I plied my college radio, at least initially, in the Upper Midwest, spinning records at a happy output smack dab in the middle of Wisconsin. Existing in the midst of that frozen landscape stirs a certain kinship with those musical artists toiling at roughly the same latitude. There were simply some bands that sounded right, like they were coming at the world from a vantage point that was recognizably a product of frosty nights and taverns with interiors cloaked in wood panelling. They were of a world we knew.

It’s not only the existence of a song all about aspirational Zamboni piloting that tagged Gear Daddies as one of our bands (admittedly, it helped). Martin Zellar’s songwriting clearly spoke to a certain way of scuffling through life that wasn’t necessarily exclusive to our part of the country but definitely seemed endemic to it. In particular, he perfectly captured the guilt of being an impulsive, needy male of a certain age, a version of existence to which I could relate to all too well during my college years. That’s when the band’s album Billy’s Live Bait arrived. Filled with plaintive ballads and countrified stompers, the album had relatable content aplenty. The song I wound up connecting with most deeply was “Color of Her Eyes,” about waking up the morning following a one-night stand. It’s not like I had an abundance of personal experience with such a happenstance, but I well understood the swelling regret over questionable decisions made in the throes of a night forestalling angst through any ready means.

As a bonus, the album came with a couple recipes, because if there’s one thing a group of Minnesota boys knows, it’s that there’s a broad-based utility in a hot dish using Spam. Come for the music, stay for the iffy food.

Listen or download –> Gear Daddies, “Color of Her Eyes”

(Disclaimer: It appears to me that Billy’s Live Bait is currently out of print, at least as a physical object that can be procured from your favorite local, independently-owned record store in a manner that compensates both the proprietor of said store and the original artist. I could be wrong about that. As I’ve been acknowledging lately, my research methodology has taken some serious hits. You can, however, head straight to the band’s website and buy their debut release, Let’s Go Scare Al, as well as the terrific odds and ends collection Can’t Have Nothin’ Nice. There are also some real boss t-shirts and other clothing items intended to help keep a torso covered. So I’m sharing the above song for free, but do go give the band a whole bunch of your money. I will gladly and promptly remove this track if asked to do so by any individual or entity with due authority to make such a request.)