The Forty Days

Almost Famous, Cameron Crowe’s semi-autobiographical, coming-of-age tale about a budding teenage rock journalist and the music scene in the early seventies, accurately encompasses what I love about music, rock bands, and smart, quirky, uncool outsiders who are fortunate enough to get a glimpse into the beating heart of rock.  As probably is the case with most, I always identified much more with the main character, William Miller–with his outsider’s perspective and youthful idealism about the music industry–than with the band members themselves, mostly because people in bands are undeniably cool, and as a skinny, Jewish man-child, I am undeniably not.  When I first started listing activities for these forty days, spending a day with a band plugged into the renowned Austin music scene was a must, and as luck would have it, I am friends with the manager of an up-and-coming band, growing and gaining in nationwide and international popularity by the month, The Band of Heathens.

Started approximately four years ago when the three frontmen and bassist collided into each other from their then-current bands and solo careers in the Austin music scene, the band’s sound defies easy categorization, drawing on a variety of musical influences ranging from Southern and roots rock to soul to 50’s R&B and even gospel.  Although the catch-all name might be American rock, one member describes their sound as “Rock N Roll gulash,” while another asserts that they are “a head-on collision between The Band and Little Feat.”  (Damn, I wish I was cool enough to know anything at all about Little Feat.)  The Band of Heathens’ recently-released album One Foot in the Ether, already garnering critical success and increasing popularity, is currently #2 on the Americana Radio Chart in the US and #1 on the Euro-Americana Chart for October.

It is with these thoughts swirling around in my mind that I roll up to their bassist’s house this afternoon to accompany them to a show later tonight in San Marcos.  Unfortunately, their manager and my friend Ethan is not attending tonight’s gig due to a conflicting engagement, so I am all on my own.  I introduce myself to the band members, most of whom have at least some inkling of what I am doing there and my intentions in accompanying them to San Marcos.  In explaining my journey to them, I cringe when I say the word “blogger” because it sounds so terribly dorky–I think I’m going to start saying that I am a DIY online journalist instead.  Does that sound any cooler to anyone?  The band loads its own gear into a trailer, we hop in the van driven by frontman Ed Jurdi, and we hit the road for Texas State University in San Marcos, Texas–approximately a forty-minute drive.

Although I feel somewhat awkward and out of place during the ride to San Marcos, I summon the will to ask questions to Ed, bassist Seth Whitney, and frontman Colin Brooks about their recent tour in Europe, their intense touring schedule (approximately 270 shows per year), and the effect such tours have on their personal lives (several band members are married with children, and most are either married or have significant others).  But mostly I just sit back and soak in the color of a road trip with a hard-working Austin band.

Upon arrival at the venue, we unload the trailer, and the band sets up their equipment and conducts their sound check.  After a lengthy sound check, while the band is eating their dinner, I begin to ask them stereotypical rock journalist questions, such as, what direction is the band heading, what their musical influences are, etc.  The band gives me some ridiculous, semi-dismissive answers to these typical questions, and for a moment I really do feel like William Miller in his quest for the elusive, meaningful interview with Stillwater’s lead guitarist Russell Hammond.  Fearing that I am losing credibility with the band, I switch to asking ridiculous questions myself, such as, “If the band was an animal, what animal would it be?” “What is your favorite federal holiday?” and “Finish this sentence:  I liked climbing the rope in gym class because . . . ?”  I think these humorous questions disarm the band members just a little bit, and I am then able to engage in a substantive conversation about the band and its history with Colin.

The opening band, the newly-formed The Trishas (no apostrophe!), consists of four soulful songstresses,who I would love to say remind me of a white female counterpart to Boyz II Men, but in actuality rock more of a bluegrass and folk rock rhythm.  I suggest to them that they should retool and go hardcore gangster rap, shooting ultra-urban music videos that objectify men, who are pouring Cristal all over their washboard abs.  The girls don’t really go for this idea, but I think it’s a unique and unoccupied niche market–I guess the burgeoning demand for four skinny hardcore-rapping white girls will just continue to go unsatisfied.  I joke around with one of the songstresses, Savannah, at various points throughout the night, and we talk about music, religion, our backgrounds, and my forty-day project.  Although she is in a band, and not a Band Aid, I internally anoint her the (platonic) Penny Lane to my William Miller.

After The Trishas finish, The Band of Heathens take the stage.  By this point, I have somehow already convinced the band to allow me to introduce them.  As they prepare to begin, I take the stage and give what one band member later describes as a “monstrous introduction.”  I wonder whether he is being facetious.  Looking back on the video, I am unsure of how pumped I actually got the crowd.  Regardless, here is my introduction.  (I apologize for the poor quality of the video.  Whoever was operating the camera is a complete amateur.)

Almost immediately after the introduction, I realize that I should have gotten the crowd to engage in a “slow clap” for the band.  I have always, always wanted to start a slow clap, and I completely blew my opportunity.  (If you do not know what a slow clap is, watch any teen dramedy from the mid-1980’s.)  As I stand on the side of the stage, I watch the band make sweet, sweet love to the crowd by way of their righteous beats.

After the show, the band packs and loads it equipment, and we head back to Austin.  As we hit the highway, there is a quiet silence, and I say, “I want to thank you guys for letting me hang out with you today.  I really appreciate it, and here is my present to you . . . .”  And then this happens:

I’m pretty sure I’m the only one actually singing along, which is unfortunate because as you can hear I have a terrible voice, but I think the band enjoyed this Almost Famous moment only slightly less than me.  On the rest of the way back into town, I talk with Colin about the community-oriented nature of the Austin music scene, how rich the Austin soil is for music and collaboration, and how their band’s humble beginnings represent a microcosm of the power of that community.

As I arrive at my car and head home around midnight, I reflect on the lifestyle of talented, hard-working bands, such as The Band of Heathens and The Trishas.  At one point during the evening, Savannah asks me what I think about the rock ‘n roll lifestyle.  “It’s not too glamorous, is it?” she says.  This is true.  The Band of Heathens is constantly touring and promoting itself, driving their own van, and hauling their own gear.  There’s long sound checks, heavy lifting, waiting around, and often lots of driving before and after their hour of on-stage majesty.  But at this point, for these bands, that’s why it is truly about the music.

Unfortunately, God did not give me the talent to play or sing music; but I can enjoy it, feel it, and bond over it.  And although I felt cool for one night while basking in the reflected glory of a band that is starting to make it, I am still most likely uncool.  But I’m comfortable with that.  After all, as Lester Bangs states in Almost Famous (my favorite line from the movie): “The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what we share with someone else when we’re uncool.”  So.  True.  Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer.