Unsolved mysteries

“I’m just going to say this and you can do what you want with it,” Xeno tells the crowd at the True Love Coffeehouse. “They cured cancer in 1938. It’s true. You can find all this stuff on the Internet.”

He pulls out a digital recorder and announces that he will play the miracle cancer-healing frequency. Some people laugh, while others lean forward in curiosity. However, due to technical difficulties or an AMA conspiracy, he’s unable to locate the sample on his recorder. Shrugging, he stuffs it into his pocket and the band launches into another song.

Afterward, he admits it was probably best that he didn’t play the sound. “If word got out that Xenophilia cures cancer, imagine the crowds!”

Xenophilia may not be music’s answer to chemotherapy, but the band does maintain a curative mission. As explained on its Internet outpost, xenophilia.com, “Xenophilia means love of the strange or appreciation of the unusual. Xenophilia is an antidote to xenophobia—the fear of foreigners.”

In this spirit, jazz vocalist Amy Anne, guitarist/singer/Web master “Xeno” and bassist Hence Phillips have fearlessly examined the world’s strangest mysteries (Who makes crop circles? Did man really land on the moon? Why do fools fall in love?). Their insights are found on their debut CD, Café of Love, on a self-titled Web site that reads like an episode guide for Ripley’s Believe it or Not, and in an ever-growing catalogue of relentlessly clever, sing-along melodies. Spanning the reaches of human experience from the pain of longing for a mate to the trials of cloning one, Xenophilia vibrates at the intersection of hilarious, poignant and bizarre.

As hilarious/poignant/bizarre goes unrecognized as a musical genre, Xenophilia has had to be content with winning a SAMMIE in the folk-music category two years running. When asked if they consider themselves a folk act, Hence shakes his head “No” as Xeno says, “Yes.”

“Folk musicians were the first reporters,” Xeno explains. “They went from town to town sharing the news, presenting it in song. That’s what we’re doing.” Witness the lyrics to “Digging Your Mind”—a catchy little tune about newfound love and the danger of mercury fillings: If you trust the nightly news, I’ll give you sand / You can take it home, relax and stick your head in it / but don’t blame this band / We tried to tell you / at xenophilia.com / The truth is out there / Go tell your mom.

Hence characterizes their music as “intellectual pop with melodic hooks that a 3-year-old can comprehend immediately.” No idle words these. “I’ve got a 3-year-old and a 6-year-old. They just groove to it for days. That’s a good sign.”

Xenophilia’s current incarnation began four years ago when Amy saw Xeno at a local open-mic night. She was so amused by his performance that she auditioned for his band that night, performing Fiona Apple songs in the parking lot. Meanwhile Hence, an accomplished guitarist and frontman for Hence the Band, was growing weary of hearing about Xeno’s quest for a reliable bassist. Hence taught himself the bass to fill the niche and the rest is mystery … er, history.

Though Xeno has yet to remove his sunglasses (it’s 10:30 a.m., indoors) and Amy is documenting the entire interview with a digital camera, the friendly vibe they exude makes it hard to imagine that the cryptic nature of their songs extends to their personalities. Until the subject of their drummer is broached.

Xenophilia’s mystery drummer can be heard on Café of Love and has a bio on the band’s Web site, but has yet to be sighted at a live show. When queried on his whereabouts, Xeno immediately states, “We can’t talk about that.”

Amy offers this explanation: “Our drummer’s always there. He’s just invisible and plays very quietly. He’s a shape shifter.”

“Oh, come on!” Xeno protests. “Nobody believes in shape shifters.”

And they all laugh knowingly.

At this point, the conversation adopts a paranormal tenor. Xeno produces his digital recorder, quizzing the group about aliens. Psychic phenomena are discussed, but not before Xeno reaches over and switches off the reporter’s tape recorder.

The rest of the interview?

We can’t talk about that.