Intelligent Design
The evolution of Baboon into Dallas' best and loudest rock band took only 16 years, two tastes of major label stardom and a few horse heads.
13.October.2006



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Sadly, major label heartbreak is nothing new for Baboon, having been jettisoned by Wind-Up Records (formerly Grass) when they turned their focus to Creed in the late 90s, but even though they joke about it--“We’re still hanging onto hope...This album’s for you, Ric!”--the lack of Elektra response doesn’t change much for the 30-somethings of Baboon, most of whom have families, all of whom have day jobs.

            “It wasn’t a big blow to the band--oh, we gotta break up now--because...you know,” Huffstetler laughs, while Henderson points out, “The pressure to succeed as a rock combo is, you know, non-existent. It certainly tempers expectations.” Yet somehow, the push for becoming Ocasek-ready, even without a big contract in the end, still invigorated Baboon, as members point to Henderson’s presence as “fresh blood.” And after two years of practicing, gigging and working new members in, the band reached a turning point.

            “There was a decision to suddenly start writing,” Henderson says. “It was like, OK, we’re spinning our wheels and all that. Let’s start trying to write.”

            In 2004, the band did that in a big way, quickly composing half of what would become Baboon--dramatic shifts in sound like the breakneck, danceable “Breaking Glass,” the harmony-filled “Surround” and the glam-infused anthem “Circles.” With less rehearsal and practice time in a given week, the band’s songwriting style shifted from on-the-fly group riffing to the guys writing by themselves before submitting to the group. The results are certainly more tempered and complex, as melody and structure now trump the chaos that used to be Baboon’s modus operandi.

            At first, new member Henderson found himself tailoring his songs specifically for Baboon. “Then, actually, bolstered by some of Steve’s stuff, I started thinking, ‘It doesn’t really matter. I can write whatever I want and we can make it work.’ And we did.”

            Even Bartlett takes credit for some songwriting on Baboon, putting his drumsticks down to lay down guitars on a few tracks. Still, Henderson understands that he’s a big part of the new record’s sound, additionally serving as producer (and blaming his feverish love for groups like T. Rex and Roxy Music for things like the band’s change in guitar tone), but he certainly didn’t come to Baboon to clean house.

            “I embrace all the things they wanted to do in the past,” he says. “There was no butting heads about it. I was just as into it.”

            Really, the band had the luxuries they needed most, the ones that an Ocasek contract couldn’t afford them: time and freedom. Months of downtime would flip by when the band had personal obligations, and when Baboon pushed further in the studio on elements only hinted to in previous records--harmony vocals, synthesizer parts, epic acoustic songs like “Arms Around The World,” dual guitar lines in place of Baboon’s decade-plus streak with only one guitar--nobody was rushing them out of Henderson’s office studio or charging more money.

            “It took a long time,” Henderson says, “but it was so great to never be going, ‘it’s gotta be done by Tuesday, so we can’t really do whatever.’”

 

 

At the band’s Friday night CD release concert, the guys expect many of their parents to attend; Henderson’s folks will have the most interesting attachment to the show.

            “My parents have never seen me perform,” Henderson says; judging by his receding hairline, they’ve had more than a few years to see him hold a guitar on a stage. Why wait until now?

“Well, I was in the Dooms for a long time, so I didn’t want, like, ‘Hey Mom, this song’s called Golden Showers.’ [high voice] ‘What’s that about?’ ‘Uh...we got rich. It’s about the Yukon in 1843!’”

            The rest of the band laughs, but it’s not as if Baboon was parent-friendly in its early days, either. When I ask what one parent’s favorite song is, Barnett quips, “Master Salvatoris,” a song that only the craziest mother could love (even though Barnett’s parents have shot more than a few Baboon concerts on camcorders).

            And the group isn’t hitting the retirement house circuit any time soon with Baboon; “Light of the Lightning Strike” has vocal harmonies, great melody and a standard structure, but it’s still a fist-pumper with a fuzzed-out, glam-loving guitar line and lyrics about drunken puking. The disc is mature...to a point. Still, could the rounded-off, less-messy sound scare off the band’s sweaty, whistle-blowing throngs of old, or even fail to attract a crowd that still associates horse heads with Baboon?

            “We’ve been around a long time, and a variety of people have come and gone,” Huffstetler says. “If only we could get all of those people back together again...but that’s fine. We’ve evolved, and our crowd’s evolved.”

            A lot of local bands will attest to being happy with their camaraderie; the “we’re not famous but we’re buds and that’s all we need” line becomes a cliché when so many solid bands never break big. But that’s the only thing Baboon’s longevity has left. With limited distribution, no PR agent, no dedicated label and a manager the band can’t even afford to pay, not to mention kids and careers, the band’s lucky to be together, let alone to evolve so successfully.

            This isn’t lost on the guys, who each acknowledge--and are proud of--the fact that they’ve outlasted Dallas’ hard rock roster of the early ’90s (and many other bands even after that era). But it’s astounding to see a group like Baboon turn their business failures, their missed shots and their bad luck into such a successful new record--and so nonchalantly at that.

            The same could’ve been said--really, it was said--when We Sing and Play came out in 1999 and Something Good came out in 2002. But if the guys were joking that this disc was dedicated to Ric Ocasek, they didn’t fool me; this whirlwind of radio-ready glam, new-wave and hardcore singles is full of crowd-pleasing anthems, complete with calls to arms about youth and stupidity written by a band that knows better. The band should be outraged that this disc isn’t a national hit.

            But something tells me that once again, they won’t be fazed by it. Good for Baboon.

            “I could not be more pleased with the record, and I’m hypercritical, especially about myself,” Henderson says. “Our audience, our aim, is the five of us. If we can be satisfied with that, then anything on top of that is frosting.”

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