by Dominick DeSade
"Any 'Country Music Revolution' isn't gonna be won by a bunch of jackass musicians who think they're better than everybody else, playing music that they think is better than everything else in bars full of other jackasses who think they're better than everybody else; it has to be treated like complete and total warfare and will require actual strategies and action; that's why so few, if any, of us are actually getting anywhere with it. Music ain't nothing if it's just being made for the sake of making music and there ain't nothing behind it from within." …an excerpt from Gabe Zander’s bio.
If you learn anything about me through this ongoing column, it is
that I will always root for the underdog in any situation. One who
faces adversity with pomp and vigor as well as an agenda will always
get my vote before undeserving and/or lackluster opposition. This core
value of mine especially holds true when it comes to music. Music is
only appealing to me in its most authentic state. Once too many hands
dip into the cookie jar, the content starts to disappear and is
replaced with filler. If music has in-your-face attitude, heart and
passion, there is a good chance I can relate to it no matter what the
genre. True, I tend to gravitate towards music that pisses off the same
elements of the human race I would rather see pushing up daisies, but I
will give anything “real” a chance.
When I think of musicians
who push the envelope obviously many Country songwriters come to mind.
The many disgruntled Nashville hopefuls surrounding me attest to the
fact that this still could be “Music City”, but we artists face a
constant barrage of sewage streaming forth from Music Row. The
perfectly manicured lawns, plush office buildings and overpriced coffee
shops that make up this nook of uptown Nashville is a common spot for
tourists to cruise aimlessly and for the CMT generation to shop their
willingness to become slaves to the powers that be. To the average
citizen it holds no other purpose. I’ve met a lot of natives who have
never even been to the Music Row area and I’ve met some who couldn’t
even give me directions to said locale. It remains of an area of
mysterious exclusivity to anyone not related to the “biz”. It remains
even less of interest to many of us trying to play music baring
traditional Country routes and unpolished production.
Roughly 4
or so miles down the road on lower Broadway you have the dueling
dichotomy of starving street urchins and Country cover bands strumming
for attention on the same block. Tourists flock to this small chunk of
downtown Nashville to hear their favorite top 40 CMT hits played before
their eyes by human jukeboxes. The strip is laden with Country Music
venues and dance rooms. Some venues hold true to Country routes and
feature more Bluegrass oriented music, but most cater to the almighty
dollar of the tourist. Everyone needs to make money; I am not
discrediting these club owners for their financial prowess. However,
the heart and soul of the Nashville everyone grew up hearing about in
our favorite Country songs can most often be found on the sidewalk in
front of these buildings.
I remember my first trip to Nashville
very vividly. My other half and I stopped in nearly every venue blowing
much of our spending cash on overpriced bourbon all the while wondering
where the actual “Country” could be found. Many of the venues have
historical memorabilia on the walls (i.e. old photos/record covers from
the greats) but the music being performed failed to hold our interest.
On our way down the block we noticed a roughneck looking young man
bellowing out and strumming an acoustic guitar to a small crowd around
him. A few feet from his “corner” were some Willie
Nelson-schooled-street players. I have to admit the young man caught
our attention for several reasons. At the time I didn’t think anything
of it other than it was nice to see that sort of entertainment
somewhere other than in New Orleans. I would come to realize that many
outlaw Country songwriters literally have no where else to network
themselves. (With all apologies to the John Waters reference), this is
dirty shame.
We went back to the car and hit the Bluebird Café
to see what tourist pamphlets described as being a place where Country
Music hopefuls can be heard while enjoying a snack and a drink. I will
admit that you can occasionally hear some good stuff at the Bluebird,
but that night was pretty quiet.
A few months after that night
we moved here because I was determined to get a rebel rousing
Country/Punkabilly band of heathens together. I was soon slapped in the
face with reality and for the past year, nearly everything offered to
me remains fill-in spots with generic Music Row poster children. Every
now and then I will get a motivated response to one of my ads, but the
travailing falters because the interest isn’t there from enough people
at the same time. So, I delved into music the best I could here and
there and we made the best of our new life here in Nashville. I have
been to some GREAT shows and there are some rockin’ bands here, so that
gives me motivation to pursue. Coincidentally, I’ve noticed the
roughneck street urchin dude at many of the cooler shows. I was
determined to make my presence known to him as it was clear he is also
a disgruntled and struggling heathen looking for like-minded others. I
started noticing fliers with his name and logo, “Gabe Zander, Punk Rock
Redneck” on just about every telephone pole, bulletin board and club
exterior he could afford a staple for. I also met one of his fill-in
bass players who, at a Hillbilly Casino show one night, had very nice
things to say about Mr Zander. I went to Zander’s website as well as
his myspace site and decided to contact him to be the first feature of
my new column on this very site. He was willing and seemed excited to
meet and chat.
I originally told him I would hook up with him at
a Saturday gig but I ended up going to a Tuesday gig unexpectedly. It
was “New Faces” night at a venue called The Basement and as I sat
through the tail end of a boring emo band, I saw Gabe enter. Gabe is
towering hulk of a man with a presence reminiscent of a Charlton Heston
type of character circa the late 1960’s. His stride is confident and
consistent and his signature, curled-up, crusted over cowboy just
barely shields onlookers from the scraggly blond locks dusting his
forehead. A white t-shirt stretched across a chest you could easily
park a freight train on and the worn down combat boots he always wears
lead to you to believe this man is a true minimalist. This guy is the
real deal. No Punk Rock pretense, no pseudo-Country boy CMT makeover
necessary. Gabe is a former street punk from the streets of Newark who
originally grew up in the rural hills of Jersey. His fast-talking
street lingo is unexpected due to his complacent mannerisms, but once
you get to know him a bit better, the whole picture starts to fit. The
duality inside him of street punk and mountain boy has codified an
insightful, independent, strong and fiery young man of 26.
Gabe
grew up on Country Music, but like many of us with a knocking desire to
see all hear all and learn all; he ventured into the Thrash Metal,
Heavy Metal and Punk Rock genres as well. His premier sampler demo,
“You Ain’t The Boss of Me” is a shortened version of his full-length
CD, “Punk Rock Redneck” and it plays like a bull ride carried out in
the middle of a CBGB’s mosh pit. Gabe’s unique punk-fired vocal style
is almost in direct contradiction to the foot-stomping fiddle-backed
Country foundation his songs are written from. Hank III described Mr
Zander as “Jello Biafra meets Johnny Cash”. Country fans can’t help
being drawn in by well-written twang and Punk fans could easily find
lineage in Zander’s lyrical attitude and disregard for formal musical
training. As far as what you find in Nashville, Gabe is about as
in-your-face as it gets. The pride he takes in his music and message is
obvious when you’re dazzled by a winking elation exuded from him as he
strums his guitar. The wideness of his construction work-molded
shoulders lead way to a sneering smile and ardent eyes. When you watch
Gabe perform you see man and boy fight to come out of the same body.
The tight shell encasing the essence of Mr Zander is loosened enough
for us to enjoy the optimistic fire inside. Growing up “rural Yankee
white trash” to use his words, can either be turned one way or the
other. Gabe chose the way he felt was best for him and as a result we
see a budding Country outlaw just itching to shove a middle finger of
Nashville’s ass.
Needless to say, I like this dude.
Gabe
spent much of the evening leading up to his acoustic performance
telling me about his views on everything from food preparation to
religion. The thing I liked most about Gabe is a self-assurance
generally only seen carried out in macho movie roles. When I gig, I
typically spend an hour warming my hands up, another hour primping in
front of the mirror and I typically avoid people before the show so I
don’t end up getting too pissed off to perform. Not Gabe. With an
undetermined amount of time to his set, he decided to introduce me to
Mrs Winners chicken. So off we went to Gabe’s car to set course for the
drive thru of Mrs Winners. I opened the passenger door of a beaten up
Plymouth Reliant and was almost asphyxiated by the smell of gas. The
only contents in the car were two Judas Priest cassettes, a filthy
cooler, two sweat-encrusted bandanas and one xmas tree-shaped air
freshener hanging from the mirror. I chuckled to myself wondering how
long it took for the air freshener to curl up and chip as it had. Was
it new and it just couldn’t overpower the smell of gas, or had it been
there since Gabe bought the blasted heap? Gabe describes Mrs Winners
chicken as being like the “slippage of skin off of a human corpse”.
After forcing some of the fast-food slime down my throat, I
wholeheartedly agreed. Gabe says he doesn’t believe in straying far
from his roots. He believes watching his dad; an avid and passionate
fisherman has led him to be the independent self-starter he is. Gabe
says he holds a certain “relationship with food” and we should never
forget how it landed on our plate. Not a very pleasant thought as we
ate what Mrs Winners peddles as scrumptious fried chicken.
Gabe
is perhaps one of the most passionate individuals I have met. A man of
little cash or material worth, he makes up for it in charm and
networking skills. I have never met anyone who does everything on a
daily basis with such a sense of urgency. Gabe can also work a room
like a true street hustler. He is a shameless self-promoter. I watched
him mingle a bit and people are instinctively drawn to him. Given more
stage time and promotion, ladies (and some gentlemen) will undoubtedly
be clamoring to have their way with him. Gabe is the Nashville dream
personified; a poor, small town lad with pride in his past and hope for
his future with a story to tell whether people want to hear it or not.
And Gabe is DETERMINED to make his presence known. A true Country
outlaw, Gabe does not play by the Nashville rules of playing covers to
tourists to make ones’ self known. Gabe is a songwriter to the core and
won’t buy into the human jukebox system.
On my way back home
from Gabe’s gig that night, I popped in his demo. I have to admit, it
is not what I was expecting and I mean that in the most delectable way.
The amount of production is perfect, the instrumentation is right on
target for his sound and attitude and his vocals in turn, slop up the
music beautifully. Lyrically, his dry wit appeals to a cynic like me
but he is far from living in the negative. I hear the echo of a
bottomless well when it comes to his songwriting. He is setting his
sights on getting signed and going all the way with this. With his
tenacity, I have no doubt it is just a matter of time.
I became
more anxious to see Gabe with a full back-up band at his upcoming
Saturday show. When I spoke to him about making plans to meet up again
he informed me that his bass player bailed on him, so I made the offer
to do the show with him. He took me up on it and made plans to get at
least a couple practices in before Saturday. He was ambitious in
wanting to do a 45-minute set with just two practices, but that is Gabe
in a nutshell. It took practicing with Gabe to see a side of him I had
sensed was there, but held back on my presumption. Gabe runs his
practices like boot camp; no exaggeration. He tends to be a bit of a
megalomaniac even though he refutes that label. Gabe wants to get
things done, and wants them to get done flawlessly then and there.
Apart from giving you the evil eye and stopping in the middle of a song
to scorn you after having just barely learned the chord progression;
he’s not so hard to take. I’ve jammed with many personalities and I
hold no contempt for control freaks. I’m pretty much the same way when
I write my own songs! (I can’t give the guy a hard time. He is one of
the few who agrees with me that Paul Stanley is undoubtedly a raving
closet case. I just had to add this tidbit.) After learning 10 songs in
a practice and a half, all the riffs were running together in my mind
but I promised my best effort.
Saturday night, it was showtime.
We
played a great little venue called The Radio Café in east Nashville
located across from the city’s most well-known lesbian bar, The
Lipstick Lounge. We opened for J.B. Beverley, one of Hank III’s former
opening bands. Gabe opened the show with some acoustic songs to warm
the crowd up. Apart from botching a few chord changes here and there I
played well given the abbreviated rehearsal time. The highlights of our
set were covering “No Feelings” by the Sex Pistols Country style, and a
song of Gabe’s called “I Could Have Killed You”. This song totally
rocks me and I wish he had put it on his hand-out demo. His excuse is
that he didn’t want to fill the listener’s heads with murder ballads.
It is a total Detroit trash rock meets Nashville Country Outlaw song.
THIS IS WHAT I WAS HOPING TO HEAR AND SEE MORE OF WHEN I MOVED HERE.
So, for that, thanks for the inspiration, Gabe!
As the night
went on Gabe continued to work the crowd and beat his chest for
rockabilly chicks during the course of Beverley’s set. I left him with
a beer in his hand, satisfaction of a good show on his mind and a
skinny chick with lots of make-up on at his side. Not a bad note to
leave on for a mere fill-in.
I highly encourage all of you to go to Gabe's myspace
and experience the wit and music of this young Country Outlaw marvel.
If he ever comes your way, check his show out. Gabe recently sent out a
bulletin to his myspace friends alerting us of his upcoming meeting on
Music Row. Let’s all wish him well and hope that with a dose of good
ole’ punk rock attitude the suits are forced to listen. It’s time
someone with integrity and authenticity gets acknowledged in this town!
(On
a completely different note, I would like to give kudos to a band that
holds no bearing on the Country music scene; nonetheless The Pink
Spiders remain one of the BEST bands I’ve heard in a very long time. I
became a fan of this Nashville-based glitter-punk band after
accidentally stumbling upon one of their shows several months back.
Their latest release “Teenage Graffiti” due out in June is on
Suretone/Geffen Records and was produced by Ric Ocasek of The Cars. If
The Ramones, Elvis Costello and The Bay City Rollers got together and
had a cocaine-induced, 1970’s New York-styled gay orgy, The Pink
Spiders would be the gooey stuff left on the sheets. Their first single
(an oldie to us Nashvillians) “Little Razorblade” already has a
teen-friendly video charting on MTV. If anyone can bring back cool
retro glitter rock, these bitches can. Check out their official site for more. Way to go boys!)
Dominick DeSade
is an independant writer and active musician in the Nashville area, and
is has a monthly column on the Music page showcasing artists from the
Nashville music scene. Thanks Dominick! ~WC~
Copyright ©2006 Dominick DeSade
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