Review: The Unstoppable Squirrel Nut Zippers

Geoff Carter

Tuesday, Aug. 4, 1998 | 3:46 a.m.

Fans of the Squirrel Nut Zippers call themselves "Zipperheads" and I'll be damned if there isn't an awful lot of them these days. The Hard Rock Joint was jumping the night of August 3, packed to the proverbial rafters for the Zippers' tour debut. The young crowd bobbed their heads, danced the Lindy and carried on in an enthusiastic, yet refined manner.

Go figure. Though I love the Zippers myself, I've never understood why anyone else does. Their sound comes directly from an era that preceded rock and roll by a good 30 years. It's the sound of Bix Beiderbecke, of Hoagy Carmichael, of Django Reinhardt, and unlike the current glut of throwback bands making the rounds (the Cherry Poppin' Daddies can run, but they can't hide), their sound is breathlessly faithful to its sources. Read: The Zippers aren't a punk or ska band that tacked on a horn section and went for the big payday, hoping to separate some of those poor chumps from their martini, cigar and jump-swing lesson money.

The chumps were all too easy to pick out at last night's gig - they were dressed in their zoot suits and petal pushers, jiving to the straight-up klezmer of "Ghost of Stephen Foster." One got the impression that the Zippers could have played a Depeche Mode cover and those poor fashion victims would have tried their damndest to apply swing steps to it.

Still, you can't stop a tidal wave and that's exactly what the Zippers proved to be in performance - a juggernaut, a Sherman Tank of Prohibition Jazz that rolled over the crowd at a good speed, heading for destination unknown. I may never understand how the Zippers got their foot in the door, but after last nights wild time, it's readily apparent how they keep it wedged open.

From the sultry vocals of Katharine Whalen to the roguish interplay of guitarists/vocalists Tom Maxwell and Jimbo Mathus, the Zippers never put a foot wrong (unlike the swingers inadvertently knocking each other over at stage right). "Suits Are Picking Up The Bill," "Keep A Lid On It," "Fat Cat Keeps Getting Fatter" and "Hell" were just a few of the shining moments in what amounted to a sterling evening of entertainment. The night started strong. Cuban swing ensemble Bio Ritmo burned like a bonfire, ripping through songs from their latest release "Rumba Baby Rumba" with an intensity that left all but the dead shaking their booties. A spirited vamp through "Yo Soy La Rumba" even saw a conga line spring up in the crowd. The unorthodox (by today's standards) instrumentation of Bio Ritmo - multiple percussionists, with no drum kit - is as refreshing as a Cuba Libre.

It hardly matters that this sound hasn't seen the light of day in America since well before Castro - sometimes the old ways are best, and Bio Ritmo's homage to Xavier Cugat and Perez Prado is long overdue. Add the two bands together and you've got the tastiest combination since rum and Coke.