By David Perri

It is as impossible to quantify the impact of DILLINGER ESCAPE PLAN as the title of its debut record, Calculating Infinity, would suggest. In the 13 years since its formation, Dillinger Escape Plan created mathcore, a genre all its own, and then scorched the earth behind it in an effort to evolve past the confining limitations of its incendiary debut. If you jumped ship the moment you realised that Calculating follow-up Miss Machine wasn’t simply 11 new instantiations of ‘Jim Fear’, then you and your blinders-on linearity fucked up. Monumentally. If you resisted Ire Works’ anxiety-addled convulsions, then you were blind to a record that added unsubtle layers of shading to the lore that justifiably surrounds the group. And now, with latest album Option Paralysis finding Dillinger continuing its counterculture salvo in grand, twisted versions of foresight-as-hindsight, this New Jersey collective has achieved an enviable legacy: it is artistically noble/continuously pure, critically acclaimed and revered by the cutting-edge vanguard that has insisted on being its fanbase.

“We didn’t start this band to be another one of those bands that’s easy,” begins guitar player and founding member Ben Weinman, before Dillinger’s recent performance in Montreal opening for the DEFTONES. “At first we were just a band for ourselves, we didn’t think anyone would like it or that there was any kind of market at all for it. I was going to school and I was getting my degree and as things were getting started I was getting my Masters in corporate communications and was working at a corporation and all this stuff was happening simultaneously. It really wasn’t the idea to make it in music. The intentions of Dillinger were purely pure. They had nothing to do with making money and nothing to do with appealing to any certain market or crowd. And then once we started to realise that there was some type of market for what we were doing and that these opportunities started presenting themselves, we had to start making decisions. So we made a decision to be the alternative, basically. If you don’t like what’s out there - what’s being shoved down your throat - we were the band to go to. Especially as we got more opportunities to play festivals with bands that were more mainstream, we wanted to present an option for someone who wants something different or something new.”

Dillinger Escape Plan has always succeeded at presenting that option and has, in effect, created an instant kinship between those who are Dillinger fans. When one enters a Dillinger show, it’s evident that those who have chosen to see the band live are those in the know. The complexity of Dillinger’s music, and the effort it takes to appreciate, has everyone looking around at their equals, knowing full-well that internalizing 'Sugar Coated Sour', 'Hollywood Squares', 'Panasonic Youth', 'Lurch' or 'Crystal Morning' hasn’t been an instant process. But patience and effort bring their own dividends.

“I really feel that there’s a kinship,” says vocalist Greg Puciato. “I really do. There’s an immediate bond with us and our listeners. And I see it more now because of Twitter and Facebook, and it makes me feel, not to sound too cheesy, like there’s some sort of family aspect in a way. When you get to a show, there’ll be a bunch of kids you’ve seen 15 times and you’re like, ‘Fuck yeah, you’re still here.’ And there’s all these new people you’ve never seen before and they go from being excited to just fully losing it at the end. And you all feel like you’re in this pot of counterculture. You know it took effort to get there. It’s not easy to listen to. And that immediately make you feel a bond, because we don’t write easy music. We’re not at a Chris Brown concert (laughs). This is something that takes effort. And then when you see the kids on Facebook and you reply to people, you start to feel like there’s a scene around your own band almost. There’s so many little things we’ve done, like the limited edition t-shirts that we only sold online and then you see kids in the crowing wearing them. And when you see a kid yelling something and then you see the Facebook post where the kid tells you he was the guy yelling that... it all makes it seem like there’s a vibe. It’s the thing that I almost think I love the most about playing.”

“For me, it’s weird because Greg is getting me to realise the importance of that,” continues Weinman. “Because Greg is really interactive with the kids. I can be really shy and weirded out and introverted. It’s a combination. Like, I can talk about things and be really excited. Like this interview right now, I’m really into it. But I get to points where I get really weirded out talking to people and having people around me. It’s not because I think I’m great, but because I think they hate me. And I never want to assume that they like my band. I never want to assume they give a shit. I never want to assume those things. When we started, I always thought that we were the oddballs. For so long, people just didn’t get it. They looked at us like we were garbage, and they still do. I always felt like more people were there to see us fuck up and not pull it off live. That more people were to be like, ‘What the fuck is all the hype about this band? They suck.’ It’ll be our own show, and I’ll go out feeling like I have to win this crowd over. So it’s that weird combination. And when I’m around these kids, even if they’re staring at me and want to shake my hand, I still feel like they’re probably going to punch me in the face. But I’m starting to get more comfortable and starting to realise the importance of it. It’s this weird tug of war with me until I start to come to terms with the fact that these people are really on our side.”

As Weinman comes to terms with the nature of what surrounds Dillinger Escape Plan, both he and Puciato are adamant that their band is a celebration, despite the group’s caustic nature.

“It’s a celebration to me,” Puciato explains. “Because in the past, when we were smaller, I felt like we were fighting, to an extent, even the crowd. Because I did feel the same thing as Ben, that we had to prove to everybody who was there... I felt that we had to go out and prove ourselves. Whereas now, it’s everyone in the room versus everyone else outside the room. And the energy changed for me: it used to be us against the crowd, but now it’s us and the crowd against everything else. That happened within the last three or four years and we’ve noticed it and accepted it. The energy level is just as high, the physicality is just as high and everything about the destructiveness and violence of the band is still there, but for me the intent was different. It became positive. And I don’t mean lyrically, I mean in performing. It was more of a ‘Fuck yeah!’ instead of a ‘Fuck you!’”

Dillinger has toured underground venues consistently since its inception, but the group has also made mainstream forays with Warped Tour and Gigantour, as well as opening for AFI and Deftones. Mainstream fans are oftentimes shocked by Dillinger’s on-stage display, as was the case when the Hot Topic brigade’s collective jaw was on the ground as Dillinger opened for AFI in 2006.

“It’s hard to maintain a level of energy and attitude in scenarios where people don’t know what they’re experiencing, like that tour where we opened for AFI,” Weinman comments. “At the AFI shows, it seemed like people didn’t know what they were experiencing. We don’t like to inhibit that free expression that this band started with, but at the same time there’s people who don’t know what to expect and there’s people that have gotten hurt by not being prepared for what they’re about to see. On that AFI tour, there was a lawsuit from some girl who was in the front row and wasn’t prepared for what was, for us, a typical show. It’s definitely hard to keep going and I’m definitely often surprised that we’re still here. Like, really, I still can’t believe it sometimes. Sometimes I think, ‘God, it’s amazing we’ve made it this far.’ But we can’t stop. No matter how hard this is, we’re not going to stop. It would be insane to stop. All our work we’ve done... with all the insanity and physical problems we’ve had, we’re still here. And it would be ridiculous for us not to keep going on.”

Continues Puciato: “When you realise that you haven’t been swept out by a trend or a scene, it’s freeing. A couple of years ago, we realised that we’re not going to go away unless it’s of our own accord. And that’s really freeing, because when you see bands get really big really quickly that’s scary. We made a conscious decision to distance ourselves from that. And we’ve seen bands get bigger than us, and now in hindsight those bands have gone down but we’ve weathered the tide. And now it’s like, we’ve been around for 13 years... if you’ve been around that long, you’re not going to go away unless you choose to. And that frees us regarding what we have to say, creatively. Are we still excited about performing? If the answer is yes, we keep going. If it’s no, we stop. It’s really nice to not have that inner fear.”

In a catalogue filled with innumerable moments of true vastness, one moment sets fire to sleeping giants like no other: the sublime “Destroyer!” middle section in Miss Machine’s ‘Sunshine The Werewolf.’ “Destroyer!” has become the centrepiece of Dillinger’s live show, and it’s an element of the group’s creation that both Weinman and Puciato are rightly proud of.

“The other day I was thinking about that part,” Puciato reflects. “We played a headline show in Chicago at one in the morning after the Deftones show, and it was such chaos. The beginning of ‘Sunshine’ is crazy, but the ‘Destroyer!’ part... it becomes a fucking frenzy. And all the kids try to get to where they think the mic is going to be, and everybody knows that part and it’s so weird to think that there’s some sort of iconic moment that we’ve created. I remember when there was nothing there, and that part was blank. That moment, the song was done. There was nothing in that part, and it was going to kick in to the heavy part and we knew we needed something in there.”“There’s two things about that part that I remember specifically,” recalls Weinman. “There were two vivid moments in this band regarding that part. They were turning points. One, our old drummer Chris (Pennie) arguing with me in Germany about not wanting that part in the song because it’s not complex. Being clever and complex means nothing if there’s no emotional content to it, and if there’s no energy and intent behind it. That was a huge argument because he couldn’t think of a complex drum part to it. I remember having to argue to keep that part. And then I remember Greg doing the vocal and thinking, ‘Woah, that sounds monstrous.’ And then it became more clear how important that part was for the album. It’s a representation of the attitude this band has. It’s not just technical, it’s not just about being clever.”

“To me, that part has become an embodiment of what we’re trying to stand for,” Puciato exclaims. “It makes kids feel like there’s something uplifting about that phrase. It’s destroyer of norms, and things that are holding people back. I feel like whatever it is, the word ‘destroyer’ at that moment in that song is something that has really resonated with kids. And it’s really cool to know that that’s happened. You can never do that sort of thing on purpose, and that’s what’s cool about it.”“I think we realised that was the most important part on the record,” Weinman continues. “And I knew it had emotional weight. It inspired that next level, which was the vocal part. It was those two stages. We knew it was important. I always feel it right away. And I’m always so excited to see what Greg will do with those parts, because I know right away what that parts means and he’ll feel it and take it to the next step with the vocals.”