BORN TO EAT CORNBREAD
A month after the release of Hallelujah Anyway, their second album, the Dancing Hoods planned to be on the road as an opening act for Graham Parker. The Los Angeles-by-way-of-Long Island quartet and its booking agency hoped the support spot would help the Hoods win over some new fans.
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BORN TO EAT CORNBREAD
A month after the release of Hallelujah Anyway, their second album, the Dancing Hoods planned to be on the road as an opening act for Graham Parker. The Los Angelesby-way-of-Long Island quartet and its booking agency hoped the support spot would help the Hoods win over some new fans. But Parker nixed the plan. Apparently the veteran British rocker didn’t like the Hoods’ brand of eclectic American rock.
“It hurt a lot,” remembers Hoods’ singer/guitarist Bob Bortnick. “He is someone who I admired a great deal. Either he has really lousy taste or he didn’t want to play with anybody who might give him a run for his money."
But the Hoods, to paraphrase Parker, didn’t let it break them down. “We immediately went out and sold all of our Graham Parker records,” says guitarist Mark Linkous.
The two principal players of the Hoods are holed up inside the legendary West Hollywood haunt Barney’s Beanery, sizing up the band’s six-year career. The brownish-blond-haired Bortnick munches on a cheeseburger with “no vegetables,” while the blackhaired Linkous is nursing a hangover. He hoped for fresh strawberries, but settles for a rather unusual remedy— a bowl of chili with cheese.
After the tour plans fell through, the Hoods took some time off. Bortnick returned to New York where he donned a suit and tie, slicked his hair back and worked as a loan officer. “It completely drove me nuts,” he says. “It was schizophrenic.”
Meanwhile, Linkous went back to Richmond, Virginia, where he worked with his father changing tires.
The Hoods began in 1983 when Linkous left Virginia to visit a girlfriend who happened to know Bortnick. “He came to New York. We played once and the band started,” Bortnick says matter-of-factly. The duo’s different tastes and hometowns shaped the band’s sound.
“I grew up with the trashy New York stuff like Television and the Dolls and AM radio,” says Bortnick. “And Mark grew up listening to country music, AC/DC and Alice Cooper.”
With Don Short, also from Long Island, manning the drums, the Hoods gigged on the East Coast. Soon bassist/singer Eric Williams was recruited to replace an original bass player who insisted on taking mescaline before every show.
After a five-song debut EP in 1984, the Hoods signed to Relativity, which released Twelve Jealous Roses, the band’s first LP, in 1986. The Hoods picked up the “best new band’’ honors at the New York Music Awards, then packed their bags and headed to L.A..
“We picked up our award on Friday and got on the plane on Saturday,” recalls Bortnick. But Williams decided to stay behind.
Once in L.A., Linkous looked up friend and fellow Virginian Johnny Hott of House of Freaks. “We formed a two-man gang called the Jazz Beard Motorcycle Club,” Linkous says. “We has these little beards and would tell girls that it was this ancient Chinese clitoral stimulation device. Our motto was ‘Born to eat cornbread!’ ”
In the same spirit, Linkous, Hott and BortniGk teamed up in an acoustic side-project called the Luv Tacos. Meanwhile the Hoods played around L.A. with bassist Tommy Blatnik, on loan from the Rave-Ups.
After recruiting permanent bassist Mike Garacino, the Hoods recorded Hallelujah Anyway, which remains one of the finest independent releases of the year.
“We have never been a trendoid band,” says Bortnick. “Because of that, a lot of stuff hasn’t happened. This band is more real than most. If people pick up on it, fine, if they don’t want to listen, that is fine too, as long as I can keep making it.”
In other words, Bortnick isn’t banking on a career in banking. Lately he has been focusing on honing his songwriting and spends lots of time listening to personal favorites like Leonard Cohen, Billie Holiday, Van Morrison and Otis Redding. So the Hoods aren’t ready to pack it in, no matter what Mr. Parker says.
“I don’t think either Bobby or myself would be able to live with ourselves buying a record or hearing a song on the radio and knowing that we could do it better," says Linkous, pausing. “We would be kicking ourselves in the ass for years.”
Craig Rosen
