Ain't no sucka fools

It's time to get Downchild

by John O'Neill

It's halfway through Downchild's set and the room is starting to peak -- somewhere between percolating and vibrating. The crowd is totally wrapped-up in the sonic vibe the boys are riding on. Jamie, topless and wedged into a pair of red vinyl pants, punches at the ceiling; at least four women follow his every move as if locked on to the magnetic north of cool. Another female fan sings along, every word, with a doe-eyed admiration that hasn't been seen since Davie Jones showed up for Marcia Brady's school dance. Meanwhile, stage left, Joe leans into his guitar as a pair of young fillies hump along to the riff. The further he presses forward, the more they shimmy toward the floor. A quick inspection from behind the drum kit reveals that the first three rows are almost entirely made up of young women. And, as the set grinds on, so do the gals, in perhaps Worcester's finest example of a simulated sex show. The band are hot, the crowd is bothered, and the single men -- envious and disgusted -- have absolutely no shot at scoring tonight. Because, tonight, just like every time they play these days, the world belongs to Downchild.

The saga of Downchild hasn't always been as rosy a story. It's the usual tale of personnel problems, crummy conditions, living broke, getting stiffed at the door, and being ignored by the media. But Downchild also had the stigma of somehow not fitting into the local scene.

Their May Street HQ is the Wormtown equivalent of the Land of Misfit Toys. And that's because, while most bands get together, rehearse, play a gig, and go back to driving the bread truck, the Downchildren live the rock-and-roll lifestyle full time. As in, feel free to stop over at 3 a.m., but don't dare call before noon. As in, what's a day job? As in, hey, look at the freaks. Equal parts fashion plate/victim, style and substance (abuse), new-age belief cracking heads with outright hedonism, smarts meet kicks, the boys "pose" was, however, quite serious. Then, while sitting in traffic one afternoon, the cosmic tumblers all lined up, clicked into place, and the universe opened wide to say "aah"; and Downchild were on their way to becoming the saviors of the Wormtown scene.

"It's weird, we were just waiting in traffic, and I friend I hadn't seen in seven years walks by," says Jamie between bites of macaroni salad. "Two weeks later we're playing Philadelphia."

Turns out the long-lost pal was a big shot for the Philadelphia Music Conference, an industry showcase of substantial proportion. And when the boys rolled into town, they found that a PMC-induced industry buzz had preceded them. So, like good rock and rollers, the band went out and got shit-faced the night before their a.m. showcase.

"It was a three-day promotion, and we had an 11 o'clock showcase at the hotel bar, so we'd been partying two-and-a-half days . . .," says Joe (Furber), who is to Jamie (just Jamie) what Perry was to Tyler, at least socially. "When I came down I was sweating straight Jack Daniels, and Jamie was burping sambuca. But we did okay because of our professionalism. We just set up, got the thumbs-up from the soundman, and went. We had guys there in their pajamas, still drunk like us! We did [an] A&R [label rep] wake-up call, `Downchild is on in fifteen minutes!'"

Which is the hidden rub with Downchild. Though they may come across as a bunch of arrogant party dudes, in reality, they're astute businessmen, great networkers, and, above all, dedicated to not stopping till they reach the top of the heap. They just choose to play as hard as they work. And that perceived conceit is actually a self-assured confidence the band have carried from the beginning, because they're certain it isn't a matter of "if" but "when." The funny thing is, they were right.

Since Philly, a number of folk have hitched to the Downchild wagon, including industry heavy Simon Rosen (legal), management, and a publicist; no-fewer than eight labels (including Atlantic, Dreamworks, and Geffen) have expressed interest in continuing negotiations with the band. And former Living Colour ax grinder Vernon Reid has talked about doing their next album. Downchild meanwhile, came back to the Worm and cut a great new EP, The Mr. Romo Sessions (on their own Pornogroove imprint and released last week).

"We had to go and do this because we needed new stuff, number one. And we had all these new songs at the PMC but only the old CD, which doesn't represent us," Joe explains. "It took a weekend to record, a weekend to mix, and five hours to master. It was pressed two weeks later. Everything was there and we knew what we had to do. We didn't have a choice. We didn't work this hard to drop the ball now that bigger people are interested."

The Mr. Romo Sessions finds a band ready to take on the industry on their own terms. While Downchild's debut album, No One Understands You, And the World is Wrong, was a tepid affair that swam through the sea of grunge rap, Romo is leaner and twice as slick. The band dip their collective toe into everything from Stevie Wonder-inspired soul funk to the Chili Peppers' heavy groove to the soundtrack from Shaft. It's their own private romper room where cheesy organ and theramin play off a heavy bottom end; a percussion solo is backed by porno-movie guitar riffs; and phrases like "sexy mamma," "sucka fool," "get on up," and "we like it funky" can live without being ridiculed. It represents a band who have finally gelled to find the voice that gives the lifestyle of Downchild proper due. The bass playing of Tony DiLorenzo and Peter Abdou's drums clear a wide path for the faux-disco funk guitar of Furber and Nick Cocuzzo. Like the chicks at the live show, Romo bumps and grinds along and delivers a big wet tongue in your ear. Best of all, Mr. Romo is a concept/self-improvement album in which Downchild offer the masses the step-by-step lessons on how to become "hip."

"People just don't know how to be cool, man," explains Jamie. "If I can pass on what I know . . ."

"I haven't been laid in two months," interrupts Joe. "But this album will get half the country fucked. You get the women first, and then the guys by the album for them, and then they get laid. We thought Mr. Romo would be the perfect role model, cuz he's beatnik and that's the epitome of cool. And Downchild is a way of life, just like that was."

"If gangsta rap can make people want to be gangstas and kill people, imagine what we can do!"