After a few years making a name for itself around Fayetteville, Benjamin Del Shreve (the band) is about to follow Benjamin Del Shreve (the man) in making the leap to the next level.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, following a packed show at Sticky Fingerz down in Little Rock, Benjamin Del Shreve stood on a hotel balcony, ready to jump.

"I wanted to do it, man," Shreve says. "We were on the second floor, and the pool was only about ten feet away. I know I could have made it."

That Shreve didn't jump wasn't a matter of willingness but of architecture: a rail that ran along the top of the ledge made it impossible to balance for a good jump.

"I couldn't do it without someone on either side of me helping me balance until I was ready to jump," he says. "Nobody would help! Everybody kept telling me to jump, but nobody would help."

Probably, I say, because nobody wanted to be an accomplice to his untimely death.

"Security finally showed up," he says, smiling. "We didn't get kicked out, but some people had to leave the party. That's how it is with us: we always almost get kicked out of whatever hotel we're in."

That's probably the first thing you notice about Benjamin Del Shreve the man (after you spot the hat and vest): the sincerity and unbelievably polite manners, qualities one doesn't typically associate with the leader of an increasingly successful rock group. Even after kicking my ass in a game of pool, Shreve is disarmingly gracious, politely answering questions--until he comes back from the bar with a couple of fresh beers and finds Ford and I talking about Obama.

"I have a rule," Shreve says. "No talking about politics or religion in a bar. When you're in a bar, you should be having fun. You should be flirting with beautiful women," he says. "You shouldn't be talking about politics or religion. Period. It only leads to trouble."

There's a story there, so Andy prompts Shreve, who smiles.

"We're in this bar awhile back," he begins, "when a couple of bikers start slinging a few racial slurs. As a man, with my girlfriend—who's part African American—standing right there, if I don't say or do something, I have no honor."

Thing is, these weren't two frat boys. These were two very large, very intoxicated bikers. A fight would not only end badly (particularly for Shreve), but could lead to repercussions down the road.

"What these guys didn't know was that there was a baseball bat within reach right behind the bar," Shreve says. "But a fight would've been ugly."

So what happened?

Shreve smiles. "Did you see The Jerk?"

Steve Martin. A classic. Yes.

"I'm standing there," Shreve says, "right? And I shout, '[If you've seen the movie, then you know.]'" He laughs. "Like in the movie, right? I said it loud enough that all these people started looking around. The bikers were confused. They looked at each other, like, What the fuck?"

Jade rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but she's smiling.

"So the bikers go, 'But you're not a Muslim, are you?' And I said, 'No, sir, but I don't talk religion in bars,' and they were like, 'Cool.'"

Not that there's anything wrong being a Muslim, Shreve adds. For a man who was supposed to have been a fifth-generation minister, he's very open about religion, though he admits he doesn't actively practice. "I talk about God my own way in my music," he says. "I have family members who don't like what I do, who won't talk to me, but this is what I am, you know?"

We do. Shreve's dedication to his craft is clear. When asked how he prefers to write, he says--pointing in turn to his heart and head--"You have to feel it here and here before you pick up the guitar. You know what I mean? You have to feel it first." He says if you start playing around on the guitar before the song is set in your mind, it can mess with your hands. "So you have to feel it first," he says, again touching his heart and head, "here and here."

Shreve says his older brother Randall brought him to music. "He had a band," Shreve says, "and they needed a bassist. I joked that I'd play with him, but he took me up on it, showed me how to play." Shreve says Randall continues to be one of his biggest inspirations.

We talk a bit about Jonathan Taylor Rose, a young musician whom Shreve advised to move to Fayetteville from Mena. "He's a very talented guy," Shreve says. When asked what it's been like playing mentor to Rose and his band, Shreve smiles and says, "It's cool. They're all very talented, and I'm more impressed every time I see them play. They have a good balance. It can be easy, man, when you're living the rock 'n' roll lifestyle, to get carried away."

Like jumping from hotel balconies?

Shreve smiles. As for his own lifestyle, he says he keeps things very simple, thereby making it easier to keep doing what he loves. "We're really starting to experience success," he says, "which is awesome. It makes it easier to keep going, but it's still not a lot, you know?"

The band donates a percentage of every show's take to a local nonprofit, something of which Shreve is proud. "I think it's important to help people."

Kurt jumps in: "Remember the doorman at Juanita's? We did this show there back in September. We found out the doorman and his wife had been having some trouble, so we're in the van after the show, ready to split the money, when we decided just to give it all to the two of them." Kurt says the band played seven of the last thirteen shows for free.

A number of the shows have been outside Fayetteville, leaving some fans asking whether the band even plays anymore. "We get that," Shreve says, "but we feel it's time to move on to let other, newer guys have a shot. We've had great success here, and we're grateful, but we don't want to overexpose ourselves. It's time to take the next step."

That next step? Shreve plans to move to Los Angeles sometime in May to get the feel of the land before sending for the rest of the band. "Or I might go to Australia," he says.

Australia?

"Yeah, man, we're getting some attention down there," he says. "It's weird. We got a review down there that could help us blow up. It's awesome."

For someone who feels the constant need to travel, heading for the land down under is very tempting. Does he see himself putting down roots in Australia?

"If we were down there and we died," he says, "they'd send our bodies back to Fayetteville. Don't you think?" This question is to Kurt, who nods. Shreve says, "I think that's how you know where you're from, you know?"

So is this Saturday's gig at Gypsy--the last show at the Gypsy ever--going to be the band's last here in Fayetteville?

"No," Shreve says, "not at all. We're booked with shows through the summer. If I head out to LA, I'll fly back for them."

By the time the group takes the stage for Saturday's show, they'll know whether they're the 2008 NAMA Band of the Year. The group is nominated for four NAMAS at this Thursday's ceremony.

"It's going to be great," Shreve says. "We have these blazers we took from the hotel in Little Rock, and each of us in the band is going to wear one."

This would be the same hotel at which he tried to jump from a second-floor balcony into the pool, yes?

"Yeah," Shreve says. "It was a pretty good party."

We run into Benjamin and Jade at Brewski's Friday afternoon, the day after the band claimed Best Male Vocalist, Best Pop/Rock Band, Best Album, and Band of the Year at the 2008 Northwest Arkansas Music Awards. Both looked relaxed, if a little tired. We congratulate him on his big night.

"Thanks," Shreve says. He greets us each with a hug. "Yeah, man, it was unreal. It was back and forth all night. Just unreal."

Had to be fun, though, right?

"Absolutely," he says. "A long night, though. We're both kind of tired."

Jade smiles.

"You guys cruising through, or you want to join us for a drink?"

Actually, we are just cruising through, but we'll be back in a bit.

"Cool," Shreve says. "Well, if we're still here when you come around, we'll relax."

If last night's success is any indication, we're guessing the opportunities for Shreve and company to relax are fewer by the day.