PRESENCE

This time, the name says it all.



Presence is the band. Presence is the name of their new album. And in their music -- the wind-in-your-face rush of "Ride," the bitter exhilaration of "Better Off," the pain of love lost and desperation for its recovery on "Please Don't Leave" -- you can feel the presence of the one thing that makes this a band not to be forgotten



That feeling would be freedom -- to feel everything from anger to ecstasy, without apology or reservation.



In a sense, this isn't exactly news, especially to anyone who has followed this Florida-based foursome since they hooked up in 'late 90s and began burning through hometown clubs in Tallahassee. Their songs emanated restlessness, impulsiveness, and raw emotion, mixed and served in a searing post-punk, neo-metal, and totally original brew.



Media scribes were quick to pick up on the Presence. Revolver noted their "layered vocal attack and explosive dynamics," and Metal Edge raved over their "blustering groove, bombastic beats, and lyrical flow." Their shows inspired especially rapturous reviews, epitomized by the University of Wisconsin's Badger Herald's simple admonition: "If you have a chance to see these guys live, do not hesitate."



All good -- but any band that's earned this kind of response also faces a challenge when the time comes to move ahead. Through nearly two years following the release of Rise, as they rocked one house after another on bills with Sevendust, Godsmack, Stone Temple Pilots, Linkin Park, and others, they sensed that their next album had to raise the bar even higher. The music had to rock harder, the lyrics dig deeper, than anything they'd yet done.



This is why the story behind Presence is in fact news: When a band takes a few risks, rethinks its creative process, and shuts the door on everything except making the best record they could possibly make, that's when the story gets interesting



Unlike Divine and When the Smoke Clears (their two indie releases), and Rise (their Curb debut), this self-titled album stems from a decision by all four band members to set aside a block of time to do nothing but write and record. For six months they lived, breathed, ate, drank, and dreamed of nothing but this project. They created and demoed nearly 40 new songs. Then spent a couple of months trying them out at live shows. In October, they flew to L.A. to track the best of it into final form.



"We all understood that recorded music and live music have absolutely nothing to do with each other," explains bassist D. J. Stange. "Over the course of playing together we'd always written from the feel of playing. This time, though, it wasn't like, 'Hey, here's a cool riff. Let's see if we can write something around it.' It was one hundred percent focused on the songs as songs."



This meant a growth toward the melody. Drawing not only on their feel for playing live - but also from the musical chops several members of Presence had picked up through formal study - this process brought D. J.'s strong grasp of harmony into a tighter embrace with Jay Slim's ability to conceive powerful extended melodies.



Each song began with the instrumental parts, which took shape through discussion and jamming at the studio. Once they had a basic outline, Nick Wells would lay down the rhythm bed on drums. Then Dan Fulmer and D. J. built on as many as nine guitar overdubs, draped over the skeleton of beat and hook. Only after they'd finished did Jay come in, listen, and come up with his unique blend of tune and lyric.



Here is perhaps the clearest evidence of the band's ongoing evolution. The vocals draw greater energy from the instrumentation: Check it out on "Ride," where both the lead and backup singing ring like an anthem of liberation. Just a few seconds of the chorus is all you need to know that Presence has morphed into a force of rare power.



There's a change in the lyrics too. Though still just in their mid twenties, the members of Presence have become wiser to the ways of the world without losing the intensity that raged through their earliest material. "The words went to a more spiritual place than anything I'd written before," Jay insists. "There's plenty of the high-energy stuff that we've always done, but there are also some more somber, slower tracks. There are songs like 'Cold December,' which is about coming up from anger and bitterness and letting all that go. I'm writing lyrics I couldn't do before I had gotten so deeply into melodies."



Each finished demo was examined and discussed. "Our demo version of Ride was very good, but it wasn't what it is now. When we cut it we filled the studio with a bunch of our friends -- our old tour manager, one of my best friends from high school -- and told them all, 'Sing your asses off!!' And it came off just as we had written it, like, 'I don't have to do what you tell me to do. I'm out of school. I'm off work. I'm riding out with my boys, doing what we love to do.' It was the coolest thing ever."



And so we come to Presence. Light and dark, young and wise, sonically raw and artistically sophisticated, it is the culmination of one band's inner and outer adventures. It's a message to fans who have traveled with this band the long haul, as well as to those who are just now jumping onboard, that strength comes from keeping your passion high.



Or, as D. J. sums up, "it's more mature and yet much younger than anything we've ever done."



In other words, Presence is a contradictory masterpiece. Don't try to figure it all out just crank it up and let the world know: This band ain't going away.



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