FFWD Weekly
Copyright © 1999. All Rights Reserved
| Music by FFWD Staff Fuel with The Mayfield Four It’s hard not to mist up when lamenting the death of the iron-on T-shirt and not think that it’s a sign of the passing of something far more important than bad taste. To wear a decal on your chest was a sign of conviction. A statement to the world that Corvette drivers "Wrap their ass in Fiberglas" or that "Grandmas make better luvers." Sure there’s always the bumper sticker, but Calvin taking a whiz on a Chevy logo hardly has the same impact as the impudent insistence that "Here comes trubble," or "My mom and dad went to Las Vegas and all they brought me was this crummy T-shirt." If we were living in another time, and the world was a saner place, chances are you would find Brett Scallions, the vocalist for American band Fuel, adorned in a black T-shirt with Satan depicted in ruby red cartoon glitter. And there, for all the world to see would be the words that are so under-used these days that they’ve lost their cliché status, but words that run deep to anyone who’s ever felt their power: I sold my soul for rock ’n’ roll. Scallions is so committed to the rock ’n’ roll cause that he’s holed up sick in a hotel room doing interviews mere hours before he’s to take the stage for yet another show in support of his band’s endless hit machine, Sunburn. In fact, so sick is Scallions that one gets the impression The Devil is on his way to collect what’s due. "I would probably have to be so absolutely sick that I would need doctor’s attention," says Scallions when asked what it would take to keep him from the lights and the crowd. "I would have to totally lose my voice or run a 103-degree fever." But whether it be his convictions or a deal with higher – or lower – powers, Scallions and his three bandmates are getting the job done. The Pennsylvania-based quartet’s year-old debut, Sunburn, is one of the few rock records currently enjoying any success on the American music charts, thanks to two Top 20 singles including the group’s calling-card track "Shimmer." They even enjoyed a month-long opening spot for another rock act that – hard to think of any other explanation – may have made a deal with The Devil: Aerosmith. Fuel are throwbacks to the early ’90s when guitar, angst and aggression were the cornerstones of the music industry, and sounding like Soundgarden and Nirvana was almost as profitable as actually being Soundgarden and Nirvana. As Scallions says, he and the other three were brought together over the "love of fat mean guitars and catchy songs you can sing along to," and maybe it’s a testament to how proficient they are that they should make such an impact in a time when samples and diva duets are being embraced to a greater degree. Now if only their benefactor could do something about those damn Grammy voters. "I could give a rat’s ass," he spits over his and rock’s perceived exclusion from the annual exercise in American music industry backpatting. "We’re not into music to win awards, we’re into music to play songs that we love and hopefully obtain more and more fans. We just want people to enjoy what we’re doing as much as we enjoy doing it. "The music industry – as illustrated by the Grammy Awards and things like that – is embracing rock ’n’ roll right now about as much as country music embraced Johnny Cash. "It’s sad because they’re pushing rock ’n’ roll out of the way so they can have more time for Celine Dion and Mariah Carey and Brandy and Monica and all that stuff. "I think that they’re just afraid that they don’t like the unpredictable emotions and form of chaos that rock ’n’ roll involves. They’re afraid to put something like that on TV because they never know what’s going to happen. I think they’re scared of it." If history has anything to say about it, they should be. Odds are rock ’n’ roll should be enjoying another insurgence within the next decade, and Scallions hopes to be around to see it. But even if it doesn’t happen and popular music finds another genre, don’t expect Fuel to roll over and call it quits – they’re here for the duration, whatever they decide that is. "That goes with anything that you do," he says. "If you’re a doctor you want to be a doctor for the rest of your life. You want to say when you’re done, you don’t want someone else to say it for you." Not unless that someone is The Grim Reaper on the front of your T-shirt and out of a voice bubble he’s imparting the words that call all true rock ’n’ rollers home: Death before disco. Oh, yeah. |
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