We Are Scientists

Long ago, at a truck rental facility outside of San Francisco, a man in a dark blue jumpsuit with his name sewn into the chest pocket “Clyde,” it might have been—asked threefriends, recently arrived in the city, whether they weren’t brothers. “No,” one of them said. “Y’all scientists?”
It was only days later, at a bar on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley, that the friends agreed on a name for their new band; they would call it “We Are Scientists.” Good work, “Clyde.” Thirteen years later, W.A.S. are still called that. They live in New York City now, though, and have managed to turn an imaginary hobby into a real, full-­?time job that only a handful of their friends consider imaginary. They’ve released three full-­?length records, two with Virgin and one on their own, badly-­?titled label; have played every festival except for Lollapalooza and Rock en Seine; have toured with R.E.M., Arctic Monkeys, Au Revoir Simone, Editors, Oxford Collapse, Kings of Leon, Mates of State, ASH, Ambulance LTD, and The Chalets, among others; and have made music videos where one of them turns into a werewolf, and where one of them is killed by a bear.
Their new, not-­?yet-­?titled album was recorded in New York City over the last year with Chris Coady (Smith Westerns, Beach House, Gang Gang Dance, Blonde Redhead). It’s their best so far. They’re looking forward to playing it for people, especially people at Lollapalooza and Rock en Seine. They intend to make a music video in which one of them drives a sports car off a bridge. (Don’t worry, he zip-­?lines to safety.)