Every Band Teaches You Something

Jaret met Mike Leach in seventh-grade language class. Mike played football but, like Jaret, cared much more about music than parties. Their weekends were built around movies, food and playing for as many hours as they could.

That friendship kept Jaret out of trouble and helped create the work ethic that would define his life. They did not know they were developing discipline. They simply wanted to play. Smoking, drinking and parties were not even part of the conversation. Half jokingly, they told everyone they were products of the “Just Say No” generation.

Jaret’s first complete song was KISS’s “Heaven’s on Fire,” learned with Mike and bassist Danny Craig. Being able to play one whole song felt miraculous. The three stayed together for years without ever finding a dependable lead singer, which often left Jaret playing drums and singing at the same time.

Looking at you, Don Henley.

From there came an almost comical number of bands.

There was Havana, which knew plenty of song introductions but no complete songs. Ratan played a birthday party or two, occasionally with a friend pretending to play because he had cool hair. Tuxx involved makeup, dress rehearsals and even a couple of recordings. Mischief rehearsed—a lot. Heaven Forbid changed its name to Tear and eventually played a show. There was FourPlay, Scuzzbubbles, Blind Freddy, Numpertu, Paul Davis and the Rubber Band, The Samones and several others whose accomplishments ranged from recording an entire ridiculous album in one night to nearly causing a riot at a school talent show.

True story.

The most serious of the early bands was Terminal Seasons. Across shifting lineups that included old friends Jon Richerson, Scott Simpson, Ray Hammel, and Steve Burns, Jaret moved from drums to vocals and reluctantly became a frontman.

Terminal Seasons was lethal. The band knew four full sets of metal covers, including approximately fifteen Testament songs.

That is not an exaggeration.

There was one problem: nobody knew how to write an original song.

As successful as the band became locally, nobody ever did.

Heavy metal taught Jaret power, precision and commitment. Chuck Billy showed him that a metal singer could be aggressive, melodic and understandable. Tommy Lee and Shannon Larkin shaped the way he thought about drums. Ozzy and Mötley Crüe made him want to participate in music rather than merely consume it.

But another borrowed recording changed his direction.

When Jaret started college, Greg “Shrub” Rountree moved to Wichita Falls and handed him a cassette containing the Descendents, Screeching Weasel, Bad Religion and early Green Day.

Jaret had spent years immersed in Testament, Obituary, Death and other heavy bands. Now he was hearing fast music that was melodic, funny, emotional and approachable. These singers wrote about girls, friends, boredom, bad decisions, insecurity and, occasionally, farts.

Jaret understood that world immediately.

The country storytellers had already taught him that a song could place pictures in a listener’s mind. Punk rock showed him that those pictures could come from ordinary life and still matter.

Screeching Weasel taught him that songwriting did not need to be complicated. The Descendents demonstrated how vulnerability and humor could occupy the same song. Green Day showed how simple structures, strong melodies and loose harmonies could create something enormous.

Jaret briefly developed what he jokingly calls Green Day Disease when the rest of the world discovered the band in 1994. They had been his, and now they belonged to everybody. Lots of music fans go through this phase.

Most of them do not miss Insomniac because of it.

Jaret did.

Fortunately, he got over it.