After we got to talking, it was clear the road or L.A. had changed more than Grubb's fashion sense and taste in fine wines. Just two years ago, the band left Omaha with stars in their eyes, destined to sign a mega-deal with one of the industry's major record labels. Grubb used to scoff at the idea of being in a band to "just raise enough money to record and play shows."

No more.

"Sure, we'd like to get signed, but right now we're doing everything we can to prove ourselves to the industry and the fans," Grubb said. "A lot of people still ask me why we haven't signed a contract. The contract is secondary to what were doing now. From the beginning, our goal was to play our music and tour the country. The last thing I want to do is worry if the industry is going to like us or not."

He took a sip of wine and lit another in what would be a long series of cigarettes.

"It was our objective to get a deal when we moved to L.A.; now it's the opposite," he said. "L.A. was a good place to build a team, and now everyone around us wants to see us succeed. The money part is secondary, as long as we have enough to do what we're doing. We're selling units and gaining a serious underground fan base. If you don't have a fan base, you're not going to sell CDs anyway. You might as well build it first. A lot of label shit is egos and cock fights, all the way into upper management."

While it might read as being defensive, Grubb actually comes off as someone who genuinely believes in what he and his band are doing. He's convinced they are exactly where they want to be -- not signed to a indentured-servant-style 9-album deal with a major label that would work them like pack mules.

"Our tour can be summed up in one guiding phrase: If you build it, they will come," Grubb said. "Living out in L.A., we've come across people who we're comfortable surrounding ourselves with; who we can trust. They're involved in all facets of our tour, from publicity to radio to distribution to merchandising, financing and accounting. My mom (Linda Grubb) is the centerpoint for everything. She's GTO Central."

The traveling carnival works this way: The band's agent, Duffy McSwiggin, books the entire tour about three weeks in advance of wherever the band is playing at a given time. Grubb receives the faxed contracts on the road. Linda then sends out advance packages to a team of 15 or so support staff. Each has a job to do, from sending materials to venues to contacting the band's "street team."

Street teams have become a common practice among a number of touring rock bands. They're made up of local fans who do it all, from flyering the shows to contacting radio stations requesting to hear the band's music -- all for the glory of being able to call themselves "insiders."

"They are everything to us," Grubb said. "They're our eyes and ears. Put yourself in the position of being a 15-year-old kid working with a band you love, and corresponding with them and their family. We give them laminates to get into all of our shows for life. We send them birthday cards. They are part of our team. The network is nationwide -- we have 60 people in 40 to 50 cities. It's part of how you do business these days. You have to have it."

Still, street teams can't fill up the van's gas tank before the band heads out on the road for eight hours to the next gig. Touring is an expensive endeavor, and to help support their tour financially, Grubb worked with some industry folks, including a contact at Universal (now Farm Club), and Maverick Records CFO Ike Yoseff, who "gave us the means where we wouldn't have to spend thousands of our own for tour support," Grubb said.

"We sell CDs and T-shirts everywhere we play," he said. "We can bring in anywhere from $100 to $300 a night in merchandise in the Midwest markets -- enough to keep us alive on a day-to-day basis. It's all very doable, but you have to set yourself up ahead of time. Bands who try to do this without a network of fans… Well, it just doesn't happen."

"Every label is after a one-hit wonder that will last about a year," he said. "It's a beautiful thing to have gradual progress and momentum. Without sounding like an asshole, I don't feel sorry for bands that sign these multi-album deals with a 10 percent royalty and no creative control. The label brings on the girls, cocaine, limos, whatever it takes, and they get wooed by it. The label will make their $2 million and the band will end up in debt. And at the end of the day, the band hates itself and asks, 'Why did I sign my life away? We had a good thing going.' I'm not willing to give up 100,000 hours of work to someone because they promise the world. It's not fair to me and the band and the people around me."

While most people would consider the definition of "paying your dues" as living with three people out of an equipment-packed van for nine months, Grubb considers the situation a dream come true.

His only gripe about the constant touring is the crimp it's made in his songwriting efforts. Though he continues to make daily entries in his personal journal and has devised a system to put melody to paper, Grubb said writing music on the road is his toughest challenge.

"You get all this built-up creativity, but there's hardly an hour in a day to work it out," he said. "You drive, unload, soundcheck, sit in the bar, play, meet people, and leave at 2 a.m. The last thing you're going to do after all that is pick up your guitar."

Regardless, when the tour ends in January, Grubb and company plan to hole up in their Burbank, Calif., rehearsal space and put together an album based on their road experiences. "We'll have three months to write and record the next album before we go on tour again. It's like setting a wedding date -- you have no choice but to be ready."

It turned out that Grubb really hasn't changed that much after all. He still has the same sunshine-filled outlook he had the day he left Omaha to chase his hopes and dreams in Los Angeles. In fact, maybe the most amazing thing about him and his band is that they've managed to keep such a positive attitude despite all the barriers they've had to overcome.

"It's taken us a long time to get to this point," Grubb said, as he finished off the last of the tasty port and lit one last cigarette. "You can't get jaded by doing your own thing. The trick is to not get involved with people who say they'll do something and then don't follow through. Don't get involved with promisers.