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Punk Pop, Fizz Fizz

Photo by Christopher Gardner

Jolt Cola: Soda is flying high on local music scene.

San Jose skateboard legend and rocker Steve Caballero uncorks his newest band, Soda

By Todd S. Inoue

Athletics and music don't mix. Shaq Diesel and Neon Deion are living testaments that jocks shouldn't touch the microphone except during postgame interviews. That is, unless you're Steve Caballero. One of San Jose's old-school skateboard pros, Caballero is just as famous for his musical forays in local groups the Faction, Odd Man Out and Shovelhead.

For his newest project--Soda--Caballero took a clue from Field of Dreams' "build it and they will come" philosophy. Instead of recruiting some band mates and then committing songs to tape, he started Soda by erecting a recording studio in the back yard of his west San Jose home.

"When I started this band, I knew what I wanted to do," Caballero says, carefully trimming Soda stickers on the carpeted studio floor. "The master plan was to build a studio first, and find the guys next." With intricate sound baffling and four-track recording equipment, the studio was an attempt to fashion ahead of time a relaxed environment for the new group--literally, from the ground up.

When he was ready to go fishing in the local talent pool, Caballero landed some solid, well-respected players. Todd Jackson's hyperactive drumming earned him praise in Crash Course, Clay Wheels and the Odd Numbers. With Audio Fungus, Matt Ramirez proved that he may be the steadiest punk bassist around. Guitarist Jim Leonard, also from Audio Fungus, forms a potent dual guitar engine with Caballero. The band adopted the name and logo of bassist Ramirez's defunct clothing company, laid down some provisional tracks and then went looking for a vocalist.

The search turned up 26-year-old Meegan Goad. Caballero gave her a tape of three finished songs and asked her put lyrics to them. Goad--who started documenting her life through poetry and music lyrics when she was 10--adapted a few diary entries for the Soda songs. Her lyrics offer reassuring shoulders, instead of cold ones.

Within a scant three months, Soda has taken off quicker than any other local band in recent memory. At its first show, without tape or airplay, Soda pulled a healthy throng at San Jose's F/X in October. The band recently signed to Binge Records, an indie label started by No Use for a Name drummer Steve Papoutsis.

Last week, Soda recorded its label debut, a five-song EP. Two songs--"Some of Us" and "Diligent"--were Carson's Pick of the Day on KOME. At last week's Edge show, Soda merchandise--shirts, demo tapes, stickers--was flying out the door.

Musically, Soda mines the jumpy, pop-punk, back-to-basics methodology of bands like 7 Seconds, the Ramones and Bad Religion. Eschewing Audio Fungus' metallic complexity and Shovelhead's melodic grunge, Soda prefers three chords, strung together by Caballero's melodic guitar runs. The result is surprisingly harmonious, as if Soda had played together for years in a past life and just now realized its potential.

Band members admit that a woman vocalist was not their first choice, but after finding Goad, they quickly warmed to the idea. "If we had a male singer, a lot of people would lump us into the Green Days, the NoFXs, [and say] 'They're trying to cash in on those bands,' " Jackson says. "With Meegan, we sound original."

"We didn't tell her what to do; she just added her own spice to the music," adds Caballero, who admits he was nervous about trying out a female singer. "She didn't sound like anything else. She sang the songs in a way we didn't think we'd hear them. We were surprised by the melodies."

Good thing. Goad's temperate vocals lighten the aggro-punk mood. She mirrors Cinder Block's passion, but her sound is swathed in an 'I'm every woman' veneer. Onstage, she sings with conviction, but doesn't play into the emotive Alanis Morissette approach. She is a natural, dancing around stage as she would in a club, not a fog-filled fantasyland.

Caballero skates for Powell, a national skateboard company, and is in demand on the performance circuit. His career--which sometimes takes him to Japan and Britain--became an issue in previous bands. Would his sporting duties affect his musical aspirations?

Caballero counters that when he's on skating tours, he also publicizes the band by bringing along tapes and stickers and wearing Soda's T-shirt. "By me going away, it helps the band a lot," Caballero says. "If I didn't have the career that I have, we'd be just a San Jose local band. By me traveling, the band expands."

With Caballero and Leonard sharing guitar duties, Soda doesn't stop when Caballero's away on business. Band members own the key to the practice space and work on new songs in his absence. Besides, there's no beef--everyone in Soda has a life outside of the band.

"You can't come down on it," Ramirez explains, "because it would be like if Steve yelled at us for working 8 to 5, and he wanted to practice during the day. It's our jobs; it's how we pay our bills. If you come down on that, then that's going to take the fun out of it."

The mood often changes when bands outgrow the garage and move into a studio. Creativity becomes forced, and driving out to some industrial park to practice becomes a chore, rather than fun. Caballero's backyard studio counters this effect. It brings the band members together with the loose camaraderie of a tree house. Here, they can microwave some popcorn, call home without bumming a quarter or just chill watching videos from Caballero's extensive Ultraman collection.

Caballero's ultimate goal--to assemble a bunch of friends who dig on the same music--has already been met. It is this harmonious feeling that all five don't want to sacrifice, even if it means a chance at reaching major-label success. "I can't set a goal--to be on this label, MTV," Caballero says. "I can't think of it that way, or all the fun will be lost. Whatever happens, happens."

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