Nada Surf: New wave

F Scott Fitzgerald maintained that there are no second acts in American life – but then he hadn't heard about Nada Surf. Alexia Loundras joins the post-grunge pop trio on the French leg of their tour, and hears about career death and rebirth

Beyond a makeshift bar (two barrels and a plank), two security men stand guard by the inner doors of the venue. In the interests of aural safety, they are handing out ear plugs. It matters little that tonight's headliners – the New York trio Nada Surf – are hardly Metallica and at their loudest play harmony-drenched power-pop. Inside the auditorium, the luminous green nodules glow like tiny radioactive mushrooms in punters' ears.

This is Niort, a provincial French town 250 miles from Paris. Overrun by white-collar insurance executives, it's a place the local sound engineer describes as "sad". Tonight's concert is held at the town's multi-purpose arts centre, Espace Culturel – part of a supermarket chain, set in an industrial estate outside the centre. Here, touring American guitar bands are really not a regular thing and excitement buzzes through the crowd.

Throughout the 90-minute gig, the front man, Matthew Caws, and the bass-player, Daniel Lorca, speak only in French. (The lifelong friends are both fluent, having met at school, at the Lycée in New York, where, says Lorca, even the gym class was in French.) Soaked through with sweat, they enthusiastically play songs from their seven-year, three-album career, taking in the sugar-rush pop of their debut, the jangly rock of their wilderness-years second LP and the exposed, yearning heartbreakers of Let Go, their excellent, current comeback record. After the gig, Nada Surf emerge to mingle with their fans. It seems everyone's immensely pleased to have made it here. Not least the band themselves.

Earlier that evening, Caws reels through his band's peaks-and-troughs history. "It sets up a weird situation when you're signed for a song that was just a fun experiment," says the 35-year-old, referring to his band's first single, "Popular", written before the current drummer, Ira Elliot, joined the band. The song – a Weezer-like satirical take on high-school cliques – was their one-hit wonder, a novelty song with lyrics cribbed from a 1960s etiquette book that had "Glamour Editorial Department" stamped inside. But once recorded, for their post-grunge 1996 debut High/Low, (helmed by Weezer producer Ric Ocasek) it became a massive chart hit that entirely overshadowed the album. "We just had to go around the country playing that song," says Caws, bored even by the memory.

"Popular" was a geek-rock needle in a blistering, alt.rock haystack. And although it was completely unrepresentative of the band, it came to define them. It was also their undoing. Keen to cash in, the label, Elektra, now hoped for an album's worth of "Populars". "They wanted quiet verses, dotted with cultural references, followed by giant 20-guitar choruses with funny lines about high school," he says.

When, with album number two, The Proximity Effect, the band didn't – or rather, refused to – deliver, Nada Surf were unceremoniously dropped.

"It would have been nice for the record to have come out on time," says Caws, still smarting from the experience. "Everything was going in such a good direction – it was a logical, rational career path – and then it got completely messed up, sending us off on a huge tangent where I think most bands would have broken up."

A frustrating waiting game followed as Nada Surf fought Elektra for their album. "We could have made another record, but we really thought this second one was good. We wanted it to come out, we wanted to tour it," he says passionately. Instead of moving on, the band took odd jobs (Caws in a record shop) and, well, waited.

But far from seeing this enforced hiatus as a low point, in retrospect Caws is very positive about this period; even describing it as a luxury. For the first time, since "Popular", he had the space to write music unfettered. "Just having no one watching is a pleasure," he says. "If you're a solid career band, you don't have those moments of freedom. It was nice."

When, after more than two years, Elektra finally let Nada Surf have their album, the three-piece released it themselves and, in their excitement, set off on a self-financed US tour. In terms of sales, The Proximity Effect was not a patch on High/Low (and spawned no hits), but it was moderately well received. The band were now ready to move on. Freed from the weight of expectation, and with a little help from their friends' studios, they slowly set about recording Let Go, their third and best album to date.

"Looking back, I like that our third album was written from a real-life perspective – not from the perspective of someone riding in a bus, playing festivals. No one was expecting it or asking for it," says Caws, as though he still can't believe the warped luck that has come his way. "Because our career had gone so pear-shaped, there was no pressure to keep playing any one kind of music. It was like making a first album," he says.

Melody is still "super, crazy, important," to the band but this new freedom gave Nada Surf the chance to try something new. "Before, we'd been scared to pare things down, which is silly. We thought our music had to rock. It was a new thing for us to have a light touch," he says. Indeed, reduced to its bare bones, Let Go smoulders with intense, strummed guitars and soft, sparse instrumentation that exposes the powerful vulnerability of Caws's emotion-filled lyrics.

Let Go, says Caws, was inspired by "relationship-y things" (another consequence of living a "normal" life). But far from being a clichéd break-up album, it plunges deep into the aching, bitter-sweet purgatory of impossible love. The songs are soul-tearing poems, Caws's unadorned, melancholy voice expressing the most simple of human wants. "Do I speak or hold you tight? The words were voted out by a landslide," he sings on "No Quick Fix", while on the desolate album-closer, "Paper Boats", he pleads desperately, "I need something more from you." Coupled with the band's new semi-acoustic sound, his words become anguished, chilling half-hopes, warmed only by the music's soft, Big Star glow and surging Brian Wilson harmonies. Let Go is a beautiful album that steers clear of melodrama and instead, with hushed reassurance, invites you to do as the title suggests.

There is, of course, a happy ending. The band's decision to work with only people they liked – their "no wankers" policy – landed them deals with sympathetic indie labels. But, most importantly, with the well-received release of Let Go, like their Heavenly labelmates the mood-rockers Doves (who were forced to change their name from Sub Sub to flee the consequences of their solitary 1993 dance hit), Nada Surf have been reinvented.

"Until this record came out, 'Popular' was an albatross round our necks. Getting to the third album and having it appreciated in its own right took such weight off my shoulders," says Caws."It's not about 'Popular' any more," he says, relieved. And he's probably right.

In Niort's spartan Espace Culturel, the band actually played "that" song – as they still do sometimes. And although it was recognised by the audience and went down well, it was in no way the set's biggest crowd-pleaser. The new LP may never be as popular as "Popular", but the band are happy with their level of success. "Until now, it's always been feast or famine for us, but I never wanted a feast," explains Caws. "I just like a good meal regularly – three square meals a day, you know," he says. "We shot up, we disappeared and now we're back. I like the 'now we're back' part," he smiles. "I love that part."

'Let Go' is out now on Heavenly. The single 'Inside of Love' is out on 12 May. Nada Surf's tour begins tomorrow at the Zodiac, Oxford (01865 420042)