Typical Minnesota band: Right when it lands a deal with a reputable indie label, finishes a national tour with a hip new buzz act and starts working with an experienced manager, Vampire Hands suddenly hangs in limbo now as co-vocalist Colin Johnson plans to move to Montana. Fortunately, nothing else about Vampire Hands is typical. The quartet's innovative sound is built on pulsating, hypnotic rhythms, reverb-drenched guitar and eerie yet beautiful vocals and tribal-like chants -- equal parts Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd, experimental bands like Can and influential punk acts ranging from the Stooges to Wire.
It's an odd enough concoction that Johnson's relocation 1,200 miles away is even being seen as a chance to spark a whole new creative phase. The band might start recording via the Internet. It might meet up with Johnson on the road. It probably will play shows as a three-piece. No one knows for sure how things will play out.
Which is perfect.
"The excitement in this band has always stemmed from constant challenge," said Johnson. "We enjoy any challenge, and in fact we thrive off it. There's never been a fear of, 'What's it's going to sound like?' It's always, 'Let's dive in and not worry about what we are or aren't able to do.'"
Before diving into its next era, Vampire Hands plays one last gig under Johnson's local residency tonight at the Turf Club. The show is a release party for its third and best album, "Hannah in the Mansion."
More proof of Vampire Hands' eccentric ways, the new record will be sold as a limited vinyl release on the hip indie label Secretly Canadian's vinyl-geek imprint, St. Ives. All 300 copies feature unique artwork hand-crafted by the band. It's also available as a download on iTunes, but the guys don't seem as interested in promoting it that way.
"We shoot ourselves in the foot with these sort of things all the time," Johnson said two weeks ago, sitting with his bandmates in a semicircle around the coffee table in his apartment in Minneapolis' Seward neighborhood.
Johnson's apartment is strategically set a few blocks between the band's rehearsal space in an empty office building and its de facto hangout, the Hexagon Bar. Inside, his bachelor pad looks and sounds like a family room circa 1977, with a lot of blah-brown colors in the furniture and carpet, a woven rug with a pheasants pattern hanging on the wall, and an old turntable spinning out "L.A. Woman" and "Exile on Main Street."