Can You Keep a Secret? Episode 1: Martin Zellar
Like most Minnesotans of a certain age, I have a Martin Zellar story.
But it’s not the Martin Zellar story you think it is. It’s not a story about a stupid boy, or a housewife who goes to the VFW Club on Friday night. . .tips the waitress 50 cents. No, my Martin Zellar story is about Martin Zellar. Specifically, about a favor he did for me that I’ll never forget.
I was 23, and having recently learned my girlfriend was pregnant, was in the precarious position of scheduling a shotgun wedding that needed to quickly zipper merge a family of beer-drinking Lutherans with a family of wine-drinking Catholics. And we had only a couple of months to do it.
As we hastily made plans, attempting to make our shotgun wedding look like it had been planned for years, it came time to decide on the music. I couldn’t help but think that if we could somehow pull off getting a big and recognizable band to play at our wedding, it would lend some legitimacy to the entire affair. And in 1997 in Minnesota, it didn’t get much bigger than Martin Zellar.
A plan was hatched. We went to see Martin play, and one of my buddies had enough to drink that he summoned up the liquid courage to storm the stage and deliver a handwritten note to Martin’s longtime bassist, Nick Ciola, to give to Martin. I had been told that Martin had also had a shotgun wedding, a fact that despite knowing him now, I’ve never confirmed. The note explained our situation, mentioned that I had heard he might have had a similar situation, and told him while we didn’t have a ton of money, nothing would validate our shotgun wedding more than having Martin Zellar play at it.
A few weeks later I was sitting at my desk in the ad agency where I worked when the phone rang. I’ll never forget the sound of that one-in-a-million voice: “John, this is Martin Zellar. You write one hell of a letter.”
Martin ended up doing us a big favor—playing our wedding for a fraction of his normal fee, and even grinding out an Elvis song that was way out of his range for our first dance. That’s who Martin Zellar is. You won’t find a nicer guy. He’s a natural resource, and he belongs to us. He’s like Caribou coffee for the ears. That growl, those lyrics—a time stamp for an entire generation to a place we’d all like to visit again. The only thing that sounds more Minnesotan than Martin Zellar is the muffled sound of a Twins game on WCCO coming from the garage. Like a good Minnesotan, Martin is hard-working, humble, and, yes, he loves the Twins. And with those dimples, even at 57, he’s the sort of malt-shop-handsome that will make your wife say, “He’s dreamy.” It’s almost as if Martin Zellar was sent here from a different time, like some sort of Minnesota Marty McFly.
If Martin Zellar was sent here, he was sent here for the stories—which makes him the ideal first guest for Pulltab Sports’ new podcast, Can You Keep a Secret? The premise of the Can You Keep a Secret? podcast is private conversations with public figures. And they don’t get more private than our first guest. Martin has been living down in Mexico for years, and unlike many bands from his era, you won’t find a tell-all Gear Daddies book for sale, or an in-depth interview to read or podcast to listen to. That is, until now. We hope you enjoy our conversation with the Mayor of Minnesota music, Mr. Martin Zellar. We discuss everything from Martin’s working-class roots growing up in Austin, Minnesota, to Prince stories from recording at Paisley Park, the inspiration behind some of the Gear Daddies’ best-known songs, and the surprising truth behind his Neil Diamond tribute band and the Zamboni song.
In another Martin Zellar story he says, “I don’t want to wear your crown, I’ll only let you down.” I think I speak for all of us when I say that after four decades spent as a reluctant rock star on the Minnesota music scene, you’re doing just fine, Mr. Zellar. Thank you.
Click below to listen to Episode 1 of the Can You Keep a Secret? podcast featuring Martin Zellar:
