By Jacob Katel
By Laurie Charles
By Nate "Igor" Smith
By Abel Folgar
By Kat Bein
By Jacob Katel
Those days are long gone, and so are the Drills. "We were all living in a warehouse in Hialeah, all of us in this tiny warehouse," recalls the Drills' Roger Deering. "We played the Cameo once a month, and a few other gigs. We wanted to grow musically. And we were tired of playing for fifteen-year-old skinheads flipping us the bird because we were trying to do something other than thrash music." Deering insists it was higher musical pursuits, not the ol' we-need-a-label-deal saw, that sent the Drills packing to L.A. There is sonic evidence that he achieved the former. It's a stone fact that the latter happened, practically on a ladder.
When singer-songwriter-bassist Deering and Drills drummer Kerry Furlong went west in 1988, it was the height of Guns N' Roses' heyday, and the Drills were discouraged, Deering says, "by just how uncreative most of the bands were." Seeking the least expensive housing available, they made the mistake of moving into downtown Los Angeles, near MacArthur Park, a neighborhood Deering refers to as "a real gnarly area, one of the worst out here." Deering's car was stolen two months later, although he jokes that it was tough finding a parking spot anyway.
Deering and Furlong soon moved to Hollywood, and landed a new guitarist, with whom they continued to perform as the Drills. After about two years he left, and Deering found a replacement, Brendon McNichol, right next door. Actually, even closer. "I started jamming with my roommate," he says, "and we decided to go out as a trio, with him on guitar."
Also in 1990, Deering ran into a neighbor, Jeffrey Muendel, an organist. "We hit it off personally," Deering recalls, "and our first rehearsal together was happening." Because they had already developed a reputation with the old line-up, Deering and Furlong continued to use the Drills name for a few gigs before rechristening their outfit Rattlebone. They also continued working day jobs, Deering in construction and Furlong in phone sales, a popular choice of employment among L.A. musicians due to the job's flexible hours and easy cash.
Deering met some people who led him to work renovating recording studios. His cohorts passed his name around, and one day Deering got a call to paint some guy's house. "I was there a week, painting," Deering says, "and I knew who he was, I was a fan of the stuff he'd done." The guy was producer Dave Jerden and among the stuff he's done is Jane's Addiction, Alice in Chains, and Social Distortion. "Eventually we got to talking about music," Deering continues, "and he liked my attitude. Then we started talking about my band, and he asked for a demo. I said I'd get it to him right away." Eureka! Except for one thing. Rattlebone didn't have a demo. "We rushed around," Deering says, "and got a Tascam eight-track portable, set it up in our practice studio, mixed the demo on Sunday night, and gave it to him Monday morning."
Jerden, Deering says, "flipped out." The noted producer offered to record the group, and to help them land a label deal, which they soon did, with Hollywood Records, which recently issued a five-song CD and cassette and will follow with a full-length album, also featuring the knobwork of Jerden. The EP, despite the fact only three of the five songs are originals, provides a full-spectrum X-ray of Rattlebone's ability to mix it up without sacrificing the arena-sweep power at the heart of their approach.
The group's big sound -- where guitars sound like trains and the rhythm section like landslides -- gets its best representation in "X-Ray Eyes," a melodic but metallish rocker. The first single, "Society Dog," much more recalls the Drills' punk-oriented style, with an aggression Iggy himself would endorse. And the racing "Panther Sweat" combines vintage metal with the speedy modern forms within that genre; bring the oxygen tank quick.
These three Deering-penned tunes make it easy to get a handle on Rattlebone's sound. So the group closes the tape with a curve ball: a grooving, almost sweet cover of Isaac Hayes's "Do Your Thing." The temptation for many bands would've been to stick in a power ballad, but the soulful Hayes piece accomplishes more. "I brought that song in one night," Deering says, "and we started jamming on it. It crept into the live set -- we'd do twenty-minute, half-hour versions. We weren't going to put covers on the EP, but Dave didn't want to use the songs on our demo for this. He wanted to save them for the album, so we wouldn't repeat anything from the EP on the album. The attitude was to show people where we were coming from and what direction we were headed in."