tellastarr* is not exactly the type of band one would expect to generate heated debates. The New York City-based band released its debut effort in September and, although positive reviews are abundant, it has not been saddled with the sort of paramount newcomer-buzz that turns music fans into haters. Yet for some reason, there exists a site devoted entirely to hating these new shooting starr*s.

Apparently, a faction of Internet users thinks the group is doing something wrong. According to guitarist Michael Jurin, however, ferocious criticism is a good sign.

“I think it’s excessive and weird, but I think it’s great,” he says. “Music shouldn’t be for everyone—someone should always dislike it.” Jurin sees across-the-board acceptance as a futile goal, as creative innovation tends to suffer under homogenous directives.

Fortunately, the group is in no danger of fitting in. Airwaves currently swarming with emo, garage rock and pop punk are unsure what to make of the asterisk-affixed musicians. Critics hail them as the next Cure, Talking Heads or even Modern English. While such claims are debatable, it’s difficult to deny the group’s nostalgic sound. The inclination to view Stellastarr as a harbinger of ’80s revivalism stems from the joy of discovering a contemporary group that is both spastic and deeply emotional. Shawn Christensen’s rich vocals fall somewhere between the haunting beauty of Echo and the Bunnymen’s Ian McCulloch and the spontaneous clamor of the great Black Francis—and bassist Amanda Tannen occasionally jumps in with her best Kim Deal.

Jurin says the group did not intend to carry a torch for the decade of greed. “We actually never tried to do squat in that direction,” he says. “It just sort of turned out that way.” The coincidental parallels to previous crooners is also a mystery: “I think [Christensen] is a unique spirit—I don’t think he sounds like anyone at all.”

Still, if the group is going to conjure up memories of any specific time period, Jurin is glad it’s the ’80s. Considering that drummer Arthur Kremer was raised on a steady diet of Abba, his bandmates should be thankful they aren’t channeling disco fever.

Each Stellastarr* member carries unique musical baggage from his or her varied background. Christensen bows to Bowie and Dylan, while Jurin regards the Jesus and Mary Chain as some kind of wonderful. As with many other innovative acts, the eclectic chain of sonic stimuli puts the group above a slew of up-and-coming acts. It spices up the creative process.

“The interesting part about our work is squishing influences into a complete whole,” Jurin says.

The band came together while Christensen, Tannen and Kremer were honing their skills as actors and painters at Manhattan’s Pratt Institute. Jurin lived across the street from the school in Kremer’s apartment complex. The two met while checking their mail and quickly determined that they shared more in common than just a place to store advertisements and bills. Jurin, who had recently relocated from his native Philadelphia, found comfort in the new collaboration. The feelings of anonymity he’d harbored since his move were replaced with a sense of purpose, particularly his involvement in a time-consuming songwriting process.

“We write everything together,” Jurin says. “Everyone can be happy with what they’re playing—no one told them what to do. No one is supposed to be the ‘yes’ man.”

For all his good fortune, Jurin’s storybook success—artist moves to New York City to make it and actually does so—isn’t quite as whirlwind as it might appear. Stellastarr* didn’t reach fame overnight. “It was a very steady incline, built on a strong fan base,” he says. “It was steps up a ladder, not huge jumps. It actually seems fairly logical [that we’ve made it this far].”

Patience and hard work? That’s not characteristic of a passing trend. Hmm…this band could easily be worth its salt. Take that, Stellastarr* hate-listers!
jamie@red-mag.com