Still royal to the loyal

The Amazing Crowns bounce back for more

by John O'Neill

The last time the Amazing Crowns checked in, they were less than a week away from mounting the Worcester Centrum stage as part of the Mighty Mighty Bosstones' New Year's Evebash. Having won the 1997 'BCN Rock 'n Roll Rumble that past summer (to the utter shock of many -- they were just too straightforward rock and roll for a city throttled by the choke hold that was the alterna-music beast.), the Crowns had caught the Bosstones' interest with their high-energy live show, their be-true-to-your-school punk ethic, and their good attitude. Taken under the B-tones' wing as surrogate little brothers, the Crowns seemed a sure bet to become the first band since Til Tuesday to squish the Rumble's "curse" and actually go on to do something significant. They signed to the new Velvel Records imprint, hooked on to the Vans Warped Tour, crisscrossed the country almost non-stop, and even got to tool around Australia and the UK. Then rotten luck reared it's head, and the band were back on the thrill-and-spill rollercoaster ride known as a longterm music career.

"We've gone through so much. Members, founding members, dropping out, labels dropping out, getting sued," says frontman Jason "King" Kendell, describing the band's fortunes (and lack thereof) since ringing in `98 from Commercial Street. "I haven't had an apartment in two years. I basically have a loft space to fix my motorcycle and that's not livable, and I sleep on couches. I don't mean to bitch. . . .What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

The skinny is this: founding guitarist Johnny Maguire melted down on the road and left the band mid-tour; the Crowns ate and spit out another drummer (the fourth in four years); and, in one of `98's more interesting stories, they were sued into changing their name from the Amazing Royal Crowns to the Amazing Crowns by the Royal Crown Review. The former had already tacked "Amazing" onto their name in an effort to soothe the latter, a neo-swing band, and its legal eagles. Kendell says that, though it got ugly, "they actually came out to our show in Los Angeles and made an offer for us to tour with them. But we definitely couldn't do that. They seem like they're trying to make amends, and we're nice and polite to them, but too much water is under the bridge. I think they were getting coerced by Warner Brothers [to sue]. People have really rallied to us as underdogs -- and it hasn't helped their cause that they're playing with Manhattan Transfer and the jazz circuit!"

Having put the legalities behind them, the Crowns again hit the road (touring with the Cramps, Reverend Horton Heat, and Flat Duo Jets), and got ready to record their second album. Designated as the label's highest priority act, the Crowns had reason to believe that `99 was the year they could very well break big. Then the coaster ride screeched to a complete stop.

"Velvel had dropped all the bands they were gonna and we thought everything was cool. We were ready to go into the studio and our manager sits us down at a table and says `You don't have a label. Velvel crumbled, and you don't have any money'."

A casualty of an industry-wide shake-up, Velvel folded, leaving Kendell and his boys in the studio with booked time, an album worth of material that the group was hot to get out to fans (their self-titled debut was pushing three-years-old), and no funds available to take the next step. Flat on their back financially and emotionally, the group considered disbanding for a sabbatical.

"We had no money and no way of making money, so we were scared. We were at the point that the only thing that held us together was the album because it was so good," confides Kendell. "Joe Gillman (the album's producer and Bosstones member) told us that we had to put this out because it was too good not to let people hear."

Once again rallying themselves with the go-for-broke ethic that's established the Crowns as one of the hardest working acts in recent memory (after all, Kendell is the type of guy to play shows with broken ribs, and the band were no strangers to driving sixteen hours in their van just to get to a gig), the boys begged, borrowed, and then pleaded their case to scrape up the funds to complete the new disc. They went hunting for a new label, and ended up signing on with Time Bomb Records.

"We talked to a lot of labels, and it's hard times [for unsigned bands]. Atlantic had approached us, but we'd had enough experience with the bigger-label shit. We realized we don't need a huge advance. We just want to get the album out and get on the road."

Slated for a February 9 release, the disc (amusingly titled Royal in one last jab and a wave of the middle finger to the industry) carries the promise of a band that's grown considerably since their first effort. The overall, punkabilly sound that marked the earlier work has been filtered and filled out to include a wider range of influence. Kendell, who grows increasingly animated in describing the album, says, "We have songs that are straight-up rockabilly, and some that are punkier, shout-along-type numbers. We have slower, ballady stuff, and a garage tune with organ. [Rather than] an overall sound, we've pinpointed each song down."

"I think the label will do us okay, it's a greaser kind of label," says Kendell. Indeed, the Time Bomb roster appears to be home to some of America's greatest rock and roll misfits. Former tourmates Horton Heat (who were dropped from their contract by Interscope), Social Distortion (dropped by Epic), and Social D frontman Mike Ness have all signed within the past year.

"It's been crazy, really up and down. When we were on the Vans Tour we were living off of merchandise, and driving crazy distances without a day off," sums up Kendell. Currently working at a record store, he's eager to get moving on the band's second chance. "The band is my first love, and this is what we said we wanted to do! We've been lucky so far."