Homegrown

Frank Zappa: San Diegan?

Trawling through the racks recently at a record store, I came across a dusty album by what looked to be a band called Homegrown but was actually a compilation of several San Diego bands praising their respective neighborhoods by way of song.

It was pressed in a small batch at the behest of local FM rock station KGB about 35 years ago, which meant one of two things: It’s rare and somewhat of a hidden treasure or it’s rare because it’s terrible and deserves to be forgotten.

I gave it a short spin out of curiosity, and the songs were folky, mostly performed on acoustic instruments. As I mentally noted the poor quality of the music, a name on the back of the record caught my attention.

Some guy named Cameron Crowe had written the liner notes. You know, the guy who went undercover at Clairemont High for a year to write the book (and then the screenplay for) Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

Crowe was largely raised in San Diego, which is documented in his film Almost Famous. But outside of that, his local roots are probably not referenced very often. Why? Because people care way more about the overall quality of his work than where he spent his childhood.

Long story short: Crowe went from local prodigy to internationally renowned writer and director. His departure from San Diego should ring a bell to anyone familiar with music types around these parts during the past 40 or 50 years. Frank Zappa had a stint at Mission Bay High. Tom Waits worked the door at the old Heritage nightclub before moving to L.A. Eddie Vedder worked at a gas station here before moving to Seattle.

It’s peculiar then that many people speak so proudly and highly of the “local music scene” without giving thought to why a large portion of the best talent always seems to leave the city. It’s called ambition and talent.

Many San Diegans—and, undoubtedly, residents of any metropolitan area that can’t conceivably compete with L.A., New York, Chicago, Austin and Portland—seem to believe that if they will it into existence, San Diego will somehow explode as the next hotspot.

This is not going to happen. Ever. But that’s OK, if you can accept the city for what it is.

A look at the past year or so in “local” indie rock has seen Wavves, The Soft Pack, Crocodiles and Dum Dum Girls all rise to varying levels of notoriety and, if not cutting ties with the city, at least recognizing that venturing outside of the local scene is good for their careers.

And if people don’t think these bands are giving proper recognition to their roots, it’s because they’re too busy recording, touring and, in the case of The Soft Pack, playing The Late Show with David Letterman.

So, who, exactly, benefits from localism in music? If “supporting local music” is an end unto itself, then it’s not really doing the bands any favors, unless their goals are strictly to play in and around San Diego.

In the long run, the phrase “support local music” is usually more beneficial to promoters, publications, radio stations, retailers and club owners than to the people who actually make the music. So, instead, try on this attitude: “Support music you like.” You are not obliged to support local musicians—make that musicians, period—unless you personally find joy in what they do.

For a fortunate few, staying local and achieving modest success outside of the city has proven viable. A couple of years ago, I interviewed John Reis (Rocket from the Crypt, Hot Snakes, etc.), and he referred to the city as “our sleepy little fishing village,” explaining that part of what made San Diego great was the challenge in entertaining himself and his friends. The key component: his assertion that San Diego was never going to be a cultural Mecca, but taken for what it is, it can be pretty cool.

So, in that rare case where your favorite “local” band blows up and hits the cover of Spin, don’t be pissed if they fail to mention their humble beginnings in sunny San Diego. We should be excited—not skeptical—about where they go next.   

Write to toddk@sdcitybeat.com and editor@sdcitybeat.com.