By Melissa Fossum
By Lauren Wise
By New Times
By Amanda Savage
By Jason P. Woodbury
By Troy Farah
By New Times
Like a five-headed Joe Millionaire, Ticker Tape Parade, an average-guy amalgam of pizza deliverer, construction worker, data entry clerk, tee shirt printer and "between jobs"slacker have been doing their best to put together their own million-dollar sound in preparation for attracting the most eligible suitor.
For most of the past nine months, the band has been rehearsing the same eight songs. The members have been practicing five nights a week after clocking out at their day jobs, honing and refining the same handful of catchy power-pop songs until even the neighborhood kids can be heard humming along with the melodies as they pass the noisy garage on Aaron Wendt's suburban Tempe street.
"We're really committed to what we're doing, and we like what we're doing," says Wendt, the band's chief songwriter and the reluctant leader of the democratic pack. "So we don't mind the long days."
Already the band's hard work is beginning to pay off. Their locally produced EP You're Creating a Scene, a six-pack of rough-edged melodic pop released in February, is now stirring up mass word-of-mouth interest – as is the band's live show, following an impressive string of dates at influential California clubs like the Troubadour in West Hollywood, the Chain Reaction in Anaheim, and Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco.
"The best thing about our last West Coast tour was that when we got back, we had all these phone messages from labels, managers, publishing companies, booking agents," says Wendt. "I mean, word is really getting out there about us."
This week, they return for a hometown show at the Marquee Theatre after playing an L.A. showcase that a lot of record label A&R biggies are expected to attend. By the time Ticker Tape Parade gets back to Phoenix, they may already be hitched to a major label.
It's a marriage the band has been preparing for since forming last May. They're ready. They're committed. And they're willing to do the hard work necessary for a lasting relationship.
But before all that, they threw their south-of-the-border bachelor party.
Topher Bradshaw grins broadly when asked to name the most memorable show the baby band has played to date.
"That's easy," says the lanky bass player, looking around at the rest of the band members, who each sip on thrifty servings of water and iced tea at their favorite neighborhood sandwich joint, the Plaid Eatery. "Mexico!"
Even though the event occurred recently enough that some of the guys are still flushing the alcohol out of their systems – and two of them are still trying to shake off memories of their Midnight Express-like stay in a Puerto Peñasco prison – Bradshaw recalls the quintet's spring break gig in Rocky Point wistfully.
"It was a blast!" he laughs, as the others nod in agreement. "We had free hotel rooms [at the plush Plaza Las Glorias], free drinks, free food --"
"And lots and lots of boobage," adds Dan Hargest, the band's keyboard player who, with drummer Sean McCall, was half of the duo who wound up handcuffed by the federales for getting into a shouting match with the event's promoter.
Apparently, after the second day of all-inclusive debauchery ("Three-fourths of the band was drunk during any given set we played," notes Wendt), Hargest and McCall began following promoter Walter Dolan back to the hotel, asking about the $600 they'd been promised, when Dolan ordered hotel security to have the boys arrested for disorderly conduct (well, Hargest had fallen off the stage twice before tailing the evasive booker).
The guys spent only two hours in jail, thanks to a quick bailing out by Tempe businessman Jeff Barthold, whose energy drink company Liquid X sponsored the bash. But that was just long enough to etch indelible memories of hole-in-the-ground toilets, random macing and guard-approved Fight Club matches between the rowdier prisoners.
As Homer Simpson might say: Mmm, rock 'n' roll . . .
For band members who had spent the van ride down to Mexico taking turns reading aloud from the Mötley Crüe tell-all autobiography The Dirt: Confessions of the World's Most Notorious Rock Band, it was the stuff of rock dreams.
"Already, we've had some great adventures," Bradshaw figures. "Stuff we'll always remember. Like, Jeez, remember that time we got locked up in Mexico?'"
But it was also, clearly, a last fling for the band, part of Wendt's strategy to get their Behind the Music moment out of the way first so the guys can concentrate on the hard work of making it in the music business in the new millennium.
"That's not the kind of thing we'll be doing a lot of," he promises. "But we had fun, and we made some good money."
Indeed, even the Rocky Point gig was accepted with TTP's hard-work ethic in place.
"It was like, if we do this show on Saturday and Sunday, by Monday morning we can have enough money to pay the insurance on the van," says Wendt.
The band's not looking to get rich quick, either. "A lot of bands do a show and they're like, Okay, let's each take $20 so we can go get some food,'" says Hargest. "None of us intend on getting even that small slice until pretty far down the line. Because the band needs money; we need to invest in ourselves."