12/08/04’s illustrious band:

Falling Over You

Fast forward again to spring 2004. In search of an album by another group, I stumbled across a web site that sold nothing but a cappella music. And there, on the home page, was a shiny new release with a familiar name on it. Hey, Rockapella! I remember those guys. Still at it, huh? Good for them. Wonder what they sound like these days. This lead to an impulse purchase of Live In Japan. And I fell in head first.

I noticed a few differences between the new album and the old one right away. For one thing, they were speaking Japanese. Good catch there, genius. Those college linguistics courses just paid for themselves. There were quite a few cover tunes, but the arrangements were top-drawer. The energy level over all was sky-high.

Also, there was something funky going on down at the low end, something unexpectedly but very pleasantly funky. But what? To the liner notes! A quick look confirmed my suspicion: big, classically polished bass Barry Carl had been replaced by big, sex-it-up bass George Baldi. Welcome, George! Miss ya, Bear. But did I mention the funk? (Actually, my addiction is mostly George's fault. It was his rendition of "Ue O Muite Aruku," sung in Japanese in a crowd-silencing falsetto, that made LIJ a permanent fixture in my car stereo.)

Anyway, that made me wonder what else might have changed over the past four years, so I headed for the Internet to find out. And find I did, far more than I imagined possible. First of all, there was Barry’s web site, which showed that he had retired from the band a full two years ago. OK, color me out of touch. There was also a big cache of stuff he’d written to post on the official Rockapella site while he was still with the band. I read all his old posts and all the new ones and developed a word-crush on the Bear. Then I looked up former lead singer Sean Altman’s (Braid Boy’s) site, read his e-postcards, and became smitten with him as well. Curious, I went in search of more Rockapella.

Oh. My. Gawd. Don’t Google Rockapella unless you’ve got a lot of spare time. I spent my whole summer getting up to speed. I started with the official web site, where I read up on the band members and what they’d been doing lately. I checked their tour schedule and learned that they’d been in my area just weeks before. D’OH! I found a discography page displaying a long list of albums, most of them still tough to get in the U.S. Note to self: eBay. I clicked over to the Lounge, the fan bulletin board, where I learned that I was not the only Rockapella fan in the world, nor the most rabid. Not by a long shot.

And the fan sites. Oh lordy, the fan sites! Page after page of road trip diaries, concert recaps, meet-and-greet vignettes, quoted lyrics, tributes to favorite band members, songs parsed to the last note, and photos. Photos photos photos. Photos of Scott contorting, Kevin crooning, Elliott laughing, Jeff percussing, Barry glowering and later George grooving. Close-ups, long shots, group shots, profiles, candids, poses, action shots, publicity shots -- and many many many posterior perspectives. (Rockapella has always been blessed in the booty department, a fact the largely female fan base has documented extensively.) Talk about your undiscovered country. I applied for a passport and began to visit frequently.

Album number four, Vocobeat, was my first eBay purchase. I was hopelessly hooked from the first note. After weeks of lurking around the chat lounge, I logged in to rhapsodize among sympathetic ears. I bought more CDs on eBay and waited eagerly for them to arrive from Japan and various parts of the U.S. I picked up fanspeak, deciphered the code words, absorbed the trivia: which of the singers are left-handed, who drinks Diet Coke, who used to date Debbie Gibson, who moonlights as a graphic designer, who’s into bowling. It was sort of like becoming a Trekkie at the age of 10, only this time I had the Internet to connect me with like-minded fans and disposable income to spend on goodies. I was pretty well entrenched when the train hit.

Elliott Kerman calls it quits. The headline shocked me breathless. My favorite band member was retiring. Elliott was leaving me -- and we’d never even met.

I was not quite distraught, but I couldn’t just take the announcement in stride, either. Elliott’s buttery baritone voice is what joy sounds like. When he opens his mouth, it’s like someone has parted the curtains on a tabernacle and God is peeking out through the gap. El’s jazz contributions brought welcome variety to an increasingly poppy repertoire. Holding the middle notes of the chords, he was the self-described jelly in the donut. The jelly is the best part. And the best part was leaving. This was almost as bad as killing Spock at the end of Wrath of Khan.

Deep breath.

Just as there are those who say that Star Trek was never the same after Spock died, there are those who say that Rockapella without Elliott Kerman is no longer Rockapella. Several fans publicly swore off the band altogether, in fact. El was the last remaining original member of the group, and his retirement meant the official passing of the torch to the next generation. The big question was, would we be getting a lame Voyager or a kicky new Enterprise?

I decided to reserve judgment. Sure, the band had survived personnel changes before. The Steve-to-Scott transition had been successful, as had Sean-to-Kevin and Charlie-to-Barry-to-George. Adding drummer Jeff to the mix had likewise proved a smart move. But this was Elliott, my Elliott, getting replaced here. I remained skeptical.

In September, I warily bought a ticket for the December concert in Madison. And I waited.

Monday -- One: 1st Night
A Rockapella fan is born

Tuesday -- Two: A Change in My Life
That first concert

Wednesday -- Three: Falling Over You
In which the narrator discovers that she is not alone

Thursday -- Four: Come My Way
Madison concert notes and Pellavision Awards

Friday -- Five: People Change
Rockapella then and now

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