The Hottest In The Hooter Business

The Hottest In The Hooter Business

by Karen Schlosberg

Part One, So You Want to be a Rock �n� Roll Star: It�s gray and chilly in Hartford, with all sorts of elemental mischief threatened. The Hooters have been on tour for eight months, supporting their nowplatinum national debut album, Nervous Night. They were out with Don Henley. They were out with Squeeze. They were out on their own. Now they�re out with Loverboy. The road goes on forever.

Two o�clock in the afternoon on the day after a precious day off finds various Hooters in varying degrees of liveliness assembling in the quiet and impersonal hotel lobby. Eric Bazilian, singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist and one of the founding Hooters, is talking to several entourage-types with guitarist John Lilley. Drummer David Uosikkinen and bassist/ singer Andy King sit slumped in the mockcomfortable lobby chairs, unwilling to go gently into the good afternoon. David is cheerfully subdued; he�d actually been partying the previous night and has gotten little, if any, sleep. Andy is silent, sporting fashionable stubble (removed by showtime), a Jane Jetson button and shades; he is simply a night person.

Rob Hyman, singer/songwriter/keyboard & hooter player—and the other founding Hooter—has been working since 12:30, sitting cross-legged on a bed in his hotel room, trying to eat a sandwich while being interviewed.

�It�s a little overwhelming for us because the rise in excitement has really been dramatic in the last year,� Rob says between bites of a BLT. �I�m real excited about what�s going on. I don�t think anybody in the band is taking anything for granted at all. We see it like we�re really just starting, which is amazing considering how many bands we�ve been in and how many different experiences we�ve had within this band. There�s just so much we want to accomplish.�

The Hooters are in an interesting posi-

tion, practically being treated as overnight successes (yes, didn�t they win this very publication�s Best New Group of 1985 award?), yet they�ve been plugging solidly away for nearly six years in and about their home base of Philadelphia. There, they had already earned celebrity status—their 1983 EP Amore sold just about 100,000 copies in the area alone,

and the band was able to sell out Philly�s Tower Theatre for five nights last fall. On a national level, however, things have happened fairly quickly: Nervous Night was released last spring, with three singles and the all-important videos following—�All You Zombies,� �And We Danced� and the current, most successful �Day by Day�—and, with the incessant roadwork, the Hooters have been able to see tangible heightening in audience reactions as the tours wore on.

�The touring�s really what�s paid off,� Rob says. �There�s been no substitute for that for us. It�s a hard way to do it. But we�ve always played live, so as much as we�re into writing and studio work—which is really a big part of what we�re motivated by—there�s a relationship with an audience that you just can�t get any other way.�

Part Two, That�s No Lady, That�s a Melodica: For the uninitiated, a history. Head Hooters Rob and Eric met in a synthesizer class at the University of Pennsylvania, where Rob was a biology major (�There were thoughts of just being a doctor or a lawyer or something normal�), and Eric a physics major (�So I could tend bar,� he says, �that�s all a degree in physics entitles you to�). Rob had already met, and was playing with, fellow student/now producer Rick Chertoff (�I think he was a history major, which made a little more sense�). The three of them even briefly played together in an �esoteric� band called Wax.

After graduation, Chertoff was off to the Big Bad Apple in search of a producing

�It�s a little overwhelming for us because the rise in excitement has really been dramatic in the last year. �

—Rob Hyman

gig. He landed one at the fledgling label Arista, which came in handy when Rob and Eric formed a studio-oriented combo, Baby Grand. They released two albums, but neither the LPs nor the accompanying tours were successful. The duo then formed the Hooters.

�We went back to zero. But we had a

lot of experience. We knew what we wanted to do and we also knew that getting a record contract doesn�t mean that you�ve really made it,� Rob says. �That�s what most people wait for—including us—but when we put the band together we were real patient to not jump into that. We always felt we weren�t ready and we

wanted to keep writing, we wanted to keep getting better. We were just taking our time to develop it, and it worked for us.�

But it wasn�t easy. The band transported itself, managed itself and booked itself for several years, in addition to the creative duties necessary for its existence. And when Chertoff recruited the songwriters in 1983 for a project he was doing with Cyndi Lauper—the megaalbum She�s So Unusual (for which Rob and Eric provided most of the musical backup and arrangements; Rob also cowrote �Time After Time�)—it coincided, Rob says, with the band�s desire to take a break.

�We weren�t getting along and we weren�t developing the music the way we wanted to. We basically disbanded, right at a point where the band was really hot. We had just opened for the Who at JFK [Stadium] and record companies were sniffing around. So Cyndi�s thing came at just a good time,� he says. ��After we finished Cyndi�s album we definitely wanted to get back into the studio, because we really had the bug to do our own record. That�s when we did Amore, that fall.�

For Amore, original Hooters Rob, Eric and David reformed with new musicians, guitarist John Lilley and bassist Rob Miller (both veterans of Robert �Girls Just Want to Have Fun� Hazard�s band) and divested themselves of business duties. Miller was sidelined by an auto accident and bassist Andy King joined at the beginning of 1984; the lineup has been solid since, as has the live foundation for the band�s popularity.

Part Three, No Thanks I�ve Got to Go to the Lobby and Wait for the Limo: Rob has no chance to finish his lunch. He is a natural and intelligent, self-described �gabber,� with a good sense of humor— a description that more or less fits the whole band. And a good sense of humor comes in handy for business as usual.

Down in the lobby last-minute preparations are being made for a three-radiostation promotional run. A TV crew from Philly mills around waiting for departure:

they will be following the band for three days. Though Rob and Eric are in basic black, only John is dressed in leathers, looking like a Rock Star. �Moi?� he asks with amused exaggeration.

The million-selling artists wait outside

in the drizzle for their transport. It turns out to be an American rental late-model quasi-station wagon, into which cram five Hooters, the road manager, the record company promotion man and me, like a rehearsal for a college prank.

Picture the following routine in fastmotion played against a Keystone Cops tinkly piano: Climb in the car, pass the hotel, the city hall, the oldest carousel in some geographical distance; make bad puns, park at the radio station. Fall out of the car—leave road manager and band member locked in the back, scratching at the window like lonely puppies—enter

radio station. Andy puts on sunglasses. Hooters swarm into glass-enclosed air studio, cameras peeping along. DJ asks such questions as, �How did you get your name?,� �What does a hooter (smirk, smirk) really mean?� or, in a burst of inspiration, �So, are you guys ready to rock �n� roll?�. If lucky, get to answer questions on-air from very youthful sounding, hyperexcited and sometimes not-too-coherent fans. Do station IDs in the production studio. Cameras peep along. Sign papers and albums and have pictures taken with studio employees. Swarm out of station. Andy removes sunglasses. Climb back into the car. Pass the hotel, the city hall, the oldest carousel in some geographical distance; make more bad puns, exchange some Steven Wright jokes. Eric sings the theme song from The Mary Tyler Moore Show and Andy sings Green Acres (and he knows the theme song from Tobor The Eighth Man\). Park at next station. Repeat whole procedure twice.

It�s not just a job, it�s an adventure.

The station wagon finally empties at the Civic Center for soundcheck. The arena is very odd; it�s inside a mall. What the developers were trying to say about entertainment as a commodity with this architectural statement might be insulting. Backstage there are no brown M&Ms. There are no M&Ms. There are chips, veggies, dip, juice, soda, assorted breakfast cereals and inevitable Spinal Tap jokes.

Part Four, Last Train to Clarksville: The

lights are down and the band runs out onstage, breaking into the exuberant �Day By Day.� I struggle to put my earplugs in before the high decibel squeals of the two girls behind me deafen me. �l�m gonna die\ I�m gonna d/e!� Rob casually waves and grins at our side of the audience during �Hanging On A Heartbeat� and they�re off again, as they are when Eric plays the sax on �Don�t Take My Car Out Tonight.� It�s not just them, either. There are scads of cleancut female leaders of tomorrow out of verbal control. I take another look at the band.

�The most twisted thing is that I don�t feel important or famous. I�m no different than a bricklayer or a surgeon or an airplane pilot. ��

—Eric Bazilian

This is a puzzlement. These guys are delightfully and comfortably normal. Sure, they�re cute and they�re color-coordinated onstage and they produce warm and likable videos that generally reflect the band�s personality. But they�re also older than the average teen idol—all of them are in their early to mid-30s (though they don�t look it)—and while their music fits squarely into the pop category, their skillful, hook-laden songs, inventive arrangements and passionate live show place them on a rather higher level of musical sophistication than, say, Howard Jones or Duran Duran (�I don�t know how many times in the last couple of months I�ve heard �John Taylor, watch out,� � Andy says, laughing).

Fans� fervor has become something of a double-edged sword for the band; to a man they express a certain amount of discomfort at being the objects of obsession; at being perceived as projected images of Stardom rather than solely musicians. And that that kind of attention may inhibit more serious consideration of their talent frustrates them.

�It�s kind of a Catch-22,� Rob says with a smile and a sigh, �because we try to excite them and then they react by throwing things and climbing onstage. I�m not really comfortable with that at all. It�s really hard. It�s not a part of the business I was ever interested in; some people really want to be stars, be recognized and all that. I don�t think most of us do and I definitely don�t. There�s times when you really want your privacy and it�s really starting to disapper.�

The phone rings, Rob answers. It�s a fan with a tale of all-night ticket procuring and subsequent weather-induced illness for the sake of front-row seats. Rob is politely appreciative. At least he�s awake. There was another call while the band was in Louisiana. It was nine o�clock in the morning and he was asleep. A far^ wanted to discuss music. �Sure, what�s on your mind? Eighteenth-century sonatas?� Rob wanted to ask. They track you down.

�That idolizing kind of thing—the people we meet at the shows, sometimes they almost pass out, they shake. We did an in-store in New Jersey, and they come to take a picture and their hands are shaking so much they can�t. And we�re just-^� Rob shakes his head. �We�re regular guys, it�s the same old thing. We�re saying, �Oh, calm down, it�s all right.� And they�re off. There�s no way you�re gonna stop �em.�

Eric verbalizes his discomfort more intensely. This is fitting, as he appears to do everything more intensely: the sort of person who throws himself wholehearted-

ly into every project, always has a million of them going and does brilliantly at each. He is the most classically good-looking of the band, with enough awareness of this to use it to his advantage yet still be annoyed at his inability to turn it off when desired.

It�s backstage after the Hartford show. The band has patiently and cheerfully chatted up a roomful of fans, friends and music industry types posed for endless pictures, signed endless autographs, shook endless hands and kissed endless cheeks. They do this every night. Eric sits in the empty, exhausted room with a

beautiful new Ovation guitar on his lap, illustrating "the conversation with wellplaced, witty musical punctuations ranging from Beatles songs to �Hava Nagila.�

�It�s weird, because I�m trying to figure out what people want,� he says. ��Most people probably wish you well and do just want to express their admiration. But sometimes it seems like everybody just wants—they want to know, �Are you somebody I should know?,� or, if they recognize you it�s like, �Can I have your autograph? Can I have something of yours to show my friends so they believe I met you?� That upsets me, that people want a piece of you.

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HOOTERS

�And then there are even a few people, I�m finding now, who are openly hostile; they want to prove that they can hurt me. It makes them big—�I hurt somebody famous; I hurt somebody important.� The most twisted thing about that is that I don�t feel important or famous. As far as I�m concerned I�m no different than a bricklayer or a surgeon or an airline pilot. I�m somebody that does a job. I�m just a little more visible than your average surgeon.

�The thing that gets me is people who jump up onstage. They think they�re showing their admiration, their love, by interfering with your show. And you can try to stop them, but they don�t understand that. They think you�re turning on them. So you�re kind of caught in the middle there.

�I don�t know if it changes you inside. I think that happens to you when you�re

younger, the way it happened to the Beatles.� He launches into �I Want To Hold Your Hand.� �It just happens to you when you�re not mature enough to handle it properly; it can change you. And of course the worst thing is the artist believing in their own hype. But we�re old enough—and God knows,� he laughs, �we�ve been around enough—to weather this storm.�

He picks out the familiar circus theme.

Part Five, Don�t You Forget About Me: The Hooters are justifiably proud of their innovative use of non-traditional rock instruments and are always listening to wide varieties of music in search of ideas and inspiration. They don�t want to simply release, as Andy says, Nervous Night II—or, as David puts it, Nervous Morning or Nervous Afternoon. But they are itchy to get back into the studio. Rob and Eric have been composing on a four-track portastudio, and have slipped in studio time with Chertoff when possible (�We made a joke that we�ll deliver our next album and it�ll all be like, �Rollin� down the highway on a tour bus...�,� Rob laughs, �and Columbia�s going to go, �What happened to these guys?!��). They�re hoping that the end of the Loverboy tour is the end of the Nervous Night tour, though there are still Europe and Japan to conquer (Australia is already theirs).

�We�re on this treadmill now, you go home for a day and all of a sudden it�s �what do I do now? I�m home� � Rob says, laughing. �When you�re away you get homesick and all, but then you have a day off and you get buggy. You reach a point where the road becomes a way of life. I can see how people get into that; it�s a real organized kind of existence. A lot of your decisions are ■ made for you, so you don�t have a lot of say —which is also a down side.�

The old being-in-rock-�n�-roll-meansnever-having-to-grow-up. He laughs again. ��Yeah, yeah. I get that from my family. They call me Peter Pan—�When are you going to grow out of this rock �n� roll stuff?��

But Eric received the ultimate blessing. ��My grandmother—God bless her—she said to me when we signed with Columbia, �Ricky!�— she calls me RicRy—�I want you to know, I wouldn�t be prouder of you now if you just graduated medical school�.� ®