At first listen, the infectious, ballsy and finely honed tuneage plied by Kansas power-pop trio Ultimate Fakebook doesn’t really seem to fit into any of the hipper genre-cubbies currently handy. UFB is too “rock” for punk, too “rock” for indie-rock, too “rock” for emo and way too good for most commercial radio. Their particular style, which strums Elvis Costello-esque with the same hand it uses to flash a metal sign at the Motley Crue posters of its youth, comes off as orphaned in the age of the sub-sub-sub-category.
But by dwelling between the scenes, the group has managed to build a sizable following among fans who likewise refuse to subscribe to a pat marketing profile.
“I think we sort of bridge the gap between the radio stuff and the stuff you can actually feel good about listening to,” deadpans guitarist/vocalist Bill McShane, over a sketchy cell phone connection and the din of bassist Nick Colby’s soundcheck.
Sony signed Ultimate Fakebook and rereleased their second self-produced full-length, This Will Be Laughing Week, in early 2000. The disc enjoyed distribution and exposure sufficient to strike a chord with listeners old enough to remember a time when such gritty rock candy ruled the airwaves. Perhaps more importantly, however, the band’s underground-bred touring and promotional practices endeared it to a legion of all-ages-show pundits weaned on punk, but hungry for anything catchy, earnest and guitar-driven.
“Most major-label bands go on the big bus tour, get spoiled and get used to it. They play these shows where they’re opening for bands, where people want to hear the radio hits,” says drummer Eric Melin. “We played shows where people actually came to hear all the bands play.”
Instead of going into hock over a pricey video and an outside radio promoter (the password’s “payola”), UFB got back in the van, appearing and re-appearing at mid-size venues with acts as diverse (and well-known) as The Get Up Kids, At The Drive-In, Nada Surf, Sloan and Dashboard Confessional. Their energetic sets and instantly memorable songs scored heavily with kids who could care less that they weren’t on Fat Wreck; most new fans didn’t even realize Ultimate Fakebook was signed to a major until they flipped over their new copy of Laughing Week to check the track listing.
“It’s just that the proof is in the pudding. When they see us drive up in our van, set up ourselves and just rock out, they respond,” McShane reckons. “They see that the songs are cool to sing along to.”
Their dedication to a grassroots, indie-minded methodology served them well. When Sony realized that the threesome was in it for the long haul rather than the Buzz Bin, the label bailed; the group just shrugged before heading back on the road. In fact, because they were careful not to pile up debt (the password’s “recoupable”) and the company terminated their contract an album short of its completion, Sony compensated the band with enough scratch to buy a new van and finance the next record.
“We just put all the money back into the band. We could’ve split it up or bought new equipment or something, but we didn’t. If anything, Sony dropping us enabled us to pay our rent for another year. We still don’t have day jobs – that’s awesome,” says Melin with a laugh.
After last year’s late-summer jaunt with pop-punkers MxPx, Melin, Colby and McShane returned to noted Midwestern producer Ed Rose’s Red House Studios and tracked their third full-length, Open Up and Say Awesome. More varied than its predecessors, but maintaining their sound’s edgy, innately grabby power-pop core, Open Up is composed of songs both brand new and as old as Ultimate Fakebook itself.
“We didn’t want to mature too much, if that makes any sense,” Melin says. “If we’d made a record of all the songs we’d written in the last six months, it would have been pretty fucking mellow.”
Adds McShane: “In our minds, we weren’t changing the style much. I think we achieved more of what we were looking for. It’s kind of the archetypal pop-rock album that we grew up on.”
Like every UFB album, Open Up was recorded without any label obligations. When the trio hit the road again following its completion, they invited independent imprints nationwide to check out the show and give the finished product a listen. Two days after a stellar Louisville set, lauded Kentucky indie-rock purveyors Initial Records got back in touch, and an agreement was reached. Having gone more than three years without releasing any new material, the band made quick turnaround its top priority, and Initial got Open Up out in March.
Ultimate Fakebook, on the other hand, has been out since last winter, building their fan base and their future show by show. They recently took some time out to shoot a video for the single “Valentines” on a shoestring budget, but McShane affirms that UFB’s road-dogging work ethic is still intact. Longevity lies in maintaining that connection to the crowd, he believes, and longevity is exactly what they’re striving for.
“We’re not guys that are just sort of doing this as a hobby. We dreamed about being rock heroes,” he says, “and that’s what we want to be.”
Flushed out. The Corey Hideaway, opened on St. Pete Beach by Helium Bomb drummer Bryce Johnson just six months ago, is no more. Johnson was unable to secure a satisfactory lease-renewal agreement with his landlord, thus had to walk away. The bar, which featured original music on weekends, was a bit off the beaten path, but lots of scenesters – particularly Johnson’s friends, most of whom are in bands – made an effort to get out there frequently, pay the cover and make the place a viable live-venue option. Johnson is currently looking for a similar building, but with some sort of additional outdoor accommodations, in the St. Pete area, but doubts he’ll make a commitment until that perfect serendipitous situation comes along. It was fun while it lasted; thanks to everybody who got out there and made it happen.
Music critic Scott Harrell can be reached at 813-248-8888, ext. 109, or at scott.harrell @weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in May 22-28, 2002.
