On the road Jeremiah Freed hit the pavement BY SAM PFEIFLE

All this time, I’ve thought of Jeremiah Freed as a guy’s name. First name: Jeremiah. Last name: Freed. If I thought about it at all. I just like the cadence of it, really. It rolls right off the tongue. Jeremiah Freed. But (and this might seem stupid) the news that the band are moving to California later this month has made me see the band’s name anew.

Jeremiah Freed — as in the past perfect participle form of the verb "to free." Jeremiah set free, made free, released. Though the band would never suggest that the Portland/Maine music scene is some kind of prison, I wonder if it’s been something of a subconscious box for them that they didn’t necessarily know they were in. Maine, the place where they grew up, rode the bus to school, became the big men on the high school campus, is safe. They know it. They’ve done it.

Now it’s time to get to know somewhere else.

"California is just something we’ve been wanting to do for a while," says frontman Joe Smith, "and the time is just sort of right right now. We released Slow Burn a year and a half ago," and rather than release another record here, they thought it might be better to get a "change of scenery."

"It’s nice to travel, too," says drummer Kerry Ryan.

Remember, this a band who’ve been together since their sophomore year of high school, who never went to college (except a short jaunt for bassist Matt Cosby — and there’s a good story about what happened there) and so missed out on the whole away-from-home-for-the-first-time experience. Sure, they took some time at Winnipesaukee to write the material for Slow Burn. Then they moved into a place in Portland where they had their run-ins with the local PD. But it was all so safe.

"I think that we’re gonna see if this works, but we want a place where we can play all the time," says Smith. They want to be in a city big enough that you can play a show on Tuesday, then play five miles away on Thursday and have a totally different crowd; a place where you don’t have to rally every single one of your local fans just to fill a place up.

"We can only play the Big Easy so many times," notes Ryan.

Smith and the rest of the band sound not necessarily like they were burnt by their Universal experience, but more like robbed of something. "We just want to be a band working hard on our show — fly back for maybe a week or two, play a bunch of shows here — just being a band is something we missed getting signed right after high school." (They’ve got a sense of humor about it: "We met this kid in New York," says Smith, "who used to work at Universal. He said, ‘I love you guys. I was in charge of throwing out all your shit.’ " The band laugh like they’ve told that one a few times.)

Sometimes it’s nice to not know what’s going to happen next, to be out on your own with no net. Uncertainty breeds creativity, creates hunger.

So they’re going to drive their big red van out to LA, find a two-bedroom dive to bunk into, and start picking out a new life. They’ve got some family in Santa Barbara, a friend from high school. They won’t be totally without support. Plus, "we went to visit and expected LA to be overwhelming," says Smith, "but it wasn’t, because no one’s from LA."

I, FOR ONE, will miss them, even if they aren’t gone forever. From their self-titled debut, I was hooked by their loving embrace of Southern rock stylings, which makes so much sense for Maine’s Appalachian roots, and by the double allure of Joe Smith’s powerful lead vocals and Nick Goodale’s classic rock guitar.

Rhythm man Jake Roche departed along the way, but not before helping out with the Times Don’t Change EP (the title a dig at major-label doubters?), and 2003’s Slow Burn, which propelled them to Best Act and Best Album awards at the 2004 Best Music Poll Awards. Now, they’re redefining their sound and their act as a four-piece.

Coming into the office for a see-you-later interview, Cosby makes sure to bring me some demos they’ve been working on, both with Jim Begley over at the Studio and on their Mbox in their basement. On songs like "Show Your Love," which I caught at their December 30 Big Easy show, both Smith and Goodale are becoming more comfortable and expert at owning the spotlight, their vocal and guitar work sitting naked on top of the rhythm section’s mostly subtle backing. There’s less of the big wall of sound and far more nuance.

Though, when I ask them whether they eventually see themselves as more a live band or a studio band, I quickly realize it’s a dumb question.

"I know what you’re asking," says Ryan, "but I’d go with a road band — cuz we’re all about live guitar solos."

Don’t worry, though: They still know how to write a killer ballad. If you hate to admit that you get a little weepy (not me, certainly) for Slow Burn’s "Do My Best," you’re going to love it when they release "Hear It from a Friend."

No, they won’t record it at the now-departed Chris Biggi’s Sunset Ridge Studios, in Hampton Falls, where Goodale was once enticed back into the band on the promise of free recording time in exchange for moving some furniture. But they’ll find another story-worthy studio on the West Coast, I have no doubt. And everyone knows how easy it is to go home again.

Sam Pfeifle can be reached at spfeifle@phx.com

Jeremiah Freed play a thanks-for-the-memories show, with Stars Look Down and Nimbus 9, at the Asylum, in Portland, on Friday, Feb. 4. Call (207) 772-8274. If that ain’t enough, they’re playing Schooner Landing, in Damariscotta, on Saturday, Feb. 5. Call (207) 563-7447.