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Five of them are arrayed around a table at Sushi Rock Grill in St. Pete, knocking back beers, scarfing raw fish, egg rolls and wings. Veterans, all. Each one the victim of some sort of music biz mugging. Each having, at one time or another, essentially sworn off what guitarist Jerry Outlaw calls, "the whole system of bullshit." Not a bitter lot, really, just wise and wary.
Yet here they are, going by the quizzical moniker D'Yea, pimping their upcoming CD release party (which also happens to be their live debut), talking about production deals and potential tours and, of all things, interest from big record companies. It's apparently in the blood. "I'll probably always be vulnerable to the dream," says guitarist/vocalist Billy Wells, who goes by D'Yea in a band called D'Yea.
Each member of the group -- except Tampa bass mercenary Sean Wainwright, who's absent for this interview -- is a longtime fixture on the Pinellas County music scene. It's a disparate quintet of personalities, influences and interests, from Southern dirt-rock to computer-generated techno. Yet there is an easy camaraderie among them, peppered with the kind of jocular ball- busting that says they're also friends. "Everyone in this band is someone I always wanted to be in a band with," Wells says. "We crossed paths over the years and I've always been fans of these guys."
You could even call D'Yea a local supergroup. But we won't.
Their music is a dense aural stew, the product of musicians who burned the recipe book and stirred together ingredients for no other reason than it might taste good. And damn if it didn't turn out to have commercial potential anyway. The band's self-released debut CD, Bassstar Mission, blends deep-groove funk, crunchy rock riffs and power chords, primal hooks, swaggering raps, the sonic collage of electronica and a penchant for prog-rock transitions. If it all sounds a bit much, well somehow it isn't. In the process, D'Yea easily dodges comparisons to Kid Rock's straight-out-da-trailer hick-hop and the faceless brigade of rap-metalists.
The band was born of setbacks and breakups. Two years ago, Wells was in the grit-rock band Gunburner with bassist Jason Dudney, who's now D'Yea's rapper/singer known as Gene Heinous. The group had signed a development deal with Columbia Records, recorded a high-quality demo in California with producer Matt Wallace (Faith No More, Hole) and was waiting for the final contract to come through.
"I heard the term 'done deal' more times than I ever thought possible," Wells recalls.
Wells knew Mike Meengs as the whack dude who lived in the cluttered little apartment behind his old house in St. Pete, a guy who holed up and programmed beats day and night. Meengs had been in the local art-rock band Sonic Erotica and a member of the ambient electronica duo Lux Nova, which had released a national album.
"I had a floor sampler for my guitar and I was cutting and pasting my own loops," Wells says. "I'd bring it over to Meengs. 'Look, I can do your stuff on guitar.' He'd grab a couple of my loops and flip 'em in with his. There was no intention of making a song. We were just making some groovy loops. Then it was, 'Gimme that mic. Let me throw on a vocal.'"
As for "D'Yea," Wells says, "It was really more of a sound that I'd been singing than a name. I woke up one morning and realized that I was D'Yea."
The timing of D'Yea's birth was fortunate because right about then Columbia called to announce they had passed on Gunburner. The band dissolved soon after.
Wells and Meengs, now christened Sonic, turned to Dudney, who was once part of a breakdancing troupe that would roll out the cardboard and perform at places like Floriland Mall. Dudney had solid rap and rhyme chops. Given the anything-goes nature of the venture, they figured: Why the hell not?
CDRs of the tongue-in-cheek funk-rock tune "Everybody's Down with D'Yea" became collector's items among their friends.
"We impressed ourselves with the first couple of accidental tracks," Wells says. "We didn't give a rat's ass. We were just laughing and drinking beer and making a tune. It was so much different than Gunburner, where I'd reach deep down in my soul for lyrical content that exposed me and what I was feeling. I was frickin' sick of that."
Next thing the guys knew, they were in a for-real project again. The concept grew around the misanthropic personas of D'Yea, Sonic and Heinous -- socially aware pranksters looking at the 21st century from some cosmic otherworld. "A new millennium flames ablaze/ Let the base of the wave with D'Yea at the helm on a tirade," is a lyric that kind of sums it up.
About six months in, the trio thought a bit of six-string flash might be a welcome addition. Enter Jerry Outlaw, best known as the virtuosic leader of Bogus Pomp, a band that exclusively played the intricate music of Frank Zappa. For Outlaw, D'Yea proved to be a different game. Instead of long solos and serpentine melodies, he was called upon to play chords, atmosphere and punchy filigree. "It's tough not to overplay," the guitarist says. "I laid out some stuff that I thought was good, but they told me it was too busy. As the music came together, I realized that 90 percent of the time it was appropriate for me to play simpler."
Songs came fast and furious, with Sonic arranging and mixing like a madman. The guys decided to take D'Yea to the stage, but damned if they'd go there without a drummer. Sonic's programming, expert though it was, simply would not do.
Why not get a Rock and Roll Hall of Famer? Outlaw had struck up e-mail correspondence with Jerome "Bigfoot" Brailey, who anchored the groove for Parliament/Funkadelic during most of the '70s. Outlaw sent him some D'Yea MP3s and the drummer/producer was blown away. Brailey wanted in -- to play drums, set up contacts and score a deal.
Late last summer, he came down from his northern Virginia home to rehearse with D'Yea at the State Theatre. The old-school funkster was flummoxed by the music's precise changes and the "click track" in his headphones. Brailey made only two trips to St. Pete, and although it made sense to keep a musician of his pedigree in the fold, his involvement never worked.
In all, six drummers took to the kit for D'Yea. The band finally settled on a road-dog rocker with a previously unknown penchant for funk. Hunter Oswald had spent eight years with raunch-rockers The Gotohells. The St. Pete quartet was dropped from their long-time label, Vagrant, after it struck gold with emo bands like the Get Up Kids and Alkaline Trio.
The Gotohells folded shortly after.
Oswald brought the right balance of rock muscle and funk flow. Plus, he knew his parts from rehearsal one. "It's the first click [track] I ever played to," he says. "In a rock 'n' roll band, I had a lot of control. With four guys drunk on stage playing loud and fast, I had huge control of where to take the band. With this, I have to feel the song and lock into the click."
With programmed elements meshing with live instruments and vocals, not to mention a premium on theatricality, D'Yea's show is one of the more daunting productions to ever emerge from a local band. "The music itself is simple, but if you don't play it exactly right it can have a big smear on it," Outlaw says. "If you don't bring that attention to detail, it can suck."
As far as imminent career prospects, each member vows to take any encouraging news with a dose of skepticism.
"I expect history to repeat itself," Wells says, referring to prior lost deals. "That's what you come to expect out of the business. I still very much would like to be in the music industry, to make music my livelihood, but I know the deal. I won't believe it until I'm watching a documentary about us on MTV."
Senior Writer Eric Snider can be reached at snider@weeklyplanet.com or 813-248-8888 ext. 114.
COMMENTS
RE: Get The Funk Up
Posted by Gunn Music on 08.04.09 @ 07:25 PM
I just heard a D'Yea song on Internet Radio...All round The World...kick ass! I wanna see them live...where are you?
RE: Get The Funk Up
Posted by Rhiannon on 11.19.07 @ 07:15 PM
I knew mike meengs.Me and my dad used to go over to that cluttered little apartment on 5th street ( crescent lake) In st. pete we lived right next to him.. i still have his turtlebend mix from before he even got big.. this is cool i found this article