Indigenous

“I had entered the band in a competition to play Clinton’s inaugural ball … and they won,” he said of the blues rock outfit’s experience with the ’97 American Indian Inaugural Ball in Washington, D.C.

The young group departed its home in South Dakota, picked up Tilsen in Minnesota and ran headlong into a major ice storm in Illinois. “It took us 50 hours to get to Pennsylvania,” Tilsen told POLLSTAR. “We drove 15 mph for two days – and the group never complained.”

That was just the beginning, though. The band had a gig in New York before its show in the nation’s capital, and the Big Apple was enduring one of its coldest spells in decades.

“I remember at one point, I proposed to (guitarist) Mato (Nanji) that we just cancel the New York gig and go right to D.C. And he said, ‘We’re not canceling any shows.’ We drove right to the venue after all that time in the van. They loaded up and they played, and drove right to D.C.”

The taxing trip resulted in Tilsen realizing an important truth about the Native American bandmates. “Their dedication to their music and the fact that they could have such a good time on the road in such difficult situations made it really clear to me that not only were they great musicians, but they had the character it would take to go out and build a fanbase.”

He was right. The four-piece’s 1998 nationally distributed debut, Things We Do on Pachyderm Records, has shipped nearly 120,000 copies, according to SoundScan. The May 9th release of its follow-up, Circle, produced by Doyle Bramhall, holds even greater expectations.

With an average of more than 150 gigs yearly, the band’s relentless touring schedule undoubtedly contributes to its success. Booked by Monterey International, the group has opened for legends including B.B. King and Bob Dylan, as well as performed at Woodstock ’99 and major blues festivals across the country. The band’s latest headlining tour kicked off last week and runs through June.

Indigenous’ journey to becoming one of the most critically acclaimed rising stars in the blues genre began decades ago on the Yankton Indian Reservation in South Dakota. Greg Zephier – the father of Nanji, bassist Pte and drummer Wambdi – played in the Native American rock band Vanishing Americans during the late ’60s and early ’70s. That paved the path for his children’s future, as well as their cousin Horse, who is the band’s percussionist.

“I wanted to play drums when I first started out, but I ended up finding my dad’s guitars. So I just started messing around with those,” Nanji, 25, told POLLSTAR. “After a few years (practicing) with my brother and my sister, my mom and dad said, ‘Well, you guys should make a band.’ We didn’t really know it happened (forming a band) … because we were only 14 or 15 years old.”

With their father at the helm, the young musicians practiced at home, where they were also schooled. “Our dad was there helping us learn things. … He made us listen to all these old records that he had, like Lonnie Mack or B.B. King, Buddy Guy,” Nanji said. “We all pretty much dug that kind of sound. It’s real soulful, and we always try to get that same kind of feeling – that intensity.”

The band was soon ready for its first gig. “It used to be a bingo hall, but it’s a casino now, on the res,” Nanji recalled. “That’s the first place we ever did a show. We were like 18 and 17, little young kids. It was in front of mostly family and friends, but it was pretty fun. We did a lot of cover stuff – Santana, different kind of things.”

The band has grown immensely since that gig. While each member strengthens the group’s overall sound, Nanji’s six-string work is nothing short of amazing, with comparisons often made to the late Stevie Ray Vaughan and Jimi Hendrix.

Tilsen, one of the co-founders of Direct Events in Austin, Texas, entered the picture when Zephier asked for his help. Tilsen arranged for the band to appear on a CD benefitting the Honor The Earth campaign, which helps the environment of American Indians.

“I think the show that really broke the band, in my mind, was the release party for the Honor … CD,” Tilsen said. “It was in October ’96 at (Minneapolis’) Northrop Auditorium,” which seats about 4,800. “It was a sold-out show, and during soundcheck, I asked Mato – he’d never played anything bigger than the casino before – I asked him, ‘Are you ready for this?’ And he kind of chuckled and said, ‘I’ve been ready for this for a really long time.’

“There couldn’t have been 50 people in the room that night that ever heard of this band, and the audience just would not let them off the stage. I mean, it was one of those moments that you see – every once in awhile in musical history where you just know this is something special – and you’ll never forget it.”