Two years after forming in New York City, the Spin Doctors signed to Epic which released their debut album, Pocket Full Of Kryptonite. Riding the waves of attention set off by "Little Miss Can't Be Wrong," a full-on hit single both on radio and MTV, the Spin Doctors toured relentlessly. They won over the H.O.R.D.E. crowd in 1992 and headlined the 1993 "Alternative Nation" tour that also featured the Screaming Trees and Soul Asylum. In spite of it all, however, their follow-up, 1994's Turn It Upside Down didn't fare quite so well as its predecessor. Though it sold about two million copies, compared with the six million copies that Kryptonite sold, it was, frustratingly, perceived as a failure. Last year Barron, drummer Aaron Comess and bassist Mark White rallied their forces, replaced guitarist Eric Schenkman with Anthony Krizan and set out to record their current album You've Got To Believe In Something.

"They call it show biz, but I think it's more a of a biz show," Barron says, mulling over the Spin Doctors' ups and downs. "I think these days the music industry's really into eating its young. They've got little things that they like to do to you like 'sophomore jinx.' I mean, who makes the sophomore jinx? It's those guys who write all those articles about it. I don't know. The worst part of it is you have to deal with all these people who don't care about music, who are gonna write about you or approve a budget to advertise your record. These people don't give a shit about music. Like, if something happens to the Spin Doctors, the president of my record company is gonna be fine. All the people who write articles in the magazines are gonna be fine. It doesn't mean shit to them, but for me this band's my whole life." And certainly his life history bears out his declaration.

Barron says his parents (who are divorced) had a lot to do with his aspirations. His father, who's now an automotive journalist, used to be in marketing, which had a big impact on Barron "'cause I think that's what songwriting is in a way--you're trying to reach people, trying to figure out who people are and talk to them." His mother is a psychotherapist who now writes a relationship column for the Melbourne Sun-Herald in Australia. "Songs are about people," Barron says, "and my mom's job is about people." Though his family moved around a lot, by the time Barron was 13 they had settled in Princeton, New Jersey which he considers his home town. It was there, at the suggestion of an older, cooler friend he admired, Barron bought his first rock record, the Who's Live At Leeds (an appropriate omen for a lad whose future band would be renowned for their relentless jamming and high energy live shows). He attended Bennington College for about a year, where he dabbled in some music theory courses, but then transferred to the New School For Social Research in New York City, where he enrolled in the jazz program. Yet Barron had no intention of pursuing jazz or delving into the academics of playing music. Matriculating at the New School was a means to an end.

"I used to come in to music theory class at 9 o'clock in the morning having played until 4 o'clock the night before," he recalls, "having gotten to bed when the sun was coming up, and I was surrounded by people who had never played a gig, or who hadn't played a gig in months. They were all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and I was sitting there completely burnt out. I mean, I was there to put a band together and I did, really quickly."

			"You've Got To Believe In Something"
			"She Used To Be Mine"
			"I Can't Believe You're Still With Her"

Barron's all-nighters usually involved him and his trusty guitar, and took place at coffee houses and sleazy bars, wherever, whenever he could get a gig. Eventually that meant between sets that his friends, the Blues Traveller played at the Nightingale Music House in Brooklyn. After Barron assembled the rest of the Spin Doctors, the club manager gave them their first big break and offered them a gig before they had even recorded a demo. Their live performances have been the backbone of their career ever since. And what is the secret to stirring up a jam? "It's pretty intangible--what makes a good jam," Barron says thoughtfully. "It's like, I don't know what it is, but I know what it is when it's happening, and everybody in the room knows when it's happening--when everybody in the room kind of looks around at each other and you get that prickly feeling in the tips of your toes, or you just can't stop dancing. Something deep down in your gut or in your heart or in your head. Then it's a good jam."

Though it's obviously impossible to replicate a good live vibe in the studio, sans ambience and audience, the Spin Doctors' recordings are nonetheless grounded in the same lively eclecticism that the band generates on the stage. The colorful blend of pop, rock and funk is filtered through Barron's quirky writing personality, shaped, according to Barron, by everyone from Thomas Aquinas and William Blake to Alex Cox's classic cult film Repo Man. You've Got To Believe In Something runs the gamut from punchy pop to scruffier bluesy tunes and some mellower, melancholy stretches. Barron's lyrics are as self-conscious and contemplative as ever; a trio of songs in the middle of the album--"I Can't Believe You're Still With Her," "She Used To Be Mine" and "She's Not You"--comes off like a sonic triptych about the timeless twists that romance often takes. Evident throughout is Barron's attention to detail and tireless devotion to his art.