Unknown Soldiers, Beautiful Losers

In the early ‘90s, Cadillac Tramps were the most popular attraction on the O.C. grass-roots club scene. Its quaking bluesy grooves, scorching guitars and a distinctive, rumbling but rubbery sound that front man Mike “Gabby” Gaborno called “the forbidden beat”--were the musical attractions. The songs often gave wry accounts of street life, their sardonic view reflecting the band members’ common background as former drug abusers who saw music as an alternative to self-destruction.

The Tramps were the most-likely-to-succeed band on Doctor Dream Records, the Orange-based label that had signed many of Orange County’s most creative bands, and seemed the local scene’s best hope for winning recognition and a hip reputation in the alterna-rock world.

But Doctor Dream didn’t have the capital to give its bands much of a push. “Cadillac Tramps” was the company’s best-selling album, at about 20,000 copies, according to label officials. The Tramps did all they could to break through with persistent, low-budget touring. They once drove for more than 60 hours over three days, piled into a 1985 Dodge van, to open a show in Canada at the invitation of the headlining Pearl Jam.

By early 1995, a common indie-rock scenario had played out. The Tramps broke up; disheartened Doctor Dream founder David Hayes gradually lost interest and sold the company in 1997.

By then, O.C. rock was hip, and the label’s new operators--including the two managers of kid-pop sensation Hanson--said they would try to exploit Doctor Dream’s catalog and historic connection to the scene in reviving the label.

Cadillac Tramps’ occasional reunion shows remained a strong draw, and band alumni stayed active: Gaborno led X-Members and the punk comedy band Manic Hispanic; guitarist Brian Coakley stepped up as the leader of Rule 62, which broke up after a major label release for Maverick Records.

MARK DAVIS “You Came Screaming” Cutlet Records, 1995

ANN DE JARNETT “Possessions” Doctor Dream, 1988

EGGPLANT “Sad Astrology” Doctor Dream, 1990

On the O.C. scene, punk, ska and their offshoots draw the crowds. The surest way for a local artist to become a prophet without honor is to play something else.

In “You Came Screaming,” Mark Davis made an album of almost prophetic stature, and hardly anybody heard it. Unable to land a record deal, he went $10,000 in debt to record his debut album, using some prime L.A.-based session players.

As a singer and songwriter, Davis took his most important cues from John Lennon. He wove a cohesive album of richly melodic, inward but sometimes confidently rocking songs. He philosophized, probed moral and spiritual issues and brought to life his struggle to be his own person and keep his ideals despite temptation and disillusionment.

It was a moving experience in more ways than one. When “You Came Screaming” caused nary a commercial ripple, Davis relocated to France to be with his girlfriend and build a career in Europe, rather than continue as an outsider on his home turf.

At a time when Gwen Stefani was still getting up the gumption to front No Doubt without a male foil to lean on, Ann De Jarnett was the leading contender to overcome the curious male dominance in O.C. rock.

On stage, De Jarnett was an imperious beauty with icy eyes and a spiky, fluffed, colorfully dyed mane. Her cool allure could become flickering moments of fire, when she summoned the raunchy passion of alterna-rock’s most important godmothers, Patti Smith and Chrissie Hynde.

A neon-blue electric violin completed the package: De Jarnett, classically trained, would bow stately passages to float atop her veteran band’s proficient rock chime. While “Possessions” was too polite in its playing and production, it showcased her keen ear for melody and warm, edgy voice.

The only thing missing was the inner drive that’s usually a prerequisite for stardom. After getting a taste of low-budget touring, followed by some romantic upsets and health problems, De Jarnett decided she could do without stardom and became a psychologist and social worker.

Her exit from rock was another setback for Doctor Dream, which already had witnessed the implosion of its other most promising late-’80s act, the theatrical and eclectic rock band El Grupo Sexo.

If you had to go through a job interview to be in a rock band, the four members of Eggplant probably would have been rejected out of hand. Too shy and unassuming.

But Eggplant, which evolved from friendships among classmates at Westminster High School, was one of the most distinctive bands ever to emerge in O.C.

Without making a fuss, Eggplant could tell a quietly charming story, or an Everyman’s tale of overcoming self-doubt, make it catchy--and make it rock.

Jeff Beals wrote and sang the whimsical half of the repertoire, under the influence of that most whimsical pop figure, Jonathan Richman. Jon Melkerson, the other singer-songwriter, was a stoic Everyman, a gifted guitarist who patterned Eggplant’s instrumentals after the grand yet earthy designs of Television and the Velvet Underground.

Eggplant neither expected nor received much commercial reward. It broke up after “Sad Astrology,” but Melkerson’s subsequent albums with Eli Riddle and Lunar Rover confirmed his mastery and asserted increasing confidence.

THE JOYKILLER “Three” Epitaph, 1997

Had Jack Grisham disappeared after leaving T.S.O.L. in 1983, he’d have been remembered more for his unpredictable punk-rock antics than his music. Instead, as the clarity that comes with sobriety kicked in, he gradually wrote a new legacy for himself.

As a bandleader, first with Cathedral of Tears, then Tender Fury and the Joykiller, Grisham surrounded himself with strong, complementary talent. His lyrics were concise, catchy, empathetic, and full of insight into the torment and thrill of growing up and falling in and out of love.

What didn’t change was his willingness, established in his T.S.O.L. days, to stray outside the borders imposed by punk purists. The three Joykiller albums mainly hurtle at a breathless clip, but Grisham reserved the right to pull up with piano ballads that were more Elton John than Johnny Rotten.

“Three” was the last and best in a fine troika. In some respects, it was a farewell to the sound he had revived on “The Joykiller,” the 1995 album whose lineup included old T.S.O.L. mate Ron Emory. “Three” had a blazing energy, but its melodic appeal and lush string and keyboard textures belonged to the world of pop.

Had Grisham become what punk rebelled against? He obviously didn’t care, caught up in the story he told of the ache and glow of love.

It cost him, though. When Epitaph signed the Joykiller amid punk’s commercial explosion of 1994-95, there were hopes that Grisham might ride the trend to commercial success after a long career in the underground.

That didn’t happen, despite a boost from the Offspring, who sang Grisham’s praises as a punk godfather and enlisted the Joykiller as an opening act.

“Three” featured Grisham’s finest-ever song in “Supervision,” a warm, sad, wistfully rocking evocation of an unraveling relationship. It flew over the heads of hard-core punk fans and failed to reach pop fans.

Grisham broke up the band and thought of quitting music, but he reconsidered when Epitaph, clearly more intrigued by his hot creative streak than by his commercial prospects, offered to put out whatever he came up with next.

JOYRIDE “Another Month of Mondays” Doctor Dream, 1993

ONE HIT WONDER “Cluster----astuff” Lethal, 1996

Until ska-punk formula and Korn-inspired revulsion-rock took hold after 1995, Orange County didn’t produce easily categorized, trendy sounds, a la Seattle grunge.

What made the good bands good was their distinctive, personal approach. If there was an Orange County signature, it was a shared taste rather than a shared sound--a penchant for melodic songwriting, even in the most aggressive punk modes.

Joyride and One Hit Wonder both resonated with historic significance for O.C. alterna-rock. Both had the magic touch for making music as catchy as the best pop, and as raw and kinetic as the best punk.

Steve Soto, a spark for the Fullerton punk scene as a member of the Adolescents and other groups from 1978 on, formed Joyride with veteran drummer Sandy Hanson and two buddies after the Adolescents’ fruitful late-’80s revival ended amid personality conflicts.

Soto split the singing and songwriting with Greg Antista, a vocalist so limited that a previous band wouldn’t even let him sing backup.

But Joyride soared with Soto’s strong, now-creamy, now-raspy voice and Antista’s bark, which was as homely and unself-conscious as a basset hound’s.

On “Johnny Bravo” and the even more memorable “Another Month of Mondays,” the common note was bigheartedness.

Soto’s sympathies came through more nakedly, while Antista supplied a flinty, backhanded sense of humor. The two sang tellingly about real-life pressures and everyday ethics, supporting the underdog and cherishing the bonds of attachment that people need to get through life. Punk rock was never more humane.

One Hit Wonder in full flight was a wonder indeed, unleashing as breathtaking a sonic attack as O.C. has produced. The band started with two front men: Dan Root and Robbie Allen, both graduates of Jack Grisham’s finishing school for wayward musical youth, having played with him in Cathedral of Tears and Tender Fury.

The concept worked well on OHW’s initial singles, but Allen split for a major-label deal with another band (it proved to be a false start, but he eventually delivered a fine, varied album under the band name Thermadore). “Cluster----astuff” compiled songs that first appeared on singles and an EP, along with several live slices of a typically raw but catchy concert at Linda’s Doll Hut in Anaheim.

Like Joyride’s songwriters, Root was interested in portraying the humor, blows to morale and ethical challenges that grew from everyday life; he also worked in social commentary in a crusty, unpretentious way that benefited from his ability to tell a story while making a point. “Therapy Lounge,” heard live on “Cluster. . .,” was a bracing, wired account of the surreal strangeness of watching the 1992 L.A. riots on TV.

The Offspring’s Dexter Holland, no stranger to the virtues of melodic, aggressive rock, signed OHW to his Nitro label, resulting in two more strong albums, “Outfall” and “Who the Hell Is One Hit Wonder?”

THE PONTIAC BROTHERS “Fiesta en la Biblioteca” Frontier, 1986

LIQUOR GIANTS “Liquor Giants” Matador, 1996

It began as a ploy among buddies to get free beers at their favorite Fullerton watering hole. Calling themselves the Gall Stones, they specialized in Rolling Stones covers and got paid in liquid gold.

Then they began to write songs, and songwriter-guitarist Ward Dotson’s pedigree as a former member of a vaunted L.A. punk-blues band, the Gun Club, landed them an offer from a French record label.

The Pontiac Brothers were on their way to writing one of the most endearing--if ragtag and overlooked--chapters in the story of ‘80s college-alternative rock.

Their first U.S. album, “Doll Hut,” indeed sounded like the Stones, but by “Fiesta en la Biblioteca” they had developed their own style and sensibility as scrappy underdogs who made their failures and disappointments bearable by turning them into funny, roughhewn rock ‘n’ roll laments. Comparisons to the Replacements, one of the most celebrated bands of the ‘80s indie-rock movement, became commonplace.

The Pontiacs broke up in 1988, never having attracted much of a following in their home county, let alone nationally. But they left a wonderful legacy for the local rock scene: Their album “Doll Hut,” and the delightfully cranking song of the same name that turned up on “Fiesta,” prompted Linda Jemison and her then-husband, John Mello, to buy the little Anaheim dive when it went on the market in 1989 and turn it into a haven for the grass-roots rock scene. Linda’s Doll Hut lacks a stage and can only fit a few dozen fans comfortably, but it became the most enduring and affectionately nurturing venue the O.C. rock scene ever had.

Dotson formed Liquor Giants, taking over as lead singer and sole songwriter (he and Simon had collaborated on most of the Pontiacs’ songs), and started knocking out earthy gems full of everyday disasters borne with the crusty wit and big heart of an inveterate but unbowed loser. (It’s somehow fitting that Dotson is probably rock’s most avid Angels fan.)

Every two years, starting in 1992, Dotson has released a terrific album that raids the past unrepentantly. (The Beatles, the Kinks, the Move, the Byrds and the Beach Boys are Liquor Giants’ beacons and main sources for used spare parts.)

Dotson spent a spell in New York City, came back to Southern California and recruited Simon as drummer. With “Liquor Giants” and its 1998 successor, “Every Other Day at a Time,” they stepped up to a vaunted independent label, Matador (home to ‘90s alterna-rock icons Pavement and Liz Phair), but still couldn’t escape the obscurity that had fueled many a Pontiac Brothers--and now Liquor Giants--lament.

THE O.C. SUPERTONES “The Supertones Strike Back” BEC Recordings, 1997

By 1997, ska-punk had become a bad joke among the rock cognoscenti, a form whose commercial bubble most critics and many non-ska musicians hoped would soon burst.

Unbeknownst to the ska-punk-hating critics and the ska-punk-loving masses, a redeemer had arrived: the Supertones, a Christian rock band from Mission Viejo. Here was ska-punk with guts, character, intelligence, conviction and song after song built on unshakable melodic hooks.

Some Christian bands simply seek to celebrate faith and lift the flock, but the Supertones, fronted by shaven-headed, husky-voiced Matt Morginsky, examined spirituality in more complex ways. They saw faith not as a blissful realm apart, but as a struggle played out in everyday life.

While Reel Big Fish and Save Ferris got the mainstream glory, the Supertones became the most popular Southern California-based Christian rock band since Stryper, packing UC Irvine’s Bren Events center twice within four months during 1997-98.

Crossover success seemed a possibility, but the Supertones refused to join Christian rockers who soft-pedal their religious message in hopes of broadening their audience. The Supertones vowed never to play a show that didn’t pause for some earnest preaching of the Gospel.

SWAMP ZOMBIES “Chicken Vulture Crow” Doctor Dream, 1988

Nothing in or out of Orange County was quite like the Swamp Zombies.

The punk band best equipped to function in a power outage, this crew from Irvine eschewed electricity and put up a mighty clatter with a couple of acoustic guitars, an upright bass painted the slime-green of stagnant swamp water and a set of bongos and other light percussion.

Tongue-in-cheek, self-mocking humor was almost everywhere in the Swamp Zombies’ music--from lyrics and cover songs poking affectionate fun at their folk influences to the hilarity (but impressive drive) of a hardly virtuosic acoustic band covering Jimi Hendrix’s “Purple Haze.”

Swamp Zombies were the most persistent band on Doctor Dream, recording five albums from 1988 to 1993--time enough for them to go electric, in a psychedelic-folk sort of way. Then they metamorphosed into the Tiki Tones, an instrumental surf band that’s still going and signed to the label.