We Believe in a Land of Love

Nine years ago, John Spalding—guitarist for local punk band
Ninety Pound Wuss and spastic hardcore act Raft of Dead
Monkeys—quietly began recording some songs of his own at home. He
named his new project LoveLand.

But before Spalding could fully realize his new songs, life
happened. He went back to school. He met, fell in love with, and
married his wife, Jody. Then, about four years ago, Spalding was
diagnosed with cancer.

As his illness became more aggressive (metastasizing from his colon
to his lungs), so did Spalding, throwing himself into the project he
had started then let stall years earlier. He recruited over a dozen
local musicians he had worked with and befriended over the
years—members of Minus the Bear, These Arms Are Snakes, the Blood
Brothers, Suffering and the Hideous Thieves, Pretty Girls Make
Graves—and with their help, LoveLand became a reality.

Spalding spent many weeks of his final months recording songs at Red
Room with Chris Common, Ben Verellen, and Matt
Bayles. He named
the record The Beautiful Truth. He died not long after its
mixing and mastering was complete.

Since Spalding’s death, those involved have worked to see his
project through, throwing a series of benefit shows in his memory (the
biggest of which, featuring MxPx, raised over $7,000 for the John D.
Spalding Medical Fund) and giving the album a proper release. The
Beautiful Truth will be out on Tigre Blanco, Minus the Bear’s
imprint label, on February 17.

There was ample opportunity to shelve the LoveLand project during
Spalding’s staggering battle with cancer—between countless
chemotherapy treatments, surgeries, and invasive medication, no one
would’ve thought any less of him had he decided to conserve his energy
and concentrate on his health—but he persevered.

“The last bit of recording we did couldn’t have been more than a
month or so before he passed,” recalls Verellen. “He was in the studio,
hooked up to the oxygen, singing.” As The Beautiful Truth attests, Spalding wasn’t the kind of man who takes the easy road.

The record is complicated and unpredictable. More than just
enjoyable pop, it’s also full of interesting juxtapositions and sonic
experiments. Dirty, reckless saxophones suddenly appear in an otherwise
clean and bright anthem; spitting, snarly rock songs contrast with a
beautiful drum-machine number layered with wordless harmonies. There’s
not a moment of pity, regret, or wallowing in the entire near-hour of
music. There’s a range of emotion, to be sure, but even at its lowest,
The Beautiful Truth feels like a celebration of his life rather
than a mourning of his death.

Opening track “Girl Get Pride” is a confident anthem featuring group
vocals—there are some layers of spacey synth, but nothing too out
of the ordinary—then, in the last minute or so, a flurry of
saxophone (played by Joel Cuplin of Triumph of Lethargy and Constant
Lovers) drives the song to its hard, spiraling conclusion. On “Good
People,” Spalding begins happily, “There are so many good people who
have so much to offer.” The guitar sort of dances in the background,
some crisp keyboards kick in, and his tone abruptly becomes demanding:
“If you don’t got something good to say, keep it to your fucking
self!”

“Rainbows” is a three-minute instrumental; “Father” is a
heartbreaking ballad written by Spalding after Jody’s father passed
away; “Building Walls Through the Sky” is a forceful, driving track
featuring These Arms Are Snakes’ Steve Snere on vocals; “Essa-life” is
the only song that seems to nod to Spalding’s frustrations with his
illness: “The thought of losing my wife was a weight I could not
bear… I want to fight, I want to live to be incorruptible.”

While the outcome may sound like the organic “come what may” result
of such a multitude of musicians lending their talents to a project,
both Verellen and Bayles insist it was more deliberate than that.
Spalding “was definitely playing producer,” says Verellen. “He was
working toward a specific thing. He’d bring someone in and he’d think,
‘I think that person is going to do to this,’ and it’d work.”

Spalding’s musical background is far from the mainstream—in
Raft of Dead Monkeys, his searing guitar parts had to be riveting
enough to stand up to the band’s notoriously insane showmanship
(thrashing, fake blood)—and his willingness to be bold definitely
shows up on The Beautiful Truth.

“John’s sounds are completely whacked out,” says Verellen. “There’s
a little element of punk, but for the most part he had his own take. I
wouldn’t know what scene to put LoveLand in. I don’t know who it
applies to. It’s kind of its own deal.”

“There are songs where, until the vocals were on them, I had no idea
what was going on,” Verellen continues. “I couldn’t understand the
rhythms, I couldn’t understand how the guitar part fit with the drum
machine—it was just so out there. Then when he was all done, it’s
like, ‘Oh, that’s what you were doing!”

“The fact that he could be that thoughtful about other people and
the process amid the cloud… he was doped up and in pain, but he still
managed to be very productive. It was awesome.”

The Beautiful Truth is a record intended to remember
life—there was life before Spalding got cancer, and for those he
loved, there will be life after. It’s his gift to those who survive,
and he made sure that it was something they could enjoy, despite its
tragic circumstances.

“He managed to keep perspective,” Verellen says. “He’s trying to
tell a story, and he had the ability to step outside of what was right
in front of him, which was the fact that he was hurting and dealing
with a lot of crazy, emotional stuff. He wasn’t trying to make a swan
song.”

On the last song on the album, the title track, Spalding sings
gently over a calm guitar and a soft, steady beat, “Have you touched
LoveLand? Can you see LoveLand? Do you want LoveLand?” And it truly
feels like he’s found this joyous place full of life, music, and much
love.