SpellBound Escape

I am deep in the San Fernando Valley today, Northridge, familiar to these eyes and wheels because it’s the town where my parents bought they’re first…and last home after I was born. Mom and pop Friend divorced when their future rock scribe was six years old, leaving Northridge and the suburban L.A. life forever behind. Driving north on Tampa toward Nordhoff, I’m getting that Déjà vu, Groundhog Day sensation.



The streets, the strip malls, the smell of the air, and oh yes, the triple digit summer heat. So familiar. “What the fuck am I doing here?” snickers the inner voice. “You’re going to meet Spellbound Escape, dude,” cometh the answer. “At their house/studio. Christi Allen, producer of The Metal Awards Show, introduced you to them. She met and fell in love with the boys at a taping of SiTV’s Jammin’ 3 last April, the Latin network’s battle of the bands reality experiment. But these guys aren’t Latin. Never mind. Just pay attention to what’s happening here. dude! They’re BBQing, gonna get you drunk and jam some tunes. You’re writing their BIO, remember? Wake up, man! These kids want to share their vision with you!”



Quick graph of reference. I’ve been writing about rock n’ roll longer than lead singer Joey Thomasian, guitarist Andrew Zalaket and drummer Sean Garrison have been alive. But despite my almost famous journalistic pedigree, this is the first time I have composed a BIO for a band at this early a stage of their career—pre label signing, pre indie debut, damn near pre natal. Truth be told, the gig excites the shit out of me. Why? Because this is the rare time, the precious embryonic moment before distractions and destruction enter the mix to poison the pristine waters of expression where the music and the dream to play that music for fans is all that matters.



I pull into the driveway of their ranch style house. Empty beer bottles dot the concrete, remnants of last night’s neighborhood communion where friends, cousins and other random pilgrims of the valley night drop in to munch, swill and of course, rock. There are two sofas lined face to face in front of the garage door, smoke from the grill is rising in unison with the strains from the boom box blaring Opeth’s Damnation, the prog/metal hybrid’s mesmerizing 2004 debut. When GN’R were whetting their booted toes in tinsel town- the Hollywood Rose days, before the miracle began to take shape-- disparate band members all resided in a similar dwelling known affectionately as ‘Hell House.’ This valley pad feels more heavenly than that din of decadence but at the end of the dissonant day, it’s all about what’s being created between the walls not who’s falling down in the halls.



My hosts wearing a trilogy of beaming, sincere smiles greet me warmly. Andrew Zalaket was born April 27, 1987 in Lawrence, Massachusetts where he lived for nine years until his family decided to return to their homeland of Beirut, Lebanon. In 2000, the clan traded deserts and relocated stateside to Chandler, Arizona where at the age of 13, he met ‘the brother I never had.’ Joey Thomasian, of Armenian decent, incarnated two weeks after Andrew on May 11, 1987. Joey was, ironically, born in Northridge but raised in Phoenix. Schoolmates on a mission to rock, the two teens developed their individual instrumental chops, rehearsing tirelessly and gigging the local scene wherever they could find a handful of friends to dig what they were playing. They began writing songs together, fused their mutual love of music, survived numerous early personnel changes, traded in their sandals for Chuck Taylors and moved to Los Angeles, eventually emerging as the four piece progressive hard edged harbingers of riff and word, Spellbound Escape.



Yes I know. I missed someone. Not really. This is how I write and roll—non-linear. There was a bass player in the mix who also relocated from Senator McCain and Alice Cooper’s home state, but he had to return home in the fall of ‘07 due to ‘family issues.’ Which brings us to the third piece of the Spellbound puzzle, drummer Sean Garrison. Born March 2, 1988 in the more remote valley bedroom community of Agoura Hills (spawning place of Linkin Park), ‘Baby Face’ Garrison was introduced to Joey by his cousin, Tina. He nailed the audition and has provided the thunder stick backdrop that’s helped elevate the band’s performance over the past evolving, transforming year. But beyond his youthful exuberance on the kit, Sean provides invaluable comic relief in his vital role as butt of his bandmember’s endless flood of jokes, like the time he was accused of hoisting one of the outdoor sofas onto the roof during a bong load blackout when in fact, Joey and Andrew had performed the midnight task themselves.



“We have all been raised on great rock,” Joey proudly proclaims. “Rush’s Moving Pictures is the most influential album of my life. Geddy, Alex, Neal, they are true masters of their craft.” The other guys nod in agreement, tossing in their inspirational heroes. “Metallica, In Flames, Opeth, Lamb of God, System of a Down” injects Andrew. “These awesome acts have driven us toward finding our own voice and sound.” Sean nods up and down, mirroring the head movement of the band’s pet black pig, Mini Pig, who reminds me of Snake Sabo from Skid Row’s domestic pork pal, Buttlick, only that barking slab of bacon did not have a pierced right ear like Mini. “Aaron Harris of Isis, Neal Peart, Phil Selway of Radiohead and Mike Joyce of the Smiths,” decries Sean. “They’re my favorite drummers.” There is something genuinely Keith Moon-ish about Spellbound’s animated skin basher. When this band finally hits the road for a proper tour o’ America, my money is on Sean to swan dive naked into the swimming pool from a sixth floor balcony.



After wolfing down some superbly prepared burgers and dogs (“I come from a family of restaurateurs,” confesses Andrew), we retire to the gear-laden studio/rehearsal space, expertly converted from a benign covered patio by the boys themselves. “We’re going to play you six songs,” says Joey. “’Takeover,’ ‘Our Hell,’ ‘Enchantress,’ ‘Blood Diamonds,’ ‘Blinding Heights’ and a yet untitled piece, our latest, which we think is totally bad ass.”



The session lasts about 40 minutes. Their performance is urgent and committed with Joey’s vocals morphing from whimsical prog croon to angry hardcore growl. Andrew manipulates the six strings with digital dexterity, flowing from purposed rhythms to tempered leads. Sean slams the kit with passion and confidence, creating wicked fills and machine gun rolls. “’Blood Diamonds’ has a lot of attitude,” I observe. “That sounds like a protest song. I also really like ‘Blinding Heights.’ Some very sweet changes in that track.” It’s bare bones but I feel the intensity and sense the bigger picture. “Of course, the songs will be tracked with proper bass and numerous other accents,” explains Joey, who plays a dozen instruments, or thereabouts. “Do you feel the addition of traditional Middle Eastern instrumentation, strings, crazy percussion?” I offer during our animated feedback session. “Absolutely!” fires Andrew. “We have SO many ideas!”



This is the room where the magic is made, the vortex of the Northridge pad. The heart of the musical matter. When the party’s die down and the peeps fly off into the valley night, this is where Spellbound Escape live and breathe. Because they understand that this is where it all begins. “Our music means to us exactly what our band name conveys,” says Joey. “It hypnotizes, takes us someplace else, and allows us to escape from all the other shit the day brings forth. The music is everything to us. And we intend on working our asses off so we can share this feeling with the rest of the world.”



Take it from a reporter/explorer whose been around a nice portion of that world with some fairly significant talent – Spellbound Escape if off to a very promising start. And you know, Northridge isn’t’ so bad after the sun goes down.



-Lonn Friend



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