By Ashley Zimmerman
By Dana Krangel
By John Hood
By Ashley Zimmerman
By David Von Bader
By Sayre Berman
By Steve Brennan
By Ashley Zimmerman
It's Friday night in St. Louis, and inside the Pageant Theater, 2000 people soak up a powerful message from Fred LeBlanc, drummer and vocalist for the New Orleans- based outfit Cowboy Mouth. Sporting a T-shirt that bears a one-word caption -- INTENSE -- LeBlanc prowls the edge of the stage, microphone in hand, assuring audience members that, despite what the world may tell them, they can do anything they want, if only they set their minds to it.
"Are you with me?" he asks the nearly frantic throng, a group composed of people of all ages, most of whom have their fists stuck straight up in the air. The crowd roars back affirmatively; its collective wailing rattles the rafters in the restored theater. It is a scene that seems more suited to a revival tent or a political rally than a concert hall. A moment later, however, LeBlanc takes his place not at a pulpit, but at a drum kit plunked down in the center of the stage. He lays down a fevered wallop and flips the first of many pairs of drumsticks high over his head and into the stage drapes behind him.
So begins another concert by Cowboy Mouth, America's motivational-rock 'n' roll machine.
While many acts in popular music scramble for labels to separate them from the pack, Cowboy Mouth has carved a unique niche with a mix of self-empowerment anthems and radio-minded pop. Ten years in the making, the band's sound -- equal parts Anthony Robbins, Stuart Smalley, and Hootie & the Blowfish -- lures fans who crave Cowboy Mouth's odes to the power of positive thinking.
In St. Louis there's no doubt that the you-can-do-anything message is what the crowd has come for. The vibe peaks late in the set when LeBlanc slips from behind his kit to roam the theater and lead the masses through a particularly uplifting Cowboy chorus. At one point he asks the crowd for silence while he holds a microphone over the upturned face of a girl of about ten years. She's been singing all night from atop her dad's shoulders, and as the room quiets, LeBlanc instructs her to show the audience how one really cuts loose on a Cowboy Mouth song. "Sing it like you're all alone in your room," LeBlanc requests politely, "like it's just you and the song and your Britney Spears stereo." A moment later, her tiny fist waving, she delivers her lines with adenoidal fury. "Let it go, let it go, let it go," she shouts. "When the world starts crashing down on you, let it go, let it go, let it go." As the kid finishes, the crowd roars, and the band kicks in again.
"For whatever reason, Cowboy Mouth is able to do that, even if it's for a brief second," LeBlanc says. "It's a real blessing, and it's great. And why not celebrate it? Why not have fun, dance your ass off, sweat like a pig, and scream like you're having the greatest orgasm of your life? That's what it's all about." It's also key, LeBlanc says, to winning the game of life. "People get beat down so easily," he says, "because the media says if you don't smoke this cigarette or buy this car or have this haircut or have big tits or washboard abs, you're basically worthless. To hell with that. We're all just little kids, we're all just celebrating. I say find that little thing inside you that makes you think that you kick ass and run with it. Because you know what? It's right."
But while LeBlanc admits his act centers around a yes-I-can credo, he bristles at the suggestion that his music is designed as some unrealistic self-help tool. "It's not like we're Up with People or anything like that," LeBlanc says. "We don't just sing about how everything's happy, everything's great. Some of the songs we've written deal with the harsh realities of life. But there are many different ways that you can deal with what happens to you. We choose to celebrate it all, the good and the bad things. Because by acknowledging them, you have the power to wash them out of your system."
Such comments are enough to drive people who crave less didactic messages straight to the exits. LeBlanc's Keith Moon-meets-Sergeant Carter stage persona is also likely to prove too much for those who savor subtlety. But LeBlanc's gonzo attitude is a hit with his audience, and it's something of which he's proud today, especially considering his past. LeBlanc grew up like many teens, confused about who he was and where he fit in. He spent some of his youth abusing himself to the point of carving his own skin. But he found relief from his teenage troubles in the form of music.
"Rock 'n' roll pretty much saved my life," LeBlanc says. "I was just real angry, real pissed for a large part of my life -- one of those pissed-off kids who would be self-destructive and really didn't want to live, didn't see any point in it. Listening to music, stuff like Bo Diddley, Howling Wolf, and the New Orleans music of the Neville Brothers along with newer stuff like the Clash and R.E.M., really opened my eyes to what was possible. It woke something up inside of me that I haven't wanted to put back to sleep. Ever."