Grounders' home base is an overflowing garage in Toronto's West End, but the roots of their new album Coffee & Jam stretch much farther west. Since releasing their debut LP in 2015, the band has logged countless hours on the road. Somewhere down the line of empty motels, sand dunes and vast, dry American landscapes, their dreamy psych pop turned dark and unsettling. It started in their trusty Grounders van. With so much time spent driving, the band found themselves soaking up records like Kraftwerk's Computer World, Modern Lovers' Modern Lovers, and the Soul Jazz New York Noise compilation. At a tour stop in Calgary the band began recording improvisational demos.
Later that fall, the band spent a rare week off from touring in a small cabin near Sacramento, CA. The setting felt post-apocalyptic, covered by drought-starved dead grass, but it marked another flurry of creativity, writing and demoing early versions of songs that would later end up on Coffee & Jam. The influences they absorbed became a wonky funhouse mirror of their surroundings - gritty, stripped-down Americana that distorts bands like The Cure, The Talking Heads and The Stranglers into a jagged post-punk odyssey. Grounders continued writing and demoing in their garage rehearsal space/gear palace, before hitting Union Sound studio in 2016, where they recorded Coffee & Jam with Ian Gomes. Working quickly, with few effects or studio tricks, the album was produced by "whoever was in the room." It was mixed by the elusive David Newfeld (Broken Social Scene, Weaves) and mastered by Gavin Gardiner (The Wooden Sky).
Davis, meanwhile, found lyrical inspiration in classic cinematic anti-heroes like Robert De Niro in Raging Bull and Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke. Through scraping synths and jangly guitars, Coffee & Jam oozes with self-sabotage, anti-authoritarian rebellion and that twenty-something's sense of the world passing by. "The Judge, The Cook and The Clown" squeezes the sticky hooks of The Cars through layers of paranoia, while "Mickey Can't Move" skranks a glittery New Wave groove along a dirty runway. The album takes its title from a lyric in "Bringin' It In," a spiky, surreal bounce that soaks diner grease in penthouse chanel. The songs all teeter on the edge, like they might fall apart at any moment (but never do).