If the band's songs weren't about such mundane things as the emotional maze of regular life, and if the writing and playing of them weren't accomplished with such exquisite subtlety and quietly obsessive focus, the bizarre story of the Vulgar Boatmen might seem simply odd, an attention-getting gimmick that would look intriguing on a record-company bio. In fact, the saga of the group with a dual identity — a sporadic studio-centered entity convened by Florida college professor Robert Ray and a remarkable international touring outfit led by Indianapolis auteur Dale Lawrence — reads like a troubled family saga in which claims to a name weigh heavy, ties that bind overcome obstacles of time and distance, and a common vision proves to be the greatest power of all.

Formed and abandoned in Florida in the early '80s by future Silo Walter Salas-Humara, the Vulgar Boatmen eventually came to rest, in a most irregular remote collaboration, on the mutual shoulders of singer/guitarists Ray (at the time a graduate student in Indiana) and Lawrence (a veteran of Bloomington's goofy punk Gizmos who had taken a course taught by Ray). After Ray returned to Florida, the two exchanged tapes by mail, jointly crafting songs that took shape as a sublime semi-electric pop sound melding the patient intensity and precision of the Feelies, the driven certainty of quiet Velvet Underground and the shapely melodic force of classic pop artisans. While Ray maintained a Vulgar Boatmen in the Southeast, Lawrence formed a group called Right to Left (later renamed the Vulgar Boatmen) to play the material that would eventually appear on the band's first album. Over time, the Indiana contingent became an exceptional live act of diverse talents and unassuming intensity, augmenting its original creations with one of the most eclectic cover repertoires on the planet.