Heavy music and pained lyrics go together like cake and ice cream, and Belton, Texas quintet, Flyleaf, aren't about to break with tradition. But while many loud rockers reopen old wounds by singing about their broken homes and broken hearts, Flyleaf confront past traumas to heal old scars and prove in the process that hope shines brighter than despair.

"I used to be in a really negative band, and that seemed to almost fuel my emptiness because that's what the songs were about," says charismatic singer Lacey Mosley. "That's why I think what we're doing is important because there needs to be something heavy out there that has a positive message so people see that it's possible to get through the worst situations."

Flyleaf's self-titled debut album echoes with songs about abuse, neglect, addiction, and dysfunction, and messages about overcoming adversity. And the band's wide array of brooding beats, atmospheric textures and lunging riffs compliment Mosley's emotionally revealing lyrics, which range from breathy and beautiful to scathing and aggressive.

"I'm So Sick," starts with a moody bass line throbbing over a haunting ethereal vocal before guitars crash in like a rock through a plate-glass window. The track see-saws between rage and reflection, guitarists Sameer Bhattacharya and Jared Hartmann providing textural flourishes and atmospheric touches that bridge the emotional shifts. "Cassie" layers stop-start guitars atop an urgent backbeat and builds to an exultant chorus. "All Around You" augments a wall of power chords with evocative jazzy licks and "Fully Alive" is a cinematic number with angry muted riffs that segue into another glorious refrain.

Flyleaf's infectiously heavy positivism is all the more surprising considering Mosley's struggles while growing up. "My mom was a young single mother of six," she explains. "We didn't have money and things were hard for all of us. We moved whenever we couldn't make ends meet in one place, and that happened pretty often so there was a lot of struggling, suffering, and character building."

"It's easy to get depressed when you're dealing with that kind of stress," she continues, "especially when it looks like things will never get better. There was nothing constant in my life, and nothing to believe in. I got into some really bad stuff that I thought would make me feel more loved, or maybe just numb, but it cost me everything that was important to me, and literally almost took my life."

When you take a dive, sometimes you have to hit the bottom before you can swim your way back to the top. For Mosley, writing songs about survival helped her reach the surface and breathe again. "I had to lose everything to look up and see that there is a truly constant hope of a happy ending and that's what we make music for," she says. "If my music helps one person, than it's worth having been through what I've experienced."

Five years ago, Mosley started playing music with drummer James Culpepper. The two joined up with Bhattacharya and Hartmann, who were in a local band that had just split up. "Our first practice together was awesome," Mosley says. "Sameer and Jared are really experimental with melodies and pedals, and we all had different influences that were all blending together with the same passionate and hopeful heart, and that brought out this beautiful feeling. It was magical." Bassist Pat Seals joined in 2002. "The doors were open and I just happened to walk through at the right time," Seals says.

Flyleaf played anywhere they could slowly but consistently increased their fan base with local bands and national acts like Riddlin Kids, Bowling For Soup, Fishbone, and Evanescence. Eventually they landed a show at Austin's legendary annual music convention South by Southwest in 2003. Although their set started at the un-rock -n' roll time of 5 p.m., they rocked the house, which lead to a showcase for various labels. After many meetings and much deliberation, Flyleaf signed with Octone.

In early 2005 the band's self-titled debut EP-- produced by Rick Parasher (Pearl Jam, Blind Melon) and Brad Cook (Foo Fighters, Queens Of The Stone Age)--was released and listeners got a taste of the band's poignant song craft through tracks like "Breathe Today," "Cassie," and "I'm Sorry" (which also appear on Flyleaf's full-length). To support the EP, Flyleaf toured with Saliva, Breaking Benjamin, 3 Doors Down, Staind. and Trust Company. Though many of the audiences had no idea who Flyleaf were when they started playing, every night their spirited performances earned them new fans.

"We think about where we started and where we are and realize, 'Wow, we are playing in front of 1000 people tonight.' And then we just can't be thankful enough to those bands who gave us a chance to play with them, even though we are sort of nobodies."

In spring 2005, Flyleaf recorded their full-length debut with acclaimed producer Howard Benson, who has previously worked with Papa Roach, My Chemical Romance, P.O.D., and All American Rejects. Flyleaf stayed in Los Angeles for two months and worked on more than 20 songs with Benson at Bay 7 Studios. Together they decided on 12 of them to arrange, fine tune, and shape so they best reflected the group's powerful messages and experiences.

"He really took an interest in what we had to say and helped put all the parts in the right places," Mosley says. "We were so used to recording with our friends and finishing whole EPs in a few hours. So it was great to spend two months with Howard having this surreal professional experience in every part of the process."

"A flyleaf is the blank page at the front of a book," explains Mosley. "It's the dedication page, the place you write a message to someone you're giving a book to. And, that's kind of what our songs are: personal messages that provide a few moments of clarity before the story begins."

With their tight-knit chemistry, compassionate approach ,and songs that haunt the mind hours after they've stopped playing, Flyleaf are turning heads and leaving crowds wanting more. Indeed, their story has just begun.
Written by Record Label

Indeed, this young band and its ambitious debut album certainly live up to the name. “Why is the band called Hurt?” asks front man J. Loren with characteristic intensity. “Have you heard the CD? Does it seem applicable?”

“I felt that was definitely the word,” he continues. “It had to be called that.”

The LP veers between whispering and roaring, melody and brutality, crushing power chords and gentle acoustic moments. The convergence of those extremes—delivered in irregular time signature with orchestration, no less—define the “Hurt” sound. Yet just when it seems that it’s all thunder and lightning, eight songs into the album the lighthearted “Danse Russe” comes soaring in like a break in the clouds, its cheerful melody and gentle acoustic guitars displaying a drastically different side of the band.
"...My first impression was, who is this guy? I can't understand him; he's so weird and obscure.."

Traces of Tool, Nirvana, and mid-period Metallica flicker throughout the album, but Hurt have created a remarkably individual sound for a debut. It is mainstream enough to fit in on rock radio, yet unusual and edgy enough to appeal to the fringes—and those extremes are echoed in the band’s two core members.

The songs, singing and guitar playing emanate from one J. Loren—the 24-year-old product of a strict home in rural Virginia, reared on a steady diet of religion, gospel and classical music and home schooling. He studied classical violin, can play virtually any stringed instrument and, as he puts it, “played many a hoedown,” but rock was forbidden. He never even heard rock music properly until, one day in his teens, “I just happened to be at a friend’s house and I heard Pearl Jam’s ‘Jeremy’ on TV. It stopped me in my tracks. Classical was really the only music I had gotten into like that.” He cites Vivaldi as his strongest influence.

The yin to J.’s yang is drummer Evan Johns, also 24, who was raised in Hollywood in just about the most rock environment possible: His dad is Andy Johns (who engineered or produced Led Zeppelin, the Stones, Joni Mitchell, Rod Stewart, Free, Television, Cinderella, Van Halen and countless others), his uncle is Glyn Johns (ditto the Who, Stones, Kinks, Eagles, Clapton, Faces—do we need to go on?) and his cousin is Ethan Johns (ditto Emmylou Harris, Ryan Adams, Kings of Leon and Rufus Wainwright).
"I try to convey principles rather than trying to preach my own story, so that people can apply them to their own lives."

While that background evokes visions of young Evan doing homework in the middle of scenes from “Almost Famous,” the reality was about half that. “A lot of my elementary years were spent hanging out with Cinderella or Van Halen—we’d have them over for dinner or the holidays,” he recalls. “And I was always hanging around the studio. The drums looked like the coolest thing, and I bugged my dad like crazy and finally, when I was about five, he bought me and my brother kid-size drums kits.”

Not that his early efforts were encouraged. “When I first started out, my dad told me I was no good and I should just give up. But after awhile he was like, ‘Hey, you’re not so bad, keep it up.’ It just made me try harder—every day after school for four hours.”

He started gigging before he was even in his teens. “I’d be in bands with 30- and 40-year-olds, waiting outside until it was time to play because I was underage. Then I’d go home with mom because it was a school night.” He focused on jazz drumming during high school to expand his vocabulary, but plunged back into rock after graduation, playing in a series of “mostly heavy” bands until one day …
"I'd be in bands with 30- and 40-year-olds, waiting outside until it was time to play because I was underage."

“This friend of my dad’s had a CD of some of J.’s songs. He was like, ‘Andy, this is great just don’t pay attention to the drums, just listen to the singer.’ And my dad said, ‘If you need a drummer you should check out my son.’ ”

J., all the while, had been gigging with a succession of different musicians, always under the name Hurt and was growing frustrated.

“I’d almost given up on playing music,” he recalls. “I was working for technology companies as a contract consultant, I was engaged and I was very, very sorrowful about abandoning music. Then, I decided to give it one more go…”

A few months later in L.A., Evan’s dad’s friend heeded his advice and arranged for J. Loren to be on a plane to L.A. to meet and try some recording together. “I went into the studio with J. and right away, I was like, I’ve gotta get in on this,” Evan remembers. “We started on a trial basis in August 2004, like, ‘Okay, we’re gonna record these demos and see what happens’—and I loved it.”
"She swore she heard the voice of Jesus / Telling her 'It was wrong to keep it'"

Of course, it wasn’t really that simple. “The first time I met J. it was really weird because we had only talked on the phone, and we were trying to feel each other out from thousands of miles away. And when he came out here, my first impression was, who is this guy? I can’t understand him; he’s so weird and obscure. But when we started playing together, it was like, ‘Okay, cool—I know what to do here, I feel comfortable.’ And then he turned out to have a heart of gold.” J. and Evan worked up an abundance of material for a few months before plunging into the studio to begin work on two albums the first of which is “Vol. I”. They were assisted initially by ex-Beck bassist, Justin Meldal Johnson. (Two New Jersey-born musicians, guitarist Paul Spatola and bassist Josh Ansley have since joined them.)

Getting J. to discuss the emotions and inspiration behind the songs is no easy feat. One passage from “Rapture” reads, “She swore she heard the voice of Jesus / Telling her ‘It was wrong to keep it’ / And one more thing, it looked like me”; one from “Falls Apart” goes “Our skin tears away as our memories fade with age / And we don’t even know till it’s gone … Woe is me.”

“I try to convey principles rather than trying to preach my own story, so that people can apply them to their own lives,” he says. He allows that “Rapture” is about the “danger in setting yourself up as god,” that “Danse Russe” was inspired by poet William Carlos Williams and “a two-day experience with a lovely person,” and that “Losing” was written “after I saw Evan’s ability on the drums. I was like [chuckles sinisterly], ‘Hey buddy, I got somethin’ for you!’ ”

And as for the intensity that runs through every thing his band does, J.Loren simply says, “If I’m not going to affect someone in some way, why do anything at all?”

Source: HurtBand.com