By Jacob Katel
By Laurie Charles
By Nate "Igor" Smith
By Abel Folgar
By Kat Bein
By Jacob Katel
To make matters even sketchier, all of his band members live in South Florida, his culturally bereft home. Why would he do such a thing?
"Most people at labels don't know much about music or about business," Coe says in a hushed tone while waiting for his exit interview. "They happen upon something, it could be by chance.... It's based solely on what's the current thing going on. What was Shaggy? He was an accent. Some DJ in Hawaii started playing it. There was no real effort by anyone here. It was an act of fate that everyone ran to take credit for once it happened."
In contrast, his escape from Miami and subsequent four-year exile in the City of Angels was anything but accidental. Coe took a year's sabbatical from his teaching job at Palmetto Middle School, got a master's degree from Barry University in computer education, and returned to teaching for a year before retiring.
Any of Coe's students who wondered why he wasn't sticking around could have found the answer in a July 2000 copy of Street Miami, where Coe infamously flipped off the Miami skyline in a two-page spread. More than a decade of struggling in the South Florida music scene as a guitarist in hard-drinking punk bands Naughty Puritans, Cell 63, and Fay Wray had so poisoned Coe that he developed this theory: "Florida killed rock and roll." The sentiment came despite Cell 63's sizable local following and the unanimous critical huzzahs that championed both of Fay Wray's CDs for Gainesville's No Idea label. Yet for every favorable comparison with the Replacements, another piece of geographical evidence turned up and Coe, who once wrote a song called "I Think I Hate LA," moved west.
The trip proved anything but glamorous. Coe took up residence in the Hotel Maryland, a flophouse for the would-be famous. "It was pretty skid row," he remembers. "It had a single bed and there were no amenities. No fridge, TV, or stove."
To kill time before it killed him, Coe began appearing at open-mike nights. He soon found that the would-be star whoring wasn't limited to the would-be famous. "Stephen Bishop [Seventies soft rocker of "On and On" fame] played right after me one night," he remembers. "He went on about being with some model: 'I wrote this song after I was with this girl in a hotel room....' I started clapping, and he got surly and said 'You weren't there.'"
Coe began making pilgrimages to Joshua Tree National Park, where he paid tribute to the legendary late folk rocker Gram Parsons by performing in the annual festival dedicated to him. Parsons's musical sensibility had always intrigued Coe, but the musician's biography, Hickory Wind, changed the trajectory of his life.
"His wife was saying that when he was trying to kick the drugs, there was always a steady stream of enablers coming in. He could never cut himself completely off," Coe says. "There was always someone ingratiating -- something that operates within our society -- that never gets called out. It's a very real thing -- people who enable other people. In this case they came out of the woodwork and it did him in."
Thus the concept of the Enablers took hold in Coe's brain. Being in L.A. -- where show biz flameouts happen every day and moderation doesn't exist -- helped immensely
"I updated it," Coe explains. "Robert Downey, Jr. on one of those episodes, the guy calls him up: 'I know you're out of rehab, but I think a trip to the strip club won't hurt.' And it was all over. What I was trying to do was hold it up to the light. Showing it up for the hypocritical thing it is."
Coe eventually hooked up with Interscope executive/bassist Mitch Powers, who helped him recruit a band; the Enablers were born with a weekly residence at L.A. punk club the Garage in June 2002. The band made an immediate impact, which shocked Coe: "You realize that, anywhere, people are starved for a good show. You know, it's L.A. There are a lot of bands. But there's not a lot going on out there. I saw a flyer yesterday that said 'There's 1000 bands playing Los Angeles tonight. We are not one of those bands.'" He laughs: "Then what are you?"
Unfortunately Powers got engaged, and the Enablers soon found themselves sans bassist. But before Powers left, Coe's South Florida homeboy, Quit guitarist Addison Burns, came out and recorded the Enablers material. Coe began e-mailing MP3s of recordings to anyone who ever gave any of his bands the time of day, a shotgun approach that soon paid a dividend.