Imagine rediscovering a hidden gem from the early 2000s—a musical adventure that's equal parts chaotic brilliance and rebellious spirit, now getting a fresh spotlight after years in the shadows. The Fiery Furnaces' Blueberry Boat isn't just an album; it's a bold statement against the ordinary, and its reissue feels like a timely reminder of why daring creativity matters. But here's where it gets controversial: was their disdain for the mainstream indie scene a genius move or just plain arrogant? Stick around as we dive into their story, and you might find yourself questioning what "success" really means in the unpredictable world of music.
The sibling duo behind The Fiery Furnaces approached their 2004 sophomore release, Blueberry Boat, with zero expectations. They recorded it even before their debut album, 2003's Gallowsbird's Bark, hit the shelves, completely unaware that it would earn rave reviews. For instance, Pitchfork gave it an impressive 8.4 rating, praising its messy rock 'n' roll energy and frontwoman Eleanor Friedberger's enigmatic lyrics as a "jumble of bizarre, twisting musical fragments that captivate, even if they don't always add up to a coherent whole." At the time, they were contractually obligated to produce five albums for Rough Trade Records—a perk common for buzzworthy Brooklyn acts amid the hype surrounding bands like The Strokes and Interpol. Yet, their own Beefheart-inspired blues bore little resemblance to the polished rock revivalism of that era. Eleanor herself dismissed the scene in her contribution to the oral history book Meet Me in the Bathroom, calling it "so terrible—I couldn't care less about any of it."
The Friedbergers relocated from Chicago to New York, where big brother Matthew gifted teenage Eleanor a guitar and drum kit, leading her to pull him into her musical world when he moved east. On a recent three-way call, Matthew, now 52, and Eleanor, 49, reflected on how their New York roots often defined bands back then. "We were a New York band, and that's what everyone focused on," Matthew explains. "It was like their main selling point: they're from New York and have that new-wave vibe. Why should that make them exceptional? I was thrilled that Blueberry Boat would make it tough to pigeonhole us as just another second-tier NYC outfit in leather jackets."
Matthew's words come across as refreshingly defiant and even dismissive—intentionally so. He knew their second album would defy the norms: this 75-minute epic, a swashbuckling narrative journey through rock opera, drew inspiration from The Who's extended suites like A Quick One, While He's Away and Rael. (For beginners, a rock opera is essentially a rock album that tells a story through songs, often blending theatrical elements with music, much like a musical but with a rebellious edge.) It soared to a 9.6 on Pitchfork, garnered extensive coverage in alternative newspapers nationwide, and even scored a lowly 1/10 from NME—proof of its polarizing power. "It was fortunate to create something that resonated in its niche corner of the music world," Matthew says. "That's basically a musician's dream."
Blueberry Boat was destined to stand out, but Matthew hadn't foreseen how quickly the indie landscape would evolve. By 2004, he notes, they often opened for acts that epitomized "indie" in a diluted way—think bands with Christian rock vibes or spiritual undertones, drawing crowds of fans who sat on the grimy floors of dingy venues. They once supported a group (Eleanor insists Matthew doesn't name names, though he's clearly tempted) that bluntly told them, "I checked out your new record: it's pretty gay." Later, at a Sleater-Kinney-curated edition of All Tomorrow's Parties, a member of that same band made a lewd request to Eleanor: "asked to see my tits."
"This is spiraling downhill quickly," Eleanor jokes, brushing it off.
And if this feels like a tale from a bygone era, that's because it is. The Fiery Furnaces released seven studio albums, consistently sparking debate, especially with 2005's Rehearsing My Choir, featuring their grandmother Olga Sarantos recounting her adventurous life—my dad once threatened to hurl it out the car window! Their Rough Trade deal and Eleanor's relationship with Franz Ferdinand's Alex Kapranos briefly tied them to the UK indie circuit. After a quiet hiatus starting in 2011, both pursued solo careers: Matthew churned out seven eccentric albums in rapid succession from 2011 to 2012, each performed on a single instrument, while Eleanor crafted four evocative, mysterious records in a 1970s singer-songwriter style, with her last one dropping in 2018. Now, they've reclaimed the rights to Blueberry Boat from Rough Trade for a long-overdue 20th-anniversary reissue and are gearing up for a short US-EU tour.
They epitomized the 2000s' most eccentric and audacious acts, crafting a wild, distinctly American collection of songs. Fans who adored them did so passionately. Upcoming tour dates include opening slots for Destroyer, the alias of Canadian artist Dan Bejar, whom Eleanor has supported before. When he first encountered The Fiery Furnaces, Bejar recalls being "blown away by arrangements that mixed wild abandon with obsessive precision. Then the lyrics grew stranger, more layered, and mesmerizing—to the extent that it almost felt like an assault on the vocalist. Fortunately, here the singer was arguably the finest American rock 'n' roll voice of the 21st century, so she handled it effortlessly."
Yet, in today's streaming age, the band attracts just 17,000 monthly Spotify listeners. A TikTok search for "fiery furnaces" yields only a couple relevant videos, overshadowed by clips from religious enthusiasts quoting Daniel 3:8-25 from the Bible. This makes Blueberry Boat seem like one of the century's earliest forgotten masterpieces. "If it's endured in a significant way, I haven't seen it," Matthew admits. It's an unusual vanishing act in an era of endless digital access. Neither Friedberger expresses shock or regret, attributing their temperament to an aversion to fame. "We both have limited tolerance for putting ourselves out there," Eleanor shares. "Being visible and sharing our work publicly."
Up until 2006's Bitter Tea, each Furnaces album escalated in intensity, as if racing against a ticking clock. "Absolutely, that was my goal!" Matthew chuckles. Reflecting on his teenage years in the 1980s, poring over guides like The Rolling Stone Album Guide, he recalls bands like Small Faces or The Clash, who packed years of output into a short span. "You aim to create as much as possible, experimenting wildly to see what explodes."
Songwriting was their sole focus. "It's surprising how casually we treated everything else besides the music," Eleanor reflects. "I'd hear other artists discussing their 'management teams,' but that wasn't our vibe. Maybe it hurt us, but it's not who we are."
Their sibling bond made pretense impossible, Matthew explains. "In other groups, you can reinvent yourself, project a persona to captivate fans. We never did that. As brother and sister, we're not overly impressed by each other."
Back then, observers were intrigued by their edgy chemistry. Nowadays, Eleanor often lets Matthew's rambling conversations unfold. Their tour prep chats now revolve around "familial matters with our parents," she notes.
When resolving disputes, Matthew says, "It's more like a overly courteous committee."
"I'd argue we over-discuss and under-act," Eleanor counters. "That's my main gripe."
"You say that about everything," Matthew retorts.
They'd initially planned a reunion album for 2020. "The pandemic derailed it," Eleanor says. They released a new single, Down at the So and So on Somewhere, on Jack White's Third Man Records that year, and performed a few gigs in 2021, but Matthew's unfinished compositions stalled. "I wasn't sure what to compose for Eleanor," he admits. "I struggled to push through and complete anything." To finish tracks, he suggests imagining contexts: "Rock bands are about performance—you picture venues, audiences. Without that clarity, decisions stall. If you're not planning to share the work, why finish it? It's self-preservation; unfinished ideas stay perfect in your mind. That's why many stash projects away."
Their 2021 shows with a larger ensemble felt "detached" to him. "It was like I was offstage managing lights, even while playing."
Eleanor felt the opposite. "Our final LA performance was incredible—the sound, my vocals—so if that's my last stage moment, it'll be etched in memory." After her solo tour ending in early 2020, she pondered quitting. "Maybe I'm done with this." It was her first break from the grind since the band began. "For obvious reasons—the industry's brutal, touring costs soar, earnings dwindle. Plus, I'd just moved in with someone, my first shared home besides family."
"Except with parents and your brother!" Matthew interjects.
Now, she's eager to revisit demos and perform. The upcoming concerts will be intimate—just the two on stage. "With just piano and voices, there's room for flubs that might intrigue or amuse," Matthew says. "That's the fun part."
If they felt pressured by time in the 2000s and faded in the 2010s, perhaps now is their moment. "Weirdness thrives today; no one bats an eye," Eleanor observes.
Matthew elaborates poetically: "It's the fragmentation of specialization in our hyper-curated lives."
Though The Furnaces seemed one-of-a-kind in the 2000s, Stereogum's 20th-anniversary look at Blueberry Boat argues that ambitious, genre-bending albums from artists like Sufjan Stevens, Wilco, The Flaming Lips, and even The Streets were plentiful then. They brainstorm reasons—challenging norms, tech advancements—until Matthew concludes: "People felt emboldened to challenge listeners more aggressively. That's thrilling."
And this is the part most people miss: in a world obsessed with viral hits and polished perfection, does embracing the weird and unfinished make you a visionary or just out of touch? Do you agree that The Fiery Furnaces' refusal to conform was their greatest strength, or do you think it limited their reach? Is today's fragmented music scene truly more accepting of eccentricity, or just more crowded? Share your perspectives in the comments—let's spark a debate!
