A journey that began back in 1994 will end this weekend. A rock and roll odyssey that rumbled to hell and back, soared to heaven and back, will wind to a close. What was once an Amazing racket will now become strangely and permanently quiet.

We've been listening to the Crowns for almost eight years now, so their expiration will take some getting used to. We'll miss the sideburns, those moist and prickly mops, the truck-stop shirts, the tattoos and, especially, those songs, the ones that made us pump our fists in sweaty pride. No matter how far from home they went -- and, boy, did they cover some territory -- the Amazing Crowns always came across like a Providence band, hometown boys that made us proud. When they went away, they missed being home. We felt that they missed us, too. That's why we loved them.

Like every journey worth its weight, the Crowns' trip zig-zagged through a stomach-churning series of ups and downs, thrills and spills, enough peaks and valleys to tire a warhorse. There was the 50-date US tour with the Mighty Mighty Bosstones that got them started. There was a shorter but just as gratifying jaunt with their heroes the Cramps. (Ask frontman Jason Kendall about the time he spent in Disney World with green-haired Cramps singer Lux Interior and the ghoulish Poison Ivy.) And, of course, there were dates with fraternal comrades like the most Reverend Horton Heat, Supersuckers, Southern Culture on the Skids, and Social Distortion. Over the years, they also hit the road with X, Brian Setzer, the Lyres, Gas Huffer, H20, the Pietasters, G. Love, and, oh yeah, Wide Mouth Mason (?). In fact, the Crowns played on bills featuring every musical style from swing and ska to the more comfortable fits of rockabilly, punk, and hardcore.

Of course, it didn't matter who they played with. They always slayed. If you've seen the Crowns, and who of us hasn't several times, you knew the drill. At a Crowns gig there's always a pay-off; you were always on the receiving end of a great time. With the affable Kendall up front, Jack Hanlon on the big bass, J.D. Burgess on an almost-as-big Gretsch hollow-body guitar, and drummer Judd Williams throwin' it down, the joint, as they say, would be jumpin'.

There were accolades, too. The Crowns were bestowed over the years with lots of Boston Music Awards, including four in one very special year. Closer to home, they accumulated so many Providence Phoenix Best Music Awards we had to take them off the ballot -- they were such shoo-ins. They won the 'BCN Rumble, one of two Providence bands to do win it (the Schemers were the first, in the eaqrly '80s). They signed a few recording contracts, (but that's another story altogether), and put out a handful of quality recordings. They earned a fabulous nationwide following hungry for their greased-back growl. They played Australia and appeared on a daytime TV show there. They invented the Payback to show their hometown appreciation.

They also lost quite a few things along the way. During the time they dedicated to their musical pursuit, they lost jobs, girlfriends, pets, apartments -- pretty much everything that won't fit in a duffel bag. They lost the record deals they signed and they lost lots of money along the way. They lost a founding guitarist (Jonny Maguire)and umpteen drummers. They lost the word "Royal" in their title. They lost faith in the music industry.

In the end, they lost the drive that had made them Amazing. Like a young and hopeful boxer, they entered the rock and roll ring with the fire and enthusiasm and agility of a contender. But after going 10 rounds with the beast, the music industry's equivalent of Apollo Creed, they lost their resolve -- the object of too many body blows -- and threw in the towel. What did they come out with? Lots of memories, certainly, their dignity, thankfully, and nearly a decade of playing great rock and roll.

"It's been so VH1," says Jason Kendall, kicked back at a local café with trusty bass player Jack Hanlon at his side. "It was an implosion. We'd move forward, get nicked a few times, put band-aids on our injuries, and keep going. Whenever something good happened, something else would come up that would knock us back again. That should be on our tombstone: `Keep going.' "

Indeed they did. Here are a few examples: While the band was in the studio tracking their crackling debut album for Velvel, they received news of the label's closing. They played in front of thousands on the Warped Tour, but some of those nights were spent on the fourth stage out by the Port-a-Johns. Together, the Crowns had something special -- like family. But they'd also occasionally try to beat the shit out of each other, a result of too much time in close quarters. They had an amazing tour "planned" across Canada -- including Saskatchewan's Slave Lake -- but joined up with a band whose audience had never seen real rock before, at least not the way the Crowns played it. "It was like the Blues Brothers movie without the chicken wire," Kendall says.

Through it all, they learned a lot about performing. "Sometimes you gotta suck it up. Forty-five minutes can become a really long time," says Hanlon. "In the US we never had a problem connecting with our audiences. We almost always got with the right bands."

They signed with another label, Time Bomb, developed a huge following in Los Angeles, and toured the country several more times. There was an album in the can awaiting release. Then, just as the Crowns developed a rhythm beyond their repertoire, Time Bomb dropped another bomb on the band and folded its doors, too.

"It felt like the right place at the time," says Kendall. "We had a long talk with the Reverend about the arrangement because they were on the label, too, along with Social D."

"That whole thing, though," says Hanlon, "was just a way to get our record out there with the right distribution. If the record's in the stores and we can tour those cities where the record was available, then we'd make it work the old-fashioned way."

But in the end, that label, a vanity side project owned by a West Coast muckety-muck, raked them over, too. "They were getting all this money from [their parent company], but they were siphoning off a bunch of it," says Hanlon. "We couldn't even get posters made! That whole thing made me just wanna do something on our own, or keep it small, where there is some accountability. It was very eye-opening."

So they again turned to the road, issued a Sup Pop single, and kept soldiering on. "We just get so caught up in touring, man," says Kendall. "It's like a badge we wear on our chests." Actually, it's not a badge. It's a tattoo he wears on his forearm, an inked-up emblem scrawled with an adage about the road. The symbol makes perfect sense for these rock and roll road hogs. When things got tough, the tough did the toughest thing and hit the road. Instead of copping out and retreating to their kitchen jobs, they became even more determined to work things out on their own.

Hanlon: "You should only get involved with people when you get to a point where you can't handle it yourself. Make sure you deal with the kind of people that are professional. We've seen so many people in our experience that just aren't doing the right things."

That unscrupulousness scared the Crowns into becoming almost completely DIY. It was the only way they could protect both the coop and the chickens. "The last 10 tours we did," says Kendall, "we didn't even take a soundman or any roadies. We just took a merch guy. We did everything ourselves. For a long time we were under the impression that we couldn't possibly do a tour without a road manager. But they're glorified secretaries and some of them were being assholes to club managers that we had known for years. You just can't burn those bridges when you spend that much time on the road."

"And besides," adds Hanlon, "what's the big deal about a road manager? You go, you play, you talk to the guy. You say, `Thank you very much' and ask him for the money. `See ya later, bye.' "

Over the years, the Crowns put extra effort into their relationships, and their ethics, esprit de crops, and good will began to precede them. "So much of music is tooting your own horn," admits Kendall, who is now hard at work writing with guitarist Dennis Kelly in something called Jason Kendall and the Deterrents. "But I do know that we've earned a lot of respect in the industry. We're known as a band that always treats people with respect, always shows up on time, and always puts out on a good stage show."

Still, it's not like the journey was without human speed bumps. "You do make enemies," Kendall adds. "You can't please everybody. We've gone through a lot of drummers and there have been some serious problems over the years. It's hard to find someone who has the same goals, who can commit to going out on a long tour and not expect to make money. The money goes back in the band. Instead of taking the $50 you make for a show, we'd put it back in the band fund and use it for recording. We always put our money back into the band. The band always came first. If Jack broke his bass, `Boom!' a new one comes out of the band money. We made just enough to pay our rents while we were on tour."

"But what are you gonna do?" asks Hanlon. "We kept our heads up and kept going with it. The music was the most important thing and we tried to keep that as our focus."

In the end, the Crowns had a great run. But let's set the record straight once and for all. The band, according to both Kendall and Hanlon, is not ending because of the hardships they've endured. The band is ending because it was time to end. Their hearts had abandoned the project. It was time to turn out the lights and shutter the windows. In Hanlon's words, "We'd be doing everyone a disservice by keeping it going."

Today, there is the Crowns legacy, not only as a great neo-rockabilly punk band, but as ambassadors from Providence, as world travelers, as music aficionados, and as good comrades. "In the pantheon of neo-rockabilly," says Kendall, "I think people will mention us in the same breath as the Reverend Horton Heat and Social D. When people talk about those bands, I hope they'll talk about us, too."

"We were one of the only bands to raise rockabilly to a level of national prominence," says Hanlon. "There was a video, M2 airplay, national exposure."

"In rockabilly circles," adds Kendall to the epitaph, "we might have had a rap for being too hard, too punk, too diverse. But the fact is, we were never just a rockabilly band. We were more than just a rockabilly band."

When all is said and done, and the scrapbook is put away, they will leave more than mere memories in their wake. They will leave a gaping hole in the dragstrip style they perfected over the years. They will leave the ghosts of their idols, artists like Gene Vincent and Jerry Lee Lewis, bands like the Cramps and the Clash, hovering over the music scene, searching for simpatico souls to inhabit. Good luck. Because, sadly and, conversely, quite happily, the soul of the Amazing Crowns has once and for all been put to rest. May they enjoy a Royal send-off.

The Amazing Crowns will play their last show on Friday, November 30 at Lupo's with The Worried and Fast Acting Fuses. And look for cool stories, photos, and previously unreleased music going up at www.amazingcrowns.com.

E-mail me with your music news, please, at b_gulla@yahoo.com.

Issue Date: November 23 - 29, 2001