Sunday, June 27, 1999 | 4:28 a.m.
First published November 25, 1998.
Walk into Drink and Eat Too! Saturday midnight, and you'll be bombarded with the usual cigar smoke, themed bars, disco music and gorgeous women. Limousines, attitude, expensive drinks and long lines are the norm here--but back in the club's second largest room, the atmosphere's a little different. Immediately noticeable are the Rhodes seventy-six piano sitting center stage and the two attractive singers to its left.
Backed by a tight rhythm section pulsing out a swaying, somber groove, the braided man behind the piano sings a line that may as well have come straight from a church hymnal, with the all the inflection of a 100-year-old spiritual: "Lord, I've been living and doing things / My way and my way turned out to be the wrong way / So I was living and doing things / The wrong way and the wrong way / Is not your way."
For the last five months, the Rohn Shead Project--one of the best original performing acts in the Las Vegas Valley, bar none--has been quietly honing its craft here at the Drink!, winning over the scenesters and disco yuppies with arresting blend of old-school rhythm and blues, soul, gospel and classic pop.
Rohn Shead is well known in the musicians' community but doesn't quite yet have the name recognition that the biggest local bands in the Valley enjoy. According to Shead, that's okay for now--he says he hasn't really been chasing publicity; he prefers to wait until his band gets tighter and he gets his first disc recorded.
"We're just trying to do a sort of grassroots thing," Shead says, explaining the group's low profile and modest promotion. "I know advertising's always a good thing, but the people who really come out and love the music and the good time they've had--I'm trying not to bore them.
"So I invite them out to special shows because a weekly thing--I think they would get tired. And I'm kind of insecure about losing them, and I don't feel I'm at a point to be like--Come to our show and pay ten dollars--I just don't feel like that. That doesn't feel good to me."
That's an attitude prevalent in many folk and coffeehouse performers, but one that's pretty much absent in the competitive, bottom-line-dominated club world--a world which Shead largely disdains. Although he says he enjoys his house gig at Drink!, his heart lies in venues where the crowd puts music first.
"Coffee shops are real good for people to come out and really get into listening, without any other influences," Shead says. "One of the best shows I ever did was at Cafi Copioh. We gave the people a great time, and once we had done that, they came back again the next time--and the next and the next. And I thought: Man, this is what it's about. People listening, having a good time, without any distractions."
Shead says that the mechanics of his band are a consideration, as well. "Right now we have a very limited repertoire," says Shead, "as do most original bands, so when the show can be interesting enough to be revolving and be interesting every week, then I would feel more confident.
"Let's put it this way--if I could do it myself, I would do it all the time, but my band is a very interesting band. Meaning, to get my band to come together to do a successful show takes a whole lot. And I try to make sure that whenever it happens, it's for a legitimate reason. Otherwise I would be throwing myself out there all the time, 'cause I really do genuinely love (performing)."
It's clear from watching Shead on stage that he indeed loves performing. For him, it's all about the vibe--onstage, in the audience, in the club.
"I want to have a show that's energetic, fun, classy and real," Shead says. He achieves that with a combination of self-effacing enthusiasm and musical presence; Shead's acutely aware that the crowd's perception of the show largely rides on his own performance.
"It's not gonna work if you're just pleasing yourself," Shead says. "You gotta make the people be with you. Sometimes I'm in a mood where I don't give a crap about who is out standing in front of my face looking at me, judging to see what I'm going to do next. Sometimes you just want to be like--Get out of my face--and it's easy to get in that mode, but if you're a performer, to do this and do it well you gotta be a pleasant person onstage.
"And you've gotta be communicative and communicable. Or else, all of a sudden you can realize--I'm the only one getting emotional right now, and everyone else is looking at me crazy! You gotta be appealing to somebody."
Songs of the Fathers
As the son of popular pianist Henry Shead, who currently plays solo at the MGM's Brown Derby, Rohn Shead knows the value of appeal. He's the youngest of three brothers and one sister (Lori is an L.A. attorney; Henry Jr. performs with the touring Broadway production of "Stomp" and oldest brother Todd works in insurance in Sacramento) and recalls a childhood spent singing in church and performing in talent shows.
"My dad was heavy in church," Shead remembers. "And my parents put us all on piano around age six. I kind of feel like--to be so young learning, you would think I would be this bomb pianist, like Beethoven or somebody. But I'm not." As a kid he immersed himself in records, studying the voices of his idols.
"Prince was one," Shead recalls. "You know how everyone looks up to somebody in their adolescent teenage years. But as far as actually learning, I would say I learned a lot from Marvin Gaye. Studying him, singing along with him and trying to imitate his whole voice to a tee.
"Stevie Wonder--same thing. I learned from singing along with him. Later on came Al Green; Earth, Wind and Fire; Aretha Franklin--people who really take their gift and let you feel it. And have fun, but take it serious. Also Queen, Sting and the Police and George Michael, to name a few."
Shead's first band was an a cappella group called Final Approach, a Boyz II Men-style quintet that he remembers for its strong work ethic.
"We would rehearse for four hours a day--and I mean we did not miss a day," says Shead.
But personalities didn't mesh, so he left. In 1993--soon after leaving Final Approach--he met guitarist Richard Taylor, bassist James Vaughn and this writer, and formed Groove Sprout, a funk-based "alternative rhythm and blues" quintet that he fronted. Over the next three years the band enjoyed considerable local success, opening for national acts and gaining a good following.
"Groove Sprout was a great band, musically," Shead recalls. "And I always felt the energy that I haven't felt since, music-wise, where everybody was holding their own. With my band, I'm the leader, and without me, the band doesn't go over. In Groove Sprout, everybody was an asset in their own way, with their contribution to the music."
But in the summer of 1996, internal pressures and the loss of the band's drummer caused a split.
"I just remember being tired at that point," Shead says. "Later I came to hate that we broke up. Because we were so good. I didn't feel it immediately because at the time, I was just tired. And then I came to really regret it, and I still regret it to a point--because had we stuck it out all these years and been still together now, we would be powerful. I mean powerful!"
On His Own
The fall of 1996 found Shead back at UNLV, wondering what his next musical move would be.
"My mom was like, 'well, you know Rohn, you should just think about being your own person, so that you don't have to worry about your destiny being in anyone else's hands,'" Shead remembers. "And I had been hearing that for a long time." So in the spring of 1997, with school finished, the Rohn Shead project was born, making its debut in March of that year at the Fremont Street Experience.
"We went out and played this 'Fruits of Africa' annual thing, this big cultural festival," says Shead. "All I had was a drummer and two singers."
Shead then hit the coffee houses and bars, quickly gaining momentum. Currently comprised of Thomas Cacho on guitar, Steve Baxter on bass and Bailey Hicks on drums, with Nicki Murray and Camille singing backup harmonies, the Rohn Shead Project is a compelling blend of early seventies Motown soul and nineties edge--but don't let him catch you labeling it.
"It kind of bothers me, and I guess it bothers everybody, when people use labels that you're not 100 percent in agreement with about the style of what you're doing," Shead says. "People have said it's kind of old school or that it's got that kind of seventies funk groove or old-fashioned R&B stuff. And that's fine--because whatever works, works. But that wasn't the initial intent. We weren't trying to go back and sound funky or seventies-ish, but I guess it's in my blood, and it comes out sounding somewhat like the seventies."
And what does he write about?
"I write about the pain of love, bad love, failure, not being anything, wanting so much, not having what you want out of this life," Shead says. "I think I must be a melancholy person because most of my stuff seems to have a negative story line. But it's kind of hopeful at the end, so maybe it's kind of therapeutic." And he doesn't hesitate to address social issues.
"Racism is there," Shead says. "It's a sensitive subject--no one wants to talk about it or take responsibility, but we were brought over on slave ships."
Sentiments like those are explored in songs like "Jail Generation," in which Shead writes: "My public education's been filled with false teachings / I learned about many so-called great white men, who were really heathens / Won't be joining the US Army, sendin' to die someplace / I'll only fight those who want to harm my race / I don't belong to them or the Jail Generation."
He's more optimistic, however, in songs like "Happy House," in which he welcomes the listener: "Come join us in our Happy House / Nothin' but good times in our house / We wish there were more in our house."
"You know, the American dream only happens to a few, and the rest of us who might want it, tough shit," Shead muses. "But I want to be in this music. I want to be making music for a living. That's the bottom line--I don't need to be a star. I'm over that young, want to be a rocker and get all the attention phase. I just want to make music and make it my career. It's the only thing I do--the only thing I know how to do."
Watching Rohn Shead behind his piano onstage, it's clear where his house is. Lucky for us, everyone's invited.
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