LAST EXIT FROM LAKE CITY: THE OUTLAWS LAST RIDE

“Nothing against Macon, but we are not a Macon band,” stressed Henry Paul, rhythm guitarist of the Outlaws. “We’re from Tampa, Florida and proud of it.”

The Outlaws aren’t the first rockers to emerge from Tampa, but are certainly filled with more civic pride than Stephen Stills, who disassociated himself from the Gulf Coast city at an early age. In fact, their desire to be recognized as headliners by the hometown folks has led to a dream that makes opening for the Rqjling Stones, as they did on this summer’s tour, seem like lightweight stuff. “There’s a 9,000 seat hall in Tampa we’ve opened shdws at for a long time,” mentioned lead guitarist Billy Jones. “We’re aiming to go back home as the headliners.”

They are not far from thaDgoal. Before joining the Stones tour, the Outlaws were held over for nearly two weeks at Denver’s Ebbets Field, a record for the Colorado music showcase. “I could make more money using the Outlaws as a house band than by booking a major schedule,” said Ebbets owner Chuck Morris. Outlawmania tarried over into the local retail market, as sales of the band’s first album climbed from 200 to 5,000 during their stay in town. With that album bulleting to the top of the national charts and “There Goes Another Love Song” doing the same as a single, it would seem that the Outlaws have arrived.

The Outlaws’ first national tour left a good taste in everyone’s mouth. Although the band plans on working more this year than during either of the last two., the paychecks are healthier and they may be able to fulfill some dreams, “Right now we’re travelling around in a van and a pick-up truck,” Jones offered. “We hope to be able to get a bus in a coupla months.”

The Outlaws spent an intensive three years on the Southern bar-route, which took them from Tampa to Macon to Atlanta to Augusta to Columbus to Raleigh and back to Tampa where they played rooms with a squeezed capacity of 50. “In 1973 and ’74, we averaged 268 dates a year,” Paul noted m-atterof-factly. “We figured that comes out to about 740 45-minute sets a year. This year we should play 290 dates, but doing concerts with an album out makes it a lot easier.”

The pace has taken its toll on the Outlaws’, married lives. Although the five players and two roadies are all 25 and youngbr, they have all heen married. Only two marriages are still intact (Paul’s and Jones’). and both remaining wives were travelling and clinging to their “old men.”

“It’s tough to keep any kind of relationship together,” Jones said. “In fact it’s hard for the band to see ea£h other, every day without nailing each other.” They went on a.long tangent about the many times they’ve beaten the shit out of each other and although there were disagreements about certain outcomes, they all admitted to feeling the pressures that have been with them during their trek to headline status.

“There are two things that I think are really important,” interjected bass player Frank O’Keefe. “We love Lynyrd Skynyrd and we owe them a lot. They’ve had us open a lot of important shows for them when we were scuffling, but now we’re getting compared to them and I don’t think there are any similarities. We’re always being introduced as a hot new Macon band and we don’t want to be identified with that town. This is a Tampa band. The other essential thing that you mention is that I’m from Clearwater (across the bay). I have nothing against Tampa but the towns are rivals and if my friends see that I say I’m from Tampa, my days are numbered.”

“We’ve never even listened to a Skynyrd album,” Paul added, “yet people tell us our ‘Green Grass and High Tides’ is like ‘Free Bird.’ Our influences are people, like the Buffalo Springfield, the Byrds, Gordon Lightfoot, Gene Clark, Neil Young and Richie...Richie.. .Richie.. Furay.”

With a single finally broken (“There Goes Another Love Song”) and fall tours set up with the Doobie Brothers, Marshall Tucker and ZZ Top, The Outlaws are just getting a taste of what seems to be a meteoric rise to the top, but is obviously a result of well-rturtured discipline and constant gigging.

“No mote of those Sunday trips from Tampa to_ Macon for awhile,” sighed drummer Monty Yoho, the Black Jack Daniels devotee of the group. “We’re getting tired of the Lake City Exit. That’s the only stop between Tampa and Macon where you can get beer on Sundays.”