Dramarama Music Group

Is Dramarama to be, or not to be? John Easdale, who has the ultimate say in the question, has spent the past few months pondering it, back and forth, like some indecisive Hamlet. Dramarama's singer and main songwriter says he is willing to make one last stand with the long-running band in hopes of finally reversing its outrageous fortune in the music marketplace.

Y'know, ah-ah-ah, once bitten twice shy, babe. --Ian Hunter, "Once Bitten Twice Shy." Different people do the same thing every day, But I just look the other way. I keep on rollin,' keep on rollin' on. --Dramarama, "Work for Food" * These days, John Easdale would rather work for food than play for it. He spent almost 10 years singing and writing songs for his living in Dramarama, a rock band that was always a contender, never a champ in the rock 'n' roll prizefighting ring.

Y'know, ah-ah-ah, once bitten twice shy, babe. --Ian Hunter, "Once Bitten Twice Shy." Different people do the same thing every day, But I just look the other way. I keep on rollin,' keep on rollin' on. --Dramarama, "Work for Food" * These days, John Easdale would rather work for food than play for it. He spent almost 10 years singing and writing songs for his living in Dramarama, a rock band that was always a contender, never a champ in the rock 'n' roll prizefighting ring.

Is Dramarama to be, or not to be? John Easdale, who has the ultimate say in the question, has spent the past few months pondering it, back and forth, like some indecisive Hamlet. Dramarama's singer and main songwriter says he is willing to make one last stand with the long-running band in hopes of finally reversing its outrageous fortune in the music marketplace.

Like a lot of kids growing up in the New York City area during the 1960s, John Easdale and Chris Carter used to watch a children's television show called "Wonderama." "Wonderama" had one especially intriguing feature: Every week, a boy or girl from the studio audience would be chosen to sift through a tray full of hundreds of keys and to insert them one by one into an inviting treasure chest.

When John Easdale turned up for an interview last week, the singer-songwriter of the rock band Dramarama was fresh from his debut as an educational resource. Easdale seated himself at a table at Mazzotti's, an unpretentious Huntington Beach eatery with a rock 'n' roll accent to its sparse decor, including posters of heavy-metal bands and a weather-beaten bass fiddle signed by the Stray Cats.

The problem with being a smart, well-versed, guitar-based rock band in the 1990s is that everything you do is apt to sound like an echo. On its new album, "Vinyl," Dramarama bridles at having arrived too late for innovation, but it also gives in to the pleasures of paying homage. The poke at the past comes in "Classic Rot," a dig at "classic rock" radio.

When John Easdale turned up for an interview last week, the singer-songwriter of the rock band Dramarama was fresh from his debut as an educational resource. Easdale seated himself at a table at Mazzotti's, an unpretentious Huntington Beach eatery with a rock 'n' roll accent to its sparse decor, including posters of heavy-metal bands and a weather-beaten bass fiddle signed by the Stray Cats.

The problem with being a smart, well-versed, guitar-based rock band in the 1990s is that everything you do is apt to sound like an echo. On its new album, "Vinyl," Dramarama bridles at having arrived too late for innovation, but it also gives in to the pleasures of paying homage. The poke at the past comes in "Classic Rot," a dig at "classic rock" radio.

Like a lot of kids growing up in the New York City area during the 1960s, John Easdale and Chris Carter used to watch a children's television show called "Wonderama." "Wonderama" had one especially intriguing feature: Every week, a boy or girl from the studio audience would be chosen to sift through a tray full of hundreds of keys and to insert them one by one into an inviting treasure chest.