SEPTEMBER 2007 - EYE WEEKLY - FEATURE

Neil Haverty had only been to church once before in his life. He was in Grade 3, and was the only sinner in a car driven by the more spiritually inclined. He was also the only one to be injured in a car accident on the way home that fateful day. Three stitches later, he decided never to go back.

But on a muggy August night at St. George the Martyr Anglican Church, Haverty stands on the altar and leads a congregation of eight other friends in a series of spiritual call-and-response numbers accented by handclaps and foot stomps, voices resonating from the rafters.

Haverty and his bandmates in Bruce Peninsula weren't at the church that night as a part of its normal Anglican services. During the week, St. George's doubles as the Music Gallery, home to folkies and freaks of every stripe. It's a venue that every member of Bruce Peninsula has haunted since they moved to Toronto individually from various surrounding suburbs and towns.

On this night, it's the ideal space to record vocals for their debut album. Haverty serves as the scruffy-voiced centre of the band, though it was founded by guitarist Matt Cully and lead female vocalist Misha Bower. Cully urges him to "rip your voice apart on this one." After a take, Haverty humbly asks the assembled choir, "Am I coming through too 'urrrrgh' for you?" Choir-girl Katie Stelmanis responds, "You can never be 'urrrrgh' enough for this song."

The morning after, a pesky EYE WEEKLY reporter hauls Haverty (whose writing also appears occasionally in these pages) and Cully out of bed at 9am, scant hours after they retired from festivities the night before. Despite a lack of caffeine, Haverty and Cully are remarkably articulate while discussing the document they'd just made.

"We were humbled by the space, and that added to the performances," says Cully, who – unlike Haverty – did grow up going to church. "Everyone was a lot more focused and willing to work. Hanging out in that space, sitting in church pews and hearing other people sing is different from hearing Misha do a great job in an isolation booth while we're eating nachos on the street or something. It's what I'm going to remember the most about making the record."

Cully is also part of the popular DJ duo Goin' Steady, spinning vintage soul music. But after immersing himself in Alan Lomax's field recordings of traditional American music, Cully enlisted his friend Bower to play some of those songs, and Haverty joined for their second show, in August 2006. A snowballing roster of members now includes Casey Mecija of Ohbijou, and solo artists Stelmanis and Isla Craig – all of whom are playing larger roles.

"On all the new songs we've written, we're working towards less of a lead-and-follow and more of a group," says Cully. "[On] the last song we wrote there are three leads and a constant group presence."

"Bruce Peninsula sounds this way now," adds Haverty, "but with nine people who are as creative as they are, I think we have four or five records planned that are not this."

"This" is a visceral yet modern take on traditional forms, focusing on the full vocal possibilities of a choir with elemental percussion, and driven by primal rhythms that draw indirect lines to First Nations or African music. The spiritual element is paramount in every note, whether or not there are direct religious references in the lyrics.

When asked whether they themselves get right with God, Haverty says simply, "Whether we believe in God or not, we believe in the energy of those songs."

Heaven can wait when it comes to the finished recorded product, which might arrive as late as next spring, depending on various circumstances – including the fact that Bower commutes to Toronto from Moncton for gigs and recording sessions.

"We're all such music geeks who fetishize records," says Cully. "So if we're going to make a record, it has to be the one that goes above the mantelpiece and that we're really proud of and have no regrets."

Haverty adds, "Because we're all friends, it's important to look at it as a yearbook, so that when we're 70 years old – whether this band implodes right after the record or lasts 10 years – this is the last year and a half of our lives and it's going to be in glorious surround sound."