Category Archives: News

No time for jokes, just

No time for jokes, just facts.
FACT: Michael is off to LA for a week and a half starting Wednesday evening. Fans of WAS who feel like taking him out for a drink or showing him off at a party should submit requests to us via email. Things to keep in mind about Michael if you

So, for those of you

So, for those of you who fail to check every page that constitutes the We Are Scientists Conglomeration of Super-Fun Web Action Centre, I will run the risk of rendering the content of our “Shows” page utterly redundant and mention that, people, we’ve got a show this Sunday. But before I go ahead and spill the beans to all of you who just can’t deign to check all branches of this mini-library we’ve painstakingly thrown up here just for you, I just wanna/hafta say this: you guys, you’ve got to check every page every day. I mean, if we ever get around to updating some of these pages, you’ll never know unless you’re checking with some degree of vigilance. And a good, steady, easy-to-remember level of vigilance, we think, is once a day. So, a new regimen for you: check every page every day. We promise to update every three months or so. Another part of that regimen should be sit-ups. Because of your belly, which is getting out of hand.
So, a show! Check the “Shows” page. Yeah, I’ve changed my mind about this. I will not just freely give this information up. I give up too much of myself already, and I feel ready to take back now. This is some empowerment action that’s going on here. So, check that “Shows” page, and learn about us, playing. Please. I am willing to beg, it would appear. It turns out I am not so empowered after all. I will beg you to check the “Shows” page, and then I will go ahead and give up the information, right here, and save you the effort: Brownies, this Sunday (June 9), 8:45 PM. There will be copies of the brand new CD for sale.
I can’t go on like this.

Sometimes there just isn't news,

Sometimes there just isn’t news, you see. Not official news anyway…
(cue eerie 60’s horror film music, the sort that might play over a black and white scene in which the camera slowly pans over the contents of an evil scientist’s laboratory, shelves overcrowded with dusty beakers and graduated cylinders, cages with lonely little test animals (monkeys and rats, possums, in cages cruelly small, allowing no room for tae-bo; the animals’ gazes, their eyes, betray beneath a studiously calm exterior incredible frustration borne of an inability to come to terms with the necessity of their death in order that the mad doctor might come one step closer to completing this or that formula, this or that equation). Over this creepy, damnably eerie scene dissolves in the title: WAS at Home)
Today we’d like to offer you a glimpse into the dreary, fashionably shabby basement that is our private lives. Many myths will be shattered. Others… oh friends, others will quite likely be confirmed.
Let us begin with a typical morning at the Sci-Cave. Having more often than not spent the previous evening raising ire and expectations among New York’s male and female – respectively – film acting community, and that being a thing that requires one staying out til the early morning hours, we allow ourselves uncharacteristic slack when it comes to waking up in the morning. Our feeling is that the body is going to wake up when it’s ready to wake up; waking it any sooner than that will just result in a low-energy day, which none of us can well-afford. So no real rules concerning wake-up time – no discipline. As long as we are all up before sun’s first rays kiss morning darkness, all is well, is our one dictate.
Breakfast is usually steak, fruit, milk ‘n’ eggs, larder, fresh-made tortillas, health shakes, coffee, and darkling thrush. Watching us eat is not pleasant; it is, we’ve been told by teary-eyed maidens experiencing for the first time true disillusion, a real turn-off. For instance: we do not use proper silverware services, with the appropriate number of forks and so forth. Nor do we pay particular attention to which side of our plates the beverage sits on. Nor do we close our mouths when we chew, ever, nor pay particular heed to keeping various chewed things from tumbling down our shirtfronts, into our laps; or down other’s shitfronts, for that matter, into their laps, for that matter, you see.
It is at this time, in this post-prandial, high-fuel state, that we think about good things to invent: what they might be, what color they might be, how big, et cetera. How many we should make in the initial batch. That sort of thing. Thinking about inventions: 30-45mins. Carrying out the plans we decide on: up to an hour. Seeing the smiling faces of the children we save or the baddies we put behind bars for life: priceless, you know what we mean? Priceless.
Ka-smack. It is late afternoon at the Sci-Cave, and elsewhere. All is tranquil and steady as a pet parrot’s rage. Or is it . . . ? Yes, for the scientists are in Research Mode. During Research Mode, we bone up on various useful data such as the current happenings in the field of physics; also in the field of gastronomy, we bone up, for without gastronomy, what is man? What truly is man, at his essence? Possibly his gastronomic instinct? Surely it’s at least possible. And without that essence, without that certain something, that – as the French say – neckerchief, what is man? Merely a caricature? A fresh-shorn sheep stumbling through verdant dewy fields of heather and whimsy? That sheep rounding a massive decayed tree-stump and being frightened by an abandoned hand-puppet lying desperate in the grass? Because the puppet resembles – distantly – the sheep’s nephew? Or the sheep’s pillow? Or the sheep’s handpuppet’s pillow’s nephew? Which makes him think about his handpuppet? That he lost? Or left back at the hut that day, stuck with the shit-work while he, the sheep, wanders the nice fields? But then he got shorn, or something along those lines? That is a typical chain of thought for us during Research Mode Hour Time. In fact, that exact chain of thought has had us talking a lot lately, talking, that is, to various world leaders about addressing the issue in some sort of co

We really are terrible at

We really are terrible at updating this thing. This is embarrassing.
It’s not as if nothing has been going on in our lives. I mean, the sheer number of films we’ve been attending is newsworthy in and of itself. Keith hates to admit this, but two weeks ago, he managed to see six films in four days, IN THEATER. That’s not including the dozens of DVDs he doubtlessly took in at home, or the hundreds of man-hours of made-for-TV-movies he watched on the banks of TVs set up at the local electronics store. So, really, there is tons to report.
Among the many exciting non-filmic goings-on, there are lots of coming updates to the website. These include, and are probably limited to (but maybe not)
– new photos
– new, upcoming shows
– new songs that we write about each film that we see, which is a sort of project that we’ve thrust upon ourselves as means of making this whole film-going thing pay off in a way not limited to popcorn and Pepsi consumption. We’ll let you know more about this as the project develops.
– a new animated video for “The Bomb Inside the Bomb.”
Why are these things not up now? Mind your own damn business.
In other news, Chris now lives in New Jersey. That is the sort of “fun fact” that will be on our We Are Scientists trading cards, whenever those idiots from Topps actually get their acts together and call us up and propose that we put together a series of We Are Scientists trading cards. The hardest part about being in this band is waiting for everyone else to catch up.

Another tricked-out California show. It

Another tricked-out California show. It feels unbecoming to blather on and on about what a tremendous performance we put on, and how large and vocally enthusiastic the crowd was, and how we really raised the bar on the rock show performance, and how no other band ever will live up to the standard set by we are scientists. So we won’t blather on about that.
But thank you to the kids who showed up and wolfed out on Saturday. If we could play shows like that every night, Chris would almost certainly quit his job at the meat packing plant.
Keith apologizes for bleeding on the first twelve rows of kids. We’ve taken some photos of his guitar, post-show (which was as gory a sight as we ever hope to see) and will post them if they come out well.
We are now going to take a little time and rest while some people in the band go abroad and other people in the band try to find an actual job for once in their miserable lives.

Holy sweet lovely events! California

Holy sweet lovely events! California is an amazing, amazing land, a fact that had been almost totally forgotten by we are scientists. But then we returned, and it was sunny and temperate and lovely and green and mountainous, and we remembered. But then we realized that we couldn’t see the mountains behind that smog sheath, and it took us over 2.5 hours to traverse LA county and get to the beach in Malibu, where we discovered that the sun was totally obfuscated by what a friend in the know dubbed “the marine layer,” and also it was a little too hot, the sort of temperature that makes a skinny, unfit kid very sluggish and unwilling to get on with his life, and so he must hide himself away in the Rejuvo-Booth that is a darkened movie theater with popcorn and Pepsi until the sun goes away. And that is exactly what 2/3’s of WAS did whilst in LA for four days. Twice.
But people don’t get any better than Californians, we say. They are all fed on organic greens and good nachos, and they are sort of delirious from breathing all that smog, and so they are incredibly friendly and receptive when presented with a trio of enthusiastically hard-rocking scientists. Our two shows in LA this weekend were two of the best ever, hands down. Lots of jumping, lots of screaming, lots of near-fainting, and that was just the band. The crowds were huge, and knew the tunes, and bought all of the copies of Safety, Fun, and Learning, (In That Order) that we

It's a cold, shiny Friday

It’s a cold, shiny Friday here in Man Hat Town [ed.: the Scientists are actually right on with this; the etymological derivation of ‘Manhattan’ can be traced back to three foundational elements

So, we're sitting around, now,

So, we’re sitting around, now, waiting for the album to come to us. Nuthin’ to do. Clipping the toenails. Drumming our fingers on the tabletop. Our work here is done.
We received an email from the folks at Devious Semantics (the label that pays us), and this email was a sort of dossier concerning the proper way to handle queries concerning the prolonged delay of this album (which they likened to “a cloth of pure gold, softer than silk, and ultra-conductive” (really, they said this) and which WILL be available in mid-April, no shit). After a string of joke suggestions (at least, we think they were jokes, because they hinted at child molestation. You think we are kidding, but we are not. They guys at Devious Semantics are sick, sick bastards), they offered this little tidbit:
So, that is the low-down for you kids out there. We love our record label (but we don’t condone their terrible acts).

[3/20/2002 10:08:34 AM | We

[3/20/2002 10:08:34 AM | We Are Scientists]
Have we mentioned to you guys just how very much we like Speechwriters LLC? Let us mention this now, then: we like Speechwriters LLC a whole hell of a lot.
These kids came touring through town recently, and our interaction was simply beautiful. Just a bunch of guys mutually admiring each other. “We like your band, Misha,” we said several times. “Thanks, guys, ” he replied. “And I like your shirts.”
They’re a CA duo (or trio, when they condescend to allow a drummer to join up), and they do the acoustic singer/songwriter thing as well as anybody else. Choose anyone, anyone at all, and Dave and Misha will trump them. They played a damn fine show at NYC’s own black hole, the Sidewalk Cafe, and they just blew that shit up. I mean, a black hole is supposed to absorb light, right? Explain to us, then, how Speechwriters LLC was able to glow so unbelievably brightly, right there in the heart of the Sidewalk, that most dense of all interstellar sandtraps. You, with your degrees in astrophysics and journalism, you can’t explain it to us.
In any case, the Speechwriters were kind enough to invite us to hop onto a bill with them when we go out to California in April, and for this, we are forever in their debt. I mean, not forever, but still, it was very nice of them. We are excited. Get excited, people.

Hey. You guys know

Hey. You guys know Scott Lamb, right? Scott Charmichael Lamb? Well, he’s back in we are scientists. This is effective sometime this coming summer. Prepare.
Here’s the thing, back in the day, when WAS was formed, there was this guy named Scott Lamb, and he did much in the way of writing songs and being the lead singer and packing one incredibly tight ass into a pair of even tighter leather chaps. Anyway, for various reasons (many of them involving Keith’s poor drumming skills), the decision was made to transplant WAS to Los Angeles, where a young and nubile and wicked little drummer named Michael Tapper resided. Well, Mr. Lamb told Keith and Chris that they could take their move and shove it, as he was living it up in Oakland and would only move when prompted by hunger and kill-craziness. So, with the seats of their pants still aching from his evil kicks, Chris and Keith beat a swift retreat to Los Angeles, and then, having packed Michael into a duffel, to NYC. The rest, of course, is history, and can be read about in any of the better trade publications or in actual history books.
But now Mr. Lamb is back. For whatever reason (if anything so exclusively human as “reason” can be applied to Mr. Lamb), Scott will soon be making his way to this neck of the woods, and has demanded the swift return of “[his] band.” So, we will return the band to him, the rightful owner of we are scientists.
But, you say, we are scientists is so potent as a trio! How can you possibly alter this winning formula, this formula that is to rock as Mr. Heinz’s 57th patented formula is to ketchup? Let us only assure you that you have no fucking idea what the hell you’re talking about. Scott Lamb is going to blow your damned head off with his rock power. We are excited. You, too, are excited, even if you’re not sure why. And anyways, we’ve tasted Heinz’s 58th ketchup formula, and, oh my god, you have no idea. You really haven’t the faintest clue.