Get Lucky

Flat Duo Jets say it was time to pull the strings

by John O'Neill

Dex wants to go to Graceland. That's what the tour manager called to say. And the only thing stopping him is an interview that's been two weeks, nine phone calls, three crossed connections, and anxious downtime in the making. The fact that he's rarin' to make the pilgrimage to see the King's digs made perfect sense. His band, the Flat Duo Jets, were holed-up at the Motel Six in Memphis just down the road. More to the point, Dexter Romweber is the truest link to rock-and-roll's spirited past -- part madman, part genius, and the absolute genuine article -- the son Elvis should have had. Totally in touch with a huge chunk of 20th century American music -- rockabilly, surf, blues, swing, jazz, soul, country, folk, boogie woogie, big band -- the Jets, with Romweber contributing the bulk of written material, are the only band of the rock era who have been able to successfully absorb and assimilate such a diverse formula but remain wholly original. To call them the greatest rock-and-roll band of the past 30-plus years would still be selling them short. The scope and breadth of music they understand is born of passion, which makes for an emotional impact and lethalness that cannot be faked. No music theory course nor any amount of reading "expert" guides could give a musician the leg up on what the Jets have. They are real, and their music is as natural to them as sleep or hunger or anything else that's found on Maslow's hierarchy of needs.

You need not look further for proof of the Chapel Hill twosome's deep-rooted leanings than their 1985 EP In Stereo, where the boys gets walloped on red wine and in one day home-record six songs that range from the Wanda Jackson chestnut "Riot in Cell Block No. 9" to Romweber's first stab at Link Wray with "Theme from Dick Fontaine." The recording is all sloppy rawness and pure energy that recalls Buddy Holly, Bo Diddley, and early Presley at his Sun-iest. Though maybe not the greatest in quality or technical proficiency, it is a tremendous opening salvo -- especially when you consider Romweber and his drummer Crow (just Crow) were 18 years old. While most of their contemporaries were she-bopping in their bedroom to Cindy Lauper, these guys were looking to conjure up Gene Vincent from his hole in the ground.

"I don't know," says Romweber matter-of-factly when asked how they got so musically proficient so young. Generally considered a tough interview due to "moodiness," he's in good spirits for our chat. "For me it wasn't just '50s music. It was the Yardbirds and Monkees . . . then I got into Richie Valans and Elvis. It was [a process] of delving back further. Cab Calloway, Jackie Gleason, J.S. Bach."

"When we were really little we'd go to thrift stores and find all these old records, so we grew up listening to all this stuff," adds Crow. "My dad also had thousands of jazz albums."

Which would explain the Jets' tackling Louie Prima's "Sing, Sing, Sing," on their first full-length outing. A well-known bigband standard, Prima's swing classic is given such a complete overhaul that it takes on a new meaning -- once flat-out wild, now totally mental. It also represents the band's voyage into music in general, as they begin to touch on more than rockabilly. Besides Romweber's caustic originals, the duo hit everyone from Big Joe Turner to Elmer Bernstein, even throwing in a rave-up version of "Mill Stream" (as in "down by the old . . .") for good measure. The album stands as a moment of outright recorded brilliance, and again shows a band who are plugged into a primitive vibe that hadn't been seen since rock's earliest days. There are those who've come close -- early Beatles and Stones albums re-introduced, but ultimately did little more than repackage and emulate, American pop and blues respectively, and the almost-as-underrated-Cramps, who, while instrumental in organizing an underground resurgence of the rock genre, were essentially revisionists with a well-played schtick. Beyond that, it's a hodgepodge of bands who enjoyed a moment or two in the sun but couldn't measure up in the long haul, as they were simply regurgitating that which was already written. The Jets, meanwhile, came across as completely authentic. As popular music forked into many different sub-genres, Dex and Crow continued to stay the course and carry rock's early promise to a level that is far more compelling than the current trend of half-assed mutated-retro outfits that rely more on gimmick than soul. If the record company stated in the Jets' bio that they were discovered playing on a porch in the North Carolina woods, it would be believable, because while sounding like a throwback from 40 years ago, they still are like nothing before them.

"It's a matter of savage energy," Romweber explains of their secret to almost-success, as well as the key to his very being. "It's primal, and unconscious. [Early artists] played and it was a natural extension of who they were. I play it cause I can, it's a realness . . . that's inside my head."

The Flat Duo Jets continued to levy their hell-bent charm and demonic live show throughout the '80s and '90s. They released six more stellar albums (four on Norton Records), a Dex Romweber solo album, and a slew of national tours. Romweber wrote a never-ending string of solid originals that increasingly showed-off his darker side as well as his unbridled genius. By the time Red Tango was released in 1996, Romweber's wistful and quietly sensitive pieces took on an air of spookiness that was actually more powerful than the frantic numbers on which they'd come to build their reputation. By the time the album ends with "I Wish I Were Eighteen Again" (a George Burns number that would be a sorry joke in any other band's repertoire), Romweber actually sounds like, if given the chance, he might crawl back into the womb. Which, what with their status as cult act firmly established, and after 12 years of falling on generally deaf ears, may not have been unreasonable plan. For all of their passion, recklessness abandon, live improvisational skills, and unparalleled brilliance, the Flat Duo Jets were destined to be little more than, depending on your taste, a distant, shining star or a backwards, southern, acquired taste. So, when they were signed to a major label this past year, it seemed an odd move at best, and one that was gonna cost someone his job in the end.

"It came at a strange time, we were finishing up our contract with Norton, [the deal] came out of the blue," says Romweber. "We played a date in Seattle. And Pete Buck [of R.E.M.] was there, and Scott Litt [producer of R.E.M., Indigo Girls, Nirvana, and the Replacements] was there and he wanted to do an album."

Signed to the Geffen subsidiary Outpost Recordings, the Duo took up residency at the famed Muscle Shoals Sound (with Litt at the helm of the project, along with former dB Chris Stamey) and began work on Lucky Eye, their most sophisticated effort to date.

Containing much of the same energy as on previous FDJ albums, Romweber still excels at the slow tempo numbers, recalling Roy Orbison at his most forlorn, and still writes songs that seem to come from whiskey-induced bad dreams. The title track happens to also be the song's only lyrics, alien sharks nab his girlfriend in "Sharks Flying In," and Dex admits to being born out of time on "Hustle and Bustle." While still a stomping hoot, Lucky Eye is decidedly more restrained. Supplemented by second guitar parts, bass, horns, and strings, it's an album the band had often wanted to make, but up to this point didn't have the studio time or the backing.

"I've always heard strings in my head, even before we got this deal," Romweber says. "Listening to Ray Charles and Jackie Gleason, I could hear [our music] with strings. It was a treat to have that. I thought our musicianship improved with strings."

"We really let the song dictate the sound rather than the band," adds Crow. "Some of the other musicians we hired [play] some of my favorite things on the record. [Litt and Stamey] were good cause they weren't trying to push us any [direction] . . . everyone was on the same page."

Now, with the corporate machine behind them, Romweber and Crow find themselves, after 14 years in the business, in a new situation that includes tour support, a new van, and a promise that the album will be given a push in January. In the meantime it's back on the road to do what they do best -- lay down the savage beat. Only now they don't have to sleep on someone's floor when the show's over.

"It's nice to have a hotel to go to, I've never had that," muses Romweber "I'm really into making music, and it's paying off more and more. . . . [Lucky Eye] was satisfying. It's hard to do anything and not pick it apart. [I want to make] really interesting songs that make people say, `Hey, I've always looked for a song like that.' Obscurity doesn't mean bad."

Then it was off to Graceland. n

The Flat Duo Jets appear with the Rev. Horton Heat and Amazing Crowns, at the Roxy, in Boston, Wednesday, December 9; Pearl Street, in Northampton, Thursday, December 10; and at Lupo's, in Providence, Friday, December 11.