ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Friday, September 6, 1996 TAG: 9609060008
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: KATHERINE REED STAFF WRITER
IF YOU'VE NEVER heard of the Squirrel Nut Zippers, you're not alone. But pretty soon, you may well be.
And where you really want to be (you just don't know it, yet) is in the same room with this remarkable band from Chapel Hill, N.C., doing your version of the Lindy Hop in a zoot suit you picked out of your grandfather's closet.
The band has taken its unique brand of "Prohibition pop" (it's also been called ``whorehouse rock'' and ``'30s punk'') all over the country for the past year and a half, ringing up interest in their newest CD, simply titled "Hot" (Mammoth Records). They played a sold-out show at South Main Cafe in Blacksburg on Tuesday night for 325 people who endured elbow-to-elbow conditions in a very hot, very sticky room. And the truth is, promoter Butch Lazorchak could have sold a lot more tickets, he said.
It has been the same story all over the United States, Zipper Tom Maxwell said in an interview with the band shortly before Tuesday's show. Maxwell does a lot of songwriting for the band as well as handling the baritone sax work, guitar and - what's this? - the chandelier. (Sadly, the chandelier didn't make an appearance at South Main, however.) The only show the Zippers didn't sell out in their West Coast tour earlier this year was in L.A., but it was "a very large place," bassist Don Raleigh said.
"We've waited three years to be an overnight success," Maxwell said. What's even better, he added, is that the "biggest rock snobs" in the world are coming to hear the Zippers play, which necessitates a certain letting down of one's hair.
Raleigh, who looks to be about 40, piped up like an excited little kid that "a guy from Soundgarden" came to see the Zippers play when they were in Seattle. Maxwell, Raleigh and Ken Mosher were still buzzing from a gig they played at Tramps in New York with rhythm guitarist Al Casey, who played with Fats Waller's band for seven years. Casey's about 80 years old, but "he's still got it," Maxwell said. "A lot of the crowd fell in love with [him]."
The Zippers themselves endure a lot of adoration at their packed shows. A young man from somewhere in New Jersey drove all the way down to Blacksburg on Tuesday to hear the band play and snag an interview or two with the band for a magazine. Maxwell gave the kid a mock dressing-down in the parking lot behind South Main. "What? Are you out of your mind?" He shook a finger at the youthful admirer. "I'll talk to you later."
But it has clearly become a more routine experience for the band. And considering the kind of music this seven-member group - or sometimes eight-member group - plays, it's more than unusual.
It's not easy to describe, but the influences are many. You'll hear some Cab Calloway rhythms, a calypso tune, all mixed together with a dose of Dixieland jazz. When vocalist Katharine Whalen reaches for the microphone, you can't not think of Billie Holiday, although people like Maxwell (who knows his jazz) can cite many more influences on Whalen's style.
"I've heard her voice slowed way, way down on tape," he said. "And she does this thing with her vibrato where she sort of slides up ...''
She's an original, as far as Maxwell's concerned. And she's riveting, as far as the crowds are concerned - at least judging by the rapt attention she got at South Main on Tuesday night. With her serene expression and lovely, understated hand movements, Whalen almost effortlessly evoked the period of the '20s and '30s. The bob haircut and full-length shirtdress didn't hurt the picture, either.
Remarkably, Whalen didn't even begin singing until three years ago when her husband, guitarist-songwriter Jim "Jimbo" Mathus tried to get her to sing some bluegrass harmonies with him.
"She was terrible," Maxwell said, until Mathus got her to try some jazz tunes. Then, Maxwell grinned, "there was the voice."
Getting Whalen to agree to sing in public was a harder sell, but she was eventually persuaded. "She maybe doesn't enjoy it as much as some other people," Maxwell said. "But I think that she's figured out that she likes it."
The only problem for the Zippers so far has been the venues in which they play. Rock clubs - including South Main - are poorly suited to bands the size of this one. For audiences, it's frustrating to listen to such a quintessential dance band in an environment that makes dancing almost impossible.
Maxwell would love the band to be able to play in old theaters.
Still, everyone - band and audience alike - manages to have a very good time.
For Maxwell, one of the greatest pleasures of all so far has been having his parents come to see him play. Twice. "They said, `We're so glad you're playing this kind of music now.'''
They even listen to the "Hot" CD at home, Maxwell said. And dance to it. He has never forgotten watching his parents glide across the dance floor at a family wedding. So, to be able to produce the kind of music they'd want to dance to is the most profound kind of compliment to him.
Therein, perhaps, lies something of the secret of the Squirrel Nut Zippers phenomenon. For the 18- to 40-year-olds who've fallen in love with the music, it's clearly not nostalgia. But it may border on satisfying a longing for something finer, something romantic.
And something that is always just a whole lot of fun.
LENGTH: Medium: 100 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: DON PETERSEN/Staff. Three of the seven (and sometimesby CNBeight) members of the Squirrel Nut Zippers who performed in
Blacksburg this week were (from left) Tom Maxwell, Jim Mathus and
Katharine Whalen. The band took their name from a brand of candy.
color.