Alpha Zulu pushes itself so that you'll listen
by Mike Gibson
There's something refreshing about the self-titled CD release from Knoxville's Alpha Zulu, a sound and an essence that set it apart from other, more pedestrian platters of its ilk. It falls somewhere in that over-broad yet somehow ever-narrowing abyss we call "modern rock," and it has the same kind of clear-headed pop rock directness that makes most alleged representatives of that ill-defined genre sound remarkably radio friendly.
But if Alpha Zulu is modern rock, it's modern rock pruned of rote-ness, synthetic sweetners, clutter. It's heavy, but not ponderous or numbing. It's funky, but bereft of suburban white-kid posturing. It's music that might meld seamlessly with the likes of Jane's Addiction or mid-period Chili Peppers or early Faith No More—progenitors of the so-called Alternative Nation—rather than serving as a faint second- or third-generation echo of that sound.
"We see ourselves fitting in with that late '80's, early '90's era of bands," says drummer Kenny Smith. It's early evening, under cover of mid-fall's early darkness, and Smith and his fellows have gathered for rehearsal in the basement of his parents' Oak Ridge home.
"Those bands are so interesting, so 'in between.' You've got the heavy rap thing now, and it's all been done before. Sooner or later, it comes back to melody."
Smith, a native Oak Ridger, moved home from a dalliance in Atlanta some three years ago and conceived with his cousin Bryan McGill—the original Zulu bassist—the seed of Alpha Zulu, a musical entity "with lots of dynamics, lots of emotion...very non-standard in its approach. Bashing out the same riff—that's something we absolutely will not do."
Through friends, the fledgling Zulus recruited now 24-year-old Blake Womack on guitar, and then chose lanky Brian Stephens (now 27), late of a popular cover band in Nashville, from among 15 auditioning vocalists. "I heard their demo, and I was like, 'Yes!'" Stephens relates. "The vibe and the energy; it was exactly what I wanted to express with my lyrics."
Says Smith of his vocalist, who is still a relative neophyte, "He's got an incredible natural talent. There are guys who have been out there for years who would love to have his control and creativity."
That creativity was manifest on Alpha Zulu, the locally-recorded and released compact disc the band produced in 1999. Mixing hard funk with prog-rock and even pop overtones, the record showcases a versatile, texturally-sensitive hard rock outfit, fronted by a singer who places clarity and melody above visceral impact.
"B.B. King said it best," Smith says, "'How can I talk to you if I holler at you all the time?'"
Stephens' lucidly athletic vox are a stainless foil for Alpha Zulu songs, most of which are grounded in Womack's versatile comping. Throughout Alpha Zulu's 12 tracks, the guitarist's loose-limbed funk and tempered riffage echo any number of diverse proto-Nation forebears; Voivod-esque chordal drone; jagged, Tool-ish riffscapes; even lurching FNM crunch ("New Destination.")
But Smith says Zulu's approach is what sets the band apart from its peers as much as any specific musical influence. From day one, Smith and McGill envisioned their project as a disciplined, goal-oriented unit. Zulu rehearsals are regular, even regimented, its methods thorough.
"We work hard, set goals, and make our time at practice worthwhile," Smith says. "People in other bands have even called us 'militant.' That's unusual for a rock band; we don't even drink beer at practice."
Zulu has changed in one significant respect, with the recent departure of McGill and the addition of new bassist Chuck Getsi. A long-time Alpha Zulu supporter ("He was at our first practice"), Getsi came to Smith at an opportune moment, in search of a gig.
"Bryan had a day job; we would have taken Chuck earlier, but he was always with someone else," Smith says. "Then one day, he shows up on our doorstep."
Alpha Zulu has been dormant of late; come December, they'll resume their playing schedule, beginning with a Dec. 1 date at Prince's Deli with local major label heavies Dreve. Their approach to live shows, it would seem, is every bit as well-conceived as their rehearsals.
"Our goal is to get a good crowd in about five different cities around the area," Smith says. "If you can do that, you'll have no problem with a booking agent or manager."
"We know what we want to do," adds Stephens. "Now it's up to us to work our asses off to get there."
November 2, 2000 * Vol. 10, No. 44
© 2000 Metro Pulse
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