In the annals of S--- Happens theory, there's Murphy's Law, and then there'sDash Rip Rock's Law. According to Dash Rip Rock's Law, things that could gowrong not only do go wrong, but at the same time, things seem to go swimminglywell for everyone around you. Such is the story of this veteran New Orleanscowpunk band.

You start out on a rising independent label, do three albums and leave it just*before* said label (Mammoth) hooks up with a major (Atlantic). Another majorlabel A&R guy later promises you the world, then dies of a heart-attack a weekbefore you sign the papers. Critics hype you as the Next-Big-Thing, but bandsthat used to open for and worship you get signed instead and go multi-platinum. Then you get a big break with a novelty song ("Let's Go Smoke SomePot") and a key spot on KROQ Weenie Roast festival in L.A. between the Red HotChili Peppers and Kiss, and...

"We showed up and the stage guys said, 'You're late, you can't go backthere,'" starts Dash bassist/resident loon Hoaky Hickel as hissinger/guitarist/svengali Bill Davis and drummer Kyle Melancon groan. Davisjumps to the punchline. "So we leave and we're on our way back to the hoteland we hear on the radio, 'We've got this great surprise for all you peoplewho like smoking pot! We've got this cool band about to come on...,' And we'rein the van about twenty minutes from the festival going AHHHHHHHHH!"

Davis and Hickel, who founded Dash Rip Rock fourteen years ago while attendingLSU, have weathered many, many such near misses and screw ups. Melancon, morethan a decade their junior and with only three Dash years under his belt,grows jaded by the minute but still has a touching innocence about him. WhenDavis quotes a Village Voice preview for Dash's show tonight (opening forfellow country punks Jason and the Scorchers), Hickel and Davis roar withlaughter at the critic's dismissal of Dash as "generic." Melancon looks like akid who's just had his teddy bear ripped to shreds before his eyes.

"It said *that*?" he asks incredulously. "Oh my...God...that's...harsh."

"They meant geriatric," offers Hickel in his trademark croak, to morelaughter. Except from Melancon.

Neither term jives at all with the wild and frequently downright funny showDash perform later before a packed crowd at New York's Wetlands. The setlistleans heavily towards the trio's new album, Pay Dirt, on California-basedindie label PC Music. The audience seems to sing along to every word, even tothe songs they've never heard before. Many are core members of Dash's devotedunderground following, with some visiting from as far south as Louisiana andTexas. Tonight's show is part of the Intel New York Music Festival, with theperformance being broadcast over the web. As of a few hours before showtime,Dash holds the No. 1 spot on the festival's vote-in polls for favorite band.This being IntelFest, voting is done by e-mail, of course. "A lot of our fansare hacker computer geeks," explains Davis.

Back in the day of "Let's Go Smoke Some Pot" (1995), the hackers wereinevitably outnumbered by frat boys, until ska and baggy pants lured them awayfrom Dash's brand of tongue-in-cheek, bourbon-bottle-in-hand brand of raucousbut fun punk and country.

"They don't like us anymore, they like 311," says Davis. "And thank God,because we had frat guys everywhere chasing us around."

"Of course," interjects Melancon, "if you're in a fraternity and want to buyour record and still like our music, then, please!"

Hours later, Davis and Hickel have moved to a bar next door where long-timeDash fans Hootie and the Blowfish are shooting pool with a small gaggle offrat-boy types and their girlfriends. Like a bad movie, Hootie's "Only Want tobe With You" is playing on the jukebox. Hootie guitarist Mark Bryan comes overto congratulate Hickel on the new album and to offer his suggestions forpotential singles. Anything they can do to help, he tells Hickel, they'll do."Give me $5,000?" asks Hickel earnestly. Bryan smiles, buys him a Bud andmoves back to the pool tables.

Hickel sighs. Hootie used to open for Dash, you know. So did the Black Crowes,Gin Blossoms and Better Than Ezra. "That's the story of our lives," he says,shaking his head. Ah, but at least you're not bitter, right?

He explodes in drunken laughter. "That's right," he cracks, face beamingmaniacally. "Never bitter."

RICHARD SKANSE
(July 21, 1998)