White Light Riot's Mike Schwandt - Photo by Alexa Jones

It's been said that an album is a snapshot of a band's career, taken at a particular moment in time. If that's the case, then corporately-sponsored CD release meet-and-greet parties are like a Glamour Shots photograph of the same band: glossy, romantically out of focus, and doused in so many beauty products that the actual subject is unintelligible.

On a late afternoon in late June, swarms of high-profile New York music industry types suddenly appeared inside the offices of 50 Entertainment in downtown Minneapolis for the White Light Riot “Industry Meet and Greet” party, held a few hours before the band's CD release show at the neighboring Fine Line Music Cafe. Giant TV screens and projectors splashed black and white images of the band across the walls of the office, as a giant ice sculpture carved out in the band's name dispensed fruity martinis to attendees. Meanwhile, the actual guests of honor—the four earnest, early-twentysomething guys that make up White Light Riot—hung around the edges like awkward teenagers who had accidentally stumbled into their parents' dinner party. Dressed plainly in jeans and jackets and eyeing the door, it was fairly obvious that the fancy party and schmoozing guests were not a normal part of these boys' scene.

That's the thing about White Light Riot. I don't think you could find four young men who are more down-to-earth, sincere, and generally personable; like most young bands, they sit around riffing on the Beatles and the decline of original ideas over beers, shooting the shit and giving it to each other between rehearsals and performances. But their music carries a weight far heavier than their easygoing personalities and no-nonsense way of life would suggest. Their music is catchy. Their music is immaculately produced. And, in the eyes of a record executive or industry mogul, their music is the stuff that sells.

Simply put, White Light Riot are a group of regular guys who happen to play commercially-viable pop music. It's a dichotomy that the band has dealt with every step of the way as they prepared for the release of their first full-length album, Atomism, last month on the brand new local label 50 Records.

“We want our music to be polished and tight,” says lead singer Mike Schwandt between songs at their rehearsal space in Northeast Minneapolis. “To sound somewhat commercial without being overtly commercial or poppy.”

“We have a bigger ambition than selling 300 records to people in Minneapolis,” chimes in bright-eyed, shaggy-haired guitarist Joe Christensen.

“But in the end,” Schwandt counters, “we just make songs that sound cool to us.”

The album is a lot of what you would expect from a local band on the edge of breaking out: focused, hook-ridden pop songs that are tightly crafted and expertly produced, chock full of celestial guitar parts and rhythmic, Britpop undertones. But what makes White Light Riot a band to keep an eye on—and a band that excites critics like myself—is the fact that they are constantly teetering on the edge of organized chaos and total, uninhibited rock and roll mania.

Photo by Stacy Schwartz

With each performance, each rehearsal, the band gets a little closer to breaking out of their own mold. Back at the rehearsal space, Mike asks if I'd like to hear some new material. Of course, I did.

After they play for a few minutes, Christensen starts gesturing wildly. “I like that part where it opens up and slows down,” he says animatedly. “It sounds like it opens up and lets you breath, instead of trapping you in a closet.”

“You and your fucking analogies,” Mike jokes, and the band laughs amicably.

“Seriously, though, we should play slower,” Christensen insists. “Every song doesn't have to be loud and fast, you know.”

Three years ago, Mike and his brother Mark Schwandt, who plays drums, formed the band that would become White Light Riot. Since then, the band decided on a name (based on songs by two of their musical influences—“White Light White Heat” by the Velvet Underground and “White Riot” by the Clash) and made a name for themselves by releasing a punchy six-song EP, produced by Erik Appelwick. Within months of their EP release, WLR was gigging all over town, usually alongside their friends and fellow buzz-makers The Alarmists, and garnering loads of loving local press and obsessive fans.

“It's gotten to the point now where we have people that come out to every show,” says Mark. “That's so cool. That's what we do this for.”

Sure enough, their CD release show at the Fine Line sold out immediately, leaving fans waiting in line outside for a chance to catch a glimpse of the band. Industry types and corporate guests mingled in the upper level of the Fine Line, buzzing about the lucrative financial potential of a band on the rise like WLR, while downstairs fans and friends packed in like sardines and sang along with every word.

After a sweaty, loud set that featured guest appearances by Alarmists pal Eric Luvold and violinist-about-town Jessy Greene, it was clear that their fans weren't about to let WLR off the hook without an encore. The entire room shook with chants and cheers as Mike looked out into the crowd, amazed and appreciative.

“Ok, guys, we've got one left, and we're going to give it all we've got.”

The band launched into one of the best live versions of Who's “My Generation” that I have ever heard, and Mike fell into the rock star role naturally, running around the stage and stuttering the lyrics in perfect Roger Daltrey form. He closed out the night with a flawless stage dive (seriously, who does that anymore?) before the band filed off the stage, leaving a packed house of vivacious fans and salivating record execs in their wake.