An Indie Icon Passes, And Takes A Whole Era With Him
CultureGQ columnist Chris Black lowers the flags at Cubist Castle for Will Cullen Hart of The Olivia Tremor Control—and wonders if the handmade, communal, art-over-ambition spirit of Hart and his collaborators is gone forever, too.By Chris BlackDecember 5, 2024Jason ThrasherSave this storySaveSave this storySaveThis is an edition of the newsletter Pulling Weeds With Chris Black, in which the columnist weighs in on hot topics in culture. Sign up here to get it in your inbox every Thursday.Last week, Will Cullen Hart, the singer and guitarist of The Olivia Tremor Control, a critically acclaimed acid-pop band that put out several records and amassed a true cult following beginning in the late 1990s, died of natural causes at age 53. Hart had multiple sclerosis, which limited his ability to tour and perform and eventually his mobility, and he’d lost his bandmate Bill Doss to an aneurysm in 2012, but he continued to create. He’d been working to complete a third Olivia Tremor Control album; two new OTC songs, the band’s first new music in thirteen years, hit Bandcamp on November 29th, the morning of the day Hart died. In a statement, Hart’s longtime collaborator, Robert Schneider of The Apples In Stereo, said Hart had been “in a very happy mood” watching people download his new songs.The Olivia Tremor Control and The Apples In Stereo, along with several other bands like Neutral Milk Hotel, of Montreal, Beulah, and Elf Power, made up a loose Ruston, Louisiana-born, Athens, Georgia-based collective called The Elephant 6 Recording Company. Growing up in Atlanta, just an hour from Athens, home of the University of Georgia and R.E.M., these bands were always in my peripheral vision. My tastes leaned more hardcore or straight-up emo, but as I got older, I started to appreciate it more and more, realizing that a lot of this shit just sounded like The Beatles or The Beach Boys with more psychedelics.Jason ThrasherA documentary, The Elephant 6 Recording Co., directed by Chad Stockfleth and produced by my friend Lance Bangs, was released in 2022. I finally got around to it on Saturday after reading about Hart’s passing. It’s a quick hour-and-a-half watch that took me back to my days in the DIY scene, filled with house shows, potlucks, zines, outsider art, bad clothes, and body odor. Nothing groundbreaking happens. Everyone is in multiple bands. They make a lot of music with four-track recorders, scrape by on very little money, lie to Rolling Stone about living in a cult-like compound, and sleep on strangers' floors on tour. They are simply fully dedicated to making the art they want to make without compromise. It made me realize that this lifestyle, which many of my friends participated in, just doesn’t exist anymore. You can’t live in a converted warehouse with ten people, work at a health food store, and spend the rest of your time making music. Things are too expensive, society has made ambition the North Star, and distractions are too prevalent.Whether you like any of this music or not, the uncompromising dedication to the craft is commendable, if not aspirational. Today, it feels like everyone is doing everything to get recognition. The art or craft is secondary. Maybe it’s because things are too easy; you can do anything from a laptop and upload it for public consumption immediately. Part of the charm of Elephant 6 and that period in general was the sheer effort required to make something. When you listen to these records, you hear real people; the recordings are covered in fingerprints that make them feel human and imperfect. I am not suggesting we go back to this. You cannot put the toothpaste back in the tube—but maybe if we romanticize it, some of the ethos will seep back in.I am to blame as much as anyone else. I am driven by ambition and the desire for more and more, and I'm not sure if that continues to get worse or lessens with age. Hart’s passing and the documentary made me remember when I only thought about creating stuff with my friends. It will never be like that again, but it’s inspiring just to be reminded of a simpler time. I am glad music can still do that.
This is an edition of the newsletter Pulling Weeds With Chris Black, in which the columnist weighs in on hot topics in culture. Sign up here to get it in your inbox every Thursday.
Last week, Will Cullen Hart, the singer and guitarist of The Olivia Tremor Control, a critically acclaimed acid-pop band that put out several records and amassed a true cult following beginning in the late 1990s, died of natural causes at age 53. Hart had multiple sclerosis, which limited his ability to tour and perform and eventually his mobility, and he’d lost his bandmate Bill Doss to an aneurysm in 2012, but he continued to create. He’d been working to complete a third Olivia Tremor Control album; two new OTC songs, the band’s first new music in thirteen years, hit Bandcamp on November 29th, the morning of the day Hart died. In a statement, Hart’s longtime collaborator, Robert Schneider of The Apples In Stereo, said Hart had been “in a very happy mood” watching people download his new songs.
The Olivia Tremor Control and The Apples In Stereo, along with several other bands like Neutral Milk Hotel, of Montreal, Beulah, and Elf Power, made up a loose Ruston, Louisiana-born, Athens, Georgia-based collective called The Elephant 6 Recording Company. Growing up in Atlanta, just an hour from Athens, home of the University of Georgia and R.E.M., these bands were always in my peripheral vision. My tastes leaned more hardcore or straight-up emo, but as I got older, I started to appreciate it more and more, realizing that a lot of this shit just sounded like The Beatles or The Beach Boys with more psychedelics.
A documentary, The Elephant 6 Recording Co., directed by Chad Stockfleth and produced by my friend Lance Bangs, was released in 2022. I finally got around to it on Saturday after reading about Hart’s passing. It’s a quick hour-and-a-half watch that took me back to my days in the DIY scene, filled with house shows, potlucks, zines, outsider art, bad clothes, and body odor. Nothing groundbreaking happens. Everyone is in multiple bands. They make a lot of music with four-track recorders, scrape by on very little money, lie to Rolling Stone about living in a cult-like compound, and sleep on strangers' floors on tour. They are simply fully dedicated to making the art they want to make without compromise. It made me realize that this lifestyle, which many of my friends participated in, just doesn’t exist anymore. You can’t live in a converted warehouse with ten people, work at a health food store, and spend the rest of your time making music. Things are too expensive, society has made ambition the North Star, and distractions are too prevalent.
Whether you like any of this music or not, the uncompromising dedication to the craft is commendable, if not aspirational. Today, it feels like everyone is doing everything to get recognition. The art or craft is secondary. Maybe it’s because things are too easy; you can do anything from a laptop and upload it for public consumption immediately. Part of the charm of Elephant 6 and that period in general was the sheer effort required to make something. When you listen to these records, you hear real people; the recordings are covered in fingerprints that make them feel human and imperfect. I am not suggesting we go back to this. You cannot put the toothpaste back in the tube—but maybe if we romanticize it, some of the ethos will seep back in.
I am to blame as much as anyone else. I am driven by ambition and the desire for more and more, and I'm not sure if that continues to get worse or lessens with age. Hart’s passing and the documentary made me remember when I only thought about creating stuff with my friends. It will never be like that again, but it’s inspiring just to be reminded of a simpler time. I am glad music can still do that.
