Lovedrug

Like many great bands, there is something hauntingly spiritual and honest about Lovedrug. The Ohio-based rock band delivers highbrow sound akin to Spiritualized, Sunny Day Real Estate, or Muse, crossed with the pop sensibility and arena grandeur of Queen. A unique crossbreed of art and accessibility, powerful melodies are driven by smartly crafted lyrics of truth, intrigue, love, death, and damn near everything in between.

Only those who have seen the band live can truly understand the growing phenomenon that is Lovedrug. Regardless of how cliché it may sound, Lovedrug live is truly less a show and more an experience. In playing to a variety of audiences (the band has shared the stage w/ Cat Power, Creeper Lagoon, The Killers, Braid, Elliot, Mewithoutyou, The Casket Lottery & Noise Ratchet, to name a few), Lovedrug have won over virtually every audience they’ve met.

Formed in June of 2002, Lovedrug is the brainchild of Michael Shepard and Adam Ladd. Both artists of some pedigree, the two friends joined forces in several previous avant-garde projects including the widely respected Kerith Ravine. Rising above the indie-rock contour of Kerith, Shepard’s current vocal melodies breathe a grand soundscape in a tender but bloodcurdling timbre. Ladd’s bass in turn securely moors the project’s course, providing quality arrangement to Shepard’s guitar and piano innovations. Longtime friend but first-time contributor David Owen became Lovedrug’s full-time lead guitarist in July ’03, bringing his own accomplished creative presence in both writing and performance. Matthew Putman, a phenomenal writing and touring drummer (Ester Drang, Unwed Sailor), completes the band’s permanent lineup.

In less than two years, Lovedrug went from start-up to standout on the mid-western rock scene. Lovedrug recorded a self-titled five-track demo, selling out two pressings within three months of its July 2002 release. Such interest led to further preproduction and early 2003 saw the band head into the studio with producer Tim Patalan (Sponge, The Fags, Peter Searcy) with astounding results.

The music that floats around inside the belly of this town speaks low with a mutter and tapping into it requires a skewed eye for twisted beauty. The homeless, half-naked, dirty widow at the end of the bar, for instance, knows more about this life than most scholarly folk, I guarantee it. And I tell you this for damn sure, we need to be singing HER song. Take that as you may; the real point is avoid the knell. Let it ring, hear the sound, bow your head and take a moment for the weary soul that just got let down. But please, do not let it stare you down; especially at three in the morning outside a rehearsal space whilst a train blares by at top speed crushing its horn and whipping the cigarette out of your hand.