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ou've got three more beach weekends left, and you're already sick of that Umbrella song. May we suggest Frankel's Lullaby for the Passersby as your end-of-summer soundtrack? The album's hummable melodies and sunny harmonies, shadowed by layers of strange instrumentation (theremins, electronic feedback, children's toys), create a lush sound that you want to crawl into, like a hammock. It doesn't sound like any other album this year, but it does sound a little like early Wilco, or Beck's Mutations with a margarita and a suntan.

Frankel, known offstage as Michael Orendy, spent years as a bassist in L.A. bands while secretly recording four-track songs at home. "Eventually," he played some original material for his friends, "and they were going to kill me if I didn't start getting it out there." Orendy is now a fixture of the L.A.

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indie scene and will be touring nationally with Earlimart in the fall. Nerve spoke with him about writing songs for your girlfriend, defying the "singer-songwriter" label and the traumatic orthodontic device that made Frankel who he is today. — Gwynne Watkins


Why do you use the name Frankel?
Frankel is this really awful orthodontic contraption that I had to wear as a kid. It's like a giant retainer sort of that goes on the top and bottom parts of your mouth — it's giant, and I had to wear it in the fifth grade. I remember bringing a note to class asking my teacher not to call on me because I kind of sounded like Kenny from South Park. I think somehow naming my project Frankel is like therapy for those years. [laughs]

Sounds pretty traumatizing.
Yeah, it's funny because I didn't know anyone at the time that had one — but a friend of mine wears his Frankel T-shirt now and again, and people come up to him with their mouth open like, "Omigod, I haven't even heard of the Frankel in years! I had to wear one and it was awful!" It's a lot of people with former overbites at my shows now.

I was looking at the instrument credits on the album and it says that you play "everything else." What does that include?
On this album, that was pretty much everything but the drums: all the electric guitars, acoustic guitars, bass, piano, keyboards, the little string arrangements and noises and stuff, all the singing and the harmonies, all the little kids' toys that are on there —

Oh, is that what that sound is?
Yeah, there's a whirly tube — I think they're called a Twirly Whirly? — that thing where it's a long tube and you sort of move it over your head and it makes these high-pitched sounds. I have a bunch of little kids' toys and instruments, and I like to squeeze those in when I can, just for a little extra texture.

You've said that you take a traditional approach to songwriting. What does that mean?
I really have a lot of appreciation for the verse-chorus-verse kind of standard, 'Randy Newman style' or whatever. It seems like, in the more indie-rock circles which I tend to frequent, people really usually try to break out of that, like they don't really want the same old "Here comes the chorus, here comes the verse," but I actually think there's a real art to being able to do that, where it's interesting and somehow it doesn't really sound like the same old formula, but it is.

Do you have a favorite lyric on this album?
I actually really like the lyric, "That's a lullaby for the passersby," which may be

"I hear all the time that [my album] is just great for driving around in California, even though I think there's a lot of darkness to it."

an odd title for a record. It's like these songs are essentially just for people who are wandering past that may or may not be listening.

I like that. Have you ever written a song for someone you've been dating?
Uh, yeah, I have. [laughs] The last girl that I had dated for about three years actually — there's a song on my first EP called "Don't Leave," which was pretty directly written for her.

Oh my God. Did it work?
You know, it did work. It wasn't actually the song that stopped her from leaving, but more like, "It's hard to imagine life without you." You know, it didn't look like the end was imminent or anything. When I wrote it, it wasn't a plea with her to stay with me but more just like, you know, I really like that we're together.

This album, Lullaby for the Passersby, has a very California sound. Would you agree with that?
Yeah I would, actually. I was born and raised in California, so it's hard for that not to show through. But, there's also certainly some sixties-sounding qualities to it. And one of my favorite things in the world is harmonies, vocal harmonies. And some of the best of that is Brian Wilson and Beach Boys stuff — and there's few bands, really, that just translate to California like that. I hear all the time that [my album] is just great for driving around in California, even though I think there's a lot of darkness to it.

It sounds very sunny somehow. Not in a bright in-your-face kind of way, but in a laid-back sort of way.
So it translated all the way to New York, huh?

All the way to New York. So, the '60s and '70s are generally considered to be the golden age of the singer/songwriter. What's your experience having that identity in 2007?
For some reason, even though decidedly that's what I seem to be, there's a little bit of a twinge I get when I hear the word singer/songwriter — only because, often it's like, some guy strumming an acoustic in a coffee shop, and chances are it's not really something you want to listen to. But there are some really great, great singer-songwriters, like Jeff Tweedy. When you break it down to its core or at least where the song starts from, it's a few cowboy chords on an acoustic guitar or a piano, and then you sort of maybe try to package it a little differently so it's got a more modern approach to it or different noises or different percussion values to it. But it just starts with a few chords and singing, and I think that's the way it's always been done.

So what is your scene like then? I assume you're not in coffee shops strumming a guitar?
Definitely not. [laughs] I usually play more of the indie scene around L.A. There are these little areas that are a little less vanilla as far as singer/songwriters go. I'm playing a lot of these shows with a band, so we get to try some of that layering and some of the noises and some of the other things that are on the record, and it seems like I've found a place in East L.A, in the Echo Park area. One of the great things about L.A., actually, is whatever you're into, whether it's singer/songwriters, or speed metal, or dub, there's a little pocket of venues to play.

What's your favorite reaction you've gotten to your music?
I've been hearing lots of nice things lately and they're all very gratifying, but one that comes to mind — I was playing a solo show not too long ago, and the guy who was doing the sound came up to me and said, "Man, you don't play the same song twice!"

Is there someone you'd really like to tour with, like, in a perfect world?
I'm really into this band right now called Dolorean. They're from Portland, on Yep Roc Records. They walk that nice line between sparse songs and really like gorgeous layers, and they seem like cool guys. And I really like Earlimart a lot, so I'm pretty excited about touring with them in the fall. So yeah, things are coming together, maybe. I figure if you just do it long enough, maybe people will pay attention.  

To orderLullaby For The Passerby, click here.

© 2007 Gwynne Watkins & Nerve.com