Bloody Bananas On Debut Single “Can’t Be For Real,” Sad Lyrics, & Catchy Riffs
Photo courtesy of @vivo.visuals
Cary LaScala’s introduction to rock ‘n’ roll came from none other than Led Zeppelin—listening to his dad play along to John Bonham and co. when he was 13 years old. “I just remember thinking, ‘Whoa, that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,’” he reminisces. “I mean, it’s crazy how specifically I remember that day… it was just this automatic feeling of ‘I need to do that.’”
Learning how to play drums by ear, LaScala began to play in bands involved in the Bay Area hardcore punk scene during his high school years. He soon embarked on a career as a touring and session drummer, working with a number of notable artists including Jackson United (formed by Chris Shiflett of Foo Fighters), Casey Spooner (of Fischerspooner), and Blondie, broadening his musical range and immersing himself in the processes of recording and performing live.
“Working with other people led me to hone my skills better. If you’re locked in a certain parameter, then you have to be creative within that parameter. And it can be frustrating because I want to go crazy on the drums sometimes, but it made me more of a mature drummer, in a lot of ways.”
While drumming had been his passion since childhood, LaScala dabbled with guitar and singing, playing along to his favorite bands. There was always a self-described “internal fire” driving him to do something on his own, experimenting with what he’d learned over the years. “I don’t claim to know what I’m doing on guitar or [with] songwriting at all,” he says humbly. “You just have to commit… put something down and go with it.”
When conceptualizing his first solo project, Bloody Bananas, LaScala decided to do everything himself, from the instruments to the songwriting and vocals. “I had probably 80 demos before I went into the studio. Relearning the things I recorded on the demos took me a while, [figuring out] all the different parts.”
Bringing along one of his best friends as producer, Ethan Kauffman, granted a sense of comfort in this new musical territory. “I’m my own worst enemy, so everything I’ve done, I’ve questioned a million times… so it was definitely nice working with a producer. If I did a vocal take, he [would] say, ‘Hey, I need that Bloody Bananas attitude!’” LaScala’s venture into singing came with apprehension: “I think the rhythm and all of my musical accompaniment I felt very comfortable and confident with, but… I thought I was going to ruin everything by singing over my songs!”
Don’t let his modesty fool you: LaScala’s vocals are reminiscent of an early Julian Casablancas, singing with a drawl that makes the lyrics all the more hard-hitting and memorable. On Bloody Bananas’ debut single, “Can’t Be For Real,” he captures a balance of sad lyrics with melodic instrumentation. This duality is something that LaScala continually comes back to when writing: “Even if it sounds happy to someone else, I tend to find the sadness in all music. Maybe that’s just based on my experiences through life, different sounds just feel sad… But I like that kind of juxtaposition because it’s almost vexing in that way… having some kind of twist on a ‘pop’ sound.”
LaScala consciously kept the lyrics “straightforward,” straying away from the metaphors and obscurity that he is normally drawn to—which led him to a level of vulnerability that he hadn’t explored before. “It almost makes me cringe,” he admits. “I can’t even believe I went with some of these lyrics, but… they’re almost not my songs anymore.”
“Can’t Be For Real” was inspired by a tumultuous relationship, one that left LaScala feeling stuck in an unhealthy cycle. The sadness is palpable both lyrically and sonically, with a hint of exhaustion that is clear with lines like, “So sell me someone else / On the other side who doesn’t make me feel denied.” Seeking an escape, pleading for recognition, every repeat of the phrase “You can’t be for real” sinks deeper and deeper into the listener. “Music’s full of heartbreak, trauma, and sadness,” LaScala says. “I think that’s just naturally within me that I needed to get out.”
There’s a clear catharsis that LaScala gets from the creative process. “I have a lot of goals, aspirations, and passions,” he explains, “but for some reason, music is this place to dump all my sadness and share with other people—and hopefully, they can relate. I’m just doing what feels good.”