Weekly Dig May 2001 Mike Baldino

I caught Jabe at just the right time to get a great interview; normally reticent, he let loose over a few beers and hand-rolled cigarettes at his second home, the Tir na nOg in Union Square. For those not familiar with the man and his stunning band of the same name (drummer Dave Westner, bassist Jay Aucella, and mandolinist/guitarist Sean Staples), Jabe is the winner of "Outstanding Debut Album" and was nominated "Best New Singer/Songwriter" at the 2000 Boston Music Awards for his self-released debut Twenty Point Turn, and won the 2000 Abe Olman Songwriting Award from the Songwriting Hall of Fame. But Jabe's songs are far greater than mere awards--a hundred Grammies would still be an inadequate tribute to a man with material on par with Bob Dylan's best. As phenomenal as Twenty Point Turn was, it's miles away from his new album, Outback Country Vampire. I have absolute confidence that musicians will be turning to Jabe's albums as a source of inspiration fifty years from now, because his themes are timeless and essential; his songs are the soundtrack to heartbreak and desolation--they're the first thing to turn to when you give up on life and love, when you can't buy a break and you don't know why. It's almost impossible to pick a standout moment when every song is perfect, but let's look at a section from "Stupid Boy":

I read it all in books / I read it on the wall / I heard it told a million times but I still don't know it all / And I saw it on the T. V. / And I heard it on the street / All through my youth I got handed the truth and I still don't have clue what it means / And all this livin's killin' me / Bloodshot and too drunk to see / Yeah, I'm just a stupid small town boy / Overworked and unemployed / But someday my ship will come to me / Then I'll be winnin'--who am I kiddin' / Once again it's me.

Fortunately, there are still some folks who appreciate quality music; recently a few hundred fans packed The Burren in Davis Square to dance the night away and sing along with Jabe word for word. The result was a prestigious headlining gig at The Paradise earlier this month. Jabe is cavalier about his growing success, however: "I been slavin' away my whole fuckin' life--I think I should play the fuckin' Paradise once in a while."

Compact and stocky with a head of wild, wiry hair, Jabe was born 26 years ago in upstate New York and raised on the road traveling to craft shows throughout the country with his parents. His mother made what he describes as "weird jewelry," and Jabe spent his childhood walking from booth to booth, watching artists design and sell their wares. He attended UNC Greensboro, and the time spent in the South has a lent a slight drawl and twang to his voice. What was supposed to be a two-week trip to visit friends in Boston six years ago somehow turned into the present.

"When I first moved here I didn't have a band, so I was considered a folkie 'cause I played on my own," he says. "Being a folkie is sort of like being the bad guy in a movie. You do it once and you're just a bad guy from then on. Now people think I'm a fuckin' folkie. I'm not a fuckin' folkie. I like folkies, I like acoustic music by itself; it's just not what I wanna do. I have too much fun playing with the band in bars. I'm not gonna be alt-country for life. I don't pay attention to [being labeled]; I might be playing funk in a year, I don't know. Whatever gets me off is what I want to do."

Jabe speaks in rapid bursts of frustrated intensity throughout the course of the interview. He'd had a tough time at his landscaping job that day--his aggravation colors his comments as he compulsively flicks and bangs my cigarette lighter on the table, particularly when he speaks about record company politics and the difficulties of making a living in the music business.

"I've had every fuckin' job you can imagine. I've done construction, carpentry, roofing, I worked in a bank, I worked in a lawyer's office. I was in the 58th floor of the John Hancock Building with my own office with a view of the fuckin' city. Fuck all that shit, man; that's not fun."

"I do this because I love it. Record labels don't know what they're doing. They don't. They don't have a fucking clue, so we don't pay attention to them. They don't pay attention to us, so I'm not gonna sit around and hope that they fuckin' find me. I'm just gonna go out and play good music as best I can and hopefully [our careers will] grow when we get out on the road, and when we have enough of a fan base we'll get signed. I got nothin' else to do, so fuck it."