Squirrel Nut Zippers

at The Middle East Cafe
by Clarendon Lavorich

Arriving in my tuxedo and tails, a beautiful woman on my arm, and a swagger in my step, I stepped into the Middle East to see some serious Dixieland. It seems I stood out, being the only one (apart from the band) who was dressed impeccably. The crowd was “alternative,” if sloppy is a fashion statement. The opening band? Loud punk-ish rock. I didn’t stay long. Adjourning upstairs, I sampled the fine cuisine and spirits that were offered until the rumbling downstairs ended. Now it was time.

The Squirrel Nut Zippers took the stage looking better than I did, and launched into the up-tempo swing sound that has yet to lose its appeal. Grabbing my girl by the hand, we spun and twirled, jitterbugging, doing the Charleston, Lindy, and the Two-Step. We were the only ones. Uneducated cretins. They never learned how to dance, did they? Ah well. It’s not as if they weren’t excited. I was pleasantly surprised at the cheering and whistling the Zippers received. An era resurrected that night, a time that glinted with genetic memory of a better age, remembered even by our fearless publisher, stumbling in during the last song, plastered to the wall with Jägermeister. In the future, I want all of you smart-ass punks to clean yourselves up and dress properly, and show some respect for classy music.