The House Flies give “Lost Literature” a more lively and spontaneous vibe, a theme that was sparked by the bassline at the beginning and mushroomed into one of the more memorable tracks produced by the Lions and Ore sessions. It isn’t a song that the band was looking to make, it’s one that wanted to be.
The song is set to a great groove, and features rich imagery (rental cars, porch lights, clover and quiet radio static) that evokes a highway-at-night atmosphere. The lyrics focus on memory, identity and the space between who we are and who we were, and plenty of room is left for the listener to make their own meanings.
The track also reveals the band’s comfort level with repetition. The House Flies do not impose our will on the groove, but simply allow it to remain in place when it feels right. This is how “Lost Literature” becomes circular without losing any momentum.
The music video that accompanies the song is also somewhat uncommon: handmade marionettes, 4:3 framing and a deliberately worn, homemade look. It doesn’t overdo the character of the song, but it’s pretty close.
After the weighty “Derelict Crawl”, “Lost Literature” is a different facet of Lions and Ore in which the collaboration and evolution the band has maintained is at its core.
Listen to Lost Literature
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“Lost Literature” has such a danceable, immediate pulse compared to some of your darker material. What made this the right song to pull that pop energy out of the Lions and Ore sessions?
The song actually started with that bassline and everything grew around that. We never really decided that it needed to be the poppier song on the record. We try not to put too much of an idea on a song before we know what it wants to be. This one just naturally became something more immediate and catchy.
The lyrics move through such vivid, specific imagery, rental cars, porch light, clover, static. Where did that highway-night setting come from, and why did it feel like the right backdrop for a song about memory and identity?
A lot of my lyrics start with little images or phrases that I like without necessarily knowing what they mean yet. A rental car, a radio down low, porch light, clover. Eventually they start sitting next to each other and suggesting something larger.
Beyond that, I’d rather leave some room for people to decide what it means to them.
The repeated refrain gives the song a circular feeling without losing momentum. Was that repetition something you built in from the start, or did it develop as you worked the song out?
It developed pretty naturally from the bassline and the groove. Once we had that foundation, repeating things felt good rather than feeling like we needed another section just because songs are supposed to keep changing.
That became something we were more comfortable with across Lions and Ore. If a part feels right, sometimes staying there a little longer is more interesting than immediately moving on.
This track deals with questions of who someone is, who they were, and what happens when memory starts slipping. Was there a personal experience or story behind that theme?
There are personal things that find their way into most of what I write, but I generally don’t like explaining exactly where they came from.
Even when I know what a line meant to me when I wrote it, that doesn’t necessarily need to be what it means to somebody else. I think “who you are / who you were” can point in a lot of different directions, and I’d rather leave it that way.
The music video takes a pretty unexpected direction with handmade marionettes and 4:3 imagery.
How did that concept come about, and why did it feel right for this song?
The puppets were something I found at a junk and overstock type store in Wisconsin. They looked strange enough that I bought them without really knowing what I was going to do with them.
Eventually I started altering them a little and thought they could work for a video.
I have absolutely no experience puppeteering, which is probably pretty obvious when you watch it, but I think that ended up helping. There’s something awkward and homemade about their movement.
The 4:3 framing and worn look came from the same place. I didn’t want it to look too polished. We just kept experimenting until it felt like it belonged with the song.
“Lost Literature” follows “Derelict Crawl,” and you’ve described the two as showing different sides of directness, one through weight, one through melody. How do you see these two singles talking to each other?
They’re both pretty immediate songs for us, just in different ways.
“Derelict Crawl” is heavier and more physical. “Lost Literature” has that bassline and drum groove and probably gets stuck in your head a little quicker. Putting those two out first lets people hear two sides of the record without really giving away the songs that take longer to unfold.
This is the first House Flies album to fully capture your current four-piece lineup with Burnie on second guitar. How has adding that second guitar changed the way you write and arrange songs?
More than anything, it adds another person with their own instincts to the writing process. Burnie is going to hear something differently than Ozzie, Nick or I would, and sometimes one part or suggestion takes a song somewhere the three of us probably wouldn’t have taken it.
That’s what I like about the band becoming more collaborative over time. Adding another person isn’t just adding another instrument. It’s another voice in the room.
Lions and Ore reportedly pushes into longer arrangements, wider textures and quieter moments. What pushed you to expand the sound this time around?
I think we just became more patient.
We stopped worrying as much about whether something was repeating too long or whether the next section needed to arrive sooner. Some songs needed more room, and we let them have it. We also got more comfortable letting quiet sections actually stay quiet.
There wasn’t really a rule or plan behind it. It was more about following songs further before deciding they were finished.
Looking back at your journey from the Glimmer EP through Mannequin Deposit and now to Lions and Ore, how would you say your sound has evolved while still holding onto that Midwestern identity?
Glimmer was actually how I started The House Flies as a solo project. I wrote and recorded those four songs on my own, but pretty quickly afterward I realized I didn’t really want this to remain a solo recording project. I wanted a band that could play live and, more importantly, have other people involved in writing and shaping the songs.
That started happening with Mannequin Deposit and has gone much further with Lions and Ore. At this point the band feels much more like the product of four people.
As far as the Midwestern part, I don’t think we consciously try to preserve that. We live here. The houses, weather, fields, industrial areas and small towns around us are inevitably going to show up somewhere. I’d rather let that happen naturally than try to define what a Midwestern band is supposed to sound like.
You’re celebrating the album release at Raccoon Motel with King of the Weirdos, Company Dimes and Half Loves. What can fans expect from that night, and what does it mean to celebrate this record at home?
We want it to feel like more than just another show with an album attached to it. We’ll be playing a lot from Lions and Ore, including songs people haven’t heard yet, and we really like the group of bands playing with us.
We’ve also been making a point of getting outside the Quad Cities and playing more regionally, so having the actual release night back here feels right. This record was made here, and most of the band’s history is here. It should be a good night.
