Sunday, April 12, 2009
A+E, Music, In this Issue..., Atlanta

Let there be rock!

Living the rock ’n’ roll dream is easier than ever—but it still takes a little work

BY KEVIN FOREST MOREAU

It’s been a long time since I rock and rolled. Nineteen years, to be exact.

My one and only grab at the brass ring of rock stardom took place in New Orleans back in 1990. Influenced by the Replacements, Pixies, Robyn Hitchcock and a desire to meet girls, I formed a band with two Kinko’s co-workers and a friend I met in a college poetry class. We called ourselves Tao Jones, and we played five shows that year, before taking Neil Young’s advice about burning out being preferable to fading away.

But I’ve never forgotten the electric thrill of our first gig, opening for a band called According to Breughel at the now-defunct Muddy Water’s. Despite the fact that a hot new band named Blues Traveler was playing across town at Tipitina’s, we drew a respectable 60 or so people on a Monday. (And yes, they came to see us and not the other guys. Shut up.)

That night, and each of the other nights we played that magical year, I felt like a rock star. And lately, I’ve been wanting to feel like that again.

That’s why I’m at 10 High on a recent Monday night, in my favorite Rush tour shirt and an old leather jacket that doesn’t fit so well anymore. I’m here to take my turn singing in front of the band Metalsome at the live-band hard-rock karaoke event Metalsome Monday.

Immediately, I start obsessing about what song I’m going to sing and how I’m going to act. To distract myself, I chat with a lovely young woman named Jessica, part of Metalsome’s two-person support crew; it’s her job to take the names of the people who sign up to take a turn at the microphone. Jessica, along with most of the other folks who start filling up the venue, was just a toddler the last time I sang in public. I choose not to dwell on this.

At about 10:30, almost a hundred people have crowded into the tiny venue, and master of ceremonies Nick Parsons—better known as English Nick of local rock station Rock 100.5—takes the stage. After some brief welcoming chatter, Nick and the band tear through note-perfect versions of Nirvana’s “Breed,” Green Day’s “Holiday” and the Sex Pistols’ “Anarchy in the U.K.”

I’m immediately struck by two things. The first is that Metalsome is one of the tightest outfits I’ve ever seen, and they nail each band’s unique sound to a T. The second is that English Nick is not a DJ—he’s a rock star trapped in a DJ’s body. He throws himself headlong into each song, surrendering his slight frame to the heavy-metal thunder the band whips up behind him.

“People tell me, ‘I’m scared to go on after you because you rock it out so much!’” Nick tells me later.

I know how they feel. When Jessica tells I’m scheduled to follow him, my heart sinks.

  JUKEBOX HEROES

“Folks have always wanted to live the rock ’n’ roll experience,” says Ganesh Giri Jaya, an instructor at the Paul Green School of Rock in Buckhead. “But they don’t want to go through all the different steps it takes to get up onstage, all the bumps and bruises that go with rock 'n' roll and learning to play an instrument.

“The appeal was always there,” he continues, “but the methods weren’t.”

That’s no longer the case. Today, there are any number of ways for people like me to taste some of the rock-star frosting, as Ganesh puts it, without eating the whole cake. Aside from live karaoke experiences like Metalsome, there are the ever-popular Guitar Hero and Rock Band video-game franchises, which involve pressing buttons on fake guitars and tapping drum pads in time to hits by Grand Funk Railroad and Foo Fighters. Beyond that, there are fantasy camps and instructional institutions like Paul Green’s School of Rock and Chicago Joe’s Rock ’N Blues Camp, and the Atlanta-based Camp Jam.

Ganesh has suffered plenty of those aforementioned bumps and bruises. As a drummer, he’s shared the stage with some impressive names, and he once held down the drum chair for Metalsome. In both roles, he says, he’s relished helping aspiring rockers realize their dreams, and watching the personal transformations that take place as a result.

 “At School of Rock, you see kids come in that are very introverted or maybe just very awkward socially, and it’s a real confidence-builder,” he says. “It’s so much fun watching them have that experience and seeing how cathartic it can be.”

Jeff Carlisi also believes in the psychological benefits of rock ’n’ roll. In 2004, the former .38 Special guitarist co-founded Camp Jam, which helps children, teenagers and adults of varying skill levels learn the fundamentals of rock musicianship, and offers the chance to jam with professionals like Collective Soul’s Ed Roland or Survivor’s Jim Peterik.

“Parents come up to us and say, ‘Thank you so much for what you’re doing with my child,’” Carlisi says during an interview at the very un-rock star hour of 8:30 a.m. “The takeaway value of what they’re doing, aside from playing music and having a good time, is that they’re communicating with other kids on a much higher level than they had before.”

If Guitar Hero, Metalsome and even Camp Jam or the School of Rock aren’t enough to quiet your inner rock star, there is another alternative, although it’s a bit on the extreme side.

Atlanta’s Jason Morey spends his nights channeling the spirit of a real-life rock star as the frontman for Bon Jovi tribute band Slippery When Wet. He does bear a resemblance to Jon Bon Jovi, and he admits enjoying some of the benefits that come with that. But while he really likes making people happy “singing ‘Living on a Prayer’ 500 times,” he makes it clear that he and the man whose songs he performs are two very different people.

“It’s a character,” he says. “Jason Morey’s never out on that stage, you know what I mean? It’s always me playing somebody else.”

Still, he wouldn’t change for anything. “Sure, I wanted to be on MTV and have a record deal and all that, but the business changes, and you get older and have to change with it,” he says. “Slippery’s given us a great gift.”
 

  LIVING IN THE LIMELIGHT

Back at Metalsome, I’m ready to receive that gift for myself. I consider singing Rush’s “Limelight,” for thematic reasons. But in a classic case of over-thinking things, I decide that Geddy Lee is a bit too ambitious, and opt for Metallica’s “For Whom the Bell Tolls” instead.

Nick, having set the bar impossibly high, calls me to the stage. And as the song begins, I realize I’ve made a mistake. The intro lasts an eternity, leaving me standing awkwardly for more than a minute before the lyrics kick in. I should take the opportunity to build a rapport with the crowd, but I manage only a couple of “How you doin’ Atlanta!” moments. Once the words begin scrolling across the screen, I regain my footing, throwing out a “Make some noise!” here and there, but I’m focused mainly on making it to the end of the song with my dignity intact.

After I’m done, Nick flashes me a thumbs-up, and my friends offer positive reviews, but I suspect they’re being kind. Those fears quickly melt away, though, as I’m caught up in the infectious spirit of the evening, watching a parade of temporary rock stars take their turns in the spotlight. A leggy young woman named Simone owns Led Zeppelin’s “Rock and Roll.” Beng, an amiable guy from Trinidad, kills Rush’s “Tom Sawyer.” And a Clark Howard lookalike introduced only as “the School Teacher” becomes AC/DC’s Brian Johnson during “Shoot to Thrill.”

Best of all, no one I see onstage that night is being campy or ironic. Everyone seems to exhibit a genuine affection for the music.

“I think, at least for the people who were old enough in the ’80s to remember these bands, they’re not getting what they want from the bands of today,” Nick says. “There’s a lot of great bands around today, but there’s a certain magic that I think is gone.”

Ganesh has a similar take. “That’s the legacy of this music, that it’s withstood the test of time,” he says. “Led Zeppelin’s appeal has not diminished. The Beatles’ appeal has not diminished. I’ll ask a 13-year-old kid who their favorite band is, and they’ll say, ‘Man, it’s the Who.’ That’s just as common as hearing Slipknot.

“I don’t think it’s a fad, either,” he continues. “Metalsome’s a good example of that. We tried karaoke in a couple of different genres. We tried an ’80s night, we tried a country night. And it didn’t work. But the rock thing—just look at it. It doesn’t seem to be slacking off. If anything, it’s picking up.”

It certainly seems that way as I grudgingly decide to leave 10 High sometime around 12:30. The club is packed with fans exchanging compliments about their performances and pumping their fists to the music. I vow to return, but I’m happy to have grabbed my brief moment of rock 'n' roll glory, however inglorious it may actually have been. And I’m even happier knowing that the crowd I leave behind is going to rock and roll all night, for many nights to come. SP