plementary donut holes (fried dough apparently being a popular giveaway in Williamsburg). “And if I think about it too much,” continues the impish Seattle native, “if I think that there are people who we’ve never met who are excited about what we do, it can be overwhelming. I don’t know what good can come out of my wondering who likes our band or why that might be.”

He’s only scarcely more comfortable talking about the people he does know. “I don’t agree that we’re a part of any scene,” says Taylor when asked about the circle of bands that seems to orbit Grizzly

Bear. “If we are, it’s just a matter of geography. Our friends all live in the same neighborhood.”

Chalk it up to real estate or kismet, but playing Six Degrees of Grizzly Bear among today’s genre-busting, movie-for-the-mind corner of the music world is numbingly easy: Taylor played on Beirut’s last EP and produced the Dirty Projectors’ Rise Above. Dirty Projectors’ David Longstreth and Beirut’s Condon played on Grizzly Bear’s Friend EP. Final Fantasy’s Owen Pallett played on Beirut’s The Flying Club Cup. You can follow the connections on Ed Droste’s Twitter. (“Snoop Dogg reads it too,” says Droste. “It’s probably not him posting, but I like to send him notes about my garden.”)

“I think the main thing the people we’re associated with have in common is that it’s hard to say the kind of music we all make,” says the lanky Bear, who, in his cardigan and light-blue oxford, is one expensive haircut away from being a J. Crew ad come to life. “The other day I went to do my taxes and the accountant asked me what kind of band I’m in.” He raises his shoulders and lowers his eyebrows. “I was like, ‘Kind of folky? Kind of spacey?’ I didn’t know what to say. It’s all so intuitive with us.”

In a way, Taylor and Bear’s inability to address things like their audience or their sound are of a piece with their music. Veckatimest’s strongest moments, like “While You Wait for the Others,” “Dory,” “Cheerleader,” and “Two Weeks,” are mysteriously powerful—gossamer melodies and elliptical lyrics waft by, smoky and seductive. Throughout, elaborate harmonies recall barbershop quartets, the Beach Boys, and mass choirs. It all sounds sad, but in the same way that a leaf falling from a tree in autumn is sad. In a world aflame in dogma and aggression, the album is refreshingly free of hidebound electric guitars and skinny-jean poses.

And as far as an explanation, the best Taylor can offer is the following: “I’d like it if you put our music on while you lie in bed and then have it make you forget where you are.” He runs his right hand through his severely parted blond hair. “What I just said sounds stupid.”

64 JUNE 2009 / BREAKFAST SERVED ALL DAY AT SPIN.COM

DANIEL ROSSEN HAS A CONFESSION. “VECKA TIMEST IS THE name of a tawdry Spanish prostitute,” he says unconvincingly, eyes darting around the room. He and the rest of the band have traded the bowling alley’s boogie and Potemkin suburbia for the chartreuse walls, French pop, and black leather banquettes of Hotel Delmano, a nearby cocktail lounge. Old Fashioneds and Manhattans are promptly ordered. If Veckatimest was really a prostitute, she would like it here.

That word is actually the name of an uninhabited 16-acre island near Droste’s family’s place in Cape Cod, and it was chosen for its elusiveness, a quality these gentlemen hold dear. But if they’re suspicious of the hows or whys, they’re okay with the wheres. “The locations made a big difference for us,” says Droste. “Yellow House was all made in one spot in a sweaty blur, and I think the album is sort of static. Veckatimest was recorded all over the place. The music is more dynamic. The lyrics are more suggestive without being explicit. The album is a step forward for us.”

In addition to the Cape Cod pressure cooker, the band also recorded parts of the new album at a converted mansion in upstate New York and at a church in Brooklyn where Taylor stores his gear. “It seems simplistic to say that different places resulted in different sounds, but it’s true,” continues Droste. “When we’d sing in the church, we were inspired in a different way than when we sang in the mountains.”

There was something even more important,

says Rossen. “We were used to working with each other. We could suggest things and not immediately get into an argument.”

“And,” adds Bear, “we all hooked up Real World–style.”

After another round, Droste asks to settle up. He, Bear, and Rossen are due at a friend’s birthday party in Chinatown. Taylor has some mixing to do at the church. Before we leave,

Droste looks at me and whispers something to Rossen, who smiles guiltily. I ask what he said.

“It was nothing important,” says Droste, dismissively waving his hand. “I was just telling Dan we should stage a fight for you.” Then the two again share conspiratorial words that Serge Gainsbourg’s voice on the speakers keeps me from catching.

This time, they keep their secret a secret.

“Don’t worry,” says Rossen. “You’ll find out all about it someday on VH1.”