Cheerleadr

Hip hip hooray for Rock Album

by John O'Neill

It takes balls for a band to call their disc Rock Album. What, after all, might inflame/excite an old-fart music critic more than the promise of good, old-fashioned guitar-driven music? The last time we pulled our head out of the sand and looked across the barren landscape of Modern Pop Music, it was devoid of anything remotely resembling what we regard as rock. Sure, ol' Liver Lips and his fossilized gas bags limp up to the podium every four years and proclaim to be the Greatest Rock Band of All-Time, but who's to argue with the senile old farts? Hell, after the hair-raising experience of grunge -- where guitar rock was commercially torpedoed by the likes of Bush, Stone Temple Pilots, and by a gaggle of less-talented foursomes -- the Stones almost seemed like a viable option . . . again. So, when Boston's Cheerleadr happened along with their third release, Rock Album (Pep Rally Records), we wondered if it was a cruel, cruel joke. Worse, we hoped the boys weren't so naive to the current un-hippness of rock bands that they may as well go ahead and stamp RETARD on their foreheads.

"Well, we didn't want to be too pretentious and have one of those long, deep [album] titles," says guitarist/singer Will Claflin. "It is a rock album; what you see is what you get. I don't think we'll be accused of false advertising."

It turns out Claflin and clan are not only for real, but also serious about where they stand: they're an honest-to-gosh, guitars-cranked, piss-and-vinegar, skinny-ass bunch of white boys intent on making a big, beautiful, hook-filled racket. In the days of the post-Nirvana meltdown, Cheerleadr are here to lead us back to rock's promised land. It's enough to make you cry.

They formed in 1995, had a few line-up changes along the way, but Cheerleadr have slowly become a contender for Next Big Thing in their hometown; they've earned a trip to the semi-finals of the 'BCN Rock and Roll Rumble last year, the admiration of several record-company weasels, and a reputation as a live band who blow the roof off the club and leave you standing in an excited pool of your urine. (You can see for yourself when they hit the Lucky Dog this Saturday night. For the record, they got the return gig after their first time through when they induced grand mal seizures among the Dog's management.) So, what does it all mean?

"We're getting a lot of attention [right now]; but you never know how long it will last. People can be inquisitive or turned off over the hype. You have to have a common goal to reach for."

Which, in the case of Cheerleadr, is that above-mentioned knack for destroying people at their live shows. Practicing up to six times a week, never having taken more than a week away from each other, the foursome (rounded out by guitarist Chad Appleby, bass player Johnny Fortin, and drummer Phil Mathews) have become a rock-and-roll killing machine. It's a natural biproduct, according to Claflin who reckons, "All the best bands are bands that tour because they become so tight. We can't leave our day jobs and spend all of our money trying to break even and play places like Tulsa! That's why we play a 45-minute set every night as if we are on tour. It may make us hate each other in 15 years, and it's not easy to do after a long day at work, but it has rewards."

And that brings us back to the reward of Rock Album. Recorded at Fort Apache with producer Matthew Ellard (who has twiddled the knobs for Weezer, Morphine, and for Coolio), the disc is an 11-song thump on the noggin for anyone who thought hook-filled, feedback-drenched odes to disenfranchisement checked out when Bob Mould checked in. Beginning with "All About It," through the tremendous ballad "Death of Me" and the radio-friendly "Telescope," Rock Album culls various influences -- everything from the sweeter pop aspects of Cheap Trick and the Foo Fighters, to the guitar crunch and drum thump of Hüsker Dü and Dino Jr and the shifting dynamics of the Pixies. But it's all mixed in with a taste of melodious indie-rock. Call it hard-pop, call it post-grunge -- call it modern, modern rock -- just make sure to thank your stars Cheerleadr intend to bring fractured guitar solos, white-hot distortion, and screw-the-man/myself attitude back from its comatose state. A more cohesive album than 1998's seven-song Batten Down the Hatches (Pep Rally), Rock Album finds the band getting tighter (the current line-up has been in place for a year). Claflin's songwriting reflects the band's individual members. "I hope you get better [with each album], or you're not doing your job," says Claflin of the band's steady metamorphosis. "I wrote a lot of [Rock Album] after our drummer [Brian Tetrault] left. I didn't want the band to lose momentum, so I wrote a bunch of songs and got back to the drawing board so things wouldn't fall apart. Some of the songs are pretty desperate.

"[Matthew Ellard] did a great job with us. He's awesome and a hilariously cool guy. Every now and then I'll listen to the album and call him and say `thank you for making us sound so good.' I'll call late at night after a couple of drinks.

Next up, Cheerleadr are working on a new batch of songs, they head to the NEMO showcase to play for a flock of industry bigwigs, but -- ultimately -- they plan on conquering the region on gig at a time. Claflin says, "It doesn't matter how many people are in the room, you just put on the show. Maine, Rhode Island, Worcester . . . we'll try and help the buzz radiate from inward."