The April Skies have a long and complicated story, especially given the fickle, youth-obsessed nature of the rock and roll world.
After warning me about his penchant for rambling, singer/guitarist Jake Crawford offers to keep it simple by asking, “The 30-second version?” Suffice it to say, 30 seconds didn’t cut it, especially for a band whose story stretches all the way back to the late ’80s.
Crawford and his bandmates began their music life by writing the moody, synth-accented rock and roll of that era, hoping to follow in the footsteps of several other regional bands that had gone on to succeed nationally. The Innocence Mission, The Ocean Blue and Suddenly, Tammy! had all signed major-label deals after getting their start in Central Pa. Meanwhile, Lancaster’s Chameleon Club had become a downright historic nexus for artsy, left-of-center pop-rock.
Musically, The April Skies had more in common with the Brit-influenced new-wave sounds of The Ocean Blue than it did with the piano-pop of Suddenly, Tammy! or the timid and precious hymns of The Innocence Mission. The band did indeed seem poised to be the next big story to come out of the area. As Crawford remembers, “Next thing you know, we signed with management in New York and were playing up in NYC every other week, showcasing for labels, playing the old 9:30 Club [in D.C.] ... You know, just going on that path that was already sort of forged by The Ocean Blue.”
However, it wasn’t in the cards for The April Skies to be swept up in the excitement of that time. Despite the management and the label showcases, the “big record deal” never quite materialized. Crawford has some well-earned perspective on those heady times now. Few bands that come that close to the brass ring survive or live past that disappointment, and even fewer can look back over the years with an appreciation for their own story.
“For some reason, the record deal just never came,” Crawford explains, “so we just kept at it, putting out EPs on our own and stuff.” That self-willed momentum would only keep the band alive for so long, though, and, as Crawford explains, “we just kept slowing down more and more. We all started getting married, having kids ... Sometime around ’97, ’98, we sort of just said, ‘I think it’s over.’”
“Over” turned out to be a relative term for The April Skies.
It seems like every week you hear about another one-hit-wonder bandfrom the ’80s that has re-formed or reunited to squeeze a few more dollars and an illusion of sustained celebrity out of a tour, or maybe an embarrassing new album. You don’t often hear about bands that drifted away into relative obscurity, began normal pedestrian adult life and then reunited to pick up the rock and roll torch again years later, making more vital and satisfying music than ever.
After the band’s breakup, Crawford found himself quietly living the modest, everyman version of the American ideal: a wife, two kids, a career and a new house in downtown Hershey. But, as is the case with all rock and roll lifers, it wasn’t long before he started to feel that tugging, that irrepressible longing for music – writing it, recording it, playing it. Around the same time, his ex-bandmates started to almost inexplicably move back to the region one by one.
“Next thing you know, the whole machine is cranked back up, and we’re back up at CBGB, putting out an EP and opening up for The Badlees here,” Crawford says. “It just sort of snowballed on me. It really got started by accident.”
Crawford had not imagined he could ever be provoked to endure the hardships and heartache of making rock and roll “work” again. In fact, he remembers just before The April Skies fizzled on its first run that he was at a more advanced stage of disillusionment than some of the new members at the time. “There was definitely a point there, like somewhere around ’95, ’96, man – I developed like a kind of phobia. I did not want to play a show,” he recalls. “The idea of dragging my amp across the stage ... [I was] just like, ‘No way. I’m done.’”
While Crawford can’t exactly explain what helped him get over his disdain for the rock and roll life, it seems that he has learned a contentment that doesn’t depend on the outcome of each potential record label showcase or each loaded phone conversation with a slick-tongued A&R representative. However, it’s a whole different game for The April Skies this time around. The pressure is off. Crawford says, “It’s kind of liberating to get back in it at this age, just because we’re not chasing a record deal. We’re able to make the records we want, we’re able to go out and play wherever the hell we want, you know? That’s what it’s about for me at this point.”
That is what The April Skies have been doing since they cranked up the machine again in 2002. They have been writing new music, putting out records on a friend’s independent record label and playing shows. After doing a record with The Badlees’ Jeff Feltenberger at the helm, which produced results a little off the mark from what the band had been hoping, the members recorded a full-length on their own and were able to finally capture the sound they had been chasing. Crawford hems and haws a bit, trying to find a less grandiose way to describe it, but finally capitulates, “I think we all knew we wanted a big-sounding record, something that was gonna be loud and sort of had that big – ºI hate to use [the term] – ‘stadium rock sound.’”
Whether or not he hates to use the term, it does indeed describe the sound of How it All Played Out, released on WiAB Records in late 2006. Big, sweeping, oceanic keyboards and swirling atmospheric guitars create the backdrop for Crawford’s intimate anthems. The record sounds wide open, which might have as much to do with the band’s new, wide-open outlook on life as the recording process itself.
Crawford explains that the band worked with some old friends who had converted a farmhouse into a studio. “It was so cool, especially throughout the summer. You know, windows were open and you’re out in the middle of nowhere. We would hang out there all day and all night. We would just record and mix and, you know ... other things,” he says. “It was just a really good time.”
As if to balance out all the talk about being levelheaded adults who are no longer saddled with the roller-coaster stress of pursuing the “dream with a capital D,” Crawford makes the clarification that The April Skies aren’t interested in limiting the future. Essentially explaining that never saying never is probably a wise way to approach anything you care about, he says, “We always have this thing – it gets printed a lot – where we say, ‘We’re old. We’re not out chasing a record deal.’ I think what doesn’t get printed is that we’re not turning any record deals down.”
Crawford chuckles and goes on to joke, “Not that we expect any to come along, but, you know, you certainly don’t want to turn anyone off that maybe fell and hit their head that day and thought, ‘Look at these old guys – they’re marketable!’”
If an A&R person does happen to have an unfortunate slip in the tub, Crawford and company would be much better off now than they would have been the first time around. The stakes aren’t so life-or-death when you’ve got a life you are already satisfied with. Crawford still remembers other bands that got signed and appeared to be on their way to the good life, only to crash and burn, either because of a deal gone bad or a lifestyle gone bad. Either way, he looks back now and thinks that the hyped record deal route to early success could easily have ended in even more heartbreak than The April Skies suffered otherwise.
“Sometimes,” he says succinctly, “I think we kind of dodged a bullet.”
In a fickle, band-of-the-moment world, The April Skies have carved out a rare commodity for themselves: longevity. Crawford is confident that the members are “in a position where we can just keep going. As long as people want to book us to play shows, we’ll keep making records for another 10 years.”