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"In a band, you just want to go out and play music for a living," says saxophone player Jerry DePizzo, 23, by phone from a tour stop in Memphis. "And it's actually happening. It wasn't a complete shock, but it was a nice surprise to sell out a House of Blues show in Los Angeles, for example. We were able to take a couple trips out West while we were in school. We did shows in Arizona and Las Vegas."
DePizzo, the only band member not from Rockville, pauses to consider the group's good fortune--how MP3 downloading, CD burning and the explosion of Napster and other file-sharing programs in 1999 and 2000 pushed the grassroots marketing of the band into the unknown. "If you're looking for a definitive answer [as to how this happened]...I really don't have one for you," he says.
O.A.R., short for ...Of A Revolution, had released four albums on its tiny Everfine Records label (essentially a holding company for the band) and sold more than 250,000 copies before signing an imprint deal with major label Lava Records last year. Its latest album, In Between Now and Then, released in May, debuted at No. 54 on the Billboard Top 200, selling more than 20,000 copies its first week out.
While Phish, the modern benchmark for good-timing grassroots success, formed as a group of Vermont college students in 1983, it didn't release its first real album until 1988 and had to work its way through the bar circuit for several years before the cult that developed around it spread. Phish's members were pushing 30 when casual listeners discovered them. Phish, however, never had the Internet to fan its early flames, and that's where O.A.R.'s saga lies.
Die-hard fans, almost all of whom are under 25, offer stories by phone and e-mail of friends introducing them to the band and inspiring them to download specific songs. Eventually, these fans say, they attended Ohio and D.C.-area shows, and from there, they told other friends, burned songs onto CDs or zapped files through their e-mail and requisite peer-to-peer programs (Napster may be dead, but Kazaa, Limewire and Morpheus live on).
"This was the only way to hear a band like O.A.R., unless you lived in the Columbus area," says fan Sam Corea, who stumbled upon the band in 1999 as an undergraduate at Miami University in Oxford. Corea now runs a site dedicated to the band called "Destination...Of A Revolution" (http://samsee.tripod.com/ofarevolution), with fan reviews, discography, photos and news.
The song most often mentioned as the hook for the movement is "That Was a Crazy Game of Poker," a groovefest of a ballad. The song shows off Roberge's whimsical, albeit bar-soaked chops as a lyricist: "And I said, 'Johnny, what you doin' tonight?'/He looked at me with a face full of fright/And I said, 'How about a revolution?'/And he said, 'Right.'" Live versions of the song regularly stretch past 13 winding minutes.
"Honestly, the song is a good party song, whether you are drinking or just hanging around with a group of friends," says Ed Paff Jr. of Cincinnati. "For me, the song has meaning, because it was the song that first got me listening to a band I consider one of my favorites now."
A few fans' dedication has reached true techie-geek levels. Paff recalls friends and associates using old-school FTP servers--the predecessors to open file-swapping--to disseminate the music. Paff himself fell in love with the group enough to start a Web site (www.oarsa.org) that compiles set lists of the band's shows, always a popular jam-band service.
While rabid believers helped spread the word about O.A.R. --whose lineup is rounded out by guitarist Richard On and bassist Benj Gershman--the band itself was savvy enough to embrace new technology. It started a message board, on which DePizzo, more than the others, frequently posts dispatches from the road. The group's Web site (www.ofarevolution.com) is a busy, deftly animated affair with darting sections, robotically scrolling text windows and the usuals--songs, lyrics and links to fan sites. It took the cue from Net denizens and fostered the community.
"It's a scary thing for the record industry," says a thoughtful DePizzo. "They have absolutely no control over [Internet distribution]. The initial reaction is, 'Holy shit, they're stealing our music.' Then you think about it two seconds later, and you say, 'They want to hear our music,' and then you see how it translates into people coming to our shows."