It's been said that living well is the best revenge. If so, Alien Ant Farm bassist Tye Zamora is proof. He is a member of a remarkably successful band—joining him are vocalist Dryden Mitchell, guitarist Terry Corso and drummer Mike Cosgrove—whose major label debut, ANTthology, was certified Gold in August and should be Platinum by the time you read this. Zamora, with AAF, is touring the world, winning over millions of fans, enjoying a Top 5 hit with "Smooth Criminal" and performing on national television. His parents, always supportive of his music, are still behind him 100 percent and he's sure he'll soon marry his girlfriend of two years, who—in case you were wondering—looks just like Elizabeth Hurley. Zamora, it seems, has it all, but his life wasn't always so sweet and the picture was anything but pretty.
     "It was really hard," he says of the years from elementary through high school. "I was the fat kid who went to school across town, so I had no friends, I wasn't what any girl wanted. I was tall and goofy. The other guys would get 'love' notes from girls and I never got that. Everyone picked on me—even the teachers."
     Zamora says it's easy for him to understand what motivates school outcasts to take out their revenge in the worst ways, and admits that he even had thoughts of suicide on occasion. What saved him from the cruelty of the outside world was the love of his family, and music. "When I was 9, my dad got me a guitar and I escaped everything through that," he says. "School was horrible, but everything else in my life was good and happy. At one point my grades slipped, I went into a depression and I got into the dark, sad music. I would lock myself in my room and play for hours and hours because I had nothing else and it was like a revenge thing: 'I can do something you can't and I'll be better than you. One day you'll say to me, 'You're great' and I'll turn my back on you.' I took that approach for many years."
     Zamora's prediction came to fruition by the time he reached his senior year. He had slimmed down, was playing bass in bands and—sure enough—the jocks who had harassed him for so many years were now telling him he was cool. "I carried a grudge," he says. "I didn't like any of those athletic guys. They were a**holes to me. The girls were my friends, but they let the jocks pick on me anyway and then they ran off with them. I never understood this—if you're my friend, why are you letting them pick on me? I started treating everyone like s***. I was an a**hole for a while to select people. I was a bigger kid; I dressed and carried myself in an intimidating way. I became popular, but I don't know how. I was so mean. They'd say, 'I like your band, but you don't like me,' and I'd say, 'Go f*** yourself. I don't give a rat's ass what you think of me.' It was from years of being lonely. I wanted notes; I wanted a girl to like me. But after high school I realized that this a**hole thing wasn't me. I'm a soft, gentle, cuddly kind of guy. Eventually I found the missing piece of myself: confidence. I built confidence by playing and practicing music so much. It was a long lesson to learn, but here it is: It's not what you look like; it's how you carry yourself."
     Today Zamora carries himself with pride in his chops, his bandmates and all they've accomplished. He's so skilled on his instrument that he even built his own bass. Everything that Los Angeles-based Alien Ant Farm has done, however, has been as a result of dedication and hard work. Formed in 1996 in Riverside, Calif., and now barely into their 20s, they released an album, the wryly titled Greatest Hits, on their own in 1999. They made their music available for download on the Internet, were able to get financing for some European dates, and because of their constant gigging on the West Coast, developed a close friendship with Papa Roach, who took them on the road and made them the first signing to New Noize, P-Roach's imprint on DreamWorks Records.
     "It's a big commitment," Zamora says of AAF or any band. "It's your job and your business. We [AAF and P-Roach] watched each other's work ethic. No partying ever got in the way of the integrity and drive both bands had to succeed. I remember a band from Riverside who was older than I, had no work ethic, had drug problems, and signed with Arista—then got dropped. They were hometown heroes who never pushed their music because they were too busy doing drugs, and the sad thing is they're still out there today, trying to make it. Most bands fail or break up due to lack of discipline, no willingness to work or to try not to fail. They say, 'Forget it; this is too hard.' They think that if they practice, write and play locally, somebody will find them in a club and sign them. That just doesn't happen. You've got to throw yourself in front of people in a professional manner and play and play and play. Go outside of your area, tour on your own, reach out and try to sell your music and maybe you can get a meeting. I've seen a lot of bands die. A few succeed and when you see that you know it's because that band is not going to do anything else. A year before we were signed we were unemployed and playing music five or six nights a week."
     Despite their steady climb, Zamora remains cautious. "It's going all right," he says modestly. "It's kind of working out for us. [Having a hit single] does raise scary thoughts about not ever getting on radio or MTV again, but we're creating a loyal fan base and, during the last couple of years together, we've matured as musicians and songwriters. I think we're getting to be pretty kick-ass and we'll be going nonstop in the future. We study our instruments; I went to school to study scoring and composition, so we're always trying to increase our knowledge and better ourselves."
     AAF's contact with fans has been instrumental in the band's success, and for Zamora, it once again goes back to treating others with courtesy and respect. "Nonstop touring is the key for gaining and keeping fans," he says, "but in addition to that, after almost every show, we go out into the audience or to the merchandise booth to sign autographs and take pictures. It's important to be with your fans, let them be close to you and be part of your thing, your day. I remember what it meant when I met Les Claypool, who was such a huge inspiration to me. Hearing him play was a turning point in my life. We met him at the Hard Rock Café at Universal City and he was a really cool guy; we got his autograph and gave him one of our demos. The fact that he would give me four minutes of his time—and that's a long time when you meet somebody—from that point on sealed the deal to never turn my back on him. So the human contact is a very important thing. Other than that, just put out great music, give 110 percent at every show and make people want to watch you."