Feature

That Connecticut Couple

Mates of State performing at a 2006 concert in Tucson, Arizona.

“Everybody plays music to deal with something,” says Gardner, who grew up in Kansas and spent her high-school years in Trumbull, Connecticut. “In high school I dated an abusive guy. I was 16, and I didn’t tell anyone. That’s when I started writing songs.”

They met at the University of Kansas in Lawrence while both were playing in different bands—she a fan of Indigo Girls, he of Fugazi. They began dating, dumped their guitars for drums and organ, and eventually decided they didn’t need other musicians around. “It was our dirty little secret that we played in this keyboards-and-drums band,” Hammel says. “Everybody else was doing rock, but we were doing this weird thing. Then we played our first show, and we were like, ‘Actually, that worked.’ ”

After graduation they flourished in San Francisco’s indie-pop community, but they migrated back east in 2002. Since Mags was born, Mates of State has taken its family act on the road; she sound-checks, plays Rapmaster on the bus, and croons “Blowin’ in the Wind” when jets are stuck on airport runways. June will join the show this summer, along with a rotating cast of nannying friends. “We have a system down,” says Gardner. “We keep them regulated.”

“Sleeping and eating has to happen before we can play a show at night,” Hammel adds.

It dawns on me that perhaps Gardner and Hammel aren’t immune to the struggles and pains of ordinary existence—they just choose not to dwell on them. “Overall, we’re positive people,” Gardner says. “We’ve always looked on the bright side.”

Hammel leans down from the couch and places June in a groovy lime-green plastic baby seat. Sitting upright all by herself, she looks at her parents with a proud, lolling grin. Mags crawls up and strokes her. Hammel and Gardner beam.