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Rockabilly Odyssey
Hangin’ with the cats and kittens

BY AMY FINCH

The weather is doing a typical (for New England in mid February) Twilight Zone blip, zigzagging from blizzard to blaring sunshine in a 10-minute stretch. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and downstairs at the Middle East, at the Raging Teens’ “2001 Rockabilly Odyssey,” the climate has its own twisted charm. By 3:30, a good-sized crowd has ducked out of the sun to bop to music that had its heyday 40-plus years ago. At 4 o’clock, when Vermont’s Starline Rhythm Boys lay into their irresistible hillbilly boogie, most everyone is moving. It’s weird and a little scary to consider that last call is a good 10 hours away. The drunk-disaster threat is high, but folks seem sensible: one W.C. Fields–minded greaser grabs a cup of water and cracks, “This is the last time you’ll ever see this.”

But here’s hoping it’s not the last time we’ll see such a heartfelt music marathon. Rockabilly is that enduring form of early (some would say pre–) rock and roll that emerged from Western swing and boogie-woogie and flowered with Elvis Presley’s Sun singles. “It wasn’t rock and roll, but then again it wasn’t hillbilly,” Peter Guralnick once wrote of the genre in its “purest” form. And that’s about as close anyone’s come to nailing it, though the Rockabilly Odyssey is an opportunity to sample the genre in all its current manifestations.

The official occasion is the Raging Teens’ record-release party. But Kevin Patey, the Teens’ singer/guitarist and the organizer of the whole shebang, had ulterior motives. He was intent on honoring some of the original New England rockabillies, as well as worthy current bands. So he put together the all-day, 14-band bill featuring youngish outfits the Konks, the Bombastics, the Jimmy Nations Combo, 13 Ghosts, Kings of Nuthin’, the Colonel and His Lucky Diamonds, the Sean Mencher Combo, King Memphis, the Racketeers, and Deke Dickerson and His Eccofonics. Plus Ricky Coyne, Ernie Hamel, and Rick Bounty, who all had regional rockabilly hits in the late ’50s.

At first, “dayclubbing” feels odd, but after proper pupil dilation, it becomes clear that this is one sizzling happening. Over in one corner, vendors are hawking ’50s clothes, Pabst Blue Ribbon knickknacks, and a ’50s refrigerator redone in hot-rod flames. Rockabilly tends to pull people into its surrounding subculture — ’50s home furnishings, full skirts, natty suits, tattoos, two-tone shoes, bullet bras, Bettie Page ’dos, pomade, Pabst, hot rods. The guy who lugged in the renovated General Electric is 23-year-old Jason Rodricks, an artist who lives in Beverly. He explains that old appliances, with all their chrome alloy, inspire him to refinish them à la hot rods. “That whole gearhead, hot-rod subculture is kind of all intertwined. The music and the cool cars.” (The flamed fridge and a tiki electric-log fireplace he also brought to the Odyssey will afterward go on display at Dagmar’s, the vintage knickknack shop at 1702 Mass Ave in Cambridge.)

The Odyssey is like a small-scale rockabilly weekender — days-long extravaganzas of bands, dancing, vendors, cars, the whole hog. The largest weekenders are appear to be Viva Las Vegas (the fourth annual one takes place April 12 to 15; check out www.vivalasvegas.net) and Hemsby (May 9 to 13, in England; www.hemsbyrocknroll.co.uk). Rockabilly fans don’t seem to think twice about putting in an extended commute. Ryan Conley says he came up to the Odyssey from New York City because he saw the Raging Teens down there a few weeks ago and thought they were fantastic. Miss Ramona, from South Dartmouth, had tickets to see Link Wray in New York City but wanted to support the New England rockabillies. Neil Shimmield, who teaches math at Choate, the posh prep school in Wallingford, Connecticut, saw fit to bring some of his students for a musical education.

And then there’s Sophia Wolff (a/k/a Miss Wolff), who teaches “ ’50s dance” in Montreal and has compiled a 2001 pin-up-girl calendar (she’s Miss April). She made the eight-hour southward trek with a half-dozen friends, including Noel Thibault, who sings in a Montreal rockabilly outfit called the Howlin’ Hound Dogs. (Miss Wolff says they’ve got an authentic sound, “like Johnny Burnette stepped out of a freezer.”) When asked what draws her to the music, the cheerful, tight-sweatered Miss Wolff doesn’t hesitate: “The raw, sexual energy, of course.”

She’s a Hemsby and Viva Las Vegas veteran (she teaches dance at the latter), and she’s enthusiastic about the Odyssey because “it’s like a mini weekender. There’s nothing on the East Coast anymore, so it really brings people together who might not be able to afford to go to Hemsby or Vegas or any of the other farther-away weekenders.” (Miss Wolff, by the way, has a swell Web site, www.jiving.com, which includes hundreds of links to rockabilly-related sites.)

At the bigger weekenders, almost everyone’s in head-to-toe ’50s splendor — which might make the less-than-chic feel less than welcome. To be sure, lots of Odyssey attendees are the picture of mid-century spiff. But tons of fans are clad in couture de nondescript: decrepit jeans (not rolled up), no pompadour, no Bettie Page bangs. The sartorial mood at the Middle East is more of a testament to variety than it is a crinoline-and-DA museum. Dana Stewart, singer/drummer for the Racketeers points out that “the Boston crowd has always been mixed. It’s always been the outsiders, the punk rockers, the hippies, and the longhairs.” He claims that the less-stylish fans “are almost more important to me, because it’s not a fashion statement, they’re loving the music.”

Venerated California rockabilly singer/guitarist/producer Deke Dickerson (he produced the Raging Teens’ CD, among others) headlines the Odyssey. “For some people rockabilly’s all about the fashion,” he explains. “For some people it’s all about the music. I listen to so many different kinds of music. I wonder what these people would think if they knew I was listening to AC/DC just an hour ago in the van. They would probably hate me!”

Well, probably not. A lot of rockabilly fans came to it through other genres — heavy metal, punk, surf. And the Odyssey bill itself runs the gamut from garage punk (the Konks) to traditional honky-tonk (the Starline Rhythm Boys). One of the sweetest sights at the Middle East is five-year-old Emilia Kij, in little overalls and hot-rod-flame clodhoppers, shaking it up to the Sean Mencher Combo. Her mom, Ela, says Emilia loves all kinds of music, from Big Sandy and His Fly-Rite Boys to Motörhead. The Kijs were in town from Philadelphia, visiting friends, and Ela figured the Odyssey would be more edifying than a trip to the Aquarium. (Like more than a few rockafillies in the audience, Emilia is sporting leopard spots, but hers are confined to her stuffed animal.)

Another mixing of the ages comes when Ricky Coyne, Ernie Hamel, and Rick Bounty individually take the stage to do their (regional) hits with the Raging Teens on back-up. If guys like Coyne, Hamel, and Bounty hadn’t ever recorded, the late-’50s New England rock-and-roll landscape would’ve been a lot quieter, and the Raging Teens might’ve been a different band. They certainly wouldn’t have been the Raging Teens: they get their name from The Raging Teens, a three-CD compilation of New England rockabilly that came out on Norton Records in 1992. (On their new disc, Rock ’n’ Roll Party!, the Teens cover “Rollin’ Pin Mim,” a fabulous Ricky Coyne number that appeared on volume two of the compilation.)

Coyne, who’s now 57, lives in Waltham and has worked in real estate for a number of years. He doesn’t play anymore, explaining, “It’s too arduous. I wouldn’t be doing 11:30 sets here.” He seems to get a kick out of the attention the Raging Teens have thrown his way, and the respect is reciprocal: “The Raging Teens are a great group. They really do replicate the songs of the ’50s very well. And they write their own stuff too, which is a nice tribute to that early rock and roll.”

Coyne hasn’t been on stage in some time, and he admits to being a little nervous. “But I felt so comfortable with the Raging Teens because I knew that they knew the songs that I was going to do. And I’d have a great back-up band. All I’d have to do would be to get my voice going.” Which he does quite nicely on, among others, a take of “Rollin’ Pin Mim.”

Ernie Hamel, now 83 and living in Manchester, New Hampshire, played guitar on the 1958 Gene Maltais “The Raging Sea/Gangwar” single. He hasn’t played in years, so when Jack Warner (the 58-year-old record collector who helped compile the “Raging Teens” series) first told him about the show, he had his doubts about coming down to the Middle East. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to go because I thought I’d see guys with earrings and long hair. I didn’t see that. They were clean-cut guys. And girls. They were well groomed and well dressed. We had a good night.”

Still, Hamel boggles at the attention. “I was so surprised. I didn’t think they’d take a second look. But no, they were all by the stage watching. But it didn’t bother me. I didn’t get nervous. Or at least I don’t think I did. I did the best I could for what I’ve got. I never shook so many hands. And a few autographs. I told them, ‘I’m a nobody.’ ”

Kevin Patey certainly disagrees with that idea. Of sharing the stage with Hamel, he says, “What an honor. This is the guy that played on a record that quite possibly is one of my favorite records ever. And here he is on the stage with me. It was very emotional. I got a little choked up at points. I couldn’t sing right because it was like a dream.”

And there’s strong resistance to the melancholy business of life. A few months ago, the Kings of Nuthin’ experienced tragedy with the death of saxist Danny Edge, but the band power on. And ex-Shods Kevin Stevenson and Scott Pittman get up and bash out a messy, beautiful explosion of a set with Raging Teens’ bassist Matt Murphy. Before they were in the Shods, Stevenson and Pittman were in the Invaders, a straight-on rockabilly outfit, and they worked a quirky Invaders original, “Look at the Birds,” into their set. It’s been about six months since the two played together in any guise, so this is a treat; their brief squall has an added shot of poignancy in that Stevenson has been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. (Stevenson and Pittman join headliners the Kings of Nuthin’ at Lilli’s this Saturday, March 10.)

The day-into-the-wee-hours bash develops a universe of different stories. Fourteen hours of booze and music could easily lead to drunken brawls and general bad vibes. But other than a pair of idiotic women trying to dance and slamming into everyone within reach, the mood remains civilized. Here’s how Jack Warner sums it all up: “I’m very impressed with the ability of the different generations to get along based on the music. They give the respect to the people that they’re deserving of but you wouldn’t necessarily expect to see. . . . We recall what it was like originally, and at a certain point, the only people able to explain what went on will be the people who heard the stories from us. And that’s gonna be kids like Kevin [Patey] and kids that were here. It’s important that they get the actual information and not the Happy Days version of the ’50s.”

Issue Date: March 8 - 15, 2001