By Kelly Dearmore
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Alice Laussade
After 1981, it seemed as though America was through with the Knack; they had been properly disposed of. Prescott Niles got a gig with Josie Cotton; Berton Averre went on the road with Bette Midler; Bruce Gary got a gig backing Jack Bruce (and Bob Dylan!); while Fieger turned up every now and then on Roseanne. Fieger spent most of the 1980s trying to detox from the drugs and booze he vacuumed down during his brief moment as a superstar; the man didn't waste a second of his fame.
"I had a long recovery period," he says. "Since I was a little kid, I was very involved in chemical enhancement, and at the end of 1983, I had to take a look at my life and think, 'Am I going to be part of the problem or part of the solution?' That took years. It's still going on, but in the meantime I can make music. There was a point there where I couldn't even pick up a guitar. It's not something I would wish on anyone--not even a critic. But it was something I needed to go through."
The band would reunite briefly in 1986 for a short tour, but it was a road to nowhere. We got the Knack again in 1991, when they recruited new drummer Billy Ward and unleashed Serious Fun--an album so good, it might as well have been blank (though Fieger would tend to disagree). But you know the rest of the story: In 1994, Reality Bites not only gapve Lisa Loeb a career for a few months, but also made "My Sharona" a top-10 hit one more time--something no other song has ever done on the American charts.
"By any stretch of the imagination, the Knack has been a huge success," Fieger says, pointing to the success of the "My Sharona" re-release. "Just because 15 or 20 writers don't like us, what the fuck does that mean?"
The band reunited once more and hit the road on a 32-city summer tour that found them opening their shows with lesser-known songs so dreadful, they cleared out every club they played. (Just ask Shannon Wynne, who booked the band in his 8.0, which is how many people stayed for the whole set.) By the time they rolled around to "My Sharona," which they inevitably played twice, the audience--don't even think of calling it a crowd--was just relieved they made it through to The Song.
But the moment of resurrection came last April at Johnny Depp's Viper Room in Los Angeles, when the original lineup took the stage in front of a crowd that included Clash 401K recipient Paul Simonon, severed Talking Head Jerry Harrison, and Robbie Rist (The Brady Bunch's Cousin Oliver and frontman for the Knack-like Wonderboy)--not exactly the coolest crowd ever to step in the Viper Room, but still. And damn it all if it wasn't a pretty brilliant show. The old songs didn't sound so old, the new songs thankfully didn't sound so new, and everyone who attended stayed till the very last song, astonished that such a fragile moment constructed out of kitsch and nostalgia would hold up so well. Harold Bronson, co-founder of Rhino Records, thought enough of the band to sign them to a deal--which makes the Knack one of the few functioning bands on the reissue-heavy label. Irony is apparently spelled K-N-A-C-K.
Oh, yes. Perhaps this would be a good time to mention that until Monday, when Fieger began having throat problems, the Knack was touring in support of a new album--or, as longtime local disc jockey George Gimarc offered last week, a current album, making a rather prescient point. (The band has canceled its show at the Galaxy Club, which was scheduled for September 14.) After all, the does-its-job Zoom sounds like more of the same old same old, beginning with a song called "Pop is Dead" (oh, those kidders!) and featuring one Fieger-Averre composition called "Good Enough" that sounds like all of Get the Knack rolled into one song. Rhino, never one to miss a tie-in, has also released a "best-of" titled Proof; and no, it's not just a reissue of Get the Knack.
Fieger insists this is the best album the Knack has ever made. He says it was "more fun" to make Zoom than Get the Knack, that new drummer Terry Bozzio (ex-Missing Persons) is "more fun" than fired original Bruce Gary; he asserts that 20 years later, he and Averre and Niles write better songs. I will take his word for it, because I can't tell the difference. Besides, it's hardly the point: When audiences go see the band perform these days, they don't care one damn about hearing "Can I Borrow a Kiss" or "In Blue Tonight." They want to hear "Good Girls Don't," "Let Me Out," "Oh Tara," "That's What the Little Girls Do," and perhaps even "My Sharona." Such is their legacy, for better or for worse.
"Guys like Jim Morrison and others have waxed poetic about the power of rock," Fieger offers. "But rock was really about the audience and the band having fun, and that's what I boil it down to...I am concerned people place such importance on a pop band, a rock band. I would say we were a rock-and-roll band, but that's just another label. We're a pop band in that Little Richard was pop and so was Little Anthony and the Imperials, just as Metallica and ABBA were pop artists. People place so much importance on these things.