By J. R. Taylor

"Here's a question for you," asks Reno Boas as I sit with the Fame. "If we were suddenly the hottest band in New York City tomorrow, would we be any less cool?"

It's certainly understandable if the Fame's target audience has never heard of them. The band's big breaks consist of opening for acts that aren't nearly as good. You can guess the sad litany: the Shins, Robbers on High Street, the Bravery. At least it was pretty smart to pair the Fame with Sahara Hotnights (who, to their credit, sought out the band to open for them after hearing a demo).

Just how uncool are the Fame? They finally made it above 14th Street a few weeks ago with a gig at B.B. King's opening for .38 Special. That was some inspired billing. The proudly hirsute .38 Special spent their heyday as a misunderstood pop act with a southern-rock heritage.

"They were amazing," adds Fame bassist Alana Amram. "'Rebel to Rebel' made me cry. I'm serious. I was in tears."

She knows the tape recorder is running. She does not care. The Fame is fearless.

Apologies to music fans, but let's recap for the benefit of rock critics who might be taking notes: There was a brief moment when Midwest rock 'n' roll was again in vogue after the rise and fall of the Raspberries circa '73. (You might find "Go All the Way" on iTunes.) Cheap Trick had broken through with Budokan, and there seemed to be a place for catchy rock that was polished enough to be safely out of the garage. A few bands immediately dated themselves by buying new synthesizers and dolling themselves up like the Cars. Others put their faith in the legacy of this guy named Dwight Twilley and went for denim jackets, modified shag cuts and tight t-shirts in primary colors.

Groups like Off Broadway and a reformed Artful Dodger were too aggressive to be power-pop and too heterosexual to be New Wave. (Those pop geniuses in Shoes liked girls, but most guys wouldn't like a girl who liked Shoes.) None of these bands broke through, and the slate was pretty much wiped clean once Duran Duran and Adam Ant came along as the new British Invasion. The few LPs that made it out remain cherished as a brief shining moment in regular-guy rock.

The important thing is that all those Midwestern 70s bands were pretty awful. They whole trend was really more of a pleasant notion. The Fame, however, is everything anyone could have ever desired from those acts. They are the true spirit of all-American greatness in a city where un-American rock acts have become the norm.

If there were a decent fundrinkery around, I'm sure I'd be sitting with the Fame in a corner booth. I don't know why we're sitting in the Beer Garden at Queens. None of the members of the Fame lives nearby. Maybe they just like the place. I'm pretty much at ease, having gone into this expecting to be better off interviewing the Fame's graphic designer. Their Get on the Beat EP is a masterful parody/homage of those heady Midwest rock days, perfectly duplicating the look of major-label product that wanted to be modern yet not too punky for the Bloomington scene.