Words by Mark Willet

Vans seem to fall right behind drugs, booze, and airplanes in that list of things that kill musicians. So maybe Birdmonster needs a bus. Either way, I’m getting ahead of myself.

At the table, under the trees in a restaurant called Home, everyone orders fish tacos except for Justin Tenuto, who orders a Monte Christo – a meal he considers to be the sandwich equivalent of a religious epiphany. It’s ham, French toast, cheese, all slathered in syrup. The fish tacos are outstanding, by the way.

Birdmonster is in Los Angeles all through January and some of February recording their as-yet-untitled debut record. While there were rumors that the band would be doing so under the watchful, budget-conscious eyes of a major record label, they are in fact footing the bill themselves. In fact, they bought my tacos, too. Through the sheer strength of their live show, they were able to sell production duties to Brad Cook. A quick look at his resume had Brad twiddling the knobs on some pretty great records – Foo Fighters’ The Colour and the Shape, Counting Crows’ Recovering the Satellites, and Tool’s Undertow. Not bad really, and impressive for a band with nothing more to offer than sweat.

The talk at dinner steers toward all sorts of stressful things – labels, promotion, presales, budgets – all the issues that a young band has to worry about. But Birdmonster is different. The band is clearly a well-oiled machine, and the boys in the band are doing whatever they can to keep it running at top speed.

Their frenetic live show is like vintage Springsteen fronting a post-hardcore band with a propensity for the banjo. It’s hard to describe, but it’s the type of thing that converts audiences before the first song is even done. Singer/Guitarist Peter Arcuni sweats out each line, and drummer Zach Winter plays like his life depends on it. Each member leaves everything out there, like a championship game. It’s ridiculous and awe inspiring, and I wish more bands had half the work ethic that Birdmonster does.

That gumption got them some choice gigs, like opening for the National and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, and Death Cab for Cutie. A burgeoning music scene in San Francisco doesn’t hurt either. There’s always a place for them to play, and they’ll even do two shows a night if necessary. They’ve played on a pool table after a club was flooded. They don’t care. It’s all they know.

There’s so much nervous tension at the table right now that it feels like a middle school date. The band just wants to go back to the studio to record more and each member admits that they’re flipping through their parts in their head, over and over. This isn’t some studio gimmickry record either – it’s straight-up rock, with minimal overdubs and a passionate atmosphere. The whole thing is going really smoothly. That’s probably because the band has been sitting on these tunes for months now, waiting to get into a studio with enough time and money to do it right.

But as mentioned before, despite heavy label interest from multiple parties, the band is striking out on its own. They’re getting their own van, pressing their own CDs and doing all that DIY stuff that you’ve read about. They’re booking their own tours, and selling their own record, just like the hardworking guys they are.

“But how do we sell a record when barely anyone knows about us,” asks Klein, worried about pre-selling a record on the strength of one EP and touring. ‘How can we make sure people buy it?’

Winter wants to know when to say “no,” whether to a venue that’s booked a one-off show in the middle of nowhere, or a label that’s dangling some money under their noses. Arcuni wants to know how to sing his vocal overdub. Tenuto wants more syrup for his Monte Christo, quietly knowing that he’s the musical magic weapon of the band – the bass player with two-ton licks and a statuesque rock stance.

Now Klein wants to know about van insurance versus bus insurance, and what it will mean to have the band paying for something over the next five years. It’s tough to say really, but these decisions have to be made.

After we finish the tacos, the band has to get back to work. They have shows to book between here and Austin and back again. They have liner notes to design. They have harmonies to work out. And they have transportation to buy, because in three days, their van (a beautiful old Prospector) will die a slow, fluid choked death. But no matter. With any luck, Birdmonster will be winding its way to you in their new van – I mean bus – any minute now.