About CCABThe
Name: First off, when
we tell people the name of the band (CCAB, which everyone says as C-cab),
they just look at us with that “what’s that about?” face. Of course, they
ask us what C.C.A.B. stands for. It’s the same thing every time. We say
“Clean Cut American Boys”. They look at us like we’re kidding, or crazy,
or both. The
Story: The Clean Cut
American Boys began in a bedroom in 1989. Just out of high school, three
friends got together regularly and showed poetry to each other. They
shared a love for music, an incredibly sick and perverse sense of humor,
and Pepsi. They had all been around musicians growing up, with high-school
"battle-of-the bands" and DJ dances. They decided that this alone was
enough reason to start a band.
There were a few
hindrances. First off, none of them could play an instrument. Secondly, no
one had ever sung before. Thirdly, they sucked. They couldn't find a way
to translate their poetry into the music they heard in their heads. Like
many other bands, one of the fledgling musicians picked up the guitar and
started playing night and day, learning barre chords and developing
blisters. His name is Eric Smith. Eric had a cheap guitar, which he would
plug into his stereo. He also supplied the bedroom and
munchies. Immediately, the
band took root. The two other juvenile delinquents, Richard
"Aliestier" Rawson and
Scott "Twink"
Blackwell, decided that
since they still couldn't play an instrument, they would become vocalists.
They developed an instant competition between them, fighting for the
chance to write and sing the next song.
But even though
they were just developing their yet-flaccid music skills, they still
sucked. Then lightning struck. They found a drummer, a high-school drum
prodigy by the name of Jason Ranck. A local skateboard rat, he was
instantly drawn to their twisted barrage of punk/funk/garage rock noise.
He brought something into the fold that they had severely lacked:
rhythm. They practiced for
a year or so, with each practice becoming an impromptu show for their
friends. Eventually they landed their first gig: a cramped video arcade
with over 100 friends and enemies packed in like sardines. They played a
blistering set, going full-speed like a train-out-of control. At one
point, an audience member was injured when the spastic music caused him to
jump up and put his head through the ceiling.
Fueled by this
auspicious first gig, they dove headfirst into their songwriting, penning
30 songs in less than a year. But fame and fortune was not meant to be.
The original line-up lasted less than two years.
Even though they
never recorded a real album, and only played a handful of gigs (one
infamous show, an outdoor gig at Lamb's Creek, landed the band in court.
And the singer in one of the other bands that night went on to become the
vocalist in the band Backstreet Law)— they became a local legend in their
area. Ask any band that arose out of the Wellsboro/Mansfield scene—they'll
all remember those early days of CCAB.
In 1998, the remaining members of the original CCAB, Scott and Rich reformed the band with a new drummer, Bill Robertson. They landed a gig at a local music fest organized by another hometown band, Backstreet Law. With Backstreet's guitarist Edge borrowed for the gig, CCAB went onstage for the first time in roughly 7 years and kicked out the jams. Click here for photos. Shortly thereafter they added Nate Raiche on bass. He had played in a band back in the old days called "Beltane Fyre". As you can tell by the name, they didn't go far. Twink ran into Nate one night at a bar, and told Nate that he should come jam in the new CCAB. Before long, Nate was hooked (like the crack-head that he is.) Then
CCAB finally settled on a permanent guitar player. They had been begging
and begging this guy who had been in an earlier incarnation of CCAB. He
refused again and again, telling them how badly they sucked. But through
sheer force of their will, they finally got the guy to cave. His name is
Russ Root. The
Wrap-up: So there it is.
The story of CCAB. Wow. If you're in the North Central Pennsylvania or
Southern Tier New York area, watch out. We’re back, and we’re always a
little out of control. It’s hardly ever a pretty
sight. And about the name. We’re the Clean Cut American Boys because we’re not. Get it? |