germination
Peter’s mom Barbara, or Bobby, or Ms. D., allowed the use of her garage for band practice. The young men set about insulating for sound wtih layers of styrofoam, and carpet scraps. Fuses were blown, breakers tripped, and electricity felt. A keyboard player was sought, and Lisa nudged aboard. Experience was not a requirement, for Zen maestro Peter, with his many skills, was not a fan of mere proficiency. Since scorched by the flames of the conservatory, his aim was to get organic, holistic, of the moment, and hopefully laid, with as little mitigation as could be dealt with. Be true to yer gang. It was a mound of clay, and they revelled at the chance to whip it.
The first performance was at a pig-pickin’ at Poplar Grove Plantation, alongside high school punkers Bad Rabbi and the Heretics. It de-vovled into a greasy slamfest. The Squrirrels later entered a riverfront battle of the bands and got whupped by Sammy Hagar covers.
The lines were drawn, and the Squirrels stood for the others, the outsiders, and the originals. The un-same-old-thing. They weren’t into violent overthrow or spitting and spiked collars, but were eager to shake it up and look foolish to prove their cool. They were going to bring this provincial tobacco-chewing ice tea-drinking coverband town into the MTV decade. Bandanas and sunglasses. Cut-up t-shirts. The boys ventured into the frontiers of DIY fashion-sense, guided, as always by New Wave mags and album covers. Thrift stores, pimp stores, Chess King at the mall (young and urban - Stanley was there). Twelve zipper parachute pants, irradescent polyester shirts, engineer’s boots, bolos. Boks, Docs, and Chucks 4ever. The prized purple and black checkered bandana. Stan and Dan revelled in spray painting anything that moved, and sired litters of p-shirts. All sported head-turning manes scissored by siblings Jesse and Jennifer Browning (only Peter had a lot less to work with). DIY also went to the head, and electric clippers made the rounds when pockets were lighter. Was this all a ploy for attention? Or their own private Saturday Night Fever?
Compadres started to hang at the newly christened “Squirrel Hut”. Jamy Gearhart and Melissa Manley lent their charm and artistry. Wally Kunz visitated frequently with his proto-goth D&D crew. Danny moved into the vacant upstairs, starting a trend that would consume Paul, Matt, Stanley, Andy Herzog, and even Lynn Watts (Atlantis redux?). The roof was in terrible shape, and leaks came during the heavy summer rains. The plaster fell in a not a few spots. Along with cousin Tim, they made a project of the roof. Peter’s granddad had the inside damage sheetrocked.
What followed was sheer Sq-istory. The front dormer transformed into the “Tent Room”, sleeping two, with vision quests for six. People holed up in closets, lofts, and attic crawl spaces. The walls were repainted in the new revolution, and voila, an art studio. Beer by the case. Cats by the litter. A cottage industry of found art, sprayed and splattered. Sex not sanctioned, but gotten away with. Everything a 22 year-old wanna-be artiste could wish for. Nothing lasts forever, though.
January 14th, 2007 at 10:46 pm
Ah, the lengths we will go to to. This is almost “third world”:
Russ reminded Danny about “about the little electric heater that had to be plugged in and turned on for Peter’s delay (analog guitar echo effect box) to work. I remember that thing going to gigs with us.”
My theory was that the electric load of the heater brought the voltage(?) within the rather narrow range that my precoius delay would function, a discovery that would have been impossible if the studio had central heat.
January 15th, 2007 at 10:41 pm
D’Lugin’s men’s store was on Front St. between Dock and Market. It was stuffed with vintage James Brown couture. Irradescent polyester 3-D skintight stovepipes with ample ass. This is about as close as we could get to the British “Mod” look without mail -order. We preferred buying local.
Unfortunately, under the strains of slam dancing and copiuos sweat, they would disintegrate in the middle of the dance floor. And, sadly, the whole dry-rotting inventory went up in smoke in the early ’80’s. That’s the parking lot across from Caffe Phoenix.
January 16th, 2007 at 5:40 pm
Russ’ comment:
I seem to recall BR&tH opening for the Squirrels at McPatrick’s and their set ended with Brooks (he had the brace through his leg at the time) singing “the beat goes on…” with a big echo on the voice-I think everyone else had left the stage by that point. That was pretty cool bit.
January 17th, 2007 at 1:25 pm
Keith DeLancey: Yep…the pig’s head gig. Ironically, I think it was the only gig I didn’t play with Bad Rabbi. I’m pretty sure I was in NYC at the time visiting. I think the Squirrels and Rabbi played a couple of shows at the Plantation.
January 17th, 2007 at 1:34 pm
I vividly recall “there’s only one way to ROCK! to ROCK!” Who where those Blond Nazis?
April 5th, 2007 at 10:26 am
I LOVED playing shows with the Squirrels! I had forgotten about the “Beat Goes On” bit! I am especially proud of that moment (which went on and on and on and on)! Oh, and by the way…those were indeed pins through Brooks’s leg. He almost lost his leg in a moped accident.
December 6th, 2007 at 10:05 am
Poplar Grove Plantation!
Many kegs of beer, dozens of bottles in cars, a few trips outside…and THE PIG’S HEAD.
I was playing lead guitar for that show. Danny threw the head onto the stage. I looked at Brooks, and kicked it. I thought the head would respond like a ball, rather than a grease, bone and brain pinata. During a “solo”, I slipped in the mess, got up and continued playing.
The next day, I awoke in last night’s clothes, not really sure which way I was going to be sick first.
Good Times, brothers and sisters. Good Times.