By Benjamin Leatherman
By Glenn BurnSilver
By Glenn BurnSilver
By Troy Farah
By Roger Calamaio
By Mark Deming
By Glenn BurnSilver
By Brian Palmer
The band, which mixes reggae, folk and agile acoustic rock into what it calls "island vibe roots rock," arrived at Ohio State in Columbus in 1997, having already attained a modest following as high schoolers in their native suburban Washington, D.C., area. Within three years, they had become a breakout regional favorite in the Midwest, playing Big 10 college fraternities regularly and venturing into cities such as Cleveland, Cincinnati and Chicago. By the time founders Marc Roberge (vocals/guitar) and Chris Culos (drums) graduated in 2001, O.A.R.'s legion of fans had grown to the point where the band could embark on a national touring schedule immediately, playing to crowds of 1,000 to 2,000 people everywhere it went.
"In a band, you just want to go out and play music for a living," says saxophone player Jerry DePizzo, 23, from a tour stop in Memphis. "And it's actually happening. It wasn't a complete shock, but it was a nice surprise to sell out a House of Blues show in Los Angeles, for example. We were able to take a couple trips out west while we were in school. We did shows in Arizona and Las Vegas."
DePizzo, the only band member not from Rockville, pauses to consider the band's good fortune, how MP3 downloading, CD burning and, finally, the explosion of Napster and other file-sharing programs in 1999 and 2000 accelerated the grassroots marketing of the band into the unknown. "If you're looking for a definitive answer [as to how this happened] . . . I really don't have one for you," he says.
O.A.R., short for . . . Of a Revolution, has already released four albums on its tiny Everfine Records label (essentially a holding company for the band) and sold more than 250,000 copies. Its latest album, Any Time Now, is a two-CD live album compiled from a two-night stand at the 9:30 Club, Washington's preeminent indie-rock venue, last November. The album shows an audience clearly enamored of the hunky young men on stage -- guitarist Richard On and bassist Benj Gershman complete the lineup. Fans cheer wildly at the slinky sax solos, sing along gleefully to Roberge's adolescent-dreamer lyrics and, like any good jam-band audience, embrace the ritualistic favorite, in this case, the thumping, melodic "That Was a Crazy Game of Poker." Plus, they get to revel in the surprise factor -- here, Junior Marvin, a guitarist for Bob Marley, joins the band for a cover of the reggae pioneer's "Stir It Up."
While Phish, the modern benchmark for grassroots, good-timing success, formed as Vermont college students in 1983, it didn't release its first real album until 1988 and had to work its way profusely through the bar circuit for several years before the cult around it spread. Phish's members were pushing 30 when casual listeners discovered them. Phish, however, never had the Internet to fan its early flames, and that's where O.A.R.'s saga lies.
Diehard fans, almost all of whom are under age 25, offer stories by phone and e-mail of friends introducing them to the band and inspiring them to download specific songs. Eventually, these fans say, they attended Ohio and D.C.-area shows, and from there, they told other friends, burned songs onto CDs, or zapped files through their e-mail and requisite peer-to-peer programs (Napster may be dead, but Kazaa, Limewire and Morpheus live on).
"This was the only way to here a band like O.A.R. unless you lived in the Columbus area," says fan Sam Corea, who stumbled upon the band in 1999 as an undergraduate at Miami University in Oxford. Corea now runs a site dedicated to the band called "Destination . . . Of a Revolution" (http://samsee.tripod.com/ofarevolution), with fan reviews, discography, photos and news.
The song most often mentioned as the hook for the movement is "That Was a Crazy Game of Poker," a groovefest of a ballad. The song shows off Roberge's whimsical albeit bar-soaked chops as a lyricist: "And I said, Johnny, what you doin' tonight?'/He looked at me with a face full of fright/And I said, How about a revolution?'/And he said, Right.'" Any Time Now's version of the song stretches for 13 winding minutes.
"Honestly, the song is a good party song, whether you are drinking or just hanging around with a group of friends," says Ed Paff Jr. of Cincinnati. "For me, the song has meaning because it was the song that first got me listening to a band I consider one of my favorites now."
A few fans' dedication has reached true techie-geek levels. Paff recalls friends and associates using old-school FTP servers, the predecessors to open file swapping, to disseminate the music. Paff himself fell in love enough to start a Web site that compiles set lists of the band's shows, always a popular jam-band service -- What did they play last night, and how long did they jam it out, and what covers did they include? Paff's site is a source (www.oarsa.org).