By D.F. Wilson - Encore Magazine - October 30 1986

There are four guys in town. Chances are you’ve seen them around. You might not give them a second glance. But there’s something special about these guys — they have a band: the Squirrels — and, cliche as it is, they have a dream.
In the years I’ve written (on and off) about music, I’ve talked with more bands, musicians and songwriters than I care to recall. A lot have faded from existence as performers, a few have gotten lucky and grabbed the brass ring of stardom, but most are still plugging away on their respective circuits, trying to build a following.
But of all those folks, few have spoken of their craft with the dedication and sincerity as did the Squirrels. Dedication, sincerity, and something else — a mixture of awe and reverence. The word I used earlier, “dream,” kept popping up during the interview, held one night last week in the band’s studio-cum-garage in the house that has been dubbed the “Squirrel Hut.”
Besides the fact that it’s their practice house, the Squirrel Hut has been so named because all of the band members have lived there at one time or another, especially Peter Francis Danilowicz, whose mother, affectionately known as Mrs. D., lives there. Mrs. D. apparently acts as a sort of a den- or should I say hut-mother, and has been known to make the boys’ squirrel-shaped cookies, I’m told.
Her son Peter is the singer-songwriter keyboardist-guitarist for the Squirrels. At 26, he is one of the most unlikely pop per sonalities I have ever seen. Quiet and unpretentious do not a David Lee Roth make. But then, in my opinion, Peter’s got more talent in either of his big toes than DLR has in his whole sweaty mass.
With his bushy eyebrows and dirty blond hair, Paul LeRoy Daniels, 25, is not your everyday powerchord guitarist. His subdued sound, which relies heavily on effects, owes more to guitar wiz Adrian Belew than Eddie Van Halen, the usual guitar hero to most players Paul’s age.
Bassist Daniel John Samppala, 23, is perhaps the most visually striking member of the group, with chiseled features and close-cropped platinum hair. On stage, he is one of the most intense and concentrating musicians around.
And drummer Matthew Gentry Fann, 21, is the most un-drummer-looking drummer I have every met. While most resemble surf-bums with bulging biceps, Matthew is tall and lanky, his angular nose and chin peering out from under a massive mop of brown hair.
As a relatively recent newcomer to the area, I have missed out on a lot of the Squirrels’ evolution. But almost immediately upon arrival I began to hear talk — Squirrel talk, about Squirrels and Squirrelettes.
“These people are nuts,” I thought, pun intended.

Then, I heard the band.
“The Squirrels are gonna put Wilmington on the map,” says Weston Clemmons, the band’s booking agent, but then, agents tend to say things like that. That’s why they’re agents. In this case, I have to agree with him, unless D.E.G. or Interstate-40 beats the band to the punch.
One of the headstarts the Squirrels have toward breaking up and out are those aforementioned people around town talking about them. As one of the guys said, “We are Wilmington,” not a pretentious statement in the least. What is meant is that the band is indeed representative of the town, or at least a respectable portion of the younger population. To say they have a following is to put it mildly. One might say this whole Squirrel thing has reached cult status.
Cult: a word that strikes fear in the hearts of middle-class mothers throughout the U.S. with visions of head- shaven Hare Krishnas in airports, Moonies selling flowers by the roadside, or even worse, the lethal suicide party punch made famous by Jim Jones. But before any mothers around here scurry to hide the Kool Aid, perhaps I should qualify that statement.
This cult is simply the extended family of friends drawn from the young “artsy” opoulation of Wilmington’s surprisingly vibrant counterculture. And while I would not claim that the members of the local counterculture are any more or less talented than their “establishment” counterparts, I would certainly say they are further out on the cutting edge.
Which is exactly where the Squirrels are — on the edge. In July they took out a loan and designed and built their sound system, which they are continually upgrading. They have a tentative date for their first out-oftown gig at a club in the Triangle area. Plus, they have plans for an album which they hope to release sometime next year.
From the beginning an all-origial music band, the Squirrels have had their work cut out for them. And attacking the “predestined” radio waves dominated by the likes of Wham and A-Ha is a move that requires dedication, forethought and determination — all qualities the Squirrels exhibit.
“We’re challenged to take in all the in fluences we like and meld these sounds into something commercially viable — something that really could rock the air waves,” said Danilowicz.
“Sure, we want to play to 20,000 people in a stadium, but right now we like the good feeling of playing to 150 at Cronies,” said Daniels. “We’d rather work at it, develop our craft and be around for a while, not some overnight success that’s gone just as quick. People always recognize you as long as you put your heart into It. Al long as you believe, then you’re successful. The point is not technology, but heart. The music should be first, not record sales.”
“We try not to have any illusions about It all and we try to maintain our integrity”

D. F. Wilson was none other than “Possum” from the Crack. He turned up in Wilmington from Chapel Hill (we think) to pursue opportunities at the film studio. Some awesome flattery!