The Bandleader

His style of straight-ahead rock—it's not as influenced by REM as everybody used to say—would suit small clubs, which is fine with him. His big problem is with studio people who believe he should shoot higher, capitalize on his name. That didn't really work with his first album, Extendagenda, which he produced and distributed at his expense in 1991. The novelty appeal, with performances on ESPN shows and a ballplayer or two for sidekicks, did nothing for it. "It wasn't a band, to people in the music industry," he says. "It was just me screwing around, trying to do something half the people probably thought I shouldn't be doing."

Even so, this music thing is expensive and getting more so. McDowell, who has broken off from his original group, V.I.E.W., and aligned himself with more-professional musicians for his new album, has footed the entire bill, from buying studio time at $75 an hour to paying the band (which will probably be called Magenta, a favorite word of his). He can afford it, of course, but he doesn't mean for this to be a hobby. All he wants is a label to step forward with a recording contract that would meet expenses and make it possible for him and his buddies to continue playing.

That would be a perfect world, wouldn't it? Earlier this season he held the California Angels to two runs in a complete game but was shut out. No big deal. He and Hamilton returned to his basement that night and worked out a few licks for Bed of Proses, a dashed-off tune in which he found the opportunity to rhyme dementia and magenta. And the next day he was recording it in a studio. Is there a word for this life? There is. "Cool," says Black Jack McDowell.