"One of the best things that was ever said to me was, 'Do you really want this?' That rings in my ear all the time," says Adema singer Mark "Marky" Chavez. "Because when it's freezing cold and you miss your chick and you miss home, you start questioning yourself. But do I want this life? (Expletive) yeah I do."
Maybe that's why the rookie rock band Adema currently is venturing on the suitably named Do What You Want to Do Tour.
"We've been out for eight months now and have gotten so tight," Chavez says, killing time before a show in Minneapolis. "We've seen the ups and downs and gotten to know each other's personalities quite a bit better. Some of us are slobs, and some of us are a little cleaner than others. Everyone's kind of a little more respectful of each other's wishes. And that helps with the band fighting and such especially when you're living in a trailer on wheels."
Part of what has allowed such an unproven act to be able to "do what it wants to do" lies in advantages that Chavez has brought to the table some of which have been both a blessing and a curse. Chavez is the younger half-brother of Korn leader Jonathan Davis, the fellow Bakersfield, Calif., group that helped usher in the worldwide ascendancy of modern alt-metal. This fact, along with Adema's first-rate demo tapes, incited a feeding frenzy among a slew of ravenous record labels. The band virtually inked a deal before playing a live show. And the hype was deafening before a single was ever launched.
The perception that the Adema members had their careers handed to them on a Korn-plated platter must be at the forefront of Chavez's thoughts as much as it is those of the press. Without any prompting, he quickly defends his relationship with his famous sibling.
"People always ask if I was influenced by Korn of course I was," he says. "Every band in this last half-decade was. You wouldn't have a Slipknot or System of a Down if Korn wasn't doing it. Korn was the first band to pull off things like weird noises with vocals. Now you have all these bands doing that.
"As far as me trying to emulate that, no way. I'm on my own name. We had an opportunity to sign with that label (Immortal/Epic), and we didn't. I think that's admirable, considering we could have rode the coattails and got all the good tours and been on the biggest management firm in the business. But we chose to go our own route ... Some people have this weird perception that my brother actually has enough time on his hands to sit there and call people and go, 'Get my little brother this. Get my little brother that.' He's busy writing his own record. Like he's going to spend time dealing with his brother's crap."
As for how that familial connection has impacted the other members of Adema, Chavez assumes they're used to it.
"I think they've been very supportive of that fact," he says. "They knew I was going to get a lot of attention because of the relationship that I have. On the other hand, a lot of that has dropped off in the last two months. A lot of people have been focusing more on our music, and realizing that this band hasn't blown up so phat and so fast because there is actually some substance here."
No fire, flash or glitter
Many in America were first exposed to Adema on MTV but not because of any music video. In the previous season of "The Real World," set in New York City, the young cast mates were given jobs as street-team promoters at Arista Records. In one episode, the Worlders were sent to mega radio station K-Rock (WXRK) with the sole mission of attempting to get Arista's new act Adema added. The kids floundered when asked questions about the band and were sent away, having to regroup and try again the next week. (Of course, in the REAL "real world," they would've never been given a second chance.) Boning up on their Adema lore, the gang returned and successfully finagled the pounding sobriety anthem "Giving In" onto the station's playlist.
"That was so fake," Chavez counters. "We already had the add. We didn't need any help from some fake-ass people on some fake show. New York had already been playing our music for six months before that had even aired. So when we saw it, we were already pissed off."
Even worse was the fact that half of those in the TV household were stridently unimpressed with Adema's music, preferring the hip-hop and soul acts more indicative of Arista's roster. But Chavez didn't find that situation particularly damaging.
"People are like, 'Did you get mad that they dissed you?' he recounts. "It's like no, I don't expect the whole world to get what I'm doing."
Despite the probable exposure to millions of people viewing the Emmy-nominated series, Chavez believes that Adema continues to score bigger with audiences by means of the most basic method available: performing live.
"TV and all that, it has a major role in selling tons of albums," he says. "But if you want a fan base, it's by being out there in the trenches. It's by getting down and dirty with the kids, because they respect that."
Following its Lawrence gig on Saturday, Adema will get on board the Projeckt Revolution Tour. This month-long outing places the band alongside Latino hip-hop act Cypress Hill and alt-metal powerhouse Linkin Park, whose debut album bested the likes of 'N Sync and Creed to become the biggest-seller of 2001.
"Headlining to me is a hassle. Your sets are longer, your day just seems to go on and on, and you're waiting and waiting," the singer explains. "Projeckt Revolution is going to be fun because I'll get to kick back and watch some of my favorite bands ... That makes touring a lot easier when you can look down the hall and see your buddy and say, 'Hey dude, great show last night. How's your family doing?'"
While each Projeckt band is notably different from the other, what unites the three, according to Chavez, is the lack of gimmickry in the groups' performances.
"Using a bunch of fire and flash and glitter," he launches with disdain, "if you're gonna rock, let your music do the talking ... I'm a firm believer in that you can turn people out by just throwing down live, without a bunch of lights and crazy masks. I'm a fan of Slipknot, and they're cool for what they do. But I would never want to do that. They're stuck in that forever. I'm not saying I'm the end-all, be-all of what's going on these days, but I take pride in what we do. "
A smart reject
Raised in Bakersfield, a blue-collar town less than 100 miles north of Los Angeles, Chavez set out on a path that mirrored many of his friends: He got in trouble all the time. By age 15, he was booted out of public school because of fighting and other extra-curricular activities.
"My parents thought sending me to a private, Catholic school would be the answer to the problems which was funny, because they sent me to a place where I had more clientele," he says. "There was more money and more ways to make it, and more people that were looking to be bad than good.
"I had friends, but people didn't know what to make of me. I wasn't stupid, so I got good grades. I wasn't this political kid. I didn't play football or other sports. So what was I? I was an outcast, a smart reject."
Like many other "rejects," Chavez withdrew into rock music. He began playing guitar in high school, and the majority of his freshman and sophomore years was spent holed up in his room with the instrument. Listening to Nirvana taught him how to handle power chords, U2 introduced him to songwriting and Metallica familiarized him with more complicated, syncopated rhythms. Other icons such as Led Zeppelin, The Beatles and Pearl Jam followed as influences.
"That's how I started making friends, by finding other kids at the school who were into the same music," he remembers.
Surprisingly, it wasn't becoming a musician that was the first career choice for Chavez; it was teaching. Before the band started to gain popularity, the tattooed, pierced vocalist worked as a day-care supervisor. Did that job prepare him in any way for the life of a touring rock star?
"Holy (expletive) no," he laughs. "But you know what it did do, it did give me patience."
Patience was the one virtue that Chavez probably needed least.
By the time the lineup of drummer Kris Kohls, bassist Dave DeRoo and guitarists Mike Ransom and Tim Fluckey was just getting comfortable with one another, Adema was signed to Arista and recording its self-titled debut (released last August). All five members had honed their skills in other regionally popular acts (such as Juice and SexArt), and it took scant months for the new band to focus in on an aggressive, produced sound that was heavy on distorted guitars and absent of rap influences. Though the outfit was criticized by some for its ready-to-wear commercial approach and Chavez's bad-boy pinup image, his lyrics hinted at a deeper side, revealing personal tales of strained relationships and substance abuse.
"There's been some press garbage about how I'm this pretty boy, blah, blah, blah," he laments. "I definitely know that I haven't fallen out of the ugly tree, but I'm a punk-ass kid who came from running with punks; I did my fair share of dealing, and doing things to make ends-meet. I'm not this precious, pre-fab metal guy. The (expletive) that I talked about on the record I definitely went through. I had my bouts with different substances and all that. But now I'm 23, and I have such a greater outlook on life.
"I'm sitting here in Minneapolis, doing what I like to do, but I'm not taking drugs, I'm not feeling sorry for myself, I'm not drinking to the point where I'm passing out. Those things aren't happening to me anymore, so I know something is right."
"He does have a gum wrapper problem," comes a muffled voice from the background (belonging to drummer Kris Kohls) which prompts laughter.
"He says I have a gum wrapper problem. That's HIS biggest thing," Chavez explains. "He's trying to quit smoking, and he's been taking this Nicorette for months. And he leaves these little wrappers everywhere. You'll be waking up in the middle of the night and you'll hear this (crunching noise). And you're like, KRIS!"
Oz fest
Apparently, all is well on the Do What You Want to Do Tour, when the main intra-band complaints involve helping a member kick a tobacco habit. ("Each of these guys in the band, I'd take a bullet for them," Chavez adds. "I'd even lend them money.") Currently, the group plans on promoting the record through the end of the summer before heading back into the studio to start work on a second album.
Oddly enough, for an ensemble that has somewhat limited touring experience, Adema has made the 1330-mile journey from its hometown to Lawrence before.
"We came to Lawrence and were supposed to play a show, and it got canceled," Chavez remembers. "We hung out, and it was like humid as could be. I remember that vividly, because when I was a kid, I always wanted to go to Kansas. I actually have tattoos of characters from 'The Wizard of Oz.' Once we were in Lawrence, I remember I woke up, opened up a bottle of beer and was like, 'Damn. I'm in Kansas.' It was like living a dream.
"Most people would think I'd be nuts to want to go there, but to me it was like a symbolic moment. Like, "Man, I'm not in Bakersfield, Calif., I'm way out in Kansas."
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