Is Freehold Ready To Rock?

It's a sunny Thursday night in Freehold, and Ryan Timmons is ready to put his plan into action. The dinner crowd at Zebu Forno is pleasant and altogether unsuspecting, picking over salads, pizza, paninis. But a tattooed, bearded, and smiling Timmons stands over them, smirking knowingly at what is to come.

At 30, Timmons has worked at music venues and bars all around the Jersey Shore before becoming manager of Zebu when it opened here in February. Now, he is passionate about bringing cool, young bands to kids in a town where there's not much of an edgy music scene for the younger demographic.

"We're going to start a rock revolution," Timmons declares, with more than a hint of rock-stardom-dreaming in his voice. He'll put on two shows a week-Thursdays and Sundays-with bands from the area. Right now, he says, "it takes a lot of homework to find these bands." But he's just getting started.

As the sun sinks over Main Street just out the window, crowds of summertime diners and strollers mill just beyond Zebu's French doors. Preppy-looking teenage girls finish paninis and bottled waters, and a couple seated at the window-bar sip white wine, watching South Street as the Freehold workday comes to an end and its mellow nightlife begins. Café life hums along quietly.

But slowly, a raised dining area is being cleared of tables and replaced with drums, amps, and an eclectic-looking group of thirtysomethings. A handlebar mustache, skinny jeans, and lots of Converse All-Stars push and pull equipment, nosh on pizza, and stop to gulp down red wine at a corner table.

In the midst of it all, Timmons darts from table to counter to stage, checking in on customers and band alike, animated with excitement. His CBGB-looks set him apart from the rest of the staff-mostly high school girls with neat ponytails-but any edginess is tempered by a pure surge of enthusiasm. It is his project coming to fruition: to make western Monmouth County cool.

"We opened here in February," Timmons tells me as he anxiously waits for the dinner crowd to begin to thin out. "And right after that, I realized there was nothing hip or cool going on for the youth in this town.

Timmons grew up working in music venues in Seaside, Asbury, and Red Bank before landing the managing job at Zebu in Red Bank. When he came out to Freehold, he knew he had a chance to put his music acumen to work at the restaurant.

"I hired a kid right out of college with a Music Industry major," Timmons points to a coworker with short dark hair and glasses, ringing up a customer for coffee. "We're going to start something out here."

In typical-Zebu fashion, however, the diners seem to linger tonight, and starting something gets delayed from 7  to 7:30 to 8, but the band doesn't seem to mind. They huddle in the corner with a group of friends and family, eating gelato, playing air guitar, and cheering on a mohawked 7-year-old as he bangs on their drums.

By now, the crowd has noticed that a concert is about to take place, and everyone seems intrigued by the creatively-dressed group at the corner table. A shaggy-haired guy in tight jeans and high sneakers makes his way onstage, plucking guitar strings and adjusting amps. In the background, a mural of artists, writers and paintings emanates creativity.

And then, in a fell swoop, the band is on stage, the guitars suddenly let rip, and Zebu is transformed. Drums bang, guitar chords hum, and the shaggy-haired man screams. The band is The Jacks, and the music is old-school punk: this is rock. Timmons beams proudly.

"These guys are great," he yells over the electric guitar. "We've been friends forever."

The crowd, though, gives a collective jump as the café becomes electrified, stunned to hear the sudden bashing of drums and screaming into the mikes. "What is this?" they all seem to say. At once, ten diners swallow entire meals and rush out the front French doors, but Timmons just smiles.

The band plays on, jumping passionately around the stage and gulping Guinness and 40's, ignoring a steady trickle of patrons heading for the exit-some covering their ears.

For a second, as my foot taps along to the violently-energetic beat, I am seriously impressed with this quality band; but as I look around the now-empty coffee shop, I still can't help wondering what they're doing here. Besides Timmons and the band's friends, it seems no one else has taken to the head-thrashing sounds filling the corner café. Does Timmons' plan stand a chance?

Freehold has always had a buzz about it, but it's never culminated in a full-on rock vibe before. Subdued guitar players and a jazz quintet, maybe, but is Freehold really ready for a rock scene? Does it want one?

Timmons is certain that it does.

"At Zebu in Red Bank, we never had to do anything like this. The town already had it going on." He shakes his head, looking out the front of the store. "Out here, we're kind of outcasts, trying to do the hip thing. We're trying to start a revolution."

Within twenty minutes, the last of the customers have slipped out, smiling apologetically as they pass Timmons and step onto the familiarly peaceful Main Street scene. The band continues to rock anyway, and their friends and family-and most of all Timmons-nod their heads along in a happy-angry-punk sort of way, enjoying the throwback tunes.

Outside, Freeholders mix and mingle elsewhere along Main Street. Across the road, the weekly concert-in-the-park draws hundreds, toting folding chairs, dogs on leashes, and toddlers ready to boogie. A Billy Joel tribute singer croons "Piano Man" to the crowd during a sunset over the western trees.

Back inside Zebu, Timmons shrugs. "It's okay. The point of this whole thing is to bring in new faces, give the kids a place to go-soon, we'll be doing that."

After awhile, Johnny Hersel, The Jack's lead singer, motions for Timmons to switch the channel on the TV, hoping to at least catch the Yankees game while he rocks out rebelliously. Soon enough, the bass player decides to take a break, and the rest of the band follows. By now, Zebu is empty, and the band sits around, shrugging off the stuffy crowd and bemoaning the death of punk.

"This is the third show we've done, and it's only been a week and a half," Timmons explains, undefeated. "The other two were indie rock and brought in tons of high school kids, and we'll probably focus on indie pop, especially in the fall. I think it will take off. I'm not worried."

He is still smiling, despite the quiet register and abandoned tables. He is still talking with his hint of rock-star-dreaming.

"Hey, these guys can rock," he smiles, "and it's fun rocking in Freehold."