Ken Wilkinson, nephew of the Nervous Eaters' late, great drummer Jeff Wilkinson, sent me an email recently:

"Growing up I often listened to the group practice in my Grandparents home in Beverly, Mass...the only recording I have is of their one and only self titled album. It came in a bright yellow jacket which the members used to 'autograph' by taking a bite out of each corner!"

The dental autographs brought back memories of how genuinely "old school" rocking the band was, while the Beverly reference reminded me that the band was one of the many pivotal groups that rose from the suburbs to dominate the local scene in the early years when the underground was forming. Indeed, if there is one major, shared characteristic of those crucial years between 1969 and 1975 (besides the 'shag' haircut), it has to be the role of bands emmigrating to Boston from both North and South Shores, the areas surrounding Greater Boston, and particularly the western 'burbs.

Whether boredom, wanderlust, ambition or suburban desperation was the motivating force behind this friendly invasion, the end result was a trickle of music in a few Kenmore Square clubs which soon became a city-wide flood. Taking a cue from the Kenmore area dance clubs where the Lost, Barry and the Remains, and the Lovelace Lads entertained mainly collegiate crowds, and adding some of the street credibility of New York cousins such as the New York Dolls and Velvet Underground, the deluge was begun by a handful of suburban groups including Mickey Clean and the Mezz, the Real Kids, DMZ, Willie Loco Alexander,Reddy Teddy ... and the Nervous Eaters. Sharing oceanside and suburban venues (like Beverly's Sunnyside-see poster at left) with the Modern Lovers, Aerosmith, and more mainstream groups as well, these bands sought a new, grass roots scene with the kind of musical freedom enjoyed at house parties and basement rehearsals, places to play original music away from dance and resort club pressures to play cover material. They kicked in the doors of one, then another, and then a third club, with Ground Zero for the new scene located at the Rat (Kenmore Square's Rathskeller), and soon they were joined by a score of other groups, many hailing from outside the city: Thundertrain, Fox Pass, Susan, Sass, the Infliktors, Tracks, Thrills, Richard Nolan and Third Rail, Marc Thor, Baby's Arm, Unnatural Axe, Fighter, even Connecticut's Dirty Angels; the floodgates were open, and the Nervous Eaters helped open them.

The Eaters were a straight ahead, no frills rock outfit that also wrote some of the catchiest tunes to be heard in the newly liberated rooms around town: the Rat, the Club and Cantones. Their signature tune "(Walk With) Loretta" still stands as one of the era's best, the sort of song that defies you to stand still while listening. Along with the Real Kids infectuous "All Kindsa Girls", the Modern Lovers relentless "Road Runner", LaPeste's morality tale "Better Off Dead", Willie Loco Alexander's "Mass Ave" and the Neighborhoods "Prettiest Girl", "Loretta" instantly recalls a place and a time while remaining timeless in it's roots-rock power to excite. A paean to the rock and roll dream girl in her "cool slacks and sweater", it's enough just to walk around with his "sweet Loretta child" for the singer to "feel like Number One" (though more than walkin' musta gone on, as in the end her sweet lovin' has Steve addressing her gams: "legs never let me go!"). And what guy or gal hasn't experienced that feeling- the high you get from one special person who makes you feel like Number One, just walking aroung with 'em.

Along with the mantle of "old school" came some of the typical insanities of that period. Most contemporaries of the group will recall that one former member was a well-known kleptomaniac. Said member, who shall remain nameless, often moonlighted as a roadie for other groups, and before too long it was common knowledge that things had a tendency to disappear on those nights he worked. There were confrontations, and more than one beating was delivered. One night at the Rat he set what may still stand as the All-Musician Land Speed Record when he was chased out the back door by a none-too-happy former "employer" who, as I seem to remember, was wielding a Stanley claw hammer. He ended up spending the night underneath a sedan in the rear parking lot, no doubt praying to the patron saint of petty criminals that the car's owner wouldn't decided to head home early. I imagine for the next few days he was a Nervous Eater in more than name alone. This incident may have had a reforming affect, because later on said Eater went on to work for a number of high profile touring bands.

Another problem which went along with the times, and probably kept the Nervous Eaters from being one of the first Punk-era bands to be signed to a primo major label deal, was that old devil's foot powder. Dooj, dope, downtown, boy, shit, call it what you will, but heroin probably destroyed the careers of more Boston bands than even MCA records (many mid-to-late 70's rockers insisted the initials stood for Music Cemetery of America). More than one of the original members of the band fell into the same trap as a number of the most talented and promising musicians and writers in the early Boston Underground. Probably half of those first few dozen groups who paved the way for a major local scene would suffer at least one dope casualty; there were even a few self-admitted junkie bands. Over the years the Eaters had more than one member with a monkey climbing around on his back. It was probably only the clear-headed leadership of Steve Cataldo that held the whole ball of wax together...though even that wasn't enough for a great band to be able to cash in on their considerable talents and status as Underground pioneers. Without a major hometown music industry like London or New York (or Los Angeles, whose DIY scene lagged way behind the East Coast) , the Botown groups already faced a considerable disadvantage- despite the fact that they were part of a scene that was every bit as diverse and interesting as that of the UK or CBGB/Max's Kansas City. Dope just made an already tough job next to impossible.

DOPEY CHOICES
From the comfortable vantage point of 2001 it may seem incomprehensible that talented, creative and often very intelligent cats- most of whom worked underpaid music store, club or record shop jobs -would let themselves be hobbled by acquiring a heroin habit. I remember just after my brother's death, when I stepped into his life and started shooting dope, going to the apartment of one of the Nervous Eaters to cop. His old lady was very nice, and also strung out. They doted on their baby like any other parents, and the guy himself was an extremely likeable cat (in fact I still like him). I thought "why would this guy want to be a pusher?" Well, just the fact that I thought in terms like "pusher" should key you in to how naive I was. The truth is that none of these guys- nor myself -realized what we were getting ourselves into when we started using dope on a regular basis. There are as many reasons for using heroin as there are for any other endeavor: going to college, joining a band, preferring blondes over brunettes. For most of us, we knew it made us feel great, and that was enough. When something feels great, especially if it also happens to kill any physical or emotional pain you may be experiencing, you tend to keep on doing it. Sex, booze, prescription drugs, shopping, accruing money, and even gambling can fill the bill just as readily. But arguably none of those will drain your income and make you a social pariah quite as quickly or in quite the same way as dope. By the time you look around and realize your hooked, it's already too late. Eventually all your money is gone, your possessions are sold or in pawn shops, and you hit a point where weaker or less moral personalities steal or sell their asses, and even the nicest types either have to hustle (by providing a way for other junkies to cop) or take any shitty job that lets them earn under the table and be paid by the day. Once you realize what time it is, even a determined soul finds it's a long, slow climb back out of the hole. Climbing the lofty peaks of sucess and fame is no longer an issue; just getting out of the hole and back onto level ground is a full time gig. I'm speaking now of all the bands and musicians who hit that same wall, and I don't mean to give the impression that the Nervous Eaters were any worse or different than any of the other groups who faced this problem because one or more members had a habit- my own included. It takes time for a dope habit to develop, and to start getting in the way of your life; it's just as probable that inter-band strife, management decisions, artistic differences between members, label cluelessness or just plain bad luck were the reason the Eaters aren't being played at this very moment on your local classic radio station. But the Eaters played the same clubs and breathed the same as the other top bands in the mid-to-late 70's Boston scene, and it was not a very healthy atmosphere once the poppy ascended. "Nuff said.

The Nervous Eaters have done periodic reunions over the years. I ws fortunate enough to catch one or two of those shows, and it was remarkable how much of their original, ballsy power remained unaltered. I'd have to attribute a lot of that, once again, to the leadership of Steve Cataldo (who, by the way, was NEVER to my knowledge stupid enough to mess with dope). The guy can write some memorable tunes, there's simply no debate. You tend to forget amidst the lasting legacy of rockers like "Loretta" and "Go Get Stuffed" that the band could also play rock ballads with the best of them- and not the cheesy, faux emotional crap that passes as a power ballad since Kiss released "Beth", either...you know, the tripe every metal band releases as a single to up their sales, through the premeditated and formulaic duping of record-buying 16 year-old girls... the ones where the guy never seems to be able to make it through the night, and words like "forever" and "outlaw" and "baby" keep popping up.