harvest
The Squirrels organized a couple of all-ages shows at the Community Arts Center incorporating The Interepreters, and The Fringe, and this was probably the pinnacle of their presentation. They were in total control and had the resources of a theater to work with. They built a rockin’ PA, and with Ken’s audio helsmanship, surprised even themselves, blowing the roof off Front St. News. And, the audience was growing with them. The kids knew and the cognescenti were on the breeze. They opened at the Monk for acts that actually had hits (The Producers, Red Rockers, Modern English, The Romantics). But their ambitions lie beyond the Lower Cape Fear. Raleigh (The Brewery) and Chapel Hill (Cat’s Cradle) were the grail, the regional scene, and the mission was to get recognized there. Work began on a four-song demo tape to introduce The Squirrels to their waiting fans.
Things unravelled. Four newly minted, but rather heavy, longish songs were chosen. Without a real studio space, 4-track cassette recording commenced in Paul’s bedroom. He shared an apartment at Sixth and Nun with Donna Daughtry and Weston Clemmons, who naturally tooled an aggressive management campaign. The work was painstaking, With fidgety quality-conscious Ken at the engineering helm, drum parts were laid down. Then Matt was off, finding diversion with The Crack. The Crack was rootsy, anarchic, fun, and popular, and thus a perceived rival for the artiste hearts. They were a secondary impact amid the cloud of the Squirrels self-absorbption, and certainly as important to the emerging downtown scene.
Amid the atmosphere of uncertainty, overdubs followed, Paul breaking bounds with harmonizers and e-bow, Peter with sizzling chordal frameworks. Danny hit it like a bunker-buster. Their best work yet. Within a fortnight, nerves frayed. Between Danny and Paul not getting along, the release Matt was enjoying, and the growing pains of becoming a legal business entity, Peter, unsure if he had morphed into Lynn, couldn’t hold it together anymore. Walking away from the scene to his own place around the corner, he pulled the stopper. The wave had crested, and broke. Poised on the precipice, The Squirrels ate it.
