Just after 8 p.m. on a Tuesday, it’s quiet on a darkened Decatur neighborhood. Yet listen closely, and you’ll hear the faint, rhythmic sound of a bass drum amid the upper-middle class calm. Follow the noise, and the muted melodies of an electric guitar emerge. Venture down one of the driveways, and the music grows louder. It may be a school night, but this ’hood rocks.
Inside a converted garage, a power trio of 40-something dads tackle “Red Barchetta,” a Rush tune from the prog-rock songbook. Brian Creekmur, an IT professional, sits atop a speaker cabinet, his fingers running dexterously across his guitar fretboard. A flurry of drum fills come courtesy of Elliott Dangar, an estimator for a commercial HVAC company, who confidently pounds the seven-piece kit. On bass and vocals, Brian Pollack, a physician scientist at Emory Healthcare and the VA Medical Center, stands on his tip-toes as he reaches a stratospheric high note.
Instead of convening for poker night, these fathers band together for rock rehearsals. It’s their creative release, their communal exchange, requiring amplification and the unbridled desire to make music.
Creekmur and company serve as a small sample of professionals who kick out the jams on a regular basis. On weekends, you can find urologists, graphic designers or homemakers playing cover tunes and originals in coffee shops, dive bars and clubs throughout town. The Atlanta Bar Association even has its own battle of the bands, LawJam.
Rock stardom is secondary for most of these musicians. “I love this,” says Creekmur, resting his guitar on his knee in between songs. “This is my stress relief, and I look forward to it every week. If I could, I would do this every day.”
“When you start asking around, you’ll find there are so many musicians out there,” Pollack says. “I don’t know if it’s our age range or what, but in this neighborhood, there are a lot of people who play music. … On my street, there are at least six or seven dads who play. And it’s not a long block.” Pollak even suggests calling their currently unnamed band of neighbors “The Nabrs.”
They came together due to a chance conversation on Dangar’s front lawn. Shortly after relocating with his family to Atlanta, Creekmur and his wife, Laura, were chatting with Dangar and his spouse, Erin, as kids from both families scampered around them. After learning Elliott and Erin played drums and bass, respectively, and the couple had a rehearsal space in their garage, Creekmur suggested he grab his guitar. A two-hour jam session followed, and a band was born.
With her schedule packed with film and TV acting roles, Erin couldn’t commit to the group, so they needed a bassist. Dangar then bumped into Pollack, a fellow musician living just around the corner. The three soon clicked socially and musically, and have been rehearsing together regularly since late 2017.
Creekmur’s pedigree dates back to high school, and he’s slung an axe in a variety of rock bands ever since. Pollack’s hair-metal history began in elementary school and not only included power riffs, but massive amounts of hairspray and Spandex.
Dangar’s own musical history hangs in the rehearsal space with gig posters plastering the walls. In the mid-1990s through the early 2000s, Dangar toured the country as drummer for the Penetrators, a surf band that rode the crest of the genre’s resurgence. Their popularity found the Penetrators performing on local stages and scoring airplay on 99X radio.
Pollack points out that finding the time to rock can still be challenging, especially when juggling family life and a day job. Being in a three-man band of neighbors may be the secret solution. “I’ve been in a lot of bands when it’s sometimes tough to get to practice, especially if you have eight members,” Dangar says. “Having a three piece is amazing. The two Brians just walk down the street with their guitars and come over. Everything is already set up here. So it saves us so much time.”
Their hard-rock song selection runs the gamut from early AC/DC to Jane’s Addiction. Pollack chooses the cover songs, which harken back to his metal-loving glory days and his ability to wail soprano.
After a short break, Pollack, Creekmur and Dangar launch into “Empty Pages,” a 1970s deep cut by Traffic, before segueing into some co-written originals that play like 1990s flannel-ready grunge mixed with progressive rock sensibilities.
The band hopes to package their covers and originals into a set list and play live. Dangar plans to use his contacts at local breweries to score some initial gigs. He’s performed in other neighborhood bands at such spots as Wild Heaven Beer brewery in Avondale Estates.
As far as these neighbors go, late-night rocking may be a thing of the past.
“Going on at 10, 11 or 12 at night used to be the prime spot,” Creekmur says. “I wanted to go on at midnight. I wanted to be the headliner. I don’t want to be the headliner anymore. I want to go on at 7, be done by 9 and be home by 10.”
And no matter how challenging it may be to learn new material, all three musicians say jamming beats the heck out of poker. “When you’re playing poker, you’re in it for yourself,” Creekmur says. “When you’re in a band, you’re all in it together. You’re making something out of nothing.”
Insider tips
Dangar, Creekmur and Pollack save time by recording their rehearsals and sharing them digitally on Dropbox, which reminds the musicians what they’ve been working on, be it originals or covers. In between practices, they can listen and play along to the recordings, and pick up where they left off next time.
Atlanta has many venues that welcome cover bands, including Atlanta’s Tin Roof Cantina and Marietta’s Dixie Tavern, which has Monday open mic nights for bands. Oakhurst’s annual Porchfest (Oct. 13, 2018) invites bands to play in neighborhood yards and driveways — all you have to do is register.
Jon Waterhouse has been contributing to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution since 2003, as well as Esquire, BlackBook, StarWars.com and MTV.com.
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