Category Archives: News

I know. I KNOW! By

I know. I KNOW!
By now, we were supposed to have put out the album and started promoting it and begun appearing on the covers of all of the various trade magazines. You don’t have to tell us. We have been stretching and oiling ourselves for these photo shoots we thought were going to happen, but we are still in our house, waiting. And so are you, we know. How can you move forward with your life when you have been using the forthcoming we are scientists album as a benchmark for your life? You have told people, “First I will buy the new WAS album, and THEN I will marry you,” etc. We are so sorry for the delay.
But, it WILL be out, very soon. We can’t say when, though. Soon! Kevin Brady, whose role in the birth of this album is as big (bigger, probably) as any of the actual band members’ roles, is working tirelessly on getting this thing to sound as good as it can possibly sound. Keith went to Miami and tried to master the album with a man who turned out to a bad person with evil intentions. Keith fought him, and Keith was hurt badly. But, we still have the album, and we’ve rescucitated it with our own mastering skills. It will sound the way you want it to sound. Promise.
Also, damn it, can someone please get this site updated a little more often, please?

Okay, okay. So, we are

Okay, okay. So, we are big talkers. We have often regaled you poor kids with talk of fantastic treasures found and massive pectorals developed and debut albums recorded. And, sure, these tales have seemed dubious to you guys, since we are scientists clearly has no cash and poor musculature and no debut album. Well, all that has changed (except for the cash and muscles things). The album is done, people. Well, at least the recording part of it is. There is still some mixing to be done. Then, Keith will shuttle off to Miami to sunbathe and smoke Havana cigars and get the album mastered. Then, we

"So, how is the album

“So, how is the album going,” you ask impatiently, tapping your fingers on the countertop.
“Ah, very well, very well,” we reply, our eyes darting toward the open door.
A chance to escape! But we’re too late to make the move.
“So then, where the hell is it? This album? This album of yours, that is supposed to be maybe the finest use that mankind has yet found for plastics and digital things and searchlights?” Your eyes are narrowing. We don’t like this.
“Ah, where?” Wiping sweat from our collective brows. “Ah, a perfectly fine and good question!”
“Yeah, because a while ago, you kids were talking the big talk. Talking like it was coming out in December, or some other madness.” You are clearly angry. We’d made a promise, and then we’d broken it.
“Ah, well . . .yes! Absolutely right, and thank you for mentioning it!” We are inching toward the exit. “Well, things happened, and release dates were pushed back. But we are working! Rest assured, we are working our very hardest. When we are not eating or sleeping or taking in another viewing of ‘Car Wash’ starring Dr. Dre, we are working. The recording is almost done, and what we currently have sounds so very sweet, you will not mind that we are deceitful and slothful and long in the tooth.”
You are unimpressed. “Okay, but how about the artwork for the CD? I mean do you even have a cover, or any concept of how the liner notes will be . . .”
But we are through the door, scrambling over each other out into the street.
The sounds of car doors slamming. An engine turning over. Tires squealing away toward the south.
Once again, we are scientists has left you holding the check.

People: We Are Scientists has

People: We Are Scientists has a plan. It is a plan of action, one whose likelihood of success is immeasurably high. Immeasurably. This plan involves three things: the rock, the liquor, and you. Ha ha, well, not the liquor, necessarily. We’re not going to sit here and condone the use of liquor as a catalyst to having fun, although we will sit here and confirm that it functions extremely well in that capacity. We’ll sit while we confirm that because we’re too drunk to stand. No, not really. In reality we are writing this from a treadmill, one of those neat guys whose angle can be increased to simulate a hill for higher difficulty. We have the angle all the way up to 45 degrees, but the machine is off and we are sitting on the floor, using the ramp as a recliner. Does this information surprise you? It shouldn’t. Your first clue that this kind of thing goes on should have been Michael’s sickly ripped abdominals. Your next clue: Keith’s frisbee-shaped pectorals. And then there are Chris’s ruddy cheeks, which suggest that he is hale, that he enjoys at least moderate health, no?
Earlier on, though, we were talking about a plan that we have. Well, that was not just ballyhoo. Not just, anyway. (Did that sound kind of like David Mamet, those last 2 lines? Hmm. Not bad.) Matter o’ fact, there’s quite the little shytestorm comin’ down the pipes, in a good way. This Friday, you see, We Are Scientists has rented out a club called The West End, up there across the street from Columbia University, a prestigious academic institution that you may have heard of!!! Ha ha ha!! I mean you may just have heard of it, you know? Columbia University! Ring any bells??! Fucking Columbia, eh?!! Ha!! How bout Harvard! Have you maybe heard of them? No but, no, we were talking about Columbia here! Fuckin A!
So but yes, we’ve gone ahead and spoken with the the kindly, wizened folks at The West End and we’ve said to them, we said: “Gentle managerial types, what would you say to us renting out the club area below your hip bar/restaurant, here just a stone’s throw from lauded Columbia University?” And basically, to come to the point, they said fine, okay, anything for you guys, and we said great, we accept your hospitality, and then we just had to plan the event. And plan the event we did.
This Friday, at the West End, you will bear witness to many unusual things: you will bear witness to: four explosive rock forces. At 9:30, The Tuesday Suits will shake your consciousness. These kids are rock solid, air tight, and ready to rumble. So shake your ass for them. At 10:30, The Fit will break you over their knee. In a good way. These guys have a Paula Abdul cover on their new EP. They’re that good. At 11:30, that juggernaut of rock prowess, of harmonic achievement, of cakes and brownies made from a mix, We Are Scientists, will take the stage. And blow. You. Away. Most. Likely. And batting clean-up, Smite will freak the hell out of you from 12:30 til the bar overhead caves in on our heads and we all simultaneously explode from under the rubble like an army of Incredible Hulks and take to the motherfuckin streets. Oh my spine’s tingling just thinking about it.
Besides music, there will be:
– slide artwork projected onto a white screen.
– a short film about relationship obsession projected onto a white screen.
– Camptown Races, fifteen miles long, in this case.
– a live interview of Governor Sweets Calhoun (Alabama), who is running for U.S. President. Sweets is a really cool guy, and has a moustache.
– a thee-headed turtle. Two of the heads are fake.
– a full bar, where you can buy $3 beers, and all sorts of other refreshing inducement.
Now, to be totally forthright, we have to admit that there will be no turtle. But that shouldn’t really be a big deal to you, since, as noted, the turtle has but one head. One head. I mean, come on. Who are we fooling with that? With two fake heads glued on there. Who’s that going to draw? Nobody, so we didn’t even bother with the whole turtle thing. Everything else there is true, though. Everything.

So, recording goes on, and

So, recording goes on, and it goes on quite well. Damn, this record will be hot. Why do we say that? If you have to ask, you have clearly arrived at this website accidentally, for you know absolutely nothing of we are scientists.
Some of you may remember the last update (see below), in which we mentioned that Michael went into the studio and did many things with great precision (among them: playing the drums) and that Chris had laid down his bass parts as well. Well, last night, bass tracks were redone. Some of you may be wondering why so fine and infallible a bass player as Chris would ever need to have more than one pass at recording his bass lines, and the answer is: he wouldn’t need more than one, you simpering idiot! The problem was not with Chris, but with the machinery, proving once again that WAS is still two steps ahead of all human technology. We decided to try mic-ing the bass a little differently, and the result was so fine that we concluded that all bass tracks should be re-recorded to include this tremendous new bass sound. Sure, this means that the album may come out as many as two days later than we’d previously anticipated, but believe us: when you hear this ridiculously smooth bass tone, you will agree that those 48 WAS-less hours that you spent moaning and wailing and annoying the family will have been well worth it.
After banging out several stellar tracks in quick succession, Chris was so excited about the great leaps in bass engineering that he promptly declared that, upon the completion of these fine bass parts, the album was now complete, and would feature only bass and drums. He was very adamant about this, and when Keith pointed out that such an arrangement would render his role in the band essentially obsolete, Chris commenced to shrieking, “Do you hear that bass tone? I mean do you HEAR that bass tone? I’ll not have your misguided guitar wanking and half-baked vocals marring this recording, which, as it stands, is clearly this century’s finest sonic achievement.” Michael could not disagree, and so, with a vote of 2 to 1, Keith was unceremoniously ousted from the band.
Later, as Keith sat weeping on the curb, it occurred to him that both Michael and Chris will be away over the Thanksgiving weekend, giving him plenty of time to steal into the studio and surreptitiously add those most necessary guitars and vocals. Let us all pray that he is not too late . . .

Drum recording wrapped up last

Drum recording wrapped up last night, ladies; drum recording wrapped up last night, gentlemen. In just under four hours, the WAS team knocked off some nine songs in quick succession, Michael laying down flawless track after flawless track. So puzzlingly proficient was Michael last night that the rest of us found ourselves making quips along the following lines:

A news update on

A news update on is for many of you the one remaining reason to go on. It’s a fact. Let’s stop playing house. Now that your gruesome dependency has been brought out into the open for all to see, perhaps the healing can begin. On the other hand, if we continue to whip out the kind of hyper-entertaining, ridiculously informative crap that has long characterized this notable corner of the world wide web, well then I guess you don’t really stand much of a chance of overcoming the addiction.
A little throat clearing and we shall commence. Bleh-he-hem. And so we had a show last Saturday at a little club in Brooklyn called L’Amour, a bunghole catering to hair metal and others who haven’t yet discovered linear thought. We broke all kinds of prestigious records by not selling a single ticket. Fear not, that was our intention; how could we subject you, the delicate fan-base, to the aesthetic bludgeoning of a club like L’Amour? As showtime approached, the club manager, possibly experiencing a fit of suicidal dementia, made what must have been the most difficult decision of his young life: to fuck with WAS. Fortunately for all concerned, we were in the most receptive and forgiving of moods, and so when he told us “you got fifteen fuckin’ minutes”, we silently applauded his bravura and cache whilst bowing and slowly backing into a nearby shadow. We began our fifteen minute assault with The Method, which reduced the crowd from around fifteen to two. According to our sources, one young metal-loving fan, seated on a couch, sneered “this is soft” twenty seconds into our powerhouse opener, grabbed his girl’s hand, and strode out into the night, his testicles aflame with the wrath of artistic conviction. Having unburdened ourselves of the crowd’s closed-minded elements, we proceeded to rock the clothing off the two youngsters who had the horse-sense to know as soon as Chris had yowled the first few bars that they were in the presence of rare genius, uncommon greatness. Call it vanity: it gives us quite a bit of pleasure to forever change the lives and expectations of the young.

Welcome once again to this,

Welcome once again to this, the most potent News update on the web. There is, as the olde timey newsguys used to say, “News A’plenty, homes.” First topic: WAS’s upcoming show at L’Amour, slated to occur on ten November. This will of course be an explosive, butt-rockin’ show. Appearing on the same bill as us are two of our favorite bands: Mudrust and Ripped from the Cross. We’ve never heard their music, but, as no less than Beethoven put it, “It is false to believe that none can outshine melody, nor eclipse song, cracka’.” Did you know that Beethoven’s close friends and loved ones and children called him “Beat-down”?
To give you some idea of what kind of club L’Amour is, I offer the following factoids that I just moments ago gleaned via a visit to the website:
– Some bands that are playing there in upcoming weeks are (in reverse order of how much I fear them) Candria, Kataklysm, Type O Negative, Clutch Overkill, and Killbox.
– The web page features little animations of exploding balls of flame.
– L’Amour proclaims itself “the rock capital of Brooklyn”, and its website is, which suggests not only that it may in fact *be* the rock capital of Brooklyn, but also that the club may actually be called L’Amour Rocks, which would certainly be a nice touch.
– L’Amour is hiring. Folks with experience in bartending, ticket sales, booking, chicken-throat cutting, and covert ops are encouraged to apply.
– Competing in the third round of the semi-finals of the L’Amour Band Search 2001 will be Evil Adam, Gravesend, and Pipebomb. We highly recommend this show. Each of these bands gives a highly nuanced, *super* subtle performance, especially Pipebomb.
But there is far, far more to life than WAS performances; some of you I know struggle to see that, but it’s true. We can’t think of any examples right now, but they are out there, lingering in the dark fringes of our world.
Now, in terms of recording our CD, the official start-date has become Nov. 10. Seem kind of dubious, the way we keep pushing back that date? When do you start recording your CD, again? Sucka. The fact is, people, these things take time, and it’s all a very inexact process. Each time a CD gets made, it’s a small miracle. The audio sciences are still very mysterious, still very poorly understood. Heck, we barely understand them. I mean we do, we understand them fine, but that was like a figure of speech, ya know? Ahem.
You may have noticed that WAS songs quite often deal with the subject of love. If you know us personally, this may surprise you, because we are all incredibly cynical about love and in fact have vowed never again to drink from its cruel teat, all of our experiences in this area having started out delightfully then ended up but horribly. So this is kind of yet another case of a band just pumping out exactly what the fans need to hear. For we recognize that you are too weak to be weighed down by the truth, and so we protect you from it. Like a giant shield positioned in outer orbit to guard against rogue asteroids and their brethren the Global Killers (TM), WAS takes the truth square in the jaw so you don’t have to. We take it and then we go sit down with our broken jaws and we pump out a song that assures you, the innocents, that true love is just sitting right there across the laboratory in a labcoat with the same corporate seal as your own stitched onto the breast, that she is looking for you with as much timid vehemence as you are looking for her, and that when you do find her behind all the colored smoke and laser flashes, she’ll be ready for you, and you for her, all bets will be off, all jewelry mere decoration.
We keep you ignorant of timing, is what it boils down to. And for that you should thank us by coming to a show.

Lots of news is sort

Lots of news is sort of stirring itself up over here, although it may be slightly too early to divulge anything in a definite tone. Until such a tone is deemed appropriate by all the concerned parties, we will continue to report everything in the usual half-assed tones. Shall we get on with it, then?
We have been solidifying the whole recording situation, and it looks like we will be heading into the studio come early November. While inside, we will make many untoward noises and the accompanying untoward movements. When we step out, it will be with the well-founded bravado of men who are fully assured of their own brilliance. You will see. This album will be the best thing since “Free To Be (You and Me)” (ask Michael about this one). Prepare yourselves to be rocked.
The actual finished album itself will most likely not be available until around January, but you can be sure that we will be hooking you all up with the appropriate doses of mp3s and outtakes and B-sides long before then. We take care of you, because you are babies, and cannot care for yourselves. You have no idea what’s good for you. Some of you have bought albums by such bands as Limp Bizkit or certain harmonizing all-male bands from Florida. This is the equivalent of placing the palm of your hand on the burner of a hot stove. It is called a burner because it will burn you. They are called Limp Bizkit because they suck. The sooner we have taught you these lessons, the better off we will all be.

Several crucial points: Friday night

Several crucial points:
Friday night set the temporal stage for another W.A.S. grand-scale victory over at club Devious Semantics. Devious Semantics, for those of you who have shut themselves into a vault deep underground where neither news-bearing radio waves nor cable, er, cables can penetrate, is the name of the label that pays us. Not really, but they are the high-tech hotshots that have been chosen from a pool of many thousands to produce and record W.A.S.’s first full-length album.
Yes, W.A.S. will be recording a full-length album this month that will, with luck, be available in November. Please do not flood us with checks and money-orders in an effort to beat the Christmas rush; availability will be high: none who thirst shall go without drink, is our feeling around here on what would be fair.
Now: does anyone, anyone, anyone read this W.A.S. news page? We realize that failure to update may be getting you(s) down. Tangentially: is it not odd and unfortunate that, unlike the lucky european languages and possibly other languages of which we have no knowledge, english doesn’t differentiate between the singular and plural second person pronouns? Like if I say, “You’ve got to see this,” I may mean either that you, the person reading this right now, should check this thing out, or that you and the many thousands of other young hipsters reading this right now should check out this cool thing I’ve got right here in my palm-fist. So but isn’t that unfortunate, that failure to differentiate? We here at W.A.S. are deeply concerned about this issue during the current paragraph, and so we are toying with the idea of writing “you(s)” to notify you(s) and even you that we mean you(s) when we do in fact mean that. However, like underwear carefully chosen earlier that evening, this idea is being cast aside so that we can get on to more pressing things. Please take a moment to re-read the last sentence and fully explore its double-meaning.
And now allow us to recapture an earlier strand of thought: we know the never-updating that goes on in this, the news section of the W.A.S. site must really anger some of you and have an even stronger effect on the rest, but we hereby vow to update this section with much greater frequency, never less than once per week, for at least a while, until we grow weary of doing so. And do you see? Do you see how careful we are that efforts be taken to please you? We are referring of course to our use of the predicate “grow weary of doing so” three sentences ago in place of the far more common and easy to pull off “get tired of doing it” or even the autopilot-y “get shit in the brain.” Your enjoyment = in many ways, our goal. Look to see that we live up to that.
That’s an odd turn of phrase, is it not ( =iznit! )? “Look to see ___.” What the f%*$ does that mean? Did we just make that up, actually? Is that even something people say? As larger degrees of our intellectual gaze fall upon it, the idea of people using it seems less and less plausible. We obviously just made that up. If it were technologically possible to go back and delete that, and it is, then we would certainly do it; you can trust us there.
A final note: when we use the pronoun “we” to denote the author of chunks of text on this site and in emails you receive from us, a feeling of self-consciousness/loathing descends on us like a blanket of January snow, like the feeling one gets from typing out similes that involve snow. The s-c/l is a direct result of the fact that this usage reminds us of what Dave Barry sometimes does; that is, he types ‘we’s at the beginnings of sentences. The difference — and we insist that you make an attempt to understand this subtle but nevertheless absolute barrier — is that Dave Barry is one man sitting at a computer, while we are three. We don’t mean this metaphysically, like that the single one of us writing represents three people. We mean that the three of us sit here and type together. “You mean, guys, that one person types whilst the other two read over his shoulder and shout lewd action verbs?” No. We mean that I, Chris, take the keys from R/F/C left; that I, Keith, take the keys from T/G/V to I/K/M; and that I, Michael, take the keys from O/L/< right and the numerics. I, Michael, am also in charge of the 'Home', 'Insert', 'Page up/down' keys and so forth, but they are rarely used. We should note that the function keys, that is keys F1 through F12, remain to this day unassigned. God forbid we should ever need to use them, as pandemonium would be the result. Great, and so: send us mail at Tell us things, about you, your job, your life. We would like to put exerpts from emails on this page for all to see, but only if they're interesting and lyrical and not the usual offers of free sex that we receive from you people and your online porn affiliates. We feel like that can stop, although some of the links are pretty sexy, yes.