Vanity Fair: Raf Ephrem's Return - To Be Honest
By Holly LaVoie
November 2014
When Rafael Ephrem first spoke with Vanity Fair, in 1996, he was a 16-year-old sitting on the precipice of international fame. He had already made a name for himself in Europe; first as an award winning violin soloist, announced by Gramophone Magazine as their Young Artist of the Year, in 1991, and then as a pop sensation after representing Monaco as a finalist in the 1996 Eurovision Song Contest. Following that, he set his eyes across seas in hopes to be warmly received by American audiences. The rest, as they say, is history.
Isn’t it?
Anyone who listened to FM radio or tuned into the popular music channels on cable television, during the late 1990’s, can undoubtedly recognize Ephrem’s iconic lyrics and the enchanting violin melodies that featured in each of his hit singles. The teen heartthrob’s face decorated the walls and lockers of many young fans during the height of his career, and it seemed as though the American population couldn’t get enough of him.
Then, one day, he simply disappeared.
Sitting across from me at a tiny coffee shop in downtown Vancouver, Ephrem, now 34 years old, wields a boyishly lopsided smirk from over the rim of his iced americano. “Right, yeah. I completely vanished. That was on purpose.”
By the time his last single, TakeOver, hit the airwaves, Ephrem was attending his second year at The Juilliard School for music, in New York City. “I was mired in academia and school rehearsals,” he says. “I didn’t have time for anything else, really. But that was kind of the point.”
Upon arriving in North America, his musical career began moving much faster than he was prepared for. Between the recording, touring, interviews and photoshoots, Ephrem grew tired enough to crave someplace where he could catch his breath–and the tall, prestigious walls of Juilliard provided that for him. The four years it took for him to obtain his Bachelor’s in Music also granted him time to reassess what, exactly, he wanted to do with his career.
“I decided I didn’t want to do anything with it,” he tells me. “I figured it’d be fun to try and become someone obscure, just a guy.” There are many ways to accomplish that, and disappearing into the Canadian wilderness has proven to be a perfectly viable–and comfortable–route. “Most of the people I see everyday know who I am. They just don’t really care.”
When asked what he has been doing this whole time, he simply shrugs. “You know, stuff.” A snicker bubbles up from the young woman sitting next to him.
Magritte Bailey is a name you’ll want to remember. Ephrem credits the 27-year-old keyboardist from Kapuskasing, Ontario, for rekindling his love and excitement for music. “She might not say much, but the lady’s a genius beyond my comprehension. You don’t turn down the opportunity to play and compose with someone like her. Listen to any one of our songs together, and you’ll immediately understand why.”
Ephrem had first met Bailey, in 2008, by pure chance. “A co-worker had borrowed my car, and so I was taking the skytrain home and saw her busking in the station on this old portasound keyboard that was being held together by duct tape.” Noticing that she was playing without a permit, he set up with her and the two enjoyed a spontaneous little jam session together.
“It’s not like the transit cops here are mean about enforcing permits or anything, they usually just tell you to pack up and leave,” he explains. “But there’s kind of a…system in place for permitted buskers where, you know, guys reserve their spots at certain times, and can get real pissy when an out-of-towner doesn’t follow the rules. I don’t usually like to throw my weight around in situations like that, but I mean. Look at her.” He pauses to regard Bailey with a playful nudge, and she sinks with a shy smile behind her decadent vanilla latte. “Like a kicked puppy.” Ephrem laughs. “What kind of monster would I have been to ignore that?”
After playing with her for that first time in the train station, Ephrem was easily swayed into meeting up with her again. “Actually, it was in this exact same cafe. She puppy-eyed her way into making jam sessions a weekly thing between us. Really, though, I wanted to hear her play on better instruments. I had the feeling that I chanced upon something really special, and I wasn’t wrong. We’ve been playing music together for six years now, and it still blows me away, the way she composes; the ideas she produces, the sounds she strings together.”
For her part, Bailey is content to let Ephrem speak for her. “Maybe I make decent music,” she explains, “but I make really bad conversation. If I start talking now, I won’t stop, and then I’ll say something super dumb, and then it’ll get published in Vanity Fair, and then my whole career will be over before it even starts.” With each word from that run-on sentence, Bailey sinks deeper and deeper into her seat. The effect is exactly as Ephrem describes; kicked puppy. It’s hard not to feel moved by those big, blue eyes and her vulnerable, wilting-flower charm.
Ephrem gives her a reassuring pat on the back. “For the record, she’s an excellent conversationalist. But, I promised her she wouldn’t have to talk if she was too nervous.” A silent but vigorous nod from Bailey confirms her preference for allowing Ephrem to be her mouthpiece.
Bailey isn’t the only person at the table who’s been remarkably quiet. Sitting beside me, the tall, dark, ethereal woman–known only as Cortes–has been nursing an italian soda with a very different kind of silence. Sitting with one leg crossed over the other, her back straight, her posture tall, confident, and indescribably cool, anxiety isn’t a problem that seems to plague her. This percussionist of unknown origin assures me, via American sign language, that she is also comfortable with letting Ephrem speak. Since she’s non-verbal, and I woefully lack ASL comprehension skills, Ephrem is required to translate for her. “It’s a hassle,” Cortes asserts, “and I don’t really feel like saying anything, anyway.”
Together, Ephrem, Bailey, and Cortes make up the core members of To Be Honest–an indie-pop band that will be releasing their debut album, This Might Work on November 21st. The album features a range of sounds and moods, from silly sing-songy bops with hints of ironic malevolence, to sly, jazzy jaunts, and soft, dreamy ballads.
One thing that’s noticeably absent from the majority of their tracks is the violin melodies that used to serve as Ephrem’s instrumental signature. “TBH is its own, new thing, and so it’ll have its own unique instrumentation and lyrical style,” he tells me. “I guess you can say I’ve grown a bit bored of the violin, and have been eager to experiment with different instruments for a while. On the other hand, Margie absolutely loves brasswinds–and so she’s managed to sneak them into most of our tracks.”
Margie pipes up to confirm. “Yeah! We’ve got trumpet and trombone, and I’ve even taken up learning the sax for this one. I’ve always wanted to play sax, but for some reason, I figured the reed–the, uh, little mouthpiece bit–it’s different from the trumpet, and so I figured that’d make it harder to learn. It’s not, it’s fine. It’s a lot of fun!”
“In fact,” Ephrem says, “the album is mostly written and composed by Magritte. A lot of the musical and lyrical ideas you’ll hear in it are hers. Some of it is mine, but I won’t tell you which parts.” That last statement is accompanied by a cheeky wink in my direction. “The album aspires to juxtapose irony with nuggets of sincerity, and coats its vulnerable messaging in a protective veneer of campy artifice. The idea was to provoke a ‘this could be devastating if it wasn’t such a fun bop’ kind of response when you listen to certain songs.”
Ephrem admits that he thought his professional music days were well behind him. “It wasn’t our initial plan to formally produce a band together, much less record, publish, and promote an album. There were a few roadblocks that prevented me from confidently pursuing a more independent musical career but those have mostly been taken care of, now.”
He briefly tells me about the six months he spent in Monaco between 2012 and 2013. “I hadn’t been back there since I was 16, and so it was a bit of a reverse culture shock. I wasn’t…really thrilled to be there, and was excited to get back home. But I had Margie and Tess with me and everything turned out just fine. I got to tie up a lot of loose ends, so it was well worth going, but I was glad to land back onto Canadian soil. B.C has definitely become my home more than anywhere else in the world, and there’s no place else I’d rather be.”
Regarding plans for tours or public appearances, Ephrem provides an apologetic shrug. “Nah, no plans for tours in the foreseeable future. We’ve all resolved to do what’s fun and comfortable with TBH, and I’ve personally become far too much of a homebody to really enjoy the day-to-day chaos of touring across countries.” He holds up a finger with a quick addendum, “but–that’s not to say you won’t find us in cities outside of B.C or even Canada. We still like to travel, and if we find ourselves somewhere cool, it stands to reason we might also book a venue for a live performance if there’s any place willing to host us! It just won’t be part of a larger, organised tour.”
Upon being asked where fans may be able to keep track of concert announcements, Magritte responds. “We announce all kinds of things on Facebook and Twitter. Just follow TBH-Official on either of those platforms or check out our website, TBHofficial.com.”
If you’re eager to put your ears on To Be Honest’s debut album, This Might Work, and November 21st feels too far away, you can find their first single, White Noise, on iTunes and Spotify right now, or catch it on the airwaves of your local pop music radio station.