Taylor Goldsmith is keenly aware that the Dawes who released the album Oh Brother last fall are far different from the band that dropped their breakout LP, Nothing Is Wrong, in 2011. Not only has the group’s sound evolved, moving from compact folk-rock songs into sprawling nine-minute jams and back again, but bassist and founding member Wylie Gelber recently exited to pursue a career as a luthier.
Goldsmith is here for all the changes. And he says his drummer brother, Griffin Goldsmith, is too.
“I love it when bands have new phases, and this is the beginning of a new phase,” Taylor Goldsmith tells Rolling Stone. “If anything, it’s reinvigorated Griffin and I. It reminded us, ‘Oh, we’re lifers.’ We’re lifers as band leaders. We don’t want to do anything else — we want to do this.”
Goldsmith is even more comfortable in that realization as he bears down on 40 — he’ll hit the milestone on Aug. 16 (the 48th anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley). “We can’t choose what happens to us,” he says. “But we can choose how we react to it.”
On Oh Brother, Goldsmith and Dawes do so via a blend of rollicking indie-rock numbers and honest, vulnerable ballads. In the hushed “King of the Never-Wills,” an example of the latter, they dissect someone’s failure to launch. “Well, everything goes out of fashion/You went way over that hill,” he croons. “You couldn’t go on as a has-been/You had to be the king of the never-wills.”
As for the album’s title, it can be taken in myriad ways: It’s a cynical commentary on the state of the world, a compassionate plea to loved ones new and old, and a testament to his sibling. “After what we went through in the band, what it means to be our age at this time in America, I’m leaning on Griffin,” Goldsmith says. “I’m grateful for [him]. We’re taking refuge in each other in our relationship. I wanted [the album] to be read that way.”
Despite all the changes in Dawes, the past year was a milestone for the Southern California outfit: They celebrated their 15th anniversary. But even getting there required its own share of upheaval. The group formed in 2002 as post-punk band Simon Dawes, but by 2009 fell apart, eventually emerging from the ashes as “Dawes.”
“We’ve gotten to do this on our terms for this long, and that’s what matters most,” Goldsmith says. “But then, of course, I have my dark moments: ‘What am I doing here? Is anybody even paying attention? Should I just go home?’”
Recently, Goldsmith was watching a video of young adults being asked, “How old is old?” They responded to the effect of, “Anyone born before the year 2000 is really old.” Goldsmith mulls the clip before raising his own rhetorical questions.
“I like the idea that my culture now is comprised of all my friends, all my favorite records. So, how do I discuss the things I’m going through, but elegantly enough that a person my age might want to indulge?” he wonders.
For now, anyway, the answer lies in Oh Brother.
“My universe has gotten smaller and [that’s] contributed to my music,” Goldsmith says. “But I still do this thing. I still go out and play a show. I miss my family, but I’m happy to be here — trying to figure out who I am and how I interact with the world.”
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