Gap Dream Shares Love Of Music

Gap Dream was playing The Wayfarer in Costa Mesa Sep.3. In anticipation of that show, Concert Guide Live caught up with Mr. Gap Dream himself, Gabe Fulvimar.

But first, let’s get a few things out of the way:

1. Yes, Gabe Fulvimar (aka the wizard, brain, chairman, and CEO behind electro-psych-synthpop project Gap Dream) lives in the Burger Records storage unit somewhere in SoCal.
2. Yes, Fulvimar grew up in Ohio with Patrick Carney (yes, that Patrick Carney), and was briefly in the early Black Keys.
3. If you would like any further information about the above two points, please consult every other profile written about Fulvimar, because both items will only be mentioned here in relation to other, more pressing matters, like John Titor, or Fulvimar’s serious beef with Pitchfork, or being one of the most misunderstood dudes in indie music.

Fulvimar gives off a perpetual-slacker-with-a-heart-of-gold vibe. The kind of guy who likes to hang out, drink cheap beer, challenge Mac DeMarco to a WWE steel-cage match (which he did), and sleep ’til noon (which he also did a few weeks back, missing our first scheduled interview time).

The only inaccuracy in this description is, he actually works his ass off. He writes and records albums between tour dates, records and produces other Burger artists, works on his own side projects, and acts as his own manager, all while trying to move out of that goddamn warehouse.

Inspired by a love of all things Burger, Fulvimar worked up the courage to send some tapes to founders Sean Bohrman and Lee Rickard, who hooked him up with the label and a place to live. Fulvimar packed his bags and headed for the west coast, a realization of something he’s wanted since childhood.

“I always found myself wanting to do Californian things. I tried to skate but I would just end up rolling down a hill and eating shit getting death wobbles. I remember asking my dad if we could move to California when I was like, six, and he just looked at me like I was crazy.”

As a kid, he fell in love with music, but it wasn’t until a cool, illustrator uncle sent him a four-track tape machine that Fulvimar became obsessed.

“He knew I was taking guitar lessons and that I cared about music. So one day I got it in the mail, and that was it, that’s all I needed. I stopped hanging out with anybody [laughs]. I was just in my room trying to record anything I could.”

It’s been four years since the move, and Fulvimar has earned his keep, whipping out albums at a steady clip. It was 2013’s Shine Your Light that put him on the map, with its poppy melodies and playful synths weaving between melancholy, disenfranchised lyrics. Some critics loved it, others were thrown by it, a trend that continued with 2016’s This Is Gap Dream.

Lyrics like “This is for the world that I can’t ignore / The one that screams for more” from “24 Hour Token”, or “Too many soft machines / No relation to the world / Unnecessary walls / Don’t ask me for shit, son” from “College Music”, led most reviewers to categorize Fulvimer as a morose, loner boy suffering a “music nerd midlife-meltdown,” who has basically given up. This is something that noticeably frustrates the goofy, laid-back musician.

“My output has barely anything to do with my actual personality. It’s usually just influenced by what I’ve been listening to for the past six months. When you write a song, you’re adopting a character, adopting a shade of yourself that probably isn’t really there, but in whatever world I’m creating with my music, that guy is there.”

To prove his point, Fulvimar explains that “24 Hour Token,” which critics chalked up to his supposed breakdown and spiral into existential angst, is really about John Titor, purported military time traveler from the year 2036 who has to travel back to 1972 for a super-old IBM computer, to save us all from a Y2K-like, hexadecimal crash (Google that shit. It’s crazy).

Oh, and he got the tune from the Berenstain Bears song, mashing up two conspiracy theories and the Serenity Prayer popularized by Alcoholics Anonymous into a lo-fi, mumblepop gem.

“It’s about self-destructive tendencies, it’s also about getting back to where you were, how are you gonna get back there, where’s your center?

“I have an older friend that likes to go to Brentwood AA meetings to try to pick up rich women, so I kind of put [the Serenity Prayer] in there for him. It brings reality to a song I based on John Titor [laughs].”

Fulvimar’s response to critics varies from amused, like when he’s talking about the blogger who’s convinced Gap Dream is following an album-by-album template set by the Velvet Underground.

“The only Velvet Underground thing I’ve intentionally done is the ‘Sister Ray’ cover I did for Burger, and even that I had to go on Lyrics365 to look up what the hell that guy was saying.”

Then there are angry responses, like when he rips Pitchfork’s Ian Cohen a new asshole.

“Every time I put a record out, [Gap Dream’s publicist] is like, ‘Ya, Pitchfork’s just not digging it, they’re not gonna do anything with it,’ and I’m like, ‘Cool! Keep me the fuck off of Pitchfork.’

“Two days later, there’s some disgustingly horrible ‘review’ of my record, where my friends are coming up to me being like, ‘Do you know that guy? Because it sounds like you must have accidentally banged his girlfriend.’ And I’m like, ‘I know, it’s really fucking weird.’ ”

Fulvimar is even considering taking a page out of Pat Carney’s book (Yes, they’ve known each other since they were six, used to throw acorns at each other, and wrestled in Carney’s front yard all the time, ok?!).

“He texted me after reading that review like, ‘Fuck that guy, oh my God! You should start a Twitter thing like I did with Justin Bieber.’

“I could say things like ‘Ian Cohen quits Pitchfork, trades jobs with Gabe Fulvimar of Gap Dream. Gabe has to write shitty Pitchfork reviews’.”

When all is said and done, the fact remains that Fulvimer’s very pure love of music, is something he speaks about with a surprising eloquence.

“People love familiarity in music, but they also shy away from it. If you’re trying to communicate an emotion, it’s kind of like opening up someone’s nerve. You can either massage it, or you can really jar it.

“It’s the same thing as when you watch an Oliver Stone movie and it just makes you sick because it’s so fucked up, but at the same time you’re like, ‘I’d watch that again!’ If you’re making creative output you want your audience to understand. I’m happy when I hear people say they get it, they relate to it, because that means I did my job well.”