Supernova

Copeland formed Bryan and the Aardvarks in order to explore an
inventive new sound that derived from his jazz training as well as his
upbringing in pop and country music. The music he writes for the
quartet combines a hushed intimacy with memorable, singable melodies
and a narrative directness that nevertheless leaves space for
expressive improvisation. In pianist Fabian Almazan, vibraphonist
Chris Dingman, and drummer Joe Nero, he has assembled a distinctive
ensemble able to flesh out his unique compositions.

“These guys are all very sensitive musicians,” Copeland says. “Their
main focus is making music sound beautiful. There’s no ego involved.
These guys are all amazing technical masters, but they put all that
stuff aside to develop this group sound.”

Raised in the North Texas panhandle and later in the more urban
centers of Dallas and Austin, Copeland grew up surrounded by country
music – which he rejected as a child but later came to appreciate.
Instead, his tastes turned more to pop, rock, and singer-songwriter
music, especially the likes of The Kinks, David Bowie, Elliott Smith,
and Nick Drake. The latter two, who combine an incisive expressiveness
with an air of mystery, seem especially relevant influences on Bryan
and the Aardvarks.

It wasn’t until he was 20 years old, while attending San Antonio
College, that Copeland was first exposed to jazz. While there, he
studied with world-renowned classical bassist Satoshi Okamoto of the
New York Philharmonic. He continues to explore a wide range of music,
touring regularly with Toby Goodshank of the anti-folk group Moldy
Peaches or up-and-coming pop singer Ashley Arrison while performing
with jazz notables including David Binney, Roy Hargrove, Ernie Watts
and Tim Warfield.

Copeland hit on the sound of Bryan and the Aardvarks organically,
while coping with the death of a close friend from Texas. He sat down
at the piano one day and the shimmering melody of “Sunshine Through
the Clouds” flowed out of him. “I was having a hard time dealing with
the feelings I was having,” Copeland recalls, “and I wasn’t really
thinking about what I was playing. Something deep in my subconscious
just came out, and that’s still the approach I take with this band. I
just close my eyes and let my subconscious write the music.”

It took some time for the band to come fully to terms with this
idiosyncratic approach, but Copeland’s fellow Aardvarks have since
cohered into a remarkably fluid and synchronized unit. And while the
band was born out of tragedy, its name reflects Copeland’s wit and
humor – and is in line with the compositions’ lack of overthinking.
Booked for a last-minute gig and asked to come up with a name,
Copeland simply blurted out “Bryan and the Aardvarks” – inspired in
part by the early-seventies cartoon The Ant and the Aardvark (“I was a
cartoon junkie as a kid,” Copeland admits) and partially simply by
instinct.

“It just came to me,” Copeland shrugs. “I don’t even understand where
it comes from. But it all ties into this concept of a band that I want
to be a direct link to my subconscious or imagination.”