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Zanes smiles at that thought. It's not untrue, he realizes. He was just able to keep the fires burning in both areas and beat the odds. While at the Hall, he says, "My biggest program was the American Music Masters Series. We found one inductee or early influence in American popular music and we did a week of programs honoring them. It culminated in a big show. We did Sam Cooke, his gospel and secular side, with a full-day conference (followed by music from Elvis Costello, Solomon Burke, Aretha Franklin and others). "When I got on the phone and started talking to managers and artists," says Zanes, "it helped that I was on the musician's side of it, and I think it made them more forgiving when I say I can only pay you expenses, not an honorarium. I explained, 'Here's how it works as a non-profit, but you'll be the beneficiary for these reasons."' Zanes uses the past tense - "I was on the musician's side" - but he still is a musician. It's just that he's not the upstart he was as a kid, on tour with Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, enjoying some level of underground-into-mainstream success. He certainly has fond memories for those days, especially cherishing the Del Fuegos early trips out of Boston, traveling in a van, sleeping on floors, and, maybe, waking up on the floor of the Replacements pad. He remembers when his brother Dan brought him into the band and there was one primary limitation: Warren could barely play. Dan brought him aboard, Warren says, because Dan liked the brotherly tension between Dave and Phil Alvin in the Blasters.  Zanes left the RRHOF amicably last November to start a new rock/education project. "He was definitely taking a gamble," says Warren, of Dan. "In hindsight, with enough time under our belts, I can see I spent a reckless number of years pissing and moaning how hard it was to work with him. I'm at an advanced enough age where I can let it go. I admire him for leaping off the cliff like that." What makes anyone pick up a guitar to begin with, the odds so badly stacked? "Every band starts with people whose heads are filled up with dreams and that's the fuel of the music industry," says Zanes. "Young people with big dreams. That's what makes it magical, and that's what makes it a swamp of disappointment. That's what makes it a realm of impossible bitterness and a place of elation. It's all that stuff. We were young and our heads were as full of dreams as they could be. That meant we were gonna collide with some crazy stuff, and we did." The Del Fuegos lasted until 1988, with Warren Zanes spending three years with the group. If the Del Fuegos model were the early, gritty Rolling Stones, Zanes own writing reveals a more melodic Beatle-esque streak. He's good with a hook. And he has a keen eye for lyrical observation. He notes that while he's no longer in the mating/courting game - Zanes is married to the singer April March, mother of their two kids - he observes plenty from his students. (March - real name: Elinor Blake - also went to prep school with Zanes, re-met him at a 15th reunion, and the two were engaged three weeks later. They married on Sept. 11, 1999. They moved from Park Slope, Brooklyn to Cleveland for Zanes's job. They are now in Montclair, NJ.) "Not to divide the world into Beatles and Stones fans," Zanes says, "but there was a part of me that loved the sound of Burt Bacharach, and Lennon, but also McCartney. So when I left the band, it was suddenly an opportunity to play major 7th chords. A band, for good reason, creates its own internal reason of what they are. When you step away from it, you don't have the band rules anymore. Not that it's a tyranny, but when you step out as a solo artist, the framework is gone. ... I fit into Americana with a strong pop thread." When Zanes takes to the road these days, he plays with the backing of the Baltimore group, Starbelly. Zanes's rock dreams are quite different from what they once were. "I don't know if it's having kids, I don't know if it's getting married," he says. "I don't know if it's viewing myself more as a teacher than performer - or all those together. I see (music) as gravy. As I say to my wife, 'If Bob Dylan calls and offers me an opening spot, I get to take it,' but until that I stay home and take care of the kids. She feels safe."
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