Lord help me, I love Behind the Music.
I’ll watch any documentary about any band ever, regardless of the quality. I don’t care if it’s about a band from South Dakota who never even made it as far as North Dakota. If there’s lore, a rise and fall, and talking head interviews, I’m there.
What makes Behind the Music so appealing to me, other than the fact that there are over 200 episodes, is that it functions as essentially micro-dosing rock history. You can watch episodes while you’re cleaning your place or surfing YouTube when you should be working. The fact that the narration is so slick and unhinged is a cherry on top.
There’s literally an episode of Behind the Music where Stan Robinson (father of Black Crowes members Chris and Rich Robinson) jokes about how his son’s attitudes are probably based on when they got their pubes. You’re not going to get that kind of real documentary art from Ken Burns or Werner Herzog. Television perfection like that can only come from our friends at VH1.
The hope of one day having a Behind the Music episode about me was probably in the back of my head when I first started playing in bands. Doesn’t everyone in a band daydream about the answers they would give in an interview? Tragically, I was never in a band that made it much farther than the state line, so no network executives ever called. I was in one band I hoped would go that far, though, and that’s what I want to tell you about today.
But first, let’s talk about one of the records that made me want to make a record.
…
The Review
The Ergs!
Dork Rock Cork Rod
2004
I heard somewhere once that Brian Wilson referred to “Good Vibrations” as his pocket symphony to God. Well, Dork Rock Cork Rod is a self-contained operatic hymn to Aphrodite herself.
I first came across the Ergs! when a girl with a Spam t shirt and a mohawk played me “Stinking of Whiskey Blues.” It was enough to make me start falling for them both. That girl and I never dated, but when I got my hands on a copy of Dork Rock Cork Rod, I was head-over-heels for the Ergs.
There’s an indefinable vibe that makes a record go from good to magic. Sometimes a record feels familiar, even on your first lesson. It’s like meeting someone and having the sudden sensation that you’ve known them your whole life. Dork Rock Cork Rod feels like home, like walking through a memory.
Part of the perfect formula of Dork Rock Cork Rod comes from its intimately familiar themes. We’ve all given our heart to someone and had it handed back. I’m a sucker for anything shiny and sad; it’s hard not to love the duality of that. Making all the songs bleed into each other to tell one singular, flowing story makes the record take on an effortlessly cool quality akin to a punk rock basement version of the B-side of Abbey Road.
The album fits 16 songs into just over half an hour. That should be so ineffective, like a sneak preview of a bigger project, yet somehow every track is punchy and fully developed. Even “Maybe I’m The New Messiah,” at 27 seconds long feels like it doesn’t go on for one single beat longer than it should.
Dork Rock Cork Rod is a mosaic.
At times, the record can feel like hanging out with your friends at a skate park on one of those perfect summer days from your youth that probably never really existed. Other times, it can feel like the pleasant misery of wallowing in your depression. Sometimes it feels like punching a wall.
I’m hesitant to talk about individual tracks because the album works so well as a single statement. Every track is alive, with a fire burning in its belly and a story to tell. Music is meant to make you feel something, and if you let it, Dork Rock Cork Rod can make you feel everything. If forced to suggest three tracks to the listener on the go, I would say start with the wonderful back-to-back barrage of “Pray for Rain” and “Saturday Night Crap-O-Rama,” then follow them up immediately with “It’s Never Going to Be the Same Again.”
Be warned, though, Dork Rock Cork Rod will make you want to start a band.
…
The Tale
Leave Home were the most fun I ever had playing music.
We played four shows; we recorded one demo in the back on a house that was later bulldozed by the city and our set was about half a dozen songs. Still, we only played original material, gave our music away for free, and wrote everything together. As far as small-town bands go, that’s a pretty good run.
The year was 2010, a simpler time. Barack Obama was in his first term; everyone still liked Katy Perry, and Scott Pilgrim was taking on the world. People looked up from their phones just long enough to acknowledge the earthquake in Haiti. Everyone believed those crazy Twilight kids Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson were going to be together forever.
I had just returned home for my sophomore year of college, with an eye on transferring to the University of Georgia. To save money and get my grades up, I spent a year at our local community college.
My previous year, living in Statesboro, hadn’t been especially productive. I made some friends and half-assed my way through two semesters at Georgia Southern University, but I spent most of that year in my room with an acoustic guitar, writing songs about my neighbors and other people I knew. When I got back home, I dug some of those songs out and started developing them.
Back in high school, my ridiculous stage name had been Stubbs Marone, and I was playing with the idea of recording something under that name. I loved the idea of giving that high school character his own solo project. I recruited my friend Brandon to help me because he was always and still is the best musician I’ve ever met. When we started working on the songs together, something clicked immediately, and we decided to expand the project into something more serious. Thus, Leave Home was born.
There were five guys in the band.
Brandon was our lead guitar player, whom I originally met when I wrote a song called “Punk Rock Queen” for his band the Clamjousters. They invited me to come down when they recorded a demo of it, and we got along so well that I wound up joining the band on bass. Three 14-year-olds in a band called the Clamjousters is a real gift from an anti-Norman Rockwell universe. Brandon always got the joke, and he had a real tender heart.
Mason was our rhythm guitar player. I had known him since I was a kid; I think we even played t-ball together. We had played in a street punk band together called One Sided Society. Everyone was in that band at one point or another. Bands were incestuous like that in a small-town music scene. Mason had an earnest and intellectual curiosity about alternative music and a goofy sense of humor.
Our bass player was Jeffrey, whom you’ve heard mentioned in other Tales From the Underground columns. Jeffrey played guitar in the first band I was ever in, All Systems Fail. We also played together in a short-lived ska band called Buskakke, still the best band name of all time. Jeffrey was the heart and soul of the band to me.
Matt was on drums. We met in high school when we were around 14, and it was like he appeared out of thin air. One day I had never heard of him; the next he was in my life forever. He was sarcastic and hilarious; he still makes me laugh like no one else. He never misses an opportunity to bring me back down to Earth when I start getting too big for my britches, and I love him for that. We played music together too back then, in a power pop band called the Stabs.
Brandon: What I liked most was being in a band of solid friends. Most bands are like two friends here, two friends there, and we’re all acquainted. In Leave Home, we were all great friends with each other. That made for some super fun times.
Mason: We had the intention of having fun at all costs. How tight the set was, how well-written the songs were; how natural it was to get into a state of flow with that group. Pretty much everyone who heard us play enjoyed it.
Tyler: We had all grown up playing music together, in one form or another. There was immediately a great shorthand because we all spoke the same musical language. It’s also the only band I’ve ever been in where no one was competing. Everyone wanted to make each other better.
Matt: It was never a bad time when that group of people got together. The cast of characters within the band kept it interesting and no one ever had any dumb beef or issue with anyone else. We were active during our transition into early adulthood, and having four other dudes to bond with over playing music in that period created lifelong memories.
It was that golden time of life when we were all still young enough to chase big goofy dreams, but old enough that the clock was ticking on them. I knew I wanted to be a writer, but getting into UGA was a long shot. Even if I did, I couldn’t go without a scholarship. I’m not sure the rest of the guys had settled on a career path yet. Instead of wringing our hands about the future, we played music.
I thought calling the band Leave Home was clever, because at that time, all of us were living with our parents. Except Matt, who lived with me. He was the Shawn Hunter to my Corey Matthews back then. No one else objected, which is the same as a win when you’re trying to name a band. The first time we all got together, it immediately felt different than the other bands we had been in. Mason’s parents had this big house, and they were never home, so we practically lived there. Practices had the same energy as a middle school sleepover.
Brandon: For the most part, I think Tyler would have lyrics he would show me, and then sometimes he would have a melody or an idea of how it should go. I would come up with the chords, and then we would tweak everything to match. Boom—timeless hits created.
Tyler: We started practicing the songs I had written, but it wasn’t long before we were developing things together. I would usually come in with an idea, show it to Brandon, and then open it up to everyone. I really loved the idea of writing together. We could get a new song written, on its feet and ready to record in a couple of hours.
Mason: I remember Tyler and Brandon spearheading most of the songwriting, and I loved that. They complemented each other so well, and I could tell the lyrics and music being written was from an authentic place. I brought organization to some of the songs. My strong suit was being able to think divergently and connect the dots. My background was based mostly in hardcore and street punk at the time, so playing more uplifting songs was new for me. I quickly fell in love with the harmonies and how catchy the songs were.
Matt: Everyone in the band that wasn’t me wrote the guitar parts, and I had full input on which standard drum beats I played over it. I guess those were decided on the spot. I feel like Tyler was the primary lyricist, but I do remember at least one session of myself, him and Jeffrey trying to write lyrics together. I think that ended up being the end of “Don’t Look Down,” where we said “The coins say ‘you are …’ and time runs out.”
There’s something to be said for that first year in a band. Those early days are always my favorite part of any documentary. Even if you’re playing the same three chords with guys you’ve known all your life, something about it feels like you’re on the verge of a great new discovery. There’s a spark, a buzz that can’t be replicated in any other area of your life. No one knows it yet, but your band is about to find the missing formula that will change the very course of rock ‘n’ roll forever.
Naturally, our first show was a house party.
Jeffrey was into making hoodies in those days. He was kicking around the idea of starting a company called The King Dyed, which specialized in tie-dye. He made one for all of us in Leave Home, and we all wore them to a party at Mason’s house one night. Mason always had these huge, legendary house parties, like something from a teen movie. On that night, all in our matching hoodies and probably more than a few drinks deep, we agreed to play for the crowd. Our equipment was set up in Mason’s bedroom anyway. Everyone packed in, and we blazed through our hilariously short set.
I don’t know if we were any good, but it was that kind of fun that feels illegal. I felt like we were doing something new and getting away with it before anyone had time to figure out we shouldn’t be doing it. Everyone else must have felt it too because we immediately agreed that we should put this up in front of an audience that wasn’t just our drunken buddies.
Soon after that our scholastic residence, Dalton State College, announced a Battle of the Bands. It was a fundraiser for Haiti Relief, if memory serves. We begged and pleaded and made our way onto the bill. It didn’t matter that we had barely gotten started, and were shaky at best; we were rolling drunk on the arrogance of youth. We didn’t win, obviously, but local legend Jason Clark introduced us and made a point to say how much he liked what we were doing. That was a big enough for us on its own. It’s also the only show for which there’s video evidence that we ever existed.
With the momentum of a couple well-received performances under our belt, I think we felt bolstered enough to start taking things more seriously. We had about a half-dozen songs, and we decided to make a demo. Our dear friend and musical brother Jeremy Mathis used to let us practice in his home studio when we were still briefly Stubbs Marone, so we asked if he would record us. He agreed to do it for free, just for the practice.
Jeremy lived in this old, dilapidated house that was attached to a pool hall. One strong wind rumbling through town would have demolished it into kindling. His brother Jayke, a local pro wrestler, lived there as well. Their mother and her boyfriend Ernie were always upstairs, but we rarely saw them. Ernie was an old biker dude who always reminded me of Tommy Chong, and their mom, Cheryl, had once won a radio contest and bowled with Alice Cooper. I believe, at the time, everyone in their family worked at the local Wal-Mart. Their schedules were all different, and you never knew when anyone would be home, but the door was always unlocked. Long before Leave Home ever existed, Jeremy’s house had become the Eric Forman’s basement of our scene.
Jeremy: Recording was a blast. It was the first time I recorded anything but my own band. I remember being proud of those recordings when it was over, and I wish I still had them. It’s always easy recording with a bunch of your friends.
Brandon: I remember we laid down the drums with no click or scratch tracks, just threw ‘em down. I also remember everyone laughing at my backing vocals for the song “Can’t Hate You” because I sounded like a spooky ghost.
Tyler: Technically, we recorded the demo in two parts. Most of it was recorded with Jeremy, but I think we recorded one or two songs at Mason’s later. What I remember most about it was really finding some of those songs in the recording process. We had this true-blue pop punk song called “Losing My Mind,” and when we were practicing it before laying it down, Brandon started ripping this insane power metal finger-tapping solo over it just to make us laugh. Mason, in turn, started screaming the lyrics to the final chorus in the style of those emo bands that had been popular a few years before. Both of those wild and random touches completely transformed and elevated the song into something totally different and new. That’s the version we wound up recording.
Matt: I remember so little about it that I’m almost positive we recorded the whole thing at Mason’s mansion for some reason. That’s just a testament to how fun it must have been; I don’t even remember it.
Mason: Tracking vocals in a closet at my parent’s house was one for the books. I had recorded at Take 8 Studios for years, so bringing it back to the basics with my buddies was punk as fuck and a lot of fun. I wish I had that demo.
This was back when blank CDs were still king, but they were rapidly being dethroned by iPods. As a matter of fact, I think the only reason the coup hadn’t been completed yet was because no one had cracked the code on seamlessly playing iPods in cars. As such, every vehicle still had a CD player, and you could buy blank CDs practically by the barrel for dirt cheap. Local bands in those days usually sold their demos as merch, along with hand-stenciled t-shirts and patches. It was a cheap and easy way to get your music out there without a record deal, and maybe put back a couple dollars at a time to invest in something better later. Streaming services as we know them today didn’t exist yet, just prehistoric versions on individual Myspace pages.
We decided to give our demo away for free the next time we played.
The next show was at a sketchy biker club that had taken over the location of our town’s only dedicated music venue. Musically, it was the tightest we had ever been as a band. We were practicing all the time, and every new song was such a leap forward that it made the older ones obsolete. Fliers were printed and put up on every storefront in town that would allow it. We even put up several around the college, which was strictly forbidden. Every time one was taken down, though, one of us would be ready with replacements and masking tape.
Obviously, we spammed the hell out of Myspace and Facebook as well, but isn’t it better to only imagine us stapling fliers to light poles in this imaginary montage? Who wants to picture five dudes quietly posting separate Facebook statuses? No one, not even Eduardo Saverin.
I’m sure everyone in the band has their own opinion, but for me, that was the best show we ever played. The venue was so packed you could barely move. It was such an ado that a couple undercover DEA agents even swung by and swept the perimeter. Although, to be fair, that was probably due more to the location than the rocking. We played with a great local hardcore band called Between Two Seas. I believe Brandon’s other band the Gullibles played as well. They were incredible, better than us if I’m being honest. Teenage Bottlerocket even wound up recording a cover of one of their songs not long after that. An amazing band from Atlanta called Doomed Youth closed that show. I remember specifically Doomed Youth going on and saying “You guys like Metallica covers? Well, we don’t fucking know any.” I’ve yet to hear another band open their set better in my life.
In the afterglow of that victory, we got a chance to open for The Scarred.
Tyler: Opening for the Scarred was a huge deal. Every time they came through town, it was an event. The only problem was, Mason had gone to Spain for the summer. I think he was doing a study abroad thing. We brought our friend Jeremy back in to fill in on rhythm guitar. He had made our demo, so he was familiar with the songs. He was also just a genuinely fun and hilarious guy to have around.
Jeremy: Playing with Leave Home was basically the same type of gig as recording them. It was the first time I played anything that wasn’t the normal punk thing I had been doing. I played the one show I was asked to fill in for, and I regretted not getting to do more.
Brandon: I was incredibly excited to see the Scarred again, unfortunately unaware that it would be the last time I would ever see them. Our set was fun, went really well, and there was a pretty decent crowd. The Scarred absolutely killed it; I remember running around and telling everyone to get inside for their set. I had a blast screaming along to them. Justin had some very kind things to say about Leave Home, always a sweetheart.
Matt: That was an exciting show because in our little town, the Scarred basically had cult status. They were the coolest band to come around when we were all first really getting into playing shows. I remember Tyler and I going to reserve a space at the Trade Center, which seemed like a very grown-up thing to do at the time. Looking back, it seems like there were over 100 people there. That had to be one of the last Leave Home shows. I don’t remember us playing many more.
In the interest of fair and impartial journalism, I should point out that our opening for the Scarred wasn’t due to us generating any significant heat or buzz around town. Dalton didn’t have a lot of bands to choose from anymore, and Justin and I were friends. We also put the money up to reserve the space with the intent on paying ourselves back from the ticket sales. Although, looking back, I’m not sure that we even broke even after paying the bands.
This show was held at the Dalton Trade and Convention Center, the biggest venue in our town. We put an insane amount of work into promoting it. Leave Home ourselves even made a commercial and put it on YouTube. I think everyone involved called everyone they knew and begged them to call everyone they knew. We didn’t simply want a big show; we wanted to leave scratch marks on the walls of local history.
My on-again, off-again girlfriend at the time and I had just freshly become on-again. She told me later that she ended the breakup earlier than originally planned because she knew it would put me in a better mood for that show. It was during the dog days of summer, that time when it’s still somehow just as hot and sticky after the sun goes down, especially in the Deep South where we were. I don’t know if it was manifested or organic, but there was an unmistakable electricity in the air.
The Scarred sailed into the parking lot like pirates, as they always did.
They were traveling the country with The New Threat (featuring a not-yet YouTube-famous Adam the Woo) in this weird RV that I think was loaned to them by a lesser-known energy drink company in exchange for the free advertisement. Hanging out with them was like kids meeting back up for another summer at camp. In the end, it wasn’t the biggest and best show Dalton had ever seen, or even the best any of us had ever played, but it didn’t matter. It was one of those classic nights whose memory has the capacity to keep you warm when it’s cold out. Even after the show, back at my dad’s house, when all the bands decompressed on the front porch watching the pouring rain felt cinematic.
It would also be the last time Leave Home ever played together.
Brandon: Did we break up because Tyler moved to California?
Matt: I don’t think we broke up. We just unknowingly got together and jammed for the last time one day, and the stars never aligned after that.
Mason: Wait, we broke up?! I don’t believe any of us intended on ending the band the way we did, or in such short time. Early 20s hit us all pretty hard, and we were all pulled in different directions. I believe all of us were just a bit farther away from each other than we realized, until it was too late.
I had, against all odds, been accepted to the University of Georgia. Full ride. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. I fully intended to keep the band together when I moved to Athens. I figured I would just come up for weekends and summers, and we would keep the train rolling. Things didn’t work out that way, though. We all sort of just gradually moved on. We never really broke up, which I guess technically means we’re still together, just on a 15-year hiatus.
The last thing I vividly remember us doing together, chronologically, was working on a new song. We practiced it a few times; someone’s girlfriend told me I wasn’t singing it in the right key, and we put it back down. I think we aimed to finish it, write several more, and cut a record, but alas, it wasn’t meant to be. I guess it’s lucky that we faded away when we did, and things never had a chance to go sour. That keeps the memory clean in a chrysalis forever.
Brandon: I’ll always remember the super-cool Dalton State College show and recording at Jeremy’s in the most ghetto fashion possible, and, of course, writing songs with Tyler at his dad’s house.
Tyler: I have nothing but warm and fuzzy memories of Leave Home. My favorite thing, though, is that we never played any covers live. Jeffrey insisted that we only play original material, probably as payback to me and Mason for all those times we made him play “Battles” by the Virus when we were in One Sided Society. At practice, though, we always ended with this one random cover. Lil Wayne had done a remix of “I Gotta Feeling” by the Black Eyed Peas, and Brandon had memorized the rap. We used to play it all the time. When I think back now, that’s always the first and best memory.
Matt: All of my fond memories from that time aren’t even necessarily tied to the band directly. We were just buddies that hung out all the time, and we just happened to play instruments. I feel like, when you’re that age, everything feels exciting and new. Everything is fun, and if you fail at something, it doesn’t really matter because you have more time later to get it right. Leave Home, for me, was always less about the music and more about hanging out with my buds doing stuff we enjoyed. That’s the part that will stick.
Mason: Playing in Leave Home changed me. I appreciate all the time I spent with those guys more than they know and I miss those days fondly. I miss the house shows, small town venues, and Brandon head-banging while absolutely ripping the catchiest solos and riffs. We had smiles every time we got together. We didn’t settle for decent tunes. We held higher standards and made sure it was a good time.
Note: Multiple attempts were made to contact Jeffrey for this project. Jeffrey was once an hour late to a Leave Home show because he was out buying nicknacks and guitar picks for the rest of us. In a fitting tribute to the band that never was, Jeffrey will most likely respond six weeks after this column is released with beautifully hilarious answers.
…
The Aftermath
I hadn’t thought about Leave Home much until the pandemic happened.
We had all moved on to the next adventure. I had gone to college, graduated, and sought my fortune out West. I was back in Georgia when COVID hit, and after endless hours watching television, I was looking for a more productive use of my quarantine. I took my guitar out of its case and slowly taught myself to play it again. I even started writing new songs.
One afternoon I came across the lyrics to a Leave Home song that was written and practiced, but never recorded or performed, called “Don’t Look Down.” Brandon had brought that one to us with the chorus already written. I wrote the verses on a gas station receipt a few minutes later, and Jeffrey and Matt wrote the outro that night when we were playing Super Mario Brothers back at my house. It wound up being my favorite thing we had. I couldn’t remember how to play it anymore, and I was never anywhere near as good as Brandon at guitar, so I wrote my own arrangement.
The result felt like me at 30 having a conversation with myself at 20.
On the rare occasion I write something these days, I must admit, I keep the guys in mind. I imagine how they would react to it, add to it, make it better. Thinking about they would improve my songs helps me shape them. Leave Home are always with me in that way.
I’m 35 now. I have a real job and bills and the whole mess. It’s way too late to start a band. At least, I think it is. If the guys read this and get the fire in their bellies, though, you never know what could happen. Maybe we’ll end up with our own Behind the Music after all.
I’ll meet you at Mason’s.
