All right, I want you to picture something. Imagine
you've got a startup. Okay. And not just any
startup. You've just landed funding from, like,
the absolute titan of the industry. The person
who basically invented the market. Dream scenario.
Exactly. And your product is being developed
by the same mine that built the iPhone. You've
got partnerships lined up with the biggest names
in the world. I mean, by every single metric,
you are about to be a unicorn. A billion dollar
exit is practically a guarantee. It's a mathematical
certainty. And then, poof. Oh. The whole thing
just evaporates because of some corporate merger
you had absolutely nothing to do with. A signature
on paper, 3 ,000 miles away. You lose your funding,
you lose distribution, you're left holding the
bag. And then, just to twist the knife, it happens
again. Twice. That sounds like a Silicon Valley
nightmare. It does, but that is basically the
story we're covering today. Except it's not a
tech company. It's a rock band from Portland,
Maine. A band called Rustic Overtones. And honestly,
just calling them a rock band feels like we're
selling them a little short, doesn't it? Oh,
absolutely. This is a group that just defied
any easy label. But the real headline here is
that this is the band that had David Bowie, Clive
Davis, and the entire major label machine behind
them. And somehow still ended up as maybe the
greatest what -if story in modern music. Yeah.
And for this deep dive, we pulled together their
whole discography industry notes from the late
90s, a bunch of interviews. And our mission today
isn't just to talk about a band you might not
have heard of. Right. It's to use rustic overtones
as a lens to really understand the brutal mechanics
of the music industry, the so -called major label
curse and what resilience really looks like when
the corporate world just collapses around you.
It's a perfect case study. Yeah. Because on paper,
Rustic Overtone should have been one of the biggest
bands in the world by 2002. For sure. With the
fact that they weren't. Yeah. Well, that tells
us a lot more about the industry than it does
about the band. So let's get into it. Let's rewind
the clock. Early 90s. We're in Portland, Maine.
Right. 1993. It's a totally different world.
And you had this little three -piece cover band
called Aces Wild. Aces Wild. Just Dave Gutter,
John Rudes, and Matthew Esty. That sounds like
every band playing in the corner of a dive bar
on a Tuesday night for free wings. And that's
exactly what they were. They were grinding. But
what the source material points out is that they
had this uncommon work ethic for a high school
cover band. They didn't stay in that lane for
long. Okay. They moved to original super quickly
and put out this rare early album called Smile.
Which is... Basically impossible to find now,
right? A total ghost. Practically. But the real
shift, the moment where they go from local band
to a real prospect, is the mid to late 90s. Right.
They start touring the Northeast, paying for
everything themselves, crammed in a van, sleeping
on floors, the whole deal. And out of that grind
comes the 1998 album, Rooms by the Hour. And
this is the turning point. For anyone listening,
you have to understand. In 1998... With no social
media, breaking out of a place like Maine was
so much harder than it is today. You couldn't
just, you know, go viral. You had to physically
move records. And they did. Rooms by the hour
made enough noise that it ended up on the desk
of, well, arguably the most important man in
the music industry at the time. Clive Davis.
Clive Davis. Let's just pause on that name for
a second. Because if you don't follow music industry
history, you might not get the weight of that.
This isn't just some A &R guy. This is the president
of Arista Records. He's the kingmaker. He's the
kingmaker. He discovered Whitney Houston. He
signed Patti Smith. He orchestrated the comeback
for Santana. So if Clive Davis signs you, you're
not just getting a record deal. You're getting
anointed. You're being told you are next. That
is the perfect word for it. An anointing. And
he personally signed them. That endorsement just
opens doors that are usually welded shut for
a band from Maine. And suddenly their song Hardest
Way Possible is in the Rob Schneider movie The
Animal. Exactly. Which, okay. Looking back, the
animal is maybe not Citizen Kane. No. But in
the early 2000s, a soundtrack placement in a
big comedy, that was a huge deal, a massive marketing
tool. Absolutely. It put them in front of millions
of people. And Arista didn't stop there. They
paired the band with Tony Visconti to produce
their major label debut. Okay, again, context
is everything here. Tony Visconti isn't just
some producer. Not at all. This is the man who
shaped David Bowie's sound. He did T -Rex. This
is the architect of glam rock. So let's just
take stock. You have the legendary executive,
the legendary producer, the Hollywood movie placement.
The rocket is on the launch pad. The engines
are firing. But this is where we have to talk
about something called an orphan project. And
this is where the dream starts to glitch. The
music industry is just so volatile. As Viva Nueva
is getting ready to launch, there's a massive
corporate shakeup at Arista. And the unthinkable
happens. Clive Davis is out. He leaves the company.
And this is the critical part for anyone listening
who works in any corporate job, not just music.
If you're champion, the person who hired you,
who signed you, who vouched for you, if they
leave, you are in immediate danger. You become
a liability overnight. You're part of the old
guard. The new executives want to launch their
projects, not the last guy's. So even with the
talent, even with the Visconti production, the
deal just... falls apart that are orphaned that's
devastating you have the finished product but
the store just closed down but looking at the
timeline they didn't just fold no they pivoted
and they got picked up pretty quickly by tommy
boy records which feels like a good fit tommy
boy was cool they had credibility it seemed like
a lifeline so the album viva nueva finally comes
out in 2001 and we have to talk about this album
yeah because the liner notes are just Okay. You've
got David Bowie making a guest appearance. Which
I'm guessing came from that Tony Visconti connection.
Almost certainly. But you also have Imogen Heap
and maybe the weirdest of all, Funkmaster Flex.
Wait, Bowie, Imogen Heap, and Funkmaster Flex?
That sounds like a guest list created by a random
word generator. It does. But it really speaks
to the band's sound, which was this super ambitious
fusion. But before we get into the music, we
have to close the loop on this curse. Right.
So Arista failed. Now they're with Tommy Boy.
The album is out. People can actually buy it.
And then history repeats itself. But this time
it's not an executive leaving. It's a distribution
collapse. You're kidding me. Tommy Boy had their
distribution deal with Warner Bros. Records.
In 2002, that deal ends. So just because of paperwork
between two massive corporations, the band loses
their entire platform. Again? Yes. They literally
achieved the dream twice. And twice it was dismantled
by lawyers and accountants before they could
even properly tour the record. That has to be
just psychologically crushing. To get to the
finish line and someone just moves the tape.
It was too much. The emotional whiplash was staggering.
So in 2002, the band broke up. Wow. They played
this three -hour marathon final show at the State
Theater in Portland. Basically a week for the
dream. Three hours. That's a long goodbye. They
left everything on that stage. Okay. But I want
to challenge this idea for a second, that it
was just bad luck. You mentioned that guest list,
Bowie and Funkmaster Flex. Is it possible the
band was just, I don't know, too weird for a
major label? That's a very valid question. I
mean, was the curse really just a lack of focus
on their part? Well, let's track their sound.
They started with influences like Earth, Wind
and Fire and Tom Waits. Okay, so soul and gritty
storytelling. I get that vibe. Then on Rooms
by the Hour, they get much more jazzy. You have
tracks like... Pink Belly. But by the time they
hit the major labels, they're pivoting hard into
hip hop. Right. I even found a note that they
actually appeared on a Naughty by Nature album
in 1999. Wait, seriously? Rustic Overtones is
on a Naughty by Nature record? They are. And
their own song, Smoke. would often have a guest
rapper come out during their live shows. They
were blending everything. So, okay, put yourself
in the label's shoes. You sign a rock band that
sounds a bit like Tom Waits, and two years later
they hand you this hip -hop hybrid album produced
by the guy who did Ziggy Stardust. Exactly. It's
the classic artist versus repertoire conflict.
The label wants product A that fits neatly into
an alternative rock radio slot. The band evolves
and delivers product B, this genre -bending thing.
And without Clive Davis there to say, trust me,
this works. New execs probably looked at it and
said, what do we do with this? Is it rap? Is
it rock? We don't know how to sell it. We're
out. So the bad luck was made worse by the fact
that they were maybe too far ahead of the curve.
They were doing the genre blending thing way
before Spotify made that normal. Exactly. If
they came out today, they'd be celebrated for
that. In 2001, it was a marketing nightmare.
So 2002 hits, they break up. But this period
in between from 2002 to 2007 is really interesting
because it's almost like a control group for
this whole talent versus luck experiment. That
is a great way to put it, because if the band
failed because they weren't good enough, then
the members should have just faded away. But
that is not what happened. Not at all. They thrived.
Dave Gutter and John Rudes formed Paranoid Social
Club. And what happens? They get a song, Wasted,
in the movie Beer Fest. Another cult comedy soundtrack.
These guys are magnets for that genre. They found
their niche. Then you've got Spencer Albee, the
keyboardist. He forms a band called As Fast As.
Their album gets a four -and -a -half -star review
from AllMusic. Wow, that's a huge, critical success.
And the drummer, Tony Mactebo, he goes on to
become the touring drummer for Ray LaMontagne.
Whoa. Ray LaMontagne is a massive artist. That's
a serious, high -level gig. A huge gig. And Ryan
Zoidas, the sax player, was splitting his time
between two monster funk bands, Lettuce and Solif.
Okay, so the theory holds up. The talent was
undeniable. The vehicle, band itself, was the
only thing that was broken. Which brings us to
the reunion. And this is where the story goes
from a corporate tragedy to something more like
a buddy comedy. The Tony McNabo strategy. I love
this. It's brilliant. It's early 2007. Tony starts
calling the old members one by one. He calls
Dave and says, hey, I talked to everyone else.
They're all in for a reunion. Are you in? Dave
says yes. So he just lied to him. He lied to
all of them. Then he calls Spencer. Hey, Dave's
in. Everyone else is in. He just fabricated the
consensus. The prisoner's dilemma, but for getting
the band back together. And it worked. Once they
were all finally in a room, they realized they'd
been tricked, but they also realized how much
they miss playing together. So they make the
announcement on Portland Radio. Of course. On
WCYY in May 2007. Total surprise. They book a
couple of shows, and they announce a new album
is coming. A new album, Light at the End. But
did anyone still care? I mean, five years is
an eternity in music. Did anyone care? Light
at the End, which they released independently,
became the fastest selling local disc ever in
the state of Maine. That's incredible. It just
goes to show you how loyal that fan base really
was. And the band felt it. They'd originally
said this was just a summer fling reunion, but
at one of the shows, Spencer Albee told the crowd,
we're never going to leave you again. That's
a powerful moment. It feels like they finally
realized their success wasn't going to come from
a boardroom in New York. Exactly. It was going
to come from the people right there in Portland.
They stopped chasing the machine and just embraced
their community. And speaking of being ahead
of the curve, there's that little historical
footnote I love. Oh, the radio thing, yes. Rustic
Overtones was the very first group to ever perform
live on XM Satellite Radio. The very first. The
first. So again, you see them positioned right
at the cutting edge of culture and technology,
even if that mainstream fame never quite hit.
So they're back. They're local heroes. But bands
are living things. They change. They do. In 2008,
Spencer Albee left the band. It was totally amicable,
but he had been a core member. They brought in
Nigel Hall, other incredible keyboardist for
the band Lettuce. They just kept moving. Released
another album in 2009, they proved they could
work as a successful independent band. But the
resilience test wasn't over. And we have to talk
about 2019 because the story takes a turn that
has nothing to do with contracts or labels. Yeah,
this is the toughest part of the timeline. In
March 2019, Dave Noise, their trombonist, died
unexpectedly. And from everything I've read,
he wasn't just, you know, the horn player. No,
he was described as the glue that held the whole
thing together. In a big band with all these
big personalities, you often have that one person
who is the emotional anchor. That was him. That's
just devastating. How does a band even continue
after losing someone like that? Well, true to
form, they used the music. They released a self
-titled album in November 2019. And the way they
made that album is so unique, right? It is. They
built it around recordings that Noise had made
before he passed away. So they were essentially
collaborating with him even after he was gone.
It wasn't just a tribute to him. He was a record
with him. That's beautiful. And the band is still
active today. They are. They have new members.
They're still playing shows, still writing. So
let's zoom out here. We started this whole conversation
talking about the major label curse. But when
you look at the whole picture, from a dive bar
to David Bowie to getting crushed by two labels,
breaking up. reuniting, surviving tragedy. What's
the real takeaway? I think the rustic overtone
story really forces us to redefine the word success.
How do you mean? Well, if success is a platinum
plaque on the wall of a mansion in Beverly Hills,
then yeah, they failed. They don't have those
top 10 hits. Yeah. But... If you look at the
longevity, the artistic respect, collaborating
with legends like Bowie, the record -breaking
local sales, the sheer survival. They're incredibly
successful. Incredibly. It's about the ability
to just keep. creating. Even when the machine
breaks down all around you, they literally outlasted
the executives who dropped them. That's a powerful
way to put it. Those executives are long gone.
The mergers are ancient history. The band is
still playing. It just highlights the survivor
bias in music, doesn't it? We think the best
bands are the ones we hear on the radio. Exactly.
But the radio plays the bands that survived the
boardroom meetings. Which makes you wonder. How
many other greatest bands in the world are out
there, sitting on a hard drive in a vault somewhere,
unreleased because of some corporate merger in
1999, just waiting to be rediscovered? That's
a haunting thought. A library of lost classics.
It really is. But luckily for us, Rustic Overtones
fought hard enough that we actually got to hear
them. Well, I'm glad we did. If you want to hear
what the major label curse couldn't kill, go
listen to Rooms by the Hour or Light at the End.
It's a piece of music history that really deserves
your ears. Absolutely. Thanks for diving in with
us. We'll see you on the next one.