Allergic To Bullshit 
by H.D. Fantasia, March 2004

There’s a legend that Mendham, New Jersey was named so because it functioned as the uniform mending headquarters of the Continental Army during the Revolutionary War on account of the high concentration of seamstresses living there. Like most other bullshit Sean Owen Spada doesn’t believe that tall tale either, though he was born there.

Born to parents who either didn’t realize his initials spelled out SOS (universal code for distress) or ones who didn’t think that particular connotation attached to a child was necessarily a bad thing Sean waltzed right through the universe’s door in 1981. “Start Me Up” was a hit on the radio at the time, and if the Rolling Stones hadn’t later sold the song to Bill Gates, we may have looked at the metaphorical significance of that.

Trying to figure out the significance of music in Sean’s early life is like trying to find something appropriate to wear to the ball in the Halloween costume bag. Sean recalls his father playing the accordion, or possibly simply owning one, and his mother’s singing. But when pressing Sean for details about this history nothing’s really seems concrete until he mentions The Monkees and suddenly there are facts to write down. Excerpt from interview notes: “An affinity for Davy Jones...lead to drum lessons in the second grade...fourth grade picks up trumpet...fifth grade, piano lessons...learns to read and write music. Wow, he’s really talking up a storm now.” Sometimes all you need to open a locked box is a Monkee. Go figure.

It’s when Sean gets to the part about piano playing that he really has something to say because, after all, it’s his instrument of choice and he’s damn good at punching the ivories. Even if they’re made of plastic. “It’s hard to own a piano in the city, to have one in an apartment,” Sean remarks, “Never mind getting one around to clubs. Plus keyboards sound great to me.”

If you walked into 65th street in New York City sometime in the late nineties you might have caught Sean looking disdainfully at one his Julliard tutors (a review once said of Sean’s singing “it’s the kind of voice that makes vocal students reach for their throats in self defense.”) If you walked into a certain New Jersey bedroom around the same time you might have seen Sean forcing keyboard parts into Pearl Jam covers with his friends Lee and Devin. And if you were in front of a certain New York delicatessen the day Sean, Lee, and Devin walked by it you would have seen them steal the deli moniker for their band name. And if you could somehow actually see any of these three events you’d probably laugh, because they’re funny events, and Sean would laugh too. In fact that’s what he does through out most of the interview.

The deli was named Essen West and thus so was the band that the three boys formed. They ditched the covers and began writing original material. The band lasted for more than a year (a major feat for any band) and followed them to Massachusetts where Sean and Lee attended Boston University. A real grab bag of live performances followed: house parties, early dawn radio shows, local rock clubs and dive bars. A common reaction of an audience member at an Essen West show is an impressed smile once they realize that Sean is playing both the bass and piano melodies on his keyboard at the same time.

Sean performs and records on his own as well. Live, he sits studiously behind his instrument and hammers out song after song, (sometimes covers but mostly his own) with real precision and emotion whether he’s playing for a crowd of music aficionados or 4 people drinking Mocha Swirlies at a coffee shop trying to do their Latin homework. Sean enjoys both types of audiences because he has made the all important realization that, unlike other art forms, the listener doesn’t
have to be paying strict attention to music it for it to affect him/her in a myriad of ways. “Yeah, but it’s always nice when they do pay attention,” Sean says followed by a burst of laughter, “But the best is when you can defeat their primary focus. It’s a real triumph when they put down the fucking Latin homework and start paying attention to me. At the end of the day I can sleep easy based on the fact that earlier in the day I defeated Latin.” Triumphus Spadas!

When recording his solo material Sean has a tendency to play all of the other instruments which allows him to be a perfectionist without destroying relationships with his musician friends. For example, listening to his most recent recording, a 6 song EP entitled Bengal Lights, you get the feeling that a lot of work went into achieving a very specific overall sound. And you also get the feeling that only Sean knew what that certain overall sound was in advance. In addition, you may have a feeling that communication of what that certain overall sound is to someone else would be the sort of discussion that leaves most musicians asking how much they’re getting payed for this and if they can get that pay in advance. Being a college student Sean has no monetary compensation to offer and he enjoys his friendships with local musicians. Thus, for the time being, when the EP is filed under the name Sean Spada that’s truly what you’re getting.

That’s not to say that Sean is a difficult collaborator. Guitarist for The Motel Candlewasters (a project that Sean plays keyboards for) Ryan Walsh says, “Working with Sean is a lot of fun. It’s full of surprises. You give him the recording of the song, write down the chords for him, and you go into practice and what was once a 4/4 ballad has turned into a waltz or a ragtime type of thing. And then you think, ‘Damn, I should’ve played it this way from the beginning! This sounds great.’”

Like most people bitten by the songwriter bug Sean would like to one day make his living off of a life of music. He sees inspiration in a band like Sonic Youth who stubbornly stuck to their own offbeat path and came out on the other side as an artistic and financial success. You can talk all night long about all kinds of music with Sean. You pick the topic and chances are Sean’s heard it and is ready to talk about it. He doesn’t give simple responses such as “I like it” or “I don’t really care for it” rather he rattles off a long list of pro’s and con’s of the recording’s merits and weak points. When he has criticism it’s always constructive. When I force him to name a song in the history of pop music that he wishes he had written he picks “Dear Prudence.” When I try to coax him into making up a metaphor for songwriting on the spot he begins to talk about an onion and then dismisses the request as bullshit. And he was right to do so. Who needs metaphors when you’ve got music.