Brett Hite grew up in Spokane, Washington spending most of his adolescence focused on sports, pursuing soccer through college and a brief run with a professional team. He tells me “I was a jock, but an outcast of a jock.” Despite his history of kicking around soccer balls long before picking up a guitar, Hite has always had a tendency towards a thoughtfulness that felt out of place before music. “I was the kid who thought my sport was more creative than the others,” he recalls with a laugh. This is my first glimpse into the cerebral yet goofy personality I will come to see in the following days; simultaneously caught up in his thoughts, yet acutely aware of those around him, and always ready to crack a deadpan joke. His first foray into music came in the middle of his sophomore year in college, when an ACL injury took him off the field. At the time, it was simply a way to pass the time, a solace to pass the time during his recovery, but that all changed when an injury several years later ended his six-month stint with the Seattle Sounders. Faced with the insecurity of adulthood and the need to pursue something meaningful, Hite set his sights on music-for real this time. Once deciding to make music his profession, he grasped on with the same fierce dedication and optimism that defines FRENSHIP.
“I see music as my long-term thing, even though most people don’t see it as an any-term thing,” he tells me, unbothered by the clicks of my photographer’s camera capturing his candid strums. “I never doubted myself. I just decided I’d figure it out.” Hite jumped between Washington and LA, trading his parent’s home for months of couch surfing as he dug into the LA music industry. At the time a solo singer-songwriter, the pressures of trying to break through a saturated industry wore on him: “that hustle was not sustainable.” Growing increasingly frustrated with his progress, Hite made his move to LA permanent. Hite and Sunderland would meet shortly after, “then things got a little easier,” Brett recalls with a smile as Celeste and James file back into the room.
After inspecting the table displaying the band’s food, Brett picks up a wine bottle. “Wanna see me open this with a shoe?” he asks enthusiastically, picking up a lone boot on the floor. Celeste laughs as she applies her mascara, “technically we’ve seen it done; Danny knows how.” The next several minutes are spent watching Brett whack the bottle at different angles and positions, determined as ever despite the lack of any progress. JR briefly walks in, shakes his head with a smile, and heads back out. When Danny reenters, Brett and Celeste burst into giggles.
About an hour before their set time, the group launches into a practiced rhythm, relaxed yet focused. They fall into an easy groove, outfit changes and a spontaneous “I’m Like a Bird” warm-up interspersed with joking and laughter. Watching FRENSHIP in that tiny green room, it was almost impossible to discern that they had only met within the past several years. Had Brett not just retold how he had only relatively recently met James, the easy camaraderie would’ve told me these five had known each other all their lives.
With mic packs secured, equipment checked, and the house lights dimming, FRENSHIP pad their way down the stairs to the side stage. James pats Danny on the back as they head out, ever the leader. Expectant murmurs hum from the audience as the band assume their spots behind their instruments, and with an explosive swell of sound, they’re off.
