Put that in your coiff and fluff it: Frigg A-Go-Go is a go go gone.
It might be some time before, collectively, Frigg A-Go-Go is ever this at home again. They're sitting in 425 Jefferson, gussied up in their trademark suits and sipping wine from plastic cups. It's not their comfort level that makes this midday lush session special. Under this black-roof sky and between these brick ribs, they first secured their foothold in Lafayette's music scene. Through the years that followed, the name out front and the people behind the bar changed. Remodeled and renovated, Metropolis begot The Club begot The Renaissance Café & Nite Club. Outside, Jefferson Street was pronounced dead, reborn and thriving. But inside 425 Jefferson and other places like it, Frigg just kept right on going. And it is here that after nearly 10 years, a remarkable feat for any Lafayette rock band, they kick off their farewell shows.
The band's vintage rock edged with punk piss and vinegar weathered the days of alternative and modern rock. The waves of ska and radio-friendly, mall-safe punk also didn't faze them. Neither did the bastard strains of metal, whether calling itself rap or nu metal. Not even every core, from noise to hard to grind, nor the current explosion of instrumental bands, could stop their rocking. What finished them off is the last in a series of changes in the band's direction since its early 1990s start.
All at once, three of the band's four members embark on new directions in their lives. Drummer Chad Dupré, a nurse, heads to the West Coast to be with his wife. Keyboardist Christian Miller ventures to Alaska to work on a cruise ship. After graduating from enough years spent in college to rival Animal House's D-Day, lead singer and guitarist Ronnie Chauvin pulls up stakes and heads to New Orleans. The three leave behind bassist Jeremy Steward, who works in town.
For Chauvin, it has all come full circle. "But full as not in one rotation, but as the wheels of your car," he laughs.
"A lot of graphs and corporate business stuff try this incline, but we just prefer the circle," says Miller. "Whirling our way to victory."
"We are doctors of rock, and I believe some school somewhere should confer on us the titles of doctors of rock," boasts Chauvin. "'Cause you know what? Lord knows we know more about it than 98 percent of the people alive, maybe 99. We are like Dove soap."
For the Lafayette music scene, this easily ranks along Lou Gehrig's echoing voice proclaiming himself the luckiest man on the face of the earth. It's the Indy 500 canceled because of a gas crisis. It's your cable box going out just in time for the last episode of Friends. It's so grand and perplexing all at once that one day it will be compared to some future event so grand and perplexing that it must be put into context.
For Frigg A-Go-Go is just not some band that stuck it out for nearly a decade (their nine-and-a-half-year anniversary is on the exact date of their May 30 closing gig) in good times and bad. Frigg A-Go-Go is the definition of a crossover band among categorized and segregated music. They are the young rockers who rose from the depths of Lafayette's underground rock scene to reach an older audience as well as that audience's rebellious kids. They are the band pelted with boys' tighty whiteys by an audience that was barely in elementary school when they first started rocking. They are the band, loud, proud and defiant, that The Times' readers voted their favorite last year. They are the band whose fans are just as likely to be 45 as they are 15, that can gig both the Blue Moon Saloon and the Renaissance. If it weren't enough that they made the music of their parents the music of their kids and their parents all at once, Frigg A-Go-Go resides in the slim company of rock bands that only speak English to have played a recent Festival International de Louisiane. Act appropriately blown away.
It's not often you can pinpoint an exact night when you met your future running buddy. The other members of Frigg A-Go-Go might never forget the night Miller saddled up with them. After all, how often is it that you see a character by the name of St. Nick passed out in a chair and another fellow stuck in a tree?
Before Miller came along, one-time Metropolis co-owner Bernard Pearce played Frigg's organ. Before Frigg, Chauvin played in Fuzzy Scrotum on the Wall, a band that only lasted one practice but whose T-shirts were quite the merchandising catch for obvious reasons. He developed his chops locked in a bathroom with a workout bench, a snare drum, some loose change, a guitar, a xylophone and a tape recorder.
After a gig by another name, Frigg wound up at Dupré's house on Stewart Street. The first incarnation had only keys, a guitar and drums, but after a practice they decided to bring in bassist Steward. It wasn't his first outfit: Steward once played in a high school band that walked away with a battle of the bands show partially on the strength of their male lead singer's tied T-shirt. They were also joined by Chris DeShazo on shadow guitar, as Chauvin likes to call it. The band was soon booked to play Metropolis but had no name. DeShazo didn't care what they chose as long as it had the A-Go-Go at the end. The Frigg? Well, it came from a letter in a Penthouse Forum describing one lady pleasing herself. Later, a more mature, grown-up Frigg A-Go-Go would spread the word that it meant the goddess of fertility enjoyed dancing with herself.
After two gigs, Pearce decided to part company with the band. At a party at the house across from Dupré's, DeShazo brought in Miller, who had played the trombone and piano since elementary school, and the almost final lineup was cast. DeShazo later departed on the day they made one of their early recordings. Dupré, on the other hand, had an opportunity to get out early when both Frigg and the other band he played with at the time called in the same week and demanded he ditch the other. What would the history books say of Lafayette if he chose to keep playing back-up for an Elvis impersonator? The world may never know ...
There were plenty of other rock bands out of Lafayette at the time, but none sounded like Frigg A-Go-Go. With a love for old records - records being the key word - the band mixed Chauvin's fancy for the Rolling Stones and Velvet Underground with Dupré's ability to play just about anything, the newer rock influences of Miller and the punk of Steward. The four laid the diversity they knew over vintage guitar licks.
"We all throw whatever we know on top of it and out comes creative chaos," says Miller. But Chauvin quickly interjects, "Some like to call it poo-poo." Their sound also owed dues to Chauvin's dad's organ.
"In the area, there is a strong tradition of rock," says the front man who has the hair of a fifth Beatle. "That organ is part of that strong tradition. Like the Roman togas, the Greek fountains, all through 'Black Dog.'"
They can't decide whether the scene was far cooler back then or if they were just younger and easier to impress, but they are sure it was in full swing at that time. According to them, bars like Metropolis, where owners wanted bands to play not just allowed them to play, were catalysts to the boom period. Frigg found themselves playing there and at places like The Wall down the street more and more often. At the time, Metropolis put on about three shows a week, often with regional acts. It wasn't just somewhere they could make a couple bucks and develop a following, but a turning point in their early development.
"That's where I realized that you could actually go out and tour, even if you are not necessarily a major rock star or a festival band," says Steward. "But these bands were actually just getting in a van, sucking it up and going out and doing it."
Before long, they were shoulder to shoulder in a van taking on Austin and Dallas audiences. West Coast and Midwest tours would follow in the years to come.
When they were booked with other bands, they realized they were not alone. In Lafayette, they stood out, because, as Chad says, "We live on an island. Louisiana is an island." Elsewhere, similar bands were everywhere.
No matter where they went, one thing seemed to follow them: the tag of being a garage band, which they adamantly deny.
"They don't understand; we're not in a garage, we are in a shed," explains Chauvin of their practice space in a Carencro storage facility.
"Storage shed band and garage band are two different sounds totally," agrees Miller.
"One bare light bulb gives you that feeling that you need to rock," deduces Chauvin.
On those long, lonely highways, in those cheap motels, in those nefarious backstage rooms, meeting those desperate fans who will do or give anything to have a piece of the band, Frigg A-Go-Go wandered down a dark path frequented by many reluctant stars of Behind the Music ... stage names.
"You know, when you are in a business where you have to swindle everybody, you don't want everybody to know where you are at. I run a phone out of my neighbors' house," laughs Chauvin. In Dallas, they must have put on a hell of a show, because Miller began receiving phone calls with lots of giggling on the other end of the line. His brush with fame began with young ladies he unaffectionately refers to as the fatabilly girls. Soon, they dreamt up stage names to cover their tracks. They toyed with a few along the way, but when their second album on Scooch Pooch Records dropped, they were finalized. Thanks to a spelling error, Christian Miller, or Sir Christian Leo as he would have had it, became Sir Critian Leo. Jeremy Steward looked at his license and became Jeremy. A review would later skewer him Jeremy "I have a regular name" Steward. Chad Dupré slapped an ED on Chadwick and the mild-mannered nurse transformed into the sinister-to-drumhead Chadwicked. Then there's Ronnie Ramada. Why not Hilton or Red Roof Inn is anyone's guess.
"It's the same thing as to why am I going to name my son Skeletor. It's a rockin' name," he says.
And you believe him.
Question Ronnie Ramada about seeing him riding his bike around campus honking its horn and gladly flashing the Queen's patented wave to anyone he catches looking and he's likely to tell you that was the show and demand $5. A Frigg A-Go-Go performance exhibits the same bizarre grandioseness but infused with wildness, capes and the heat turned up a few hundred degrees.
Currently, there is only the bass canon, but at one point there was to be a full-fire rock 'n' roll freak-out show. And it was all Jeremy's doing.
"I was like (telling his then-girlfriend), 'We are going to have the rock show; we going to have fire. I rubbed Sterno on all the equipment (Chadwicked's drums, his amp, etc.) and I go and light it during the one of songs," says Jeremy. The other members recall that those amazing flames shot about an inch high. "I just look over, and the guys are crying and I am horrified. My entire rock show was gone down to crap. I was just so embarrassed." His lady reassured him that no one knew, but that still spelled the end of fire.
Aside from failed pyro, when Frigg takes the stage their personalities come out. ("The toast of the JS
"That stems back to the early days of Metropolis," says Jeremy. "I'd always enjoy it when they had the swing bands come through. You'd see these guys decked out in suits. When they walked in, you knew that was the band, no question about it."
Critian concurs. "I don't care if a few people on the floor think what we doing is a little too conceited 'cause we are dressing up, Ronnie's wearing a cape and strutting around; that's always been part of rock."
Putting it all in perspective, Chadwicked adds, "You never saw Tina Turner in a potato sack ..." adding (in his best Ike Turner fear-induced whine) "but it's scratchy!!!"
Looking back on all their years together, Frigg A-Go-Go has a résumé any band could be proud to call its own: a couple albums released and one in the can they plan to shop around; tours of places near and far; countless fans, some vehement about their favorite band; a show at New York's CBGB Omfug and shows at Cleveland's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. But through all their success, the group fondly recalls the small shows over the grand ones.
For years, they never realized that the first letter of each part of Frigg A-Go-Go spelled FAGG. They also thought it would never be a big deal, until CBGB.
"In many places, including here, the sexuality of different members of the band is always in question," says Ramada. However, it was never vocalized as it was in New York. Critian says it blew his mind that, in conservative South Louisiana, it rarely made mention. In the crowd at CBGB, however, it seemed to be all anyone could ask of Ramada.
"It's like they had to pigeonhole him, 'Is he gay? Is he not gay?'" recalls Jeremy.
"I don't know if they are more comfortable with it or it is still an issue with them," adds Critian. "And this is in CBGB people are asking that. I'm like, 'Did y'all throw these questions out to David Bowie?'"
In typical Ramada fashion, Ronnie remains careless about it. He is, after all, to his fiancée's dismay (yes, a female), going to name his child Skeletor. "But come on, really, when you name your band Frigg A-Go-Go and you choose a name like Ramada, yeah, you should be called FAGG and that's with two gs. Because, then it is fagggg," he says dragging and distorting the g.
The question of who prefers fish or meat pales in comparison to the epiphany they had at the supposed Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
"They don't understand what their name is," Ramada, blasting the Hall of Fame. For a quartet enthralled in the grandness and excess of rock's bygone days, one would think this would be the gig to end all gigs. Instead, it sent the band in yet another direction.
Frigg opened for Poe, an artist who had a handful of hits in the mid '90s and managed to build what appeared to be a devoted following. During their set, Frigg realized her fans showed up hours in advance and perched themselves in front of the stage to be close to their heroine. Many wore homemade T-shirts and waved homemade signs. Critian noticed a Goth feel to the crowd, with many wearing thick, black mascara. The band played its set, but it was obvious the fans were just waiting for Poe to arrive. Just as their favorite radio goddess seemed in her fans' grasp, MTV deployed its crew to push them to the back. The space they had camped out for now filled with aesthetically pleasing people known as the cast. When Poe came out, her puppetmasters had her play a couple of songs over and over again until it was to their liking. She brought her brother out to read poetry over one of her songs. They stopped him in the middle of it. All that black mascara began to run.
"I'll honestly say that is pretty much the first day that I was like, 'I don't think I want to make it,'" says Critian. "I don't want to get to that level."
Ramada adds, "What we have achieved so far with this band is what I want, this is just emotion and feeling and honesty. See that's the word I like: honest. There is no lie to what we do. We can't afford to lie."
When talk of leaving comes up, Critian pities Jeremy. When the members of Frigg A-Go-Go go their separate ways, he will be left holding the bag and answering all the questions. As it stands now, their identities are blurred. When spotted around town, fans are more likely to scream Frigg A-Go-Go than Jeremy, Chad, Ronnie or Christian. For once, Critian says he looks forward to not having "of Frigg A-Go-Go" tacked on the end of his name.
"He will really be Jeremy without Frigg A-Go-Go. We kinda just get to go reinvent ourselves somewhere else ..."
Eventually, Jeremy says, he will get over what he calls his wife leaving him and, to the almost shrieking surprise of Critian, start jamming with someone else. Critian predicts that things will get so bad he will eventually learn sign language to tell Frigg fans the story - shooting a hefty bird at anyone who dares to ask. Jeremy warns, "After about the 50th time, I will probably move."
In all honesty, the news of Frigg A-Go-Go's demise is not exactly news. Rumblings of a split have been heard for years. Critian calls it their heroin drug: "Right when you're ready to get off you get that fix again ... six more months." One on one, they discussed parting ways, but just as all seemed lost something always came up.
"It's like this guy Bill talked to me the other day and he's the dude that knows the dude who blew Stevie Nicks' boyfriend. Oh, OK, cool," jokes Ramada.
"I think we enjoy the pleasurable feeling of a lot of smoke getting blown up our ass," Critian agrees. "So any time anybody blew it up our ass, we'd be like, 'Let's stay for a while.'"
Still, this is not the definite ending to this story. Eventually, whether it's a holiday or a fluke, the band will be in the same area code again. As far as when, it could be six months or 40 years.
"Is indefinite a real word?" asks Chadwicked, just to have Ramada answer, "I like to think that you never know."
In a thought seemingly plucked out of Iron Maiden's "The Clairvoyant," Ramada says the band has been headed toward this point since it was formed. After all, "when you are born you are ready to die. Honestly, it's just been in the works since the day we got together."
The bleak statement may be true, but if it is, what holds a band together through nearly a decade of ups and downs in a scene they say constantly builds itself up just to crash back down again? Although Ramada is insistent that they are too dumb to quit, Frigg fans will sleep better clinging to the words of Chadwicked.
"When you still get together in a shed, in a field, if it's 1 in the morning and you are tired from your real job all day and you still create something that is mind blowing, even to you, and you have been doing it all along and you still impress yourself, that is worth sticking with. You can always turn your back on it and quit. Do odd stuff. But we just kept putting out good music."
Ramada and Chadwicked reach common ground when it comes to the word brotherhood. It's hard not to imagine these four aren't the closest of pals. They finish each other's sentences and probably thoughts. They constantly laugh at each other's jokes, most of which are very inside. It's even harder to imagine them not together after years spent crammed into a van, backstage or in a storage shed.
"Some guys go hunting, some guys - like, I don't know what guys do, I have never really been ..." says Ramada before he is interrupted by the brotherhood injecting "softball!" "We go and rock!"
"I think we will transcend our physical forms," says Chadwicked. "No matter where we are located at, spiritually in the music world we will still be together."
To which Ramada finishes, "In our minds, we just see it as we are each going to have a journey. Wherever that may lead, who knows? But, we are still going to be jiving throughout the universe."
Nick Pittman is entertainment editor for The Times. He'll give you a Third Opinion when he damn well feels like it. Phone him at 289-6300, ext. 610, or e-mail him at nick.pittman@timesofacadiana.com.
Frigg A-Go-Go On Things
Memories:
In Missoula, Mont., rock-staved, crazy mountain kids invite the band to a house party. Ronnie receives a tour from a Hawaiian shirt-wearing dude who lives in the basement.
(Quoting the dude) "'We got a workout room, oh, look a sauna, the tropical rainforest room.' Then we go to the underground room. They have a nice basement area with a bunch of rooms. The last door he's like, 'and this is my room and that's my roommate ... with my girlfriend.' And he shuts the door and he turns and he walks back and he goes up the stairs."
- Ronnie
The dude starts pouring beer all over his exposed chest, as Christian takes pictures, which are later confiscated at a Portland strip club.
Cleveland, Ohio and this area:
"I always thought white people were white people, but when we played the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, I realized we are not really white. I have the right to call them crackers. They are white bread. I am grateful that we grew up around soul, dirt music, good food. The alcohol. Everything that this place is about gives you something that Ohio doesn't."
- Christian
"Something comes out of that swamp, wraps around you and puts the funk on you, and once you got that funk on you there ain't no going back."
- Ronnie
Growing Up Frigg:
"Ever since the day we got together, it's been about growth. Every song we have written, we may not have intended to try to take it to another place, but I think if you look at all of our songs in order, you can see growth. I think it is the story of development through crucial years from childhood to adulthood."
- Ronnie
"And trust me, we have all fought that adulthood as long as possible. We can't ignore it anymore; we kicked the Peter Pan syndrome as long as we can."
- Christian
Friggfluence
What others have to say about Frigg A-Go-Go:
'Twangy, rocking guitar. Strong, funked-out backbone. Sixties-style nostalgia on keys, with a singer who resembles a short, white, midget pimp. Three words sum it up: "FRIGG KICKS ASS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'
- Cutty Saw of Mugsy
'Not so much influenced by their music as their tenacity to keep going. Lots of people talk sh-t about them, but it's all teenage rebellion against the parents of the present Lafayette music scene.'
- Byron Tatman, guitarist The Object at The End of History
'I like Frigg a lot. We gigged with 'em at Toys sometime last November. Ronnie has excellent stage presence. And Dave (Hubbell) has been playing their new stuff on Now Hear This lately. Great stuff.'
- Joey Tuminello, bass and vocals, Destroyed by Fire
'Frigg has been one of my favorite groups in Lafayette for a long time now. I'm proud to know Ronnie as a musician and a friend. He sold me my first real amplifier. I can't say that anything that they do is truly original, but I totally dig their style and stage presence. They may be old hat, but it's still rock 'n' roll to me. I'm probably more influenced by them than I'd like Ronnie to know.'
- Justin Guidry, guitarist and lyricist, Told by an Idiot
'Frigg has been holding it down for longer than any of us can imagine - like 1990 and sh-t, tons of tours and releases also. I am proud to know them and have had them play my club. They definitely have influenced the way I DJ at live shows.'
- Judd Kennedy, owner, Renaissance<