"One-man band": when you hear that phrase you probably picture a dude on a street corner with a pair of cymbals between his knees, a drum on his back, some kazoos in his mouth and a guitar case full of quarters. Think again.

While naming a band after yourself is fine and good for guys like Dave

Matthews and Jon Spencer, some band names are actually just cryptic

pseudonyms for a single, mad studio genius.

The past year has seen an explosion of do-it-yourself-ers, including ex-Eels

bassist Tommy Walter with his band Abandoned Pools, stone alone emo-ter Chris Carrabba of Dashboard Confessional (see [article id="1452734"]"Dashboard Confessional Concert Checklist: Tickets, Earplugs, Kleenex"[/article]), Citizen Cope mastermind Clarence Greenwood and Custom, a.k.a. Duane Lavold. Others who've recently gotten some one love

include ex-Nine Inch Nails programmer Chris Vrenna (Tweaker), Damon Gough (Badly Drawn Boy) and solo "Superman" John Ondrasik (Five for Fighting).

These artists typically work and write alone, performing nearly every note on

their records, sometimes even drawing their own album covers and

directing the video. So, assuming they're proud of their accomplishments,

what gives with the isolation and the fake ID?

"Not to sound cheesy, but it's just a different way of marketing yourself,"

Walter said of the choice to go by the handle Abandoned Pools for his

pop/electronic solo debut, Humanistic. "I wanted to leave it open to

putting a band together, but, also, if you go out as 'Tommy Walter,' there's

no man behind the curtain. You're really putting yourself out there, and I'm

not some folk singer with a guitar. This creates more of a mystery and an

aura."

Recent rock history is littered with "bands" that were mostly clever names

for the music of a charismatic frontperson. From Prince and the Revolution

to Days of the New (Travis Meeks), Smashing Pumpkins (Billy Corgan) and the

Magnetic Fields (Stephin Merritt), sometimes one (with some help) is enough.

Electronica acts such as Stardust (Daft Punk's Thomas Bangalter) and Aphex Twin

(Richard D. James) have been doing it for years: mixing up alluring stage

names to mask the fact that all that music is being made by one person, a

computer and a host of sampled voices.

But lately, the world of emo rock has blossomed into a haven for artists

licking their wounds behind dramatic band names, such as the fragile Bright Eyes

(Connor Oberst), Pedro the Lion (David Bazan) and Onelinedrawing (Jonah

Sonz Matranga).

For Dashboard's Carrabba, former lead singer of the emo band Further Seems

Forever, the choice was clear — and logical. "I definitely didn't

want it to be 'The Chris Carrabba Experience,' " he said. Although Carrabba had

musical assistance from members of his touring band on his album, The

Places You Have Come to Fear the Most, much of his live show is geared

around his solo performances.

"I wanted [the music] to be a group experience, something I shared with

the audience," he said, noting that most fans shout along to every word at

his shows. "I wanted it to be something that made the crowd feel like they

were part of it, something communal. Naming it after myself would have

diminished their experience and wouldn't have fostered that same vibe."

Like Walter, Custom's Lavold chose a collective-sounding name to

leave open the possibility of working with his touring band in the future,

but also because it's been his nickname forever. "I work alone, not because I

want to do everything, but because I can," said Lavold, who not only performs

almost every note on his album, but also produced it and directed the

controversial video for the single "Hey Mister."

"If you have an imagination that hears and sees things, it used to be that

you were reliant on 'x' amount of humans to manifest what you're imagining," he

explained about the other side of the one-man band coin: preferring to work

in solitude. "Now with [recording software] Pro Tools and a Macintosh, you

can bungle your way through creating things in your head without hiring 50

players and spending $2,000 a day for a 'real' studio."

Custom said the home studio revolution has not only made it easier for

musicians to be jacks-of-all-trades, it has allowed them to record lush

albums like his with just a few thousand dollars' worth of equipment. He

predicted that the floodgates opened up by such relatively cheap software as

Pro Tools and the like could inspire a new generation of recording artists

who go it alone.

"I want people to know that we are making records that are in stores on

$4,000 worth of equipment," he said. "The intimidation factor of seeing bands

in studios with gigantic mixing boards is gone. You don't need that."

Walter works better when he can be alone with his thoughts, and Carrabba just

wants everyone to join the band. But you have to hand it to lo-fi rocker John

Darnielle, a.k.a. Mountain Goats. In the past, he's sometimes taken the one-man band concept to its logical conclusion by beginning some solo gigs with the announcement, "We are the Mountain Goats."

Okay, maybe one isn't the loneliest number.