The Bus Boys Are Moving In

By JAY COCKS

Blacks and a chicano are blockbusters in white rock 'n 'roll

The trouble started, intones the singer, when he noticed "Too many faces that are/ Not just like mine." Around the corner. Down the block. Next door. Think what their front yards will look like. Imagine the kind of music they will play. You can understand the singer's feelings when he stubbornly insists: "I ain't moving out for no Carol and Bob/ The inner city is too close to my job." You may admire the vehemence of his stand even as you sense its moral blindness and recognize its hopelessness, just as the singer does when he moans, "There goes the neighborhood/ The whites are moving in."

This stinging, slap-happy cartoon of contemporary race relations is one of the standout tunes on one of the year's standout albums, Minimum Wage Rock & Roll, by a brash new Los Angeles band called, with appropriate bemusement, the Bus Boys. Since the group consists of five blacks and one chicano drummer, its excursions through the realms of brotherhood come as naturally as a walk around the block, and are sometimes just as risky. KKK announces a fearless ambition guaranteed to turn both sides of the color line to a common, angry red: "I am bigger than a nigger/ Wanna be an all American man/ Wanna join the Ku Klux Klan/ Play in a rock 'n' roll band." Wielding lyrics that take wide swipes at the collective social conscience, the Bus Boys are a much needed addition to the contemporary rock music scene, which goes light on social issues and white on rhythm. There goes the neighborhood, indeed; and a good thing too.

Keyboard Player Brian O'Neal, 24, and his bassist brother Kevin, 19, who wrote Minimum Wage's eleven songs and swap most of the lead vocals, share a gift for flipping stereotypes into comic contortions. Kevin's Respect is part Rodney Dangerfield, part Aretha Franklin. Brian's Johnny Soul'd Out is a black man's declaration of independence to make the kind of music he wants, not what is expected of him ("Johnny soul'd out . . ./ He's into rock 'n' roll and he's given up the rhythm blues").

The Bus Boys' lyrics and their seismic live shows, which feature goofy choreography and express-train velocity, are reminiscent of the Coasters, the great clown princes of '50s R & R. Their music, however, owes more to the hipster rhythms of Sly Stone and the blistering aggression of the punks. "People assume the way a black group would go is rhythm and blues," Kevin O'Neal reflects. "But rock 'n' roll has more avenues and more freedom. It is about rebellion and change." Adds Brian: "In one sense, our album acknowledges the white influence on black music."

The Bus Boys may not see the big bucks for a while. Although the album is selling well enough, it is not a huge commercial hit, and so far There Goes the Neighborhood has not been spotted anywhere near the Top 40. Stevie Wonder assured the Bus Boys of his enthusiasm but warned that other blacks might not share the sentiment. "I'm not worried about blacks liking this," Brian insists. "And I'm not worried about whom we offend. Most themes for black contemporary music are party-love-dance. I think we will hit black audiences hard."

The Bus Boys--and the O'Neals in particular--are not really ghetto kids or street bloods. Brian and Kevin grew up in a Los Angeles suburb. Their parents not only "have three color TVs," by Brian's count, but two master's degrees between them. Their father teaches fifth grade, their mother is a math coordinator for Los Angeles' inner-city schools. The boys attended Gardena High School, where Brian was president of the student body. "I've been president of everything since time began," Brian says. "I have more in common with the white middle class than with Harlem blacks. Somebody like George Clinton [kingpin of Parliament-Funkadelic, currently among the most popular and successful acts with black audiences] is selling mindless music to mindless people."

The Bus Boys are barnstorming the country, pulling down enviable reviews, and planning a tour of Europe. Brian, who once worked the swing shift as a dock loader with Wonder Bread, is writing songs for "my lady," who calls herself simply Roach, and her group, Roach and the White Boys. He also has 30 new songs for the Bus Boys already banked and "a million albums I got to make." A snatch of a lyric from a new song called Monkey Mash--"You can't look down on me 'cause we all used to swing from trees"--reaffirms what should already be clear: that Brian O'Neal won't be loading white bread any more.

By Jay Cocks. Reported by Martha Smilgis/Los Angeles

With reporting by Martha Smilgis

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