Facing the Music

Doug Gillard cuts loose gradually, 12 ounces at a time. The man knows how to swagger, but it takes about six songs and as many beers to bring it out of him. He doesn't need to drink to take the stage of Friends, a caramel-hued Austin hangout just down the street from the Midnight Cowboy oriental massage parlor and a walk-up pizza joint that blares Cannibal Corpse. In fact, in his previous band, Dayton's legendary Guided by Voices, Gillard was known as the sober one, presumably because he could still walk upright after the band's marathon two- and three-hour sets fueled by Miller Lite.

"I could only grab a beer in between songs," the guitarist says. "I was always starting and stopping all the songs. I had a lot of work to do."

But playing a recent gig at the South by Southwest music conference, one of a handful of solo shows he's done since GBV ended its 21-year run on New Year's Eve, Gillard tugs on a Budweiser, and it slowly begins tugging back.

At first, Gillard seems a little stiff, as if he's trying to rock out with limbs made of cordwood. He diligently leads his band into a set of spit-shined pop culled mostly from his full-length solo debut, Salamander, released last fall. By the third tune he's bending his knees a little, his weight shifted to the back of his right foot, as if he's getting ready to shoot some free throws. He sucks in his cheeks and puffs out his chest. A few songs later he puts his back into it, rolling his shoulders and nodding to the crowd.

The place is packed elbow to elbow with hard-drinking, whiskey-ripened dudes in their 30s and 40s, for whom Gillard's tunes are a reminder of the halcyon days of AM radio. They hoist beers next to younger-looking guys in sports jerseys and backwards ball caps, who pump their fists just inches from Gillard's face. The bar is so full that some fans watch from the street outside, pressing their faces against the club's windows, fogging up the glass as they sing along.

It's a reassuring reception for Gillard. After seven years in Guided by Voices, when he could finally quit his day job of taping depositions at a court-reporting service, Gillard is back on his own. One of Cleveland's more celebrated musicians, he's spent time in such noted acts as Death of Samantha, My Dad Is Dead, Starvation Army, and Cobra Verde. Now 39, he can look back on a national rep that's long-established.

"He's a virtuoso guitarist for one, and a world-class songwriter in his own regard," says Gerald Cosloy, head of Matador Records, whose catalog includes such indie luminaries as Pavement, Liz Phair, and GBV.

"Doug is simply the best guitarist and probably best overall musician I've ever known -- he can play anything," says Scott Bennett, an engineer at Kent's Waterloo Studios, where Guided by Voices and Gem have recorded, and where Gillard laid down Salamander.

But it was Guided by Voices that really put Gillard on the map, and as he tries to put that band behind him, GBV's notoriously zealous fan base is reluctant to let go. This isn't necessarily a bad thing for Gillard: Thanks to GBV, he has a built-in audience big enough to land him a gig just about anywhere there's electricity. Being the rabid record collectors they are, the GBV faithful also helped Gillard quickly sell out the first pressing of Salamander.

Yet, as he tries to establish his identity as a solo artist, his past threatens to overshadow his future.

Midway through his set at Friends, the crowd begins hollering for "I Am a Tree," a tune Gillard originally wrote and recorded with his band Gem, but which Guided by Voices covered and made into a fan favorite.

"C'mon, Dougie, it's your song, please!" a guy bellows breathlessly.

Gillard seems unmoved at first. Like a curvy blonde at Mardi Gras, he's used to the catcalls. But eventually he gives in.

"We're gonna do a song I wasn't going to play," Gillard says before launching into "Tree."

"Thanks for giving me the best job of my life, Bob," he adds a little wistfully, addressing GBV frontman Bob Pollard, who was at the show earlier, but left after downing one too many shots. "I'll never have another vocation like that again."

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Doug Gillard's fingers betray his emotions, his face much less so. His guitar playing is wildly expressive, an amalgam of classic rock riffage and pretty pop hooks that stick with you like a steak dinner. But Sanskrit is easier to decipher than this man's countenance. His face is thin, with prominent cheekbones and a taut smile that lend a chiseled handsomeness to his understated persona. He speaks in a low voice and can seem stoic, as if his features were frozen in time on a particularly uneventful day.