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The Fitness are not unfamiliar with Olivia Newton-John. In the course of an hour-long interview, singer-guitarist Tom Bridgman quotes an exchange from her box-office bomb Two of a Kind, while singer Bree Nichols sobs a couple bars of "Have You Never Been Mellow." Even guitarist Rebekah Dunbar, who punctuates the conversation by squealing snippets of Slayer and Grim Reaper songs, grew up listening to the Australian pop star--until that day in eighth grade when her father threw her Crucifucks LP into the wood-burning stove. "I used to love Olivia Newton-John, but no more," she recalls. "Not unless she's singing about the devil."
But their affinity for the Australian canary ends at those jokes and reminiscences. The Seattle "dance punk" quartet--which includes keyboard maestro Adam Finn-- have never performed in tracksuits, or posed alongside bodybuilders in G-strings. And the "Physical" singer probably never called a fellow gym rat "a Chee-to squeezed into a pair of white shorts," like Nichols did recently when a "past-her-prime blonde" tried to start something with her in the cardio room of the downtown YMCA.
Stranger Personals
The Fitness play cut-rate synthesizers and use a drum machine. They also integrate a lot of guitars, "which doesn't cancel out the keyboards, but gives the music a lot more crunchiness," says Dunbar. On stage, Bridgman and Nichols exude a charismatic brattiness, shouting, panting, and bouncing off the ceiling with abandon. Finn usually hangs in the shadows, but no one is trying to act cool or aloof. When pressed to name bands they feel kinship with, the Fitness cite the Cripples, A-Frames, and Hint Hint, as well as the Buzzcocks and KaitO. Local promoters have slotted them on bills as diverse as the Streets and the Presidents of the United States of America.
Still, because they use keyboards and programmed beats, and exhibit a strong sense of visual style--Nichols has a background in design, and served an internship in NYC with deconstructionist clothing designer Susan Cianciolo--some miscreants have lumped the Fitness in with the "electroclash" fad. Wrong. When the foursome played with the trend's rapidly fading poster girls, W.I.T., at Chop Suey last month, Nichols and a friend made Bridgman a T-shirt that said "Fuckwit" on it. Sadly, he declined to wear it for the gig.
"It was a half-shirt. I was worried about my midriff," he demurs.
He shouldn't have been--brevity is one of the Fitness' strengths. Like all great punk albums, their debut, Call Me for Together, clocks in at under half an hour. To ensure the energy never flags, the nine songs segue directly into one another. The arrangements are as concise as the running times. The mesmerizing "Booty" features a simple keyboard melody reminiscent of '80s industrial dance stalwarts Chris & Cosey, coupled with waves of fuzz-drenched guitar, over which Bridgman and Nichols' intertwined voices taunt, "You're selling your ass to be famous...." It was inspired by the aforementioned W.I.T. --"and how we think they're really wack," says Nichols.
Contrary to sequencing conventions, the band put three of their best songs, including Bridgman's über-catchy stalker fantasy, "Gianni V.," at the disc's end. The climactic "Chauffeur" offers a hilarious take on the seamy side of Hollywood, archly delivered by Nichols. Capturing the breathless, manic energy of the Fitness' live shows on the recordings wasn't easy. "Adam and I would listen to the vocals over and over again, and go, 'That doesn't sound like what you sound like live,'" Nichols recalls. More than once, she resorted to running around the studio to get her blood pumping. "We're all perfectionists," admits Finn.
While the quartet members often seem in danger of tripping over each other when they play, their intraband dynamic is remarkably balanced; everybody has a hand in writing and developing ideas. "I've been in bands since I was 16, and this is the first one I've been in where there isn't somebody trying to be Number One," observes Dunbar. "We all trust each other's opinion. When Adam says, 'Dunbar, I don't think that shit's working,' I don't flip out." The Fitness may have originally been Finn's idea, but he doesn't feel the need to flex, and although he's The Quiet One on stage, the others insists he's more uninhibited than he lets on. "Adam wears the pants," quips Bridgman, "but they zip off into shorts."
And no, they're not spandex.
The Fitness' debut, Call Me for Together, is out now on Control Group.
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