One of the best parts of a Polyphonic Spree show is watching them file onto a stage. Considering that most club stages are just barely large enough for three waif-ish guys, their guitars and their ironic cynicism, a 20-some-odd pieceband struggling to fit into the same space is a sight to see — if rock ‘n’ roll has a clown-car equivalent ….
 
With “Hey Jude” blaringly pronouncing their arrival, the Polyphonic Spree Choir first marches onto the stage. Piling three-deep onto tiny risers, the guys in the back struggle not to hit their heads on the ceiling. Then the drummers come and take their places: one, Bryan Wakeland, sits at a traditional rock drum kit; the other, Jeff Bouck, stands behind an orchestral collection of miscellaneous percussion instruments — chimes, triangle, a gong, tablas and timpani, among others. In front of them stands guitarist Ryan Fitzgerald. Along with violist Todd Berridge, keyboardists Mark McKeever and Evan Hisey and thereminist Toby Halbrooks, who flank the stage while  flautist Audrey Easley, trombonist James Reimer, trumpeter Chris Curiel, and French horn player Andrew Tinker fill in what little space is left. On this particular night, bassist Mark Pirro was pushed to a platform just off the edge of the stage. After everyone else has settled into place, lead vocalist Tim DeLaughter moves in front and center.

Right from the start, blissful delight resounds through every single note played or sung by every single band member. The whole group, cloaked in white robes, dances about as though their performance were actually a taping of a 70s children’s show, rejoicing about happiness through song and dance in that strange, eerily-harmless gender-neutral way. They all dance with the choreographed spirit of the Brady Six, and everyone has the happiest of smiles on their faces, like a cartoon child hugging Jesus. On (and just barely off) stage, DeLaughter might very well be the happiest of all. He dances about, flailing his arms and ducking underneath trombonist Reimer who plays just behind him. He speaks gratefully and gently, like Jonathan Donahue with a touch of Texas twang, and his performance is spirited and jubilant, as though he had just recently found Jesus in that little box with his stash.

“I'm almost positive we are the only 24-piece musical movement going on right now,” DeLaughter said. “That also includes the sound. There is no comparison as far I'm concerned. That's why this band exists. It was created out of a necessity.”

The necessity for this “musical movement,” it would seem, ties back to DeLaughter’s musical past. Ten years ago, it seemed that DeLaughter and his band Tripping Daisy were on the cusp of superstardom. Along with current bandmates Bouck, Wakeland (both of whom played drums in Tripping Daisy at different times), Pirro and Tripping Daisy co-founder guitarist Wes Berggren, DeLaughter experienced almost immediate local success with Tripping Daisy, so much so that a
bidding war broke out between major labels over the band and their debut album Bill. Eventually, Island won the bidding war and released Bill nationwide. Following that, 1995’s I am an Elastic Firecracker produced the annoyingly popular “I Got a Girl,” which proved to be Tripping Daisy’s only hit. However, the label’s constant commercial push grew to be too much for the band to deal with, and after Island changed ownership, CEOs and general direction, the relationship between the label and Tripping Daisy had frayed too much for any kind of reconciliation. When the band’s next album, 1998’s Jesus Hits Like the Atomic Bomb, flopped, Island dropped the band, who were just as happy to be rid of the label.

“I went to ‘music business school’ during my stint with Tripping Daisy,” DeLaughter said. “I have learned a lot during my journey in the music industry.”
 
But before the band could capitalize on their newfound freedom, Berggren died of a drug overdose in late 1999, effectively bringing Tripping Daisy to an end. They released their posthumous self-titled album in 2000, and took some time off. Fortunately, though, in July of 2000, the band essentially reformed as the Polyphonic Spree as DeLaughter reunited with Pirro, Wakeland and Bouck as well as several other Dallas musicians. Opening for Grandaddy at a Dallas show, they immediately made fans of Jason Lytle and company. As the band progressed, more musicians joined the fold.
“Anytime you get 24 people together you never know what is going to happen. Thus this band definitely works differently but the same as your traditional rock band format,” said DeLaughter. Still, it’s difficult to think of the Polyphonic Spree within the traditional rock band format. For one, there isn’t the slightest trace of angst, cynicism, sexism or anything typically associated with the traditional rock band format. There are no excessive guitar, bass, keyboard or drum solos, or even flute, French horn or theremin solos, for that matter. There aren’t any traditional rock band egos, which is exceptionally refreshing considering some of the members’ past brush with stardom.

Instead, there are lush, choir-heavy songs about the sun and celebrating life. Their album, The Beginning Stages Of…, is divided into ten movements rather than individual songs with titles. As a cohesive whole, the album is more about smiling and singing than anything else.

The Beginning Stages of... was conceived as an entire piece of music with each movement being entitled by its section number,” DeLaughter said. “It was the initial songs I wrote to get this band off the ground.” Much like DeLaughter’s past work with Tripping Daisy, The Beginning Stages Of… seems to owe a lot stylistically to the Flaming Lips. However, like the Flaming Lips, DeLaughter has progressed from simple psychedelic pop to a lavish orchestral sound. In effect, the Polyphonic Spree have made their own version of The Soft Bulletin. But it’s important to stress that The Beginning Stages Of… is more than just some second-rate imitation of the Flaming Lips; it’s a work that unquestionably stands on its own. While many of the movements would not be out of place on The Soft Bulletin — in particular movements two, six, and seven might even somehow improve the Lips’ masterpiece — section ten is a markedly different sound experiment removed from the poppy orchestral ear-candy that spans the rest of the album. But, despite its avant-garde leanings, it still fits well on an album full of pop music. “The tenth section was performed by myself. It is a sample of my voice that I manipulated and created loops with,” DeLaughter said. “A lot of the band didn't even know that it was going to be on the record. It is my Metal Machine Music.”
 
What is strange is that even the experimental section somehow feels happy. It’s almost as though DeLaughter took something markedly cold and grating in Metal Machine Music and turned its speed-induced frown upside down.

While section ten of The Beginning Stages Of… is not played live, the rest of the album makes up much of an unbelievably charming live show. “Hopefully one can expect to be moved by the entire performance: the songs and the band's live presentation of them,” DeLaughter said. In fact, it’s difficult to fully explain the beauty of the Polyphonic Spree’s performances. When DeLaughter refers to the Polyphonic Spree as a “musical movement,” it’s easy to interpret that as self-aggrandizing arrogance. In person, however, one can’t help but think he’s on to something.

The first time I saw the Polyphonic Spree in concert, I stood in the back, quietly observing and enjoying myself. The next night, the crowd was a little bit larger, and I was standing a lot closer to the stage, hanging on DeLaughter’s every word and hand motion. The night after that, there were even more people, and I found myself, along with several others, singing along emphatically. That was also the same night I saw the girl with her own white robe — it was as though she had been initiated into the movement and joined the congregation. The next night there were even more people than before at the show, as though everyone from the previous nights had brought several friends. I was as close to the stage as I could get — I was actually closer to the stage than Pirro that night. The crowd, so completely given over to the joy of the music, even continued a song after the band had stopped playing.

I imagine this to be how cults work: crowds of people whole-heartedly singing along with people in long white robes who are part of a ‘movement,’ following their every action, hanging on every word as these people, with curiously infinite smiles, all simultaneously singing and dancing as though every single movement and breath were a miracle. But the Polyphonic Spree are, simply put, happiness on a stage. Hearing their music, especially in person, is sort of like a baptism (which would explain the while robes) where all of the world’s evils and miseries are washed away by gleeful, joyous songs about bliss. All they want to do, it seems, is to celebrate being happy and make others happy in the process, which in this case is an incredibly worthwhile and wonderful cause.
“If happiness is a crime,” DeLaughter said, “lock me up.”

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