Journalism: Kevin Bacon's rock band

Journalism & Research

Writer

Three hours before the show, a line stretched across the parking lot. And these were your parents' friends. All lipstick and snap up polo shirts, skipping Hardball with Chris Matthews curfews. Tucked between burrito carts and a used car lot, The Birchmere is a sit down venue in suburban Virginia, where $19.99 will get you a steak dinner and a musical performance. A man in a Bears jersey unfolded a lawn chair. He fanned himself with a rumpled newspaper and reported, "I've been seeing these guys rock since 2005 and I always get to the show early. You won't believe how close you can sit to the stage." Inside, waiters set Steak Special flyers on vinyl tablecloths. The gig might be a victory for a mid-sized wedding reception band, but this is cinema icon Kevin Bacon we’re talking about.

In between warding off Tremors worms and orbiting galaxies on Apollo 13, Kevin Bacon has played bongo in the surf rock band Bacon Brothers for many a late smoky night. His older brother Michael, an Emmy-winning film scorer, plays lead guitar and vocals. They’ve quietly released six albums over the last fifteen years. The long term Bacon Brothers project might be understandable if they were lucrative arena rockers or urgently talented, but like the insulation of old age, they've settled somewhere in the middle.

Yet, the band's cult following has stayed dedicated, with dozens of online fan sites and bootleg merch sold out of mini vans in the show parking lot. The band is especially popular in the Midwest, where their trademark small dinner theatre tours sell out in minutes. I ended up at the show for a Washington Times article I was writing on the band’s effort to save a historic parade. The Bacons’ hometown of Philadelphia is cutting funding for the annual Mummers parade, a mid-1800s tradition featuring the blue-collared men of Pennsylvania marching in feathered clown costumes and played strings music. Earlier that day, the band’s manager left me an answering message, canceling my 30-minute interview without explanation. I showed up to the show anyway, pretending I hadn't gotten the message. I had to see this for myself.

A woman with wisps of gray hair, danced wildly next to her dinner table. As each song began she yelled to her friends sitting at the table, "Sweet margarita, mama likes!" and "I could just reach out and kiss him!" Her dance moves were a perfect mirror of Kevin’s on stage. I wondered how many others there to follow Kevin. As most audiences might chant"Freebird!", a slouching frat boy cupped his hands to yell out "Footloose!" Several fans joined in on the cheer, vying for Kevin's attention.

The music sounded like Sublime spiked with country, classic rock songs strung together while lying half-sober in a beach chair. The audience sucked down Bud Lights and belted back every word. Kevin outshone the dingy auditorium lights, jamming across the stage.

Some of their music was inspired by the hometown Mummers parade, they even borrow an old chant in one of the choruses: “Here we stand before your door/as we did the year before/ give us whiskey, give us gin/ open the door and let us in.”

After the show, I followed a crowd of groupies to the back stage door, bottle blonde moms in fitted jackets. They waited in pairs and packs, high on autograph hopes. The Bacon Brothers were too busy for an interview, but they were all smiles as they walked out to pose for picture with each fan.

I made it through the backstage door by some saving grace of the manager. A woman, Michael Bacon's wife, greeted me in the backroom, handing me a chocolate martini in a red SOLO cup. Even with a buzz growing, it was a struggle to make small talk with Kevin's brother Michael Bacon. He had a technician’s scowl and disloyal eye contact. The conversation clunked along like a tour bus in need of repair.

Kevin, on the other hand, was grinning and shy. He's quiet because he doesn't need to speak, people want to talk to him. In his silence, the audience inserts who they want him to be. He's our everyman movie star, a Tom Cruise without all the crazy. Speaking of which, I asked Kevin if scientology was in his future.

Kevin: We actually sing about that in our song, "Children." You know, the line about space aliens in your head, that's about our tolerance. I think of scientology like I do any other faith tradition. You can believe what you want and that's fine with me.

Me: Do you believe in a faith tradition?

Kevin: No. I believe in love. And nature.


It's a guaranteed laugh when you say Kevin Bacon started a band. Most full-time musicians make jokes about the Bacon Brothers. I asked how they respond to the cynicism.

Kevin tipped back his red cup and gazed at the paint-peeled wall behind me. "There's no reason why an actor shouldn't be a competitive musician, but still even when I hear about other actors starting bands-- I’m damn cynical too. There are too many publicity stunt bands," he said.

Maybe the fact that the Bacon Brothers aren't super respected in the mainstream music world is the precise reason we should respect them. There is an authenticity because they don't need this band. In their day jobs, Michael has won an Emmy for film composition and Kevin starred in over 60(!) feature films. While on tour, they sleep in motels behind dive bars. "We don't worry about whether people are here to see Kevin. We want to turn people into music fans. And that's what keeps them coming back for 15 years," Michael said.

The Bacon Brothers' staying power might be something beyond talent: bravery. Kevin Bacon has made his living as an actor, pretending to be someone else. This band is his chance to reintroduce himself to the world as Kevin from Philadelphia, on bongos. They play on.

The fans keep coming back to the concerts because the Bacons have created a new cultural product by erasing the traditional script of inaccessible movie stars and distant fans. Sure, the fans are there to see Kevin. But like the woman standing in the aisle, they think that Kevin might even see them. The band's mystique is the intimacy of hole-in-the-wall venues, the simplicity of the lyrics, and the inclusion of fans into an experience. The Bacon Brothers have chosen to back events like their hometown parade, which reinforce their down-to-earth ethos.

I asked Kevin what he wished he would've know when he was young, getting started acting and making music. "I think the whole point is not knowing the future. You become an artist or a musician through the struggle to create yourself, " he said.

Michael offered me some advice as a young writer who shows up to cancelled interviews, "If someone tells you that you can't be a writer or claims they don’t have time for you, just tell them to go to hell."


This is what the Bacon Brothers has been doing with their music: Telling their established reputations to go to hell. This is their space of free expression, without post-production studios and mass market appeal. They didn't have time for an interview, because media coverage is the opposite of what this band is about.

If critics say the Bacon Brothers are just average in the music world, Kevin and Michael don't shake their fists, they shake their tambourines. For once, the Bacons are up-close and stripped down. We are curious. They are marching with guitars. There is a small, enthusiastic parade forming behind them.