Planet Rock

Somewhere near the middle of a continuum that ranges from Ultimate Fakebook’s headrushing melodicism to the Esoteric’s skull-crushing gristle lies Salt the Earth. The Lawrence quartet buries plenty of wide-eyed catchiness in its sonic sludge, but it also leaves ample room for devil-dog screams. Just listen to the nineteen seconds of guttural catharsis unleashed by singer and guitarist Martin Bush on “Metal,” which closes the group’s 2001 self-titled debut. But the song’s five-o’clock-shadow aura is countered by tracks such as “Affection” and “Baseball,” magically delicious pop tarts that conjure images of the Get Up Kids jamming in St. Valentine’s garage.

And the garage is exactly where the members of Salt the Earth are gathered tonight, rehearsing for an upcoming gig at the Replay Lounge. Well, actually it’s a basement, located at the epicenter of Lawrence’s shopworn student ghetto. An assortment of mattresses, couch cushions and carpet scraps offers what could pass for soundproofing, and empty beer cans serve as makeshift ashtrays. Not that there’s any beer drinking going on tonight. While many groups use practice as another excuse to cut loose, STE takes its music too seriously for that kiddy stuff. The only vices present are a shared jug of Gatorade and a few packs of smokes; the only addictions are musical.

The band begins with several runs through “Lyra,” a new song not found on the debut. Beginning with a flurry of bell-ringing guitars and drummer Nick Haxton’s surging rhythms, the music shifts from lilting arpeggios to full-throttle rock, culminating in the tag-team vocals of Bush and bassist and vocalist Matt Morgus. It’s one of 2002’s first great songs, taking influences from a wellspring of locals and spinning it into something that’s both fresh and familiar.

When STE started out, playing to small, occasionally interested audiences in Lawrence’s ever-bubbling house-party scene, there weren’t many memorable tunes to go around. In fact, there weren’t too many songs of any sort, and STE strained to push its early sets past the fifteen-minute mark. The group quickly set about resolving the situation, but the process wasn’t always as pretty as the results.

“We yell at each other a lot when we write,” Bush explains. “There’s a lot of arguing about where things should go and what should happen when. It’s a good thing, too, because if it didn’t work that way — if we all agreed about everything — we probably wouldn’t sound the way we do.”

“I’d rather be pissed off at you guys than pissed off at the music we’re playing because I don’t like it,” adds guitarist Nick Knutsen.

Though STE’s sound is built on the cacophonous interplay between Bush and Morgus, it’s Knutsen who provides the essential extras. At one point during practice, Bush asks him to turn down the distortion. “No way!” the guitarist fires back, cranking it up a few notches for good measure. Even in rehearsal, Knutsen plays with his whole body, more than making up for any stray notes with a sloppy exuberance that borders on savant-style genius.

Genius comes in many forms. It wasn’t long ago that the four were college students, cramming for finals and preparing for futures in the real world, whatever that meant. But that was then — before the group’s members collectively dropped out and committed themselves to full-time rock. Naturally, their parents were thrilled.

“My mom still hasn’t seen us play,” Morgus laments. “It’s too loud for her, or she has to work early the next day. She hates the screaming vocals.”

Mom might be onto something. Screaming vocals are at the forefront of STE’s output, with Morgus and Bush trading chewed-glass yelps and lymph-node-shredding wails. But it doesn’t always work out perfectly. A ragged take on “Still Waters Run Deep” shatters the vibe, collapsing upon itself like the last gasps of a run-down first car.

In a way, STE — as a cohesive live unit — hasn’t yet caught up with the greatness of its own material, much of which is too new to have jelled properly. But when it works, it’s fiercely good. A torrid run through “In the Shadows” fires on all cylinders, bringing smiles and nods all around as the number crashes to a close.

“We know each other a little better. We know what we’re capable of,” Bush says. “Those first eight songs — when we wrote those, we were just getting to know each other and just starting to play with each other. [Now] everything’s exactly where we want it; things happen exactly the way we want them to. Whereas on the old stuff, it’s kind of just the way it ended up.”

In the past year, STE has spent a great deal of time on the road, touring the right half of the country extensively. The band is preparing to embark on another round of dates, with an extended jaunt that starts at the beginning of April and doesn’t stop until early June. Summer dates are also in the works, including a second-stage slot at the Warped Tour when it stops at Sandstone Amphitheater in Bonner Springs on June 27.

“You can’t become successful as a band without touring,” Bush insists. “The Internet helps and radio helps, but when it comes down to it, there are people who will never see you or hear you unless you play in their hometown. Maybe it won’t be that way twenty years from now, but right now, that’s still the best way to get your music out there. And if you suck, it doesn’t do any good, but if you’re a decent band, there’s going to be people that like you, and it’s just a matter of finding them.”

Of course, there will also be those who don’t like you. STE’s least fun gig to date took place in Dallas earlier this year, a night that found STE passing one of the true tests of rock touring. The show went well, but things immediately turned sour once the band packed up its gear and prepared to hit the highway. Crammed into a van stuffed with equipment and pulling a trailer loaded with gear, the group was attempting to maneuver its way through the car-filled parking lot.

“This redneck guy in a big white pickup, pulling one of those little hot-dog trailers, pulls up and boxes us in so we couldn’t move and neither could he,” Bush recalls with a grimace. “So of course we started yelling at him, telling him to get out of the way. And he just gets out of his truck and pulled out a big chrome .45, and pointed it at the van. And then he just gets back in his truck and drives off like nothing happened. He just did it to scare the crap out of us, basically,”

“And,” deadpans Morgus, “it worked.”