When I first heard about Starship Beer's Nut Music: As Free as the Squirrels, I was lost in reverie. I had a little fantasy, a daydream if you will:
It's late on a Thursday night in 1984. Los Angeles. Grace Slick, Mickey Thomas and the gang are holding a band meeting. You see, founding member Paul Kanter has just flown the coup, and the boys (and girl) of Jefferson Starship are in the midst of an identity crisis. After much heated debate (mostly surrounding the whereabouts of the requisite band meeting cocaine supply), they decide to get back to their roots-- which involves foregoing the nose candy in favor of large quantities of weed, hallucinogens, and beer.
So, the ol' hooka is dusted off, an RCA label lackey goes out back to pick some shrooms from the garden, and bassist Pete Sears whips out his old pal Lucky the Psychedelic Toad from the codpiece of his buckskin trousers. Before long, things start getting pretty "cosmic" and the band decides to strap on their gear and see what happens. And it's all good and mellow until Lucky decides to take a swim in Grace's beer mug, unbeknownst to her. Bad vibes commence.
"Paul!!! Paul, where are you?!?," Grace howls in her operatic tenor. "I'm cruising through the universe on Starship Beer! I'm knee deep in the hoopla! I'm cruising the universe in Starship Beer, knee deep in the hoopla!"
Meanwhile, the whole band starts freaking out. Drummer Danny Baldwin starts hitting everything in sight, whether it's part of his kit or not, and everyone else pretty much ditches their main instruments for piano, recorders, clarinets, and organ. Somebody even finds a shortwave radio and starts screwing with it. Suddenly, the spirit of Albert Ayler enters the room to conduct the whole mad orchestra.
A week passes before the next band meeting. This time, things go more smoothly. The cocaine supply has been replenished, and they all have a good laugh at what happened the week before. "That silly Grace, what a card," they say. As an in-joke they decide to name their next album Knee Deep in the Hoopla: Grace's bad trip will be a symbol of their rebirth. What's more, they decide to change the band's name from Jefferson Starship to Starship Beer to cement their commitment to their bold new musical direction.
But after a "reality check" with label execs, the whole plan is scrapped. It's decided that the bandname will simply be shortened to Starship so as not to confuse people. They're allowed to keep the album title, as it has a certain schmaltzy, vaguely blue-collar ring to it that will appeal to a broad range of everyday working class joes. But instead of avant-skronk freakout, the band goes with plan b, spewing forth "We Built this City" and "Sara."
The good news is that some far-sighted studio intern had the smarts to roll tape during the Starship Beer sessions, and now we can all bear witness to this anomalous wrinkle in musical history. Unfortunately, none of this is true. Well, except for the description of the music.
In reality, Starship Beer first took flight (forgive me) in the early 70s though most of the material on Nut Music: As Free as the Squirrels was recorded and released in limited quantities in late 1979. The band is comprised of a core trio of Wes Mingin, Pat O'Brien, and Kevin Whitehead, the latter eventually becoming a jazz critic for NPR's Fresh Air. They banded together while students at upstate New York's Oswego State, and have performed off and on ever since. This reissue, dug up as part of Atavistic's Unheard Music Series, contains four bonus tracks-- two from the 70s, two from the 80s-- making it a must for the Starship Beer completist in your family.
On the lead-off track, "Black/White White/Black," the band tests the limits of listenability with a jive-poetry rant that owes more than a little to Captain Beefheart: "I got black pants/ I got black shoes/ I got white shirt/ I got white sunglasses.../ And when I walk out the door, my eyes begin to fall like rain." The rest of the song is made up of variations on these bare statements, while a bass and an electric guitar chase each other around.
The next hour or so is all over the place: solo piano meanderings, extemporaneous verse, honking clarinets, feedback assault, all apparently improvised. It all pretty much falls into the category Lester Bangs termed "horrible noise," meaning it's pretty good if you're like me and are into this kinda nonsense. Still, I guarantee that you'll listen to this no more than twice: once for your own enlightenment, and once again when someone sees it in your collection and says, "What the hell is Starship Beer?" At which point you have my permission to tell them a little story about Grace Slick and company.
