Demolishing boundaries is practically part of The Mars Volta’s DNA. Founded from the ashes of At The Drive-In, the band thrive on a kind of amorphous, magma-like approach to rock creativity, heavy on progressive elements and fantastical realms. Amid this swirling cosmos of ideas, however, lies a duel solar hinge: the brotherly relationship between Omar Rodriguez-Lopez and Cedric Bixler-Zavala. At times it’s been frayed (notably in the aftermath of their 2012 dissolution) but a successful At The Drive-In re-union – both album, and the resulting international tour – drove home a simple message: some friendships run right to the core.
“Rock bands are magnets for dysfunction!” laughs Omar at one point in our Zoom discussion. A rejuvenated Mars Volta have just released their new album, their first in a decade, and the two are on confident form. Jocular and easy-going, there’s also plenty of worldly wisdom in there – and no small degree of emotion, too. The album itself is riveting – direct, open, and explicitly pop, it also feels devoutly progressive; think those eternal Peter Gabriel bangers, or early 80s synth R&B and you’d be close. As Cedric puts it: “It’s simple on one level, but on another there’s a lot of complexity.”
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Reigniting a much-loved project might weigh heavy on some musicians, but not – it seems – the kinship that lies at the heart of the Mars Volta. “There’s no pressure for us, because we’re just creating things that are honest and true to the lives we’re living,” explains Cedric. “Anything outside that is just a judgement call from someone else, it’s not related to our real-life existence.”
It’s tempting to view the directness, the sheer melodic heft of this new album as being a direct riposte to the frenzied post-hardcore which drove At The Drive-In’s reunion. “That’s just natural progression,” Omar insists. “You want to do the opposite. And I hope most artists would see it that way. It’s all progression. The human personality has so many things to offer, it can’t the same thing all the time. Otherwise it’s like, Wayne Newton live in Las Vegas, playing all the hits, y’know?”
The Mars Volta as an institution can almost be defined by about-turns, framed by the shocking volte face twists the band have laid out for fans. This time feels particularly pertinent, however; the fluid pop, and succinct musicality, are set against Cedric Bixler-Zavala’s most ruthlessly open vocals yet. At times, it echoes real-life events, such as his family’s ongoing traumas with the Church of Scientology.
“There’s definitely a questioning of the rules that are put around us,” Omar says. “Starting with institutions – most evidently the situation Cedric has been through. And we also have to confront ourselves, in order to grow. It’s not overt, but it is there.”
“You write what is five minutes in front of your heart,” he continues. “Whether it’s a journal or a poem or a song. You get it down. It’s like you’re an astronaut, planting your flag down on the planet you’re on at that moment. People often say that making music is like decorating time.”
The two are careful to not divulge too much on the real-life aspects of the record – the legal battles are still ongoing – but they’re not afraid to discuss the creative rivulets running through their work. For both musicians, both art and life have to be in sync for anything to work. “If that therapeutic element isn’t there, then that puts music in the realm of entertainment. The way we make music together, means that it will inherently have a therapeutic element to it,” Cedric comments. “The music is a by-product of who we are as human beings and what we’re going through. And so that’s dictating a lot of things.”
“The entire process of the record – no matter how long or short it took – as much as we were informing it, it was also informing us. That’s the fascinating part: the creation is showing you things, and you need to be able to listen to that.”
Lengthy conversations took place before the full recording process began, with The Mars Volta working from a house in Los Angeles. Hiring out the full property, they locked themselves away, letting the hours stretch out in search of their goals. “At the time, it was gloomy and rainy a lot, and that really added to it,” Omar says with a short laugh. “It added an atmosphere to it. Like method acting, in a way.”
Inserting themselves directly into such emotive material came at a cost, however. “There’s moments of having to just stop for a second and not give into the emotion because it’ll affect the way I’m singing,” Cedric reveals. “It’s like therapy. Sometimes you dread going in, but you need to do it. There’s this grown-up aspect of putting your big boy pants on and getting on with it all.”
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‘Palm Full Of Crux’ for example, was written in tribute to original member Jeremy Ward, who died back in 2003 after work on the band’s debut album. His spirit loomed over the sessions, as Cedric explains: “It’s just hard… because you really miss the guy and you want to sing about what a beautiful human being he was. I don’t even know if I cover that in the song. I feel like the song just covers the sort of feeling of like… shit, you’re gone now.”
“You’re here, and you honour your dead,” he says. “To live is to remember to remember is to live. And I felt like he was really coming around.”
The performance is all the more affecting for the stark imagery used – whereas previously Cedric may have revelled in sci-fi realms, here he’s left staring into a mirror. “I’m consciously not trying to hide behind complicated imagery,” he says. “Now I’m really just saying exactly what it is. I’m ready to embrace that now and not be afraid of being vulnerable.”
The two share a profound emotional bond, with Omar reciprocating this feeling of emotional evolution, and the final processing of grief. “I’ve felt the same thing,” he comments. “Life and death. The birth of Cedric’s children. The death of my mother. The birth of one era, the death of another. Life… just keeps happening! And when you’re in tune with it, and when you’re accepting of life, and you want to be a part of it, you can’t help but start to make connections, and want to better yourself.”
The visuals for the album document something incredibly close to Omar’s heart – the ongoing colonialist treatment of Puerto Rico. Each video engages with the island’s history, and its often dark relationship with the United States. “We still have to pay 30% higher taxes, yet we have no vote for the President or the laws in the US,” he observes with a palpable bite of anger in his voice. “We have no representation in Congress, yet the government itself was created completely on the concept of no taxation without representation. It’s a microcosm of colonialist imperialism.”
“People look at Trump throwing paper towels at the people of Puerto Rico… He’s awful. But the real point is, like, every single President has thrown paper towels at us, every single administration, Democrat, Republican it doesn’t matter. Puerto Rico is the oldest colony in the world.”
An album built around complex personal themes, this new eponymous project is a resetting of the dials. For one thing, it’s their first overtly pop record – a gleaming, shimmering project of endless abandon. Curiously, both feel as those pop has been a central component in their lives from the start. “It’s always been there,” Cedric says. “It’s been there as a thing to rebel against, but also because pop music does what it does – it gets in your head. You hear things on the radio and it stays in your DNA, whether you like it or not.”
Another move forwards, another bold statement, this new album could be the definitive word on The Mars Volta for a fresh generation of fans. Having started anew, they’re working with a whole new set of compass points. “It’s a clean slate – here’s the thing in itself as an essence. And we’re looking at how that can be projected not only into the present, but as a road to the future.”
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‘The Mars Volta’ is out now. For all tour details, visit their website.
Words: Robin Murray
