Presto no change-o
Will Wormtown's guitar king finally have his day?
by John O'Neill
Q. How many guitarists does it take to play a solo?
A. A hundred. One to play it and 99 to stand in the audience and say, "I
can do that."
Forty-three Knowles Road has, over the years, become known as Wayne
Manor. It sits at the end of a large cul de sac and is one in a line of
post-war housing built so we could all grab a slice of the American Dream. In
this tiny single-storey dwelling, with its three cramped bedrooms, guitarist
Preston Wayne was born 45 years ago. And he continues to live there, though
there are many ghosts to contend with. It will be 10 years ago this month that
he lost both his parents within 48 hours of each other. Cancer claimed his mom.
His dad, so despondent over her death, committed suicide by taking in the
exhaust fumes of his beloved Chevy Chevelle; Preston returned home to find the
body. Then there is the specter of the resulting six-year drug-and-alcohol
tear, which grew so out of control it nearly destroyed him. And there is the
spirit of his wife, Eve, who, through a strong-will and with tough love, lifted
him out of his ego-driven self-destruction only to die herself, in a 1996
accident, less than six months after their wedding day. But, while there is a
mind-numbing sense of loss connected to the old house, it is the only home
Wayne has ever known. It is in the cellar that he first learned to play guitar,
a cardboard Roy Rogers model he bought with the money he earned from selling
seeds door to door.
Now, thirty-three years later, with his first proper disc, Themes from
Wayne Manor (Dino), creating a stir nationally, Wayne is considered one of
Worcester's most talented guitarists, playing in local groups like Hooker, the
Odds, and the Time Beings. If he's not the best, he's certainly the most
unheralded. Still, he engages in the ritual of playing guitar alone for hours
at a time. Preston Wayne has always belonged to the Lone Wolf Club.
"There were a lot of kids in the neighborhood [growing up]. They'd be out
playing baseball, and I was in the basement trying to learn how to play guitar.
I didn't have much in common," says Wayne as he sits in his living room. The
wallpaper and the rug appear vintage, the obvious difference being the hubcaps,
band photos, and guitars Wayne has screwed to the wall. It's decorated like
some 19-year-old gearhead punk went to town -- but in 1965. That was a time
when things were a whole lot happier, when Wayne was starting his first band,
the Seventh Fleet.
"We were 13 and we did Kinks and Yardbirds covers, then we were a Young
Rascals cover band," he says with a chuckle. It was then that he met longtime
friend/bandmate Steve Cohn. "Then we became Peace Unknown and went psychedelic,
at 15!"
Wayne had graduated from cardboard and gone electric within a couple of
months (with a $29 Kent his dad bought at a pawn shop). He was also performing
live "with my dad. He'd play in bars and I'd play. They'd yell out the chords
`C!' `F!' and I'd play along. After the first set he'd take me home 'cuz it was
a school night."
Almost immediately, Wayne set out to develop his own style of playing, taking
in everything from Chicago blues to the pop of the Beach Boys to the acid psych
of Hendrix and over to the frantic surf tones of Dick Dale. As he developed, he
took in the early-'70s sound of the MC5, Stooges, and New York Dolls, and with
his Stooges-clone band, Crazy Jack and the Heart Attack, he put a dent in
Worcester's popular music. The usually outrageous outfit held down a weekend
slot at Circes for nearly three years and were instrumental in ushering in the
then-fledgling punk movement. When punk hit, Wayne was already out working on
the fringe, ready to seize the moment.
"When punk came, it was a really terrible time. Then, within a year, everyone
was dressing up and all the bands sounded the same. I got back into the '60s
stuff. I went back to my roots . . . which was about seven years! I
found out about the Boston scene and I couldn't believe all the cool shit! DMZ,
the Real Kids. I set my sights for Boston, to be in a Boston band."
Figuring the Big Time called, Wayne landed a gig after one rehearsal with the
seminal DMZ (his favorite act at the time). Though the line-up lasted six
months before exploding in an ego clash, it would set into motion one of the
greatest local collaborations (the Keith and Mick of Worcester, if you will),
and, ultimately, spawned two of the best bands, the Odds and the Time Beings,
to come out of the Worcester scene.
"It was probably a bonehead move [to leave DMZ] on my part 'cuz we'd travel
and meet famous people," says Wayne. It was a relationship so tenuous that 20
years later he bristles at the mention of singer Jeff Connolly's name. Connolly
was his former DMZ bandmate. "I had a lot of integrity about what I wanted to
play, so I just quit."
Boston's loss became Worcester's gain as Wayne and DMZ's other guitarist,
J.J. Rassler, moved to a practice space within the Day Building, on Worcester's
Main Street. Though they went through a number of name changes, they emerged as
Wormtown's most potent garage-rock outfit, the Odds. Unlike anything before
them, in terms of style and grit, the Odds helped lead Wormtown out of the
basements and into area nightclubs. A heady combination of '60s-pop smarts and
punk's raw buzz, they were revered up and down the East Coast for their
blistering live shows and for having a better-than-average nose for what made a
great song. Then there was the ferocious guitar spanking of one Preston Wayne.
Though they scored slots on two national and one international compilation
album, the Odds left very little behind by which to remember them when they
folded up their tent in 1987.
Wayne explored rockabilly and blues for a brief spell, then returned to the
garage-punk fold full time, in 1988, with the Time Beings. If the Odds (who
have occasionally reunited) were rough-and-tumble bad boys, the Time Beings
were the next step down on the evolutionary scale. If you can imagine mashing
40 years of rock in a blender and then tossing in gasoline, whiskey, a tab of
acid, and a match, you'd have a decent starting point to describe the band's
sound. They were big, ugly, and equal to any punk band worldwide. They were
also loud. As in too loud for the masses. Add to that, too cool for the
underground and too involved in everyday life to marshal a following, and you
have an instant recipe for obscurity. While the Time Beings may have been one
of the greatest assimilators of rock and roll, they too would establish a
meager recorded history, ending up on two comps, a single, and a self-produced
disc. If any lasting good came from the Time Being era, it is that Wayne's
overall sound began to transform from fleet-fingered solos to a more
psychedelic bend that relied on heavy feedback, distortion, and his
Stratocaster's whammy bar. By then, most people were convinced Wayne was either
totally deaf or simply enjoyed punishing crowds with volume. While the band
enjoyed a healthy following in Boston, where Wayne's ability was appreciated,
families, jobs, and mortgages won out. The TB's settled into semi-retirement,
but Preston Wayne was about to make his biggest leap forward -- and his
statement piece as to why he belongs on the short list of the world's great
guitarists.
"He's the real thing. His style is hard to describe," says Dino Records honcho
Kevin Smith. A fan of Wayne since the early days of DMZ, Smith became a major
fan after Wayne replaced him in the Time Beings 11 years ago. Smith is the man
responsible for releasing the Preston Wayne Four's debut album, Themes from
Wayne Manor. "There are a million surf bands out there and a lot of them
are good, but Preston just cuts through [convention]. I want to get some of
these [guitar] magazines to pick up on his style, and I think someone will."
Since forming the PW4 about two years ago, Wayne has, after 30 years of
playing other people's tunes, decided to pen his own instrumentals. Already a
gearhead and a huge surf fan, Wayne took a jump back into the deep pool of
music resources, coming back up with a sound that is fresh, tough, and
instantly identifiable as Preston Wayne. Recorded with no overdubs, by Erick
Lindgrin (Birdsongs of the Mesozoic, Cynics), Themes plays along barely
in control, like some soundtrack to disaster. The car songs are all blown heads
and burnt cheeter slicks, and the surf numbers are not at all like the smooth
and shimmering beaches of Frankie and Anette's -- it's rough chop, undertow,
and sand in your bathing suit. The PW4 use a huge, live sound that threatens to
distort into pure noise only to be yanked back by Wayne's guitar control.
Having learned how to master volume -- to the point that it is a tool rather
than a result (one story from the studio worth noting: Wayne actually broke a
light bulb outside the studio while warming up. It rained down on the
rest of the band while they grabbed a smoke) -- Wayne is able to inject a
freshness into his compositions. Sure, you'll hear the strains of the Ventures,
Rip Chords, and Dick Dale, but the PW4 instros are more punk in their looseness
and more psychedelic in their aim. There are 10 originals that move from slash
and burn ("Double A Fueler") to Middle Eastern-style crunch ("Section 12") to
countrified loping ("Dialed In"). Of the covers, Lee Hazelwood's "El Agula" is
given a complete makeover that lurches more than it rolls, and "Kumbaya" (yes,
that Kumbaya) is a brilliant stab at a traditional number that doesn't
come off as either smart-ass or too cute. The disc's highlight is "Theme from
Wayne Manor," a slower number that has an air of sentimentality. Smith says
that "his soul comes out on that. He's coming through the patch cord and back
out. It's like his guitar is crying."
"I was just inspired to express myself this way so I did," says Wayne with a
shrug. Though he's confident with his ability to play, he remains very awkward
when talking about it and with the attention the disc is starting to get.
Currently in rotation across the country (Austin's 40,000-watt KOOP and St.
Louis's legendary radio show Noises from the Garage are just two of the
many) with interview requests trickling in from all over, Themes finds a
world that may be ready -- finally! -- for Preston Wayne.
"I'm just happy it's turning out the way it is. My personality is on this
thing. I've stayed true to what I liked and never did commercial stuff to make
money or jump on any bandwagon. Those are things I'm kinda proud of," says
Wayne, who has spent a fair amount of time being ignored locally. Wayne equates
it to "being different than most people. "
So what exactly is the legacy of Preston Wayne? Filmmaker/musician John Lurie,
who grew up in Worcester, charges he is one of the world's best guitarist with
a terrible attitude; Wayne has been known to piss off just as many people as he
has thrilled. Equal parts genius, ace guitarist, misunderstood shy guy, and
egotistical shithead, he's inflamed the same hearts he's melted with his
boyishness. And if he is that good, why has he never left the closeted comfort
of Worcester for a shot at stardom?
"I don't know why I've never got out of Worcester. I guess I don't have the
motivation. I don't deny I've done and said a lot of stupid things," he says
before giggling. "As far as playing too loud, now you know why I never got
anywhere! But this [disc] I'm very proud of."
If nothing else, two things have to be noted when speaking about Preston
Wayne. Love him or hate him, nobody, nobody can do to a Stratocaster
what Preston Wayne can. And, he is a survivor. He'll continue to crank out
music his way till he can't pull a string. Much to the dismay of aging
neighbors, Wayne Manor will never go silent, and 43 Knowles Road will always be
a source of inspiration.
"A lot of what I did I tried really hard [for my] dad. He didn't like
rock and roll, so I tried to be really good. I'd go downstairs in the basement
and play every day, but he never said much about it," he says, while glancing
at a pile of photo albums. "He's been gone 10 years this week. How do you deal?
I still don't know. After 10 years, I still don't know."
Local Buzz
Through the miracle of modern technology, namely MP3 downloading,
Worcester's own three-chord knuckleheads the Pathetics have popped like
proverbial corks, climbing all the way up to 28 on the punk chart. Their disc,
Not Quite Right (ECAE), is currently the number-one-selling local disc
on the Worcester Damn, CD Chart. Currently on live-gig hiatus, the band
are auditioning for a new drummer. After almost striking pay dirt with a
major-label record deal, Downchild are considering packing it in after
the Thanksgiving weekend. A sad end to a groovy ride, for sure; hopefully the
boys will rally and decide to stick it out. Former Junk Sculpture guitarist
Wayne Winslow has signed on for a tour of duty with grunge-popsters Milk,
who expand from a three-piece to a foursome. The move was designed to give
current ax guy Dan Maggiore more room to write songs. The group also feature
Downchild's Tony DiLorenzo. Michael Moroney has left Seven Hill Psychos
on speaking terms (as opposed to "artistic differences") to concentrate on
personal affairs. Jim Weeks is headed into the studio for a final session with
Dave Minehan (ex-Neighborhoods, Paul Westerberg) at Woolly Mammoth Studios.
Though flown under the Little Big Wheel banner, the disc is written
entirely by Weeks and features a more introspective and acoustic flavor than
'97's debut disc, Home. Former Jag Ray Rogaz fills the spot
vacated by former LBW guitarist Wes Burton. Burton, meanwhile, is pulling
strings for Mr. Sunshine alongside vocalist Steve Mahoney (Resistance).
The soon-to-be group are in the process of solidifying a rhythm section. God
Stands Still are making a hefty line-up change and plan to continue as a
band. All Else Fails have released their debut disc. And the advance
copies of Rick Blaze and the Ballbusters' double-CD A Tale of Two
Cities is out; the finalized version is on the way to the pressing plant.
Dave Cuneo (back on guitar with the B-Busters) has just finished
recording tracks with Roger Lavallee for his second solo disc. While
it's not a very big surprise at this juncture, according to a potential buyer,
Ralph's Diner is most definitely on the block.