Ghostland Observatory, courtesy.

This story originally appeared in the Oakland Tribune.

The two gentlemen of Austin, Texas, electronica-rockers Ghostland Observatory are blue-collar guys. Onstage, singer-guitarist Aaron Behrens wears two chest-length braids as he gyrates with moves from the’80s, and drummer/synth-man Thomas Ross Turner wears a cape while laying down the beats. 

Offstage, both are family men and, until recently, when Ghostland went from an underground sensation to a mainstream awakening, both also held down day jobs. Behrens pushed a mail cart. Turner delivered utility supplies to construction sites and drove a beer truck. 

They are just as workmanlike about their band. The two Ghostland albums they recorded, 2005’s “delete.delete.i.eat.meat” and “Paparazzi Lightning,” were released on Turner’s Trashy Moped label. And until a few weeks ago, they handled all of their own publicity; this interview was arranged with Turner, not a publicist in New York or Los Angeles. 

“It’s Ghostland five minutes before we go on until the show’s over,” Turner, 28, says. “Then after that, we’re Thomas and Aaron. We’re regular people with our regular tasks and duties, like everyone else.” 

If Ghostland Observatory, which performs Saturday, the first day of the Treasure Island Music Festival, were a haircut, it would be the reverse-mullet: party in the front and business in the back. 

“I’m not that wild and crazy offstage,” Behrens says. “That creature comes out when the dance music turns on and when Ghostland is in full effect. If I (keep my on-stage persona the rest of the time) I don’t know if people would really like me too much. I imagine I could get into trouble if I was actually like that.” 

Turner and Behrens, 24, grew up in small Texas towns. Behrens picked up many of his freaky dance moves — his specialty was mimicking MC Hammer — when he was a tween. He also joined his sister’s dance troupe. 

“We used to have little dances at some abandoned small little building” he says. “Some DJ would rent it out. I was 9 years old and I would dance with all the older kids. But I would always break it down. My goal was to blow them out of the water.” 

In high school, Turner threw raves in Austin and Dallas. Afterward, both he and Behrens moved to Austin. While Behrens played in a heavy metal band and pushed around a mail cart at a law firm, Turner got his start in the construction business, working on music at night. 

The small company, which he owned, dealt with underground utilities such as gas, electricity and fiber optics. 

“I would deliver materials to the job sites for what the guys needed to lay the pipes,” Turner says. “I enjoyed it. I also delivered beer for Coors for a while and worked at a night warehouse for a big company. I always had a job until last January. I always was working.” 

After working on music by himself for his entire life, in 1999 he decided he wanted to play with other musicians. 

“Most people either were into electronic music or they were into rock. People (weren’t) experimenting with both like they do now,” he says. 

He answered a newspaper ad from a band looking for another musician. That’s where he met Behrens, who was the band’s guitar player. 

Eventually, the band broke up and the two, now friends, went in another direction. 

They dubbed themselves Ghostland Observatory because, at the time, Behrens was working on scoring “The Ghost Sonata,” a 1907 play that his friend was putting on in Austin, and he happened to see photos taken by the Hubble Space Telescope. 

After a failed attempt at more traditional Beatle-esque rock, which Behrens was experienced with, they tried performing Turner’s specialty — electronica. 

“We noticed people were reacting more to the electronic stuff,” Turner says. “People were having fun with it, and Aaron was having fun with it. He got to really do frontman showmanship instead of standing there and playing the guitar and singing. So that’s when it kind of just changed into what we do now.” 

Armed with the intent to make something unique and take it as far as they could, Behrens and Turner blended electronica with rock. The end result has been compared to a mix of Daft Punk and Queen. 

“We try to kick out the jams to where when we play live, people move to it and react to it,” Turner says. “If we play a song and not many people are moving, that’s not a good sign.” 

The two spend countless hours in their studio perfecting their craft. They plan to release a third record in January. The day of the interview, they recorded tracks past 4 a.m., then went straight into rehearsal. 

The record also will be released on Trashy Moped. Turner said he wanted to create a record label that would be synonymous with quality music — like Motown. 

“When people go to a record store or hear about a new Trashy Moped Record, they know it’s going to be something cool or different than they would normally hear,” he says. “If the Ghostland show is over tomorrow, I’d like to focus more on the label. I like the whole business side of what we do.” 

His other dream job, he said, would be scoring films. 

Onstage, Turner and Behrens transform into different beings. A Ghostland show is not a concert, it’s a party, Turner says. It’s also a production. Behrens dances like he’s possessed. 

“He shakes around and gets people into it,” Turner says. “He’s going to try to get the most out of the crowd.” 

The synth-man’s cape, which is more Dracula than Superman, has sentimental value. 

“My wife made it for me, so I’ve got to wear it,” he says. 

Then there are the laser “guns,” which won’t be used at the Treasure Island festival but will be at full force when Ghostland plays its own show in San Francisco in November. 

“When we … bring the lights and lasers … then it’s like the full-blown deal because you’re hearing it, you’re seeing it; and then you’re really seeing it when the lasers just trip your mind out and the lights trip your brain out,” Turner says, laughing. “It’s a full dose. Ah, man, I love the lasers.”

Follow editor Roman Gokhman at Twitter.com/RomiTheWriter.