By Jef With One F
By Rocks Off
By Chris Lane
By Angelica Leicht
By Corey Deiterman
By Angelica Leicht
By Corey Deiterman
Then the roof caved in.
What unfolded afterward is the sort of ripe, rise-above-adversity saga that threatens to be more intriguing than the actual band at its center -- though I doubt the Ugly Americans would see it that way. A group of seasoned Austin veterans, the Uglies is an inherently privileged sextet. They've never had a problem with self-confidence, which makes them a hard bunch to feel sorry for, especially given that things have tended to come easily for them.
Case in point: in '94, less than a year after they formed, the Uglies slipped smoothly into the H.O.R.D.E. lineup for some select dates (and, ultimately, into a jam-band stigma they have yet to shake). They recorded a self-titled live CD that was released independently in early '95, and soon accolades came pouring in from all over. The group managed an appearance on MTV's Week in Rock, something Uglies frontman Bob Schneider chose not to participate in, preferring instead to watch a favorite Roseanne rerun. Even Entertainment Weekly found some space for the Uglies, praising them as one of the country's best unsigned bands.
So when it came time late last summer to record their Giant debut, the Ugly Americans seemed on the speedy track to stardom. They headed to Los Angeles to work with big-name producer Don Gehman (R.E.M., Hootie and the Blowfish) and walked away a few weeks later with Stereophonic Spanish Fly. It was the rarest of first-effort souvenirs -- a CD that made everyone involved happy.
"It was a very collaborative effort," says Ugly Americans bassist Sean McCarthy. "You always hear those quintessential stories about the whole negative producer thing; that didn't happen with us at all."
But if the work in the studio was a dream, what was happening in the corporate offices of Giant promised a nightmare. The relatively young label had decided it was time to restructure and fine-tune its image, and the Uglies, it became clear, were not going to be part of the project.
"It's just the way it goes, and I speak from having dealt with a lot of labels," says Ugly Americans manager Mark Bliesener, a man who also handles the affairs of Big Head Todd and the Monsters, a band that survived the overhaul of Giant. "All the labels are equally good or bad. If you're getting a lot of airplay, they're good; if you're not, they're bad."
The Ugly Americans, though, never had the chance to prove themselves on the airwaves. Summer stretched to fall stretched to winter, and Stereophonic Spanish Fly's release was still on hold. Then in January '96, Giant cut the Uglies loose. They were left to fend for themselves with only a small supply of advance CDs, some of which had already made their way to radio stations in anticipation of Stereophonic's release. A few weeks later, Giant changed its name to Revolution. Some year.
"It wasn't like one day we just woke up and didn't have a label. They were very subtle," recalls McCarthy. "They were kind of wussy about it -- saying they weren't sure whether they wanted us or not. What made it worse was knowing that we had come back from Los Angeles with this amazing record. We'd play it for our friends, and they'd be like, 'That's great, when does it come out?' And we'd be like, 'Well, uh, we're not sure now.' It was frustrating."
It was a lot to stomach, but the Ugly Americans managed to stay sane by staying active. In the months after its falling out with Giant, the band performed almost nonstop, playing regularly in Austin, Houston and Boulder, Colorado -- all Uglies hubs -- and trying not to wear out its welcome. Then this spring, they finally found a new label, Nashville-based Capricorn, which has a national distribution deal with Mercury Records. Last week, Capricorn released the long-delayed Stereophonic Spanish Fly.
Even though the CD has finally surfaced, it's hard for McCarthy not to sound a little exasperated. After all, the time that's been spent this year pulling in weekend crowds on Sixth Street and filling the Fabulous Satellite Lounge a few times a month could have been used to gain a foothold in other markets. "We do well in Houston for a city of, what, four million people," he quips cynically. "[But] we couldn't tour anywhere else because we didn't have a label. We were in limbo."