by Ken Micallef

Magnapop Rub You The Right Way

Free from the constraints of both superstardom and indie cliques, Magnapop enjoy the path of most resistance.

Performing on a chilly spring night at Manhattan's Brownies, Magnapop take the stage waving arms and joking. A peculiar group, gratefully without the studied pretense habitual to even the worst bands, Magnapop make simple, vibrant music that draws from typical sources while avoiding ordinary rock predicaments. Almost more potent than their riveting music is Magnapop's visceral, visual relationship with the audience. They've got presence to burn; even the Brownies' clique of publicity flacks and jaded journalists slowly warms, then rocks to the band's buoyant songs and punch-drunk delivery.

You could say Magnapop's appeal lies in their hackneyed chicks-with-guitars sexual allure or their piledriving way with pop, punk and even new wave. But it's more than that. Like the indie creeds of old, a Magnapop show severs any barrier between "them and us," the band's honest, true-to-life songs delivered with Stooges energy and girl-next-door good looks.

The next morning over pots of coffee and bagels, guitarist Ruthie Morris and singer Linda Hopper try to shake off tinnitus and a lack of sleep. Questions about their latest, Rubbing Doesn't Help (Priority), are answered seriously then quickly deflated. Magnapop are magnificently funny.

"You know what the difference is between L.A. and New York?" Linda asks, her statuesque build and blond hair evoking a glowing aura. "A lot less plastic surgery."

"Yeah," agrees Ruthie. "I haven't seen any old women with a lot of bad surgery scars yet."

"Ya know what else, too?" Linda continues. "New York has these cool, weird bars with no trendy fashion victims sitting around. Judd Hirsch isn't in there. That's so L.A. to have a trendiness to it, but in New York you just see the locals hanging out. It's so comforting."

"I read that in L.A. that people view anonymity as the biggest crime." Ruthie laughs. "Isn't that great? So opposite of New York: 'Don't talk to me.' That's why John Lennon came here, so he could blend. In L.A., no way."

With the coupling of Linda the looks queen and Ruthie the animated, brazen guitar torch, Magnapop do not blend in easily. Like two sides of a coin, Linda is Lincoln to Ruthie's Roosevelt, the handsome spokeswoman to the personable brawn and brains. With bassist Shannon Mulvaney and drummer Mark Posgay, Magnapop have found their niche of creativity and composure. Though inspiration and leisure don't typically go hand-in-hand, Magnapop's idea-rich songs spin on themes only a band without sham or deceit could muster. They refuse to conform to "alternative-fashion" values, but they do believe in challenging the status quo, even if it's considered cool by the likes of Alternative Press.

"Nothing get accomplished with anarchy," says Ruthie, switching from java to juice. "You should question authority, question everything. The more information there is around the better. Conformity is like turning into cattle. As far as the band goes, we don't conform to anything. I can't say you can put us in any category. We dig that. I would love to be part of the Touch And Go scene, but then again, there's a weird freedom in not being in that. Or AmRep, we wouldn't fit in there. But it would be safe and comfortable, a built-in crowd."

"I don't think we adhere to any sort of root," adds Linda. "We don't need the aegis of Sub Pop or Dischord, though I love the music on those labels. But we're on a Belgian dance label (Play It Again Sam in Europe). We're as indie as they come. We're not cardholders to any of those automatic clubs."

Indie as they may be, Magnapop have often worked with seminal indie mystics now gone onto higher rock strata-land. Everyone's favorite lapdancer, Michael Stipe, produced their 1992 mini-album debut, while grouchy, guitar shrapnel forefather Bob Mould guided the sound of 1994's Hot Boxing. Endless touring and inner growth have prepared Magnapop to take the reins, as they do on Rubbing Doesn't Help. With friend and producer Geza X (Germs, Dead Kennedys) twiddling the knobs and chasing away ghosts, Magnapop created their most natural-sounding album yet.

"This was the first album where we had a chance to record in an undefined, no parameters kind of space," says Linda. "We just needed room to articulate what we wanted. That was the big difference between working with another performer/artist. This records was more purposeful. It was completely liberating."

Ruthie, whose bristling sound and powerful technique recalls the Mould mold, found working with rock gods a bit scary. "I was definitely intimidated by Bob Mould's presence and his history. He was one of my heroes. I felt a little restricted because of my own emotions. But he was amazing to work with."

Shannon, late to breakfast after a sunrise tour of the revitalized Times Square, sits and slurps his first coffee. "Mould was regimented in his working process, a bit of a technical stickler," says Shannon. "With Geza we were really relaxed, we were in his house. With Bob in the studio, he's looking at you while you're playing. He says 'Go now! Play!' He's watching and you're sweating. He's pointing out what I'm doing wrong and I'm trying to adapt, while Ruthie is just in awe." She laughs. "He'd finally say that was cool and I would be relieved."

While Mould's contribution was to sweeten the Magnapop hard-drive, Stipe simply provided pop-star atmosphere. And some dance steps.

"Stipe was more relaxed, to say the least," says Linda. "He was more foppish. We'd all eat lunch first."

"Then Michael would dance around the studio and look at us through the window and clap," adds Shannon, who proceeds to do a Stipe impression: "'At ten we're finishing the song 'cause disco starts at eleven.' With Bob, he was, 'Make another pot of coffee, then back to work.'"

"Bob definitely sweetened Hot Boxing," says Linda. "We sorely missed the bottom end to that record. I'm proud of it, but this record is the next logical step in being a band."

Rubbing Doesn't Help's thirteen songs delve into topical matters like the nuclear family's demise into burning Hades (the oddly sparse "This Family"), drug overdose ("Dead Letter"), and life lessons ("An Apology"). What lightens and enlivens what could be trite cliches is Linda's singular singing style, or lack of one. Occasionally elongating phrases or riding the rhythm of the music, for most of RDH, Linda simply speaks.

"Sometimes you can say what you mean better in spoken word than having to sing it," she explains. "There's no restriction. It's all about the delivery. That was the number-one center for me on this record. Instead of doubling and embellishing my voice, I thought the songs just needed a single vocal or me with someone else's voice."

"I think we do convey an energy," says Ruthie, acquiescing to self-definition. "I think a lot of bands fake that. And we convey who we are. That's important. We're not trying to sell you on something. What you see is what you get. If you can see past what meets the eye, then you'll get what we're doing. We're an entirely different band than we used to be. We've made a lot of changes that a lesser band couldn't have handled, to be honest."

Still in the musing frame of mind, Magnapop fall into conversation about life goals, how to spend your first million, and the varying nature of success. Magnapop live on their indie status and potent stage presence, but they too can dream. At least Ruthie thinks so.

"We wanna be really rich cult heroes. We don't want to be huge, but we wouldn't mind being rich, let's face it. But you can't have it both ways, unless you're Stanley Kubrick. To live like that, doing what you want to do but retaining your anonymity. Now that would be awesome."