Oh, What a Mangled Web We Leave

"I think that we had to [establish a distinctive look for ourselves] because we weren't very good," says Decious. "So we had to have something to get us going, and we figured we'd learn the rest on the way."

They learned fast. Only three weeks after forming, the band recorded their first EP—a step many bands take at least a year to reach. It was titled, appropriately enough, The Pink Spiders...Are Taking Over!, and it heralded the brazenness they would come to be known for.

The music was simple, fast and aggressive—stripped-down, revved-up garage rock with a sugary pop crust. And like the color that inspired the name, in Ferrari's words, it was "bubblegum as shit." While it didn't herald a new musical movement, standout tracks such as the catchy "All the Cool Girls Are Dead" snatched their influences from all the right places: the Ramones, Buddy Holly, the Dead Boys and the Bay City Rollers. "We didn't try to sound like anyone," says Ferrari. "We just stole from everyone. That's what good artists do, in my opinion."

And in what would come to be a signature Pink Spiders maneuver—and the moment the band could effectively kiss local support goodbye—they figured out ways to skip the new-band-in-town drudgery.

"We were opening up for [established local rock group] Feable Weiner, and we had a buddy that made concert posters. So we put our names real big on it, and then put 'With Feable Weiner' under it, to make it look like we're headlining," Ferrari explains. "And we were passing out flyers, telling everybody this band kicks ass, you gotta see this band, you gotta hear this band. But they didn't know that we played in the band until they saw us onstage, and then they were like, 'You guys are assholes. But I liked your band.' "

The gamble paid off. The more they taunted the crowd, the more the crowd wanted. The band played deliberately shortened sets, then goaded the crowd into buying the merch.

"I'd always go out there and be like, 'Y'all wanna hear some more songs?' " explains Ferrari. "And I'd hype 'em up and they'd just be screaming, and then I'd be like, 'CDs are over there. Go buy one.' And they'd be like 'fuck you' and start booing, but then go buy it."

"It was really just to piss people off," says Decious of their bombastic antics. "And honestly, it worked. [People would say] 'I think these guys are assholes, but I'll at least listen to their music to see how much I hate it.' Nine out of 10 would hate it, but one would be like, 'I don't think that's bad.' "

Their sold-out debut was one of the few shows they would play in Nashville in their early days, a fact that still makes some local music supporters seethe. But even then, they knew that to make it big, they were going to have to reach well outside the Music City.

"We really didn't care what anyone in this town ever thought of us," says Decious. "You can be the best band in Nashville, and what does that really get you? What does that mean?"

Indeed—just ask Jason and the Scorchers, to date one of Nashville's most-loved rock bands. Once thought most likely to succeed in their heyday 25 years ago, they never quite parlayed that hometown loyalty into much else. Friction, who was born and raised in Nashville and still calls the city home, offers a more pragmatic assessment.

"A major reason for the perception that we haven't worked hard enough to build a fan base in Nashville is simply because Nashville is one of the only cities in the country where all-ages shows and beer sales can't go hand-in-hand," explains Friction, whose iPod is loaded with Nashville bands that he often praises in interviews. "In most cities, you would just get a wristband if you're of legal drinking age and an X on your hand if you're not."

What the band lacked in hometown warmth, they made up for with booking smarts. They quickly devised a touring method that would maximize their exposure, gradually expanding outward from Nashville. Friction, then still the booking agent for The Muse, used the relationships he'd forged to expand the group's reach. He organized show swaps, offering an out-of-town band a guarantee in exchange for a promise of similar treatment in their hometown.

He also pulled on old trick out of the local-band magician's hat and made up a fake name and booking agency—"John Nonnel" (John "Lennon" backwards) and Brash Booking—and claimed to "represent" the band when booking shows out of town. They knew they had to start regionally and hit the Southeast hard, and saw the fruits of their labor as crowds thickened on repeat visits. "Why go to fucking New York if someone don't know you in Alabama?" Ferrari asks. "What's the point?"

Life on the road was fast and cheap—just the way the band liked it. Friction worked full-time managing the band's rudimentary business: booking tour dates, ordering T-shirts, maintaining the website and coordinating photo shoots and college radio appearances.