Gabe Zander
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 roots 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 hat 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 Zander’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
