Photograph by Whitney Curtis
It’s 6 p.m. on a Friday in December, and handfuls of kids are milling around Dave Simon’s Rock School, bass guitars, drumsticks and Mountain Dews in hand. Most are in the “greenroom” (it’s actually just a lounge with a pinball machine and a few couches), anxiously pacing before their turn in the Rock Band 101 seasonal performance. Another group awaits its call to the stage from behind the audience, silently practicing chord changes. One wears a guitar strap that reads “Parental Advisory”; the other two nervously shake the bangs of their emo haircuts from their foreheads.
Parents have crowded into the school’s chilly warehouse–turned–music venue to watch their children play rock ’n’ roll that they’ve been coming here for months to practice. With plugs shoved tightly into their ears, they bob their heads and smile at each flub their young rockers make.
“Now for the coolest hair in the Rock School!” Simon shouts as he introduces the next band: White Microwave.
The drummer, a 9-year-old rock star with a tricolored Mohawk and Converse All-Star high-tops decorated with painted-on flames, takes the stage and leads the band in a seamless rendition of Modern English’s “I Melt With You,” the line about “making love to you” appropriately altered to the kid-friendly “making friends with you.” Although he’s barely tall enough to peek over the high-hat, his performance is solid, and his confidence is engaging. When these kids rock, they rock hard.
In a lot of ways, the Rock School—which celebrates its fifth anniversary this fall—is like a lot of other music schools. The students learn the basics: how to read music, scales, chords and notes. Teachers teach, students learn and tests determine who advances to the next grade level. (Newbies go through private lessons before joining a band at one of three levels—Rock Band 101, Concert Band or All-Star Band—on the basis of their performance in a 30-minute assessment.) And above all, the school emphasizes the importance of learning how to play well with others.
But what sets it apart from every other music school in St. Louis is its advertised priority for rocking; the opportunity to play in your very own rock ’n’ roll band is specific to the Rock School. And many of the books they use are written by their teachers; Simon has a staff of 10.
Karl Schoenherr began teaching guitar and bass lessons at the Rock School nearly two years ago after responding to a classified ad. “I’m surprised how much I’ve learned from the kids,” says the 24-year-old. “It makes me reevaluate what I’ve learned and what I know.” Schoenherr has seen many kids who have the potential to make a living in music beyond the Rock School and hopes that some of the graduates could help improve the St. Louis music scene.
Whether the kids are there for a private lesson or band practice or to record a song, most of the school’s 190 students are in the building at some point on any given Saturday—yes, Saturday. That’s the thing about these kids: They want to be at school on the weekend, thanks to Simon’s tenacity and enthusiasm for teaching rock ’n’ roll.
A man who says he never wakes up dreading to go to work, Simon, 40, exudes a youthful energy that matches his students’. When you run a school that teaches guitar riffs and keyboard solos and bass lines to kids as young as 9, you can’t exactly sit around.
“I would like kids to look at the Rock School and go, ‘This is authentic, it puts the cool in rock ’n’ roll,’” Simon says. “And I want parents to see it and think they can send their kids here to get a good, quality music education. It’s important that these kids know how to rock out onstage but to also be well-rounded musicians.”
That’s the tricky part.
After graduating from Webster University in 1990 with a degree in English (his stint as a jazz-studies major was short-lived), Simon moved straight to New York and tried to make it as a music producer. When that didn’t work out, he came back to St. Louis for a couple of years to regroup, before setting out again. This time he went west to San Francisco, where he began giving music lessons in his apartment. It was a step in the right direction, but he wasn’t satisfied with the one-on-one guitar and piano sessions; he wanted to do something bigger. “I just wanted to take what I was doing in lessons and move it into a band realm,” he says.
Rent was too high in San Francisco to accommodate an operation as big as the one Simon had in mind, so once again, he came home to St. Louis. After ditching an idea for a rock-related summer camp, Simon settled on opening a school and started exploring his options. His cousin tipped him off to the fact that McMurray Music in Overland had space available. Simon started out giving lessons to a handful of kids, then held band practice in the basement—and the Rock School was born.
Within a year, the school outgrew that basement, and today, it sits in an industrial park in Olivette. It houses a large warehouse/garage, the aforementioned lounge, a recording studio and a handful of practice rooms, all plastered with posters of rock-star idols like The Doors, The Who and Zeppelin. Simon’s dog, Eleanor, often wanders the building, and everyone, even the parents, knows her name.
Simon says when he was 13, he would have liked to have something similar to the Rock School to encourage his own musical pursuits. He played with friends—something he says is a great way for kids to learn how to socialize and connect with peers—but he had no real guidance. “I had to sit around with friends and struggle with it,” he says. “There weren’t adults at band practice in my friend’s basement to supervise—it was exclusively my buddies.”
Simon creates the bands at Rock School, matching like-minded kids with similar skill levels, and one of his hopes is to foster friendships. Playing with peers, he says, is a way to connect with them; it’s socialization, it’s therapeutic. “I want kids to understand that music is a lifelong friend—there is no reason you can’t have that your entire life,” he says. Starting the Rock School, a place where little pressure exists and where kids can be themselves, is just his “way of giving back the music.”
The responsibility that comes with being the boss may have been the biggest adjustment. A fresh layer of snow has fallen outside, and one of the school’s most popular All-Star bands, the Junior Mints, is rehearsing as Simon reflects on what it means to be in charge. He has a lot more respect for his former bosses now that he knows what it feels like to be in their shoes. “I used to feel uncomfortable with even calling myself ‘the boss,’” he says. “I grew more comfortable in this role as I began to outline in great detail my expectations …”
Almost as if on cue, behind him, the kids are silently putting down their instruments and sneaking out the back door behind him to play in the freshly fallen snow. As soon as he realizes the studio is silent, he sighs and hurries outside, doing his best to muster up that boss-like demeanor along the way. He returns a few minutes later, smiling and brushing snow off his shoulders, trailing the gaggle of snowballers-soon-to-be-musicians: “I feel like such the boss.”
While walking through the Loop a few years ago, Colin Edmunds ran into a couple of kids his age carrying gear into Blueberry Hill. He asked what they were doing, and they told him they were loading in for the Rock School’s seasonal show. Intrigued, he talked to Simon a few days later and then promptly signed up. He has been attending the Rock School since early 2004.
A talented saxophonist, guitarist and bassist, the high school senior had always made music a large part of his life, but he says the Rock School has helped him learn how to play with other musicians and connect with St. Louis’ music community. “Without the Rock School, I wouldn’t have these musical opportunities to play with the people I do,” Edmunds says. “It’s also helped me broaden my creativity, strengthen my concepts and ideas, and grow in a musical sense.”
Using what he’s learned from the resources at the Rock School, Edmunds is beginning Webster University’s music technology program with an emphasis in jazz studies in the fall. “Music is the only thing I could ever see myself doing,” he says.
There was a time when Simon felt the same way—that music was everything. He has played with several bands in his nearly 25 years as a musician and has a lot of advice to give about the prospect of being a rock ’n’ roll star. In particular, he realized that for him, despite his motivation to be a rocker his entire life, keeping things in perspective was important.
While Simon’s goal is to teach music basics and the fundamentals of rock ’n’ roll, he also wants the kids to be aware that no matter how passionate they are about a musical career, there’s a good chance that at some point, they’re going to need a backup plan. “The mistake I made,” Simon says, “was not realizing that I had to hold down a real job. I thought you were either a rocker or a sellout … I thought there wasn’t much of a gray area.”
And even if they don’t ever end up on the cover of Rolling Stone, that doesn’t mean they can’t still be rockers at heart. “It’s all about an attitude toward life,” Simon says. “It’s gotta come through in the dress, performance, confidence … You can be a banker with a rock ’n’ roll attitude about how you’re a banker. It’s all about living a lifestyle.”
Johanna Lowell, 14, a third-year student and keyboard player for the Junior Mints, agrees. Learning how to “rock out” has given her a certain confidence she lacked before. (The Junior Mints are one of 13 Rock School bands that will play concerts this month at Cicero’s in the Loop. Simon expects as many as 300 people to attend.) “I used to be more shy,” she says, “but once you get into it and the crowd gets going, you don’t mind playing in front of them.”
Lowell’s not looking to be a professional full-time rocker—although she’d definitely like to see the band stick together—and that’s just fine with Simon. Regardless of where she and other students like her go from here, they’ve had the opportunity to learn that balance that no one ever taught Simon. “There are certain kids who have the right ingredients” to make a career out of rock, he says. But he’s certainly not going to be the one to push them.
“I wouldn’t encourage it or discourage it,” Simon says. “It’s a tough world out there, and pursuing rock ’n’ roll requires total focus.” For now, though—before the industry gets in the way and has a chance to kill music’s purity for Simon’s students—they can just enjoy rocking out. “Being an adolescent is a great time to push yourself,” he says. “Rock ’n’ roll gives kids a way to find voice and status, and that’s important at their age.”
Because there were no other schools like his at the time, Simon wasn’t sure what to expect when he opened his Rock School in 2003. He doesn’t do much advertising and attributes his already satisfying number of students to word of mouth and good timing—like the time he was walking down the street, wearing a “Dave Simon’s Rock School” T-shirt. “Someone was like, ‘Is that for real?’” he says with a laugh. “It’s great to own a business and have people ask what it’s all about.”
But while Simon is “quite pleased” with the evolution of the school over the years, he’s still pushing and hoping for bigger and better things—in particular, he’d like to see the number of students double. He has been working on opening another location to house a band-only program at the Jewish Community Center in Chesterfield, and he’d eventually like to open a third branch to include the entire curriculum now offered at the Olivette location.
As he encourages all of his students to do, Simon used fear as a source of motivation and saw his vision of beginning a rock ’n’ roll academy through to the end. The Rock School is thriving now—almost to a point where it looks easy. Is it?
“Opening this school was a piece of cake compared to being a rocker,” says Simon. Take it from him, kids—rock isn’t as easy as it looks.
It’s late December, and Lowell and the Junior Mints are busy rehearsing “Stairway to Heaven.” It’s been an especially grueling session—it is an 8-minute song—but there have been high points here and there.
Halfway through the umpteenth run-through, lead guitarist Turner Trapp finally hits a chord that he’s been struggling with, and Simon breaks out in a grin. Trapp is nearly 14, but he already has fingers built for a guitar player. He plays on and doesn’t stop, even when Simon tries to stop him
to congratulate him. “What was that chord? A Cadd9?” Simon asks as Trapp continues playing. “No,” Trapp replies matter-of-factly, “it’s a Cm7.” Unconvinced, Simon good-naturedly fires back, insisting it was the Cadd9.
Fifteen minutes later, they’re still arguing. “I’ll bet you a million bucks,” Simon insists. “I’ll hand over my music degree if I’m wrong.” That kind of wager is a little too much to let slide, so they finally check with one of the guitar instructors. Simon was, in fact, wrong. The battle of the egos was over—Simon had lost, and his student, whom he had instructed so well, had won.
