1995 Dallas Observer Music Awards (Part I)

"I just want to get it on tape for the fun of it, for the art of it. And it's been working out really well."

--R.W.

MALE VOCALIST & SONGWRITER
Todd Lewis of Toadies

ROCK & ALTERNATIVE POP/ROCK
Toadies

It is always difficult to gauge how well a local band will fare once it is thrust into the larger arena. Certainly, Jackopierce and Tripping Daisy's most rabid fans thought guaranteed fame and fortune lay ahead for those two bands when they released their major-label debuts, yet they suffer in greater anonymity today; certainly, Course of Empire and Little Sister's labels expected something better than the lethargic response that greeted them upon the release of their discs. Every band can be a star in Deep Ellum for a lifetime, but it can be a humbling--if not humiliating--experience to discover just how tenuous and elusive fame truly is once you load the van and leave downtown.

In the months preceding the release of Rubberneck, the Toadies' debut on Interscope Records, I had long predicted huge things for this band. That something about them being "the future of rock and roll," written in January 1994, was simply a sincere nod of affection and appreciation--no mere hometown stroking, but an honest response to an album that, along with Bedhead's WhatFunLifeWas, ranks among the best albums released anywhere last year. A hundred listens later, Rubberneck retains its impact--its threats no less serious, its hell-bent furor no less weakened, its screams and anger and fervor no less diminished by repeated playings.

And yet, like Bedhead, the Toadies have received little attention since the album's release. The band's press kit, sent from Interscope, is filled with clips from the likes of Cake, Ink Nineteen, Lollipop Magazine, Diesel, Magnet, and assorted other underground indie mags filled with such critical praise as "The Toadies ROCK!!!!" The band did receive a nice nod in the Los Angeles Times a month ago--but only at the bottom of a concert review for Bush, the Toadies' label- and tourmates. "Bush could perhaps do with a few lessons in raw feeling from openers the Toadies," wrote Sandy Mauso, "who launched into their surging set of brash and acridly melodic tunes as if the hounds of hell were on their trail."

Their trip into the world of major-labeldom has been an odd and bumpy one, fraught with severe disappointment and pleasant surprises. Rubberneck was to have been released last April; then the label decided to make Reverend Horton Heat and Helmet priorities and pushed the Toadies back to June, then July, finally settling on an August release date (to coincide with college students returning to school, the label explained). But when the album finally hit stores, Interscope was immersed in the sudden, inexplicable popularity of glam-horror band Marilyn Manson and Nine Inch Nails, and threw their publicity machine behind those two acts until the Toadies were relegated to the bottom of the list.

Their initial signing to the label might have been a stroke of good luck--a relative knew someone at a small label who knew someone at the bigger label and so on--but from there, it backslid into the same ol' same ol'. Just a couple of weeks ago, the band was preparing to go on tour with the Cult for a few weeks as opening act--begrudgingly, mind you, but with the knowledge that the Toadies would be playing to the largest crowds of their lives. But that band canceled its entire North American tour (something to do with bad habits, evidently).

And yet just last week the band heard that its third video, an amazing piece of work for "Possum Kingdom," has been accepted by MTV to air on "120 Minutes." On top of that, their performance last month on "The Jon Stewart Show" was astounding television, all catharsis and cathodes.

That the Toadies are the biggest winners in this year's Music Awards is both a pleasant surprise and, quite simply, a surprise. After making much in these pages of the band's normally tepid response from Dallas crowds--especially after witnessing the rabid mosh-pit lunacy of fans in Fort Worth and Austin--perhaps there is finally a recognition of the band's stature and power. Though the band walked away last year with the rock and alternative-rock awards, for the first time Todd Lewis has been recognized as this town's premier male singer and songwriter, an award befitting any man so willing to bare what is left of his soul each time he takes the stage.

When Lewis went back to playing guitar after the departure of Charles Mooney, there was a concern that his frenzied persona would be tempered by his inability to crouch and grovel in front of the microphone, that the instrument in his hands would temper his mania. And there have been changes, though they have been subtly evident--like when you raise the temperature from 211 degrees Fahrenheit to 212, and suddenly water begins to boil. Instead of bending and contorting his body, using the mike stand as a prop, he is fully in control of the sound of this band--its searing vocals, its unholy guitar riffs (created with Darrell Herbert), its deceptively catchy pop tunes about the evils of religion and stalking women.