The Catch are all in their 20s, just like the Go-Go's were when they released that definitive album, and they share a common motivation to write songs about falling in love with cute boys (only to fall out soon after)--as well as an appreciation for their roots. "We were so psyched that you compared us to the Go-Go's because we totally love that band," says bassist Jenny Jiménez. She also notes that because they are an all-girl band, comparisons to those specific predecessors are expected, but she adds, "Beauty and the Beat [really] is my influence, and songs like 'Automatic'--I hear so much Sleater-Kinney in that." Her bandmates--Nicklaus, drummer Alissa Newton, and keyboardist Amy Rockwell (really now, could she be born with a more appropriate, kick-ass last name?)--all cite other females as influences, even Josie from Josie and the Pussycats. All in all, these are women who believe other women are just as important to the local music scene as the boys.
Adding further explanation, Nicklaus says, "We're total girls, and we're not trying to discredit any of the Riot Grrrl or feminist movements, but we're not trying to change the world or be political with our songs." As the band members take turns writing lyrics, they all know whom each song is about, "And we know people in the audience have felt just the same way," adds Newton. Says Jiménez, "Our songs are not angry, they're just about boys."
The week before our interview, the Catch played the Crocodile, delivering a set obviously about exploded relationships and shitty behavior doled out by various boys in their lives. Picking out a song from that night, Nicklaus says "Empty Your Pockets" is about "a guy I was hanging out with who I really liked. Then his ex-girlfriend--who is French--moved back and he acted like he didn't even know me." (Note: It has a killer "Na-na-na-na-na" chorus that would do the Archies proud.)
Some bands would feel intimidated singing about people they know who could end up in their audience. Take some lyrics from "Hoffmeister," for example: "No pressure baby/what we shared makes us both feel kind of weird/I won't make you ditch your friends/or call as soon as you get in." Obviously this Hoffmeister is one of the growing legion of guys who can't handle the thought of a woman remaining sane during a casual relationship. "He was standing right in front of the stage at our last show," says Rockwell of the song's subject matter. "We said it was about someone else, though, so he wouldn't feel bad." With that, Nicklaus cracks a small smile, a glimmer of pride at getting away with delivering a kind of public closure while entertaining a house full of listeners.
Although the Catch come together in their songwriting, they couldn't be more different as people. Nicklaus, the blond, magnetic focal point of the band, is a stylist who works at the popular Belltown salon VAIN. Rockwell taught pre-school, Newton works for the University of Washington, and Jiménez was a popular fixture at rock shows, taking photos of bands, before she was approached about being in one herself.
However unique they may be to each other, though, if there is one thing the Catch have in common, it's this: Each member of the band is the kind of woman concerned with the well-being of other women. Boys, however prominently they may be cast in song lyrics and life, come second. When I arrive a mere two minutes past the agreed-upon hour for our first sit-down at Belltown's Fandango, I am impressed to find the ladies already cozy in their booth, sipping mojitos and casually flirting with the waiter. When Rockwell is intimidated by the names of the appetizers on the Latin American-influenced menu, both Jiménez and Nicklaus order for her and, when the waiter is out of earshot, offer a gentle lesson in pronunciation. As soon as the drinks arrive, Jiménez inquires about my health, and with a look of genuine concern, confesses that not only had she seen me hit my head several months ago at a Catch show, but that she'd heard I'd suffered a concussion that required hospitalization. "I was so worried about you," she tells me. "You were barely conscious and probably don't remember, but we were all there at your side when the paramedics arrived." I was touched, because at the time, I was familiar only with Rockwell, and hadn't yet seen the Catch play.
The first time I did see the Catch play, however, I knew right away that they were a band I wanted to know better. After seeing them perform, I was prompted to ask those readers who as teenagers were called "brats" whether it felt like the insult it was intended to be or if they just thought to themselves, "Yeah, so?" As one of the indifferent types, I felt that maybe in the members of the Catch I had found some allies. With full respect, I wrote that their show was full of bravura, pride in one's position and image, and that their impertinence didn't express any ill will toward their audience. And after I saw them perform again, I concluded that they were also the kind of band that flaunts a rare femininity not regularly or even fashionable these days, combining flirtation with a coy toughness--no one's seeking the audience's approval during a Catch set, but its members nevertheless hold the attention of each and every person in the room. It's refreshing seeing a band and not feeling the work they're doing to get an audience to love them. Astrologically speaking, the Catch are like a group of Aries who have just walked into a room. Suddenly, all the other people who thought they were hot shit instinctively know it's better to just cut their losses and get drunk.
But they're not out to intimidate as much as to bond with the like-minded who project a similar sense of security. When I ask the girls about the striped fabric hearts I've seen safety-pinned to the sleeves of some of their fans' jackets, they roll up sleeves, pull down waistbands, and lift shirts to reveal identical tattoos, all in the shape of hearts created in thin, repetitive lines of ink to form the borderless design. Suddenly, it makes sense that a striped heart pinned to a sleeve is a proud display of be-damned-what-anyone-thinks sentimentality. But that confidence comes so naturally to the band, they don't even have to think about it. Says Nicklaus, "Our shows are just like us hanging out, talking about things going on in our lives--it's just that we happen to be doing it on stage." That casualness is what makes the Catch's music so romantic and fun. Take, for example, the lyrics to "Nothing but Time," a song that's about as sweet as a modern love song comes, especially with the lines, "Baby, I miss you/I'm staying out late and hanging out with my friends/making my dinner and even reading books again."
The Catch formed in 2001, after Nicklaus was given a guitar by a friend in the Divorce and taught herself how to play. (All of the Catch's equipment has been given to them by friends.) A similar DIY aesthetic comes out of some of the other members' experiences as musicians as well. Though Newton was active in school bands since the fourth grade and studied classical percussion in college, she had never played rock drums before joining the Catch. The waifish and intensely playful Rockwell had rudimentary keyboard skills (she'd been a drummer in Dolour), and her trademark sound, a peeling, high-pitched tone similar to that of concert bells, is as essential to the band's profile as it is eccentric. "I came into the band without knowing how to play piano, so I started out learning by writing as if I was playing lead guitar, which turned out to be great because I think bands should have lead and rhythm guitars."
The Catch--a name taken from a Cure song--had their first performance during a Weezer cover night (for the record, the band played "I Just Found the Love of My Life" off of Weezer's late-blooming but arguably best album, Pinkerton), and from there they've been building a steady following around Seattle, with a couple snags. Says Newton, "A guy from some label told us we should have a sound more like the Murder City Devils. The criticism we get about the keyboard is, 'You should get a Korg' or, 'You should get a Rhodes.'" Recently the keyboardist has acquired an old Wurlitzer instead, which, as anyone who grew up with one knows, offers limitless sonorous possibilities.
Jiménez wasn't the band's first bass player (Kathy Valentine wasn't the Go-Go's first, either), but her style and personality (she's sung backup R&B extensively and sung in jazz clubs in her home state, New York) fit in perfectly with the rest of the ladies. She's perhaps the quietest of the group at our first meeting, but when she speaks, her comments are charmingly candid. "It was important that the person who played bass for us had to be someone we liked, even if it was a boy," says Rockwell. "But they'd have to dress in drag."
From her self-taught start, Nicklaus now has multiple musical outlets; she also plays in another local band, United State of Electronica. (As if to back the fact that music runs in her blood, her brother and cousin both play in the Pale.) Vastly different in texture and presence from the Catch, Nicklaus likens her role in USE to an earlier comment she had made about a childhood dream of being like one of the girls in Josie and the Pussycats: "I wanted to sing and play the tambourine!" she says with a giggle. "And really, that's what I get to do in United State of Electronica. It was a situation where a bunch of friends were going to their practice space and messing around and calling it their 'experimental dance band,' and they played a show once and said that whoever wants to be a part of this should just show up and I did."
The first USE show was at the now-defunct I-Spy, where the band played four songs--two of them twice. "It was so fun and I didn't want to stop," Nicklaus continues. "I don't write any of the songs, I don't play any instruments in that band--I just sing, and not lead, but backup, and I dance around a little bit."
When we meet for a sun-drenched brunch at Capitol Hill's Cafe Septieme, I ask Nicklaus if she feels any conflict due to the growing popularity of USE. "I'm hoping that I can do both for a long time," she says. "My heart is with the Catch, though. They are my family."
Most of the time, when a journalist walks away from an interview with a band, she feels like a bond has been formed, but a lot of times that connection disappears soon after the tape recorder is snapped off and the goodbyes have been said. The members of the Catch, however, give off a more genuinely welcoming feeling, like they're pulling you into their fold as a new friend, one with whom they can talk not only about music, but also shoes, clothes, trends, boys, rudeness, and a hundred other things. I'm touched when we all meet for a follow-up, and again, they are already tucked into a booth when I arrive. Each and every one of the members of the Catch is someone I'd trust with my secrets because loyalty means as much to these women as it does to me. And their band kicks total ass. Really, you can't ask for anything more than that, except to look forward to what will surely be a bright future for the Catch.
The Catch play Fri Feb 20 at the Roxy (270 4th St, Bremerton), 7pm, $7.
