Thus, it inspires listeners to think for themselves. "That's how it
should be," Tankian says.
Of course - in a utopian music biz where artistic pursuit trumps
commercial viability. The real question, though, is whether System's
breakthrough will cause a shift toward increased creative freedom
within the industry. Will other acts follow its revolutionary lead?
Will labels foster and promote it?
Tankian isn't so hopeful. "I think there's a dichotomy at play -
industry vs. art. And the industry is actually worse off now than it
used to be, in terms of conglomerations having maximum control and
fewer major labels all merging and cutting staff. There's less room
for artistic development in the music industry today than there was
10 years ago - which was less than there was 20 years ago, which was
less than there was 30 years ago.
"So the industry is not something to look at. Bands just have to do
their thing, create the music that comes from their heart and somehow
go directly to the public with it. It's never been the easy way of
doing it. But that's the only way."
In a roundabout fashion, that's exactly what System has done, by
fomenting a grass-roots network of fans in Southern California while
striking up a relationship with producer Rick Rubin, who has
co-produced all of System's albums for his American Recordings
imprint. If nothing else, System stands as proof that flukes can
inexplicably work.
But flukes are just that - flukes.
"Yeah," Tankian says, "but it's time for more flukes."
July 31 2005
Making news
By BEN WENER
The Orange County Register
Questions, questions, more questions - and few answers: Rarely has a
band inspired as many unsolvable head-scratchers as the one-of-a-kind
System of a Down.
For starters: How in the world did something so bizarre and
brilliantly antagonistic become so immensely popular? How did it
become the new giant of heavy rock?
It helps to start with some standard-issue queries, ones greener
journalists still ask, the sort initially put forth a decade ago when
L.A.- based System rose from the ashes of an ordinary metal band
called Soil, the first venture to pair polar-opposite creative forces
Serj Tankian (37, vocals and lyrics, primarily) and Daron Malakian
(29, guitars and music, primarily).
Obvious Question No. 1: What in the world is a System of a Down?
Best answer: You decide.
"It means different things to different people," Tankian has said.
"That's the beauty of it." For the record, the name's genesis started
with a poem by Malakian, titled "Victims of a Down." "System" was
substituted because it seemed stronger. "Everything is a system,"
Malakian has said.
Obvious Question No. 2: How do you describe, System's music, which
resists definition?
Every rock writer has tried to reduce its complex amalgamation of
art-rock, surreal political abrasiveness, Arabian exoticism, thrashy
metal and Frank Zappa absurdism to simple terms. Yet, as often occurs
with groundbreaking sounds, no one description has gotten it entirely
right.
Most pundits give up and dub the group a genre unto itself. The more
daring devise clever summations heavy on references that make critics
chuckle, like this stab from the June edition of Blender:
"Imagine the 'mamma mia' section of Queen's 'Bohemian Rhapsody' set
to a Bulgarian wedding dance as played by Slayer and punctuated with
a gaggle of vocal personal ads ranging from TV pitchmen to agitprop
hucksters to death-metal growlers to muezzin calling the faithful to
prayer - basically, Gilbert and Sullivan at Ozzfest." I'd add: As
fronted by a bouncing and wailing guy who looks like Rasputin on
leave from a stint with Oingo Boingo.
I asked Tankian if he's found an apt description. He paraphrased the
oft-quoted quip: "Talking about music is like dancing about
architecture."
Then there are some seemingly straightforward questions that remain
unanswered even at this late point, with the outfit having issued
four monster albums (2001's "Toxicity" racked up sales of 3.5
million) and about to embark on a stateside tour Thursday in Long
Beach while waiting for the November arrival of the second half
("Hypnotize") of a split-apart double-album that began with May's
"Mezmerize," which debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard album charts.
The first imponderable: Why must every piece about System of a Down
mention that the band members are of Armenian descent?
That's a puzzler even a cursory glance at recent System clippings
proves true, one a reader reiterated to me after I pointed out the
quartet's shared heritage in a review.
To listen to System's albums, and consider its roots, it would seem
crucial to note. Three of members of the quartet - Tankian, Malakian
and bassist Shavo Odadjian - attended the same private Armenian high
school in Hollywood. (Drummer John Dolmayan joined the group in
1996.) Not surprisingly, System's music, and especially Tankian's
maniacal vocal style, is often laced with striking,
idiosyncraticstrains each member was raised with at home.
Further reason to play up the Armenian angle: On its self-titled,
1998 debut, System finished with a song, "P.L.U.C.K. (Politically
Lying, Unholy, Cowardly Killers)," that condemned the Ottoman Turks
of 1915-23 for the ethnic cleansing of Armenians, which killed 1.5
million, and the Turks of today for refusing to acknowledge the
atrocity occurred. The band, whose grandfathers were survivors of the
genocide and fled to Iraq and elsewhere, also plays an annual
L.A.-area show every April 24 (called "Souls") commemorating and
aiming to boost awareness of the bloodshed.
Considering all of that, how can one not point out that these guys
are Armenian? It's too intrinsic, isn't it?
"Well, yes and no," Tankian told me by phone from Rotterdam, the
Netherlands, where System was midway through a European tour. "The
problem we've had with articles from the beginning is that we just
don't like being put in a box. At first they called us an Armenian
rock band. Then they called us a political band, which some people
still call us. We're always finding more adjectives that put us in a
box, and anytime that happens, we naturally rebel against it.
"I think some people are probably tired of hearing about us being
Armenian. You know, Black Sabbath was an amazing band, but people
didn't focus on them being English the whole time. The Beatles had
lots of political and social commentary in their songs, but no one
really called them a political band."
Yes, but people eventually did brand John Lennon a political artist,
at least partly. Likewise, though Malakian now contributes as many
scathing indictments to System's lyrics as his goateed, curly-haired
partner in barbed lunacy, it's Tankian who represents the activist
face of the group. He is both the mouthpiece of its material and
co-founder of the protest organization Axis of Justice with friend
Tom Morello, formerly of Rage Against the Machine, now with
Audioslave.
Sometimes the invective in System's songs is blatant, as in "Sad
Statue," about generational apathy, or "B.Y.O.B.," which wonders "why
do they always send the poor" to fight wars; other times it's
over-the- top and screwy, as is the case with the phallic,
quasi-operatic "Cigaro," in which bragging comparisons of male
anatomy becomes a starting point for globally aggressive stratagems.
Regardless whether the focus is outwardly social ("Prison," the new
"Violent Pornography") or inwardly anguished (the demented, suicidal
"Chop Suey!"), the foursome remains best known as outspoken critics
and caricaturists in an era saturated with meaningless pop and
largely devoid of resolute political outcry, apart from token
anti-war tunes.
But Tankian balks at the thought that System is spearheading a fresh
infusion of spiked diatribes into rock. "We do have a lot of
political and social stuff in our songs," he says, "but there's just
as much humorous stuff and personal narrative as well."
As for drawing attention to the Armenian genocide: "I wish (it) was
something that we wouldn't have to talk about. It would be great if
politically things were resolved and we wouldn't have to talk about
it again. Nobody really wants to. But it's a terrible tragedy and it
continues to affect us. It is a part of who we are, but it doesn't
fully define our music."
So if terms like "art-metal" and "Armenian rock" don't paint a full
portrait of System, how would the band prefer to be described?
"How about nothing?" Tankian responded, laughing, perhaps realizing
that won't happen. "How about just our name? I'd rather not do
interviews. Just have journalists smoke one and enjoy the music and
write whatever they want. Then you're dealing with the actual
stimulus and subject matter, not the afterthought or the mental
breakdown of it."
Which brings us back to that perplexing afterthought no one, either
in the group or merely observing it, can figure out.
The second imponderable: How did an act as strange as System of a
Down get to be so unbelievably popular?
"Man, I couldn't tell you that," Malakian told Blender recently. "I
mean, four Armenian guys? Who do you market that to? And our sound
like 'B.Y.O.B.' - that'sa single?"
Yet it is, dominating modern-rock outlets like KROQ/106.7 FM and
causing fervor among fans like nothing since the dawn of grunge.
Tankian can't explain System's success, either, though "one thing I
can say is our music is very honest. That might strike a chord with
some people."
The band's ascendancy seems to rest on two resonant factors: 1) Its
music defies categorization at a time when few others are pushing
boundaries, thus appealing to people looking for something different;
and 2) it gets at the heart of what many people, young and older, are
feeling during times of war abroad and political acrimony at home.
System ponders difficult issues that can't be resolved in four-minute
songs; it raises questions but doesn't offer answers.
Thus, it inspires listeners to think for themselves. "That's how it
should be," Tankian says.
Of course - in a utopian music biz where artistic pursuit trumps
commercial viability. The real question, though, is whether System's
breakthrough will cause a shift toward increased creative freedom
within the industry. Will other acts follow its revolutionary lead?
Will labels foster and promote it?
Tankian isn't so hopeful. "I think there's a dichotomy at play -
industry vs. art. And the industry is actually worse off now than it
used to be, in terms of conglomerations having maximum control and
fewer major labels all merging and cutting staff. There's less room
for artistic development in the music industry today than there was
10 years ago - which was less than there was 20 years ago, which was
less than there was 30 years ago.
"So the industry is not something to look at. Bands just have to do
their thing, create the music that comes from their heart and somehow
go directly to the public with it. It's never been the easy way of
doing it. But that's the only way."
In a roundabout fashion, that's exactly what System has done, by
fomenting a grass-roots network of fans in Southern California while
striking up a relationship with producer Rick Rubin, who has
co-produced all of System's albums for his American Recordings
imprint. If nothing else, System stands as proof that flukes can
inexplicably work.
But flukes are just that - flukes.
"Yeah," Tankian says, "but it's time for more flukes."