By Tom Sahagian '74
What
obscure rock band has played on the same stage as Bruce Springsteen
and entertained college presidents, federal prosecutors, and drunken
lounge lizards alike for the past 30 years?
The surprising answer: Swarthmore's own contribution to pop culture, the Narwhals. This Alumni Weekend, when the first chords of "Jumpin' Jack Flash" chainsawed their way into the collective cortex of the Class of 1976, the band marked its 30th anniversary--an occasion enough for a brief history of the rise, fall, and rise of these durable cetaceans.
Although the precise origins of the band are now hazy, the story began in the fall of 1970, when I joined roommates Peter Jaquette '74 and Jim Gish '74 in Wharton A-102 for some impromptu recording sessions. In early 1971, Gish and I played three songs in a truncated talent show in the Rathskellar in the Tarble Student Center. I'll never forget Linda Gibson '73 complimenting me on my voice. I couldn't believe anyone would actually enjoy hearing me sing. It gave me the confidence to continue, for better or worse.
In October 1971, a group comprising Gish, Jim Kelly '74, Dan Gibbon '74, and me as the vocalist; David Baskin '74 on drums; and a name lost to history on bass played a dance at the Phi Sigma Kappa frat house. Mimeographed flyers billed the band as "Jim Gish, Jim Kelly, Tom Sahagian, and Friends." Gish remembers: "The audience was dancing so hard that you could see the floorboards bouncing up and down. That's when I knew we had something special--in many ways, the band was born that night."
In fact, the Narwhals name had been coined the previous spring, by Gish. While perusing a booklet on whaling from hard-rock band Mountain's "Nantucket Sleighride," I asked him, "Have you ever heard of a narwhal?" In a moment of inscrutable inspiration, Gish responded, "No, but why don't we call ourselves Nathan and the Narwhals?"
In any event, Nathan and the Narwhals made their stage debut at the Talent Show in the fall of 1972, with Bruce Bond '76 on bass and Ed Frost '73 on sax. Then-Phoenix critic (and now federal prosecutor) Jim Shee-han '74 noted that "no one has ever accused Tom of having a good voice, but Lord knows it's loud enough." Critical acclaim in hand, the band went on to play a well-received Christmas gig in Sharples, among others. The transfer of Bond to Pomona and creative differences with the drummer resulted in a new rhythm section in the fall of 1973--Jed Hauck '75 on bass and Frank DeColvenaere '75 on drums (in classic rock-band fashion, Baskin learned he was no longer the drummer when he found the Narwhals playing in the Scott Amphitheater without him during orientation).
Along with the addition of Jaquette on keyboards, the band acquired an agent from nearby Media, who succeeded in landing us several glamorous dates, including the Officer's Club at the Philadelphia Naval Yard and the Rendezvous Bar in New Hope, Pa. "The Rendezvous was probably one of our strangest gigs," recalls Jaquette. "It was a long drive to the middle of nowhere and nearly impossible to find. The audience consisted largely of one drunk guy repeatedly yelling, 'Play "Wipeout"!'"
Gibbon recalls another nightmare gig: "We had somehow snared a gig at a frat house at Franklin & Marshall. The room was too small to accommodate both the band and the audience, so we had to set up in a small room across the hall. Most of the time, I couldn't actually see any of the people we were playing for. We might as well have been on the radio."
The band continued to play regularly at the College, building a fan base (for lack of a better term) that would last for decades. Many of their innovations, like cross-dressing, writhing on the floor while performing, and playing heavy-metal versions of "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" and "Gilligan's Island," were imitated--without attribution--by others in years to come. But soon after Don Jackson '75 became the drummer in the spring of 1974, distractions such as Honors exams and graduation eventually harpooned the Narwhals.
In the early '80s, the Narwhals, re-energized by groups like the Clash, triumphantly resurfaced to play a series of highly successful New Year's parties in New York City and played more or less annually at a bewildering array of venues, including a dentist's backyard (the police stopped us before the first song was even completed) and the Christmas party of the U.S. Attorney's Office in Philadelphia. Most recently, they played at the reunions of the classes of '69, '74, and '75. This past December, they successfully revived the New York City New Year's tradition, which they hope to perpetuate.
Despite the fact that at least 25 people have performed under the banner of the Narwhals during the past 30 years, the core lineup remained remarkably stable: Gish, Gibbon, and me, with Jackson the current and longest-tenured drummer. Gish, now in the throes of a Garboesque retreat from band activity, is said to be in Vermont working on a solo album tentatively titled "The Narwhals' Last Gig Was in 1999." Jaquette re-entered the picture in 1994 for the Class of '74's 20th reunion gig and then cemented his re-entry when he and his family moved to the Philadelphia area. He now lives in Seattle but still manages to make rehearsals: "We are looking into having virtual rehearsals over the Internet, so I don't have to use up all my air miles," Jaquette says, only half in jest. Meanwhile, the band uses e-mail extensively to stay in touch, schedule rehearsals, and argue about the set list for the next gig.
Frost rejoined in 1999, after a 25-year hiatus from the band--and the saxophone. Steve Gray, manager of a helicopter company in West Chester, Pa., and an experienced bass player, has been with the band since 1999 as well. One constant from the beginning has been ace guitarist Jim Kelly. Not only does he sit in on most Narwhal gigs, but "Sri" Kelly also serves as the band's unofficial spiritual adviser. Jackson notes sardonically: "As anyone who has ever been in a band for more than 5 minutes will tell you, the hardest part is the interpersonal stuff, the politics. It's a miracle that we've stayed together as long as we have."
The Narwhals repertoire consists mainly of rock, blues, and R&B material from the '60s and '70s, but we occasionally venture into the waters of original material. Jackson, a tenured history professor at La-fayette College, plays with student bands on campus and writes songs; the Narwhals usually include one or two at each performance.
Jackson is not the only band member with outside musical interests; Gibbon plays with two other bands in Philadelphia. I formed a band with other parents at my daughter's school and brought in Gibbon and Frost on their respective instruments when local parents were unavailable.
Why do these guys, all white-collar professionals pushing 50, still play together? With Jaquette in Seattle, Frost and me in the New York City area, Gish in Vermont, and the rest in metropolitan Philadelphia, the geographic barriers alone would be enough to daunt most people. Yet "it's the biggest kick I've ever had as a grown-up," says Frost, a former journalist turned private investigator. "Rejoining this band has changed my life." Jaquette, an economist with Weyerhaeuser, agrees: "It's a great bunch of guys, and playing music with them is one of the most fun things I can
think of." Gray, whose solid bass playing glues the band together, says, "I've played with a lot of bands and with scores of really great players over the past 30 years or so, and I have to say I've never enjoyed playing with any group more than this one."
Not that it's all smooth sailing. There's a certain amount of bickering, of course--you've got six guys who care about music and who are used to getting their way a good portion of the time. Conflict is inevitable. Gibbon, now a partner at a small law firm and no stranger to conflict resolution, notes with amusement that, "For some reason, when we enter the re-
hearsal studio, we immediately regress to our teen personas and act as if we hadn't spent the last 30 years learning how to be adults."
What was that about Springsteen? Well, it's true; Springsteen and the Narwhals both played in the Scott Amphitheater--about 9 months apart. And, as for the college president--Gibbon explains: "When we played for the classes of '69 and '74 in 1994, one of the most enthusiastic dancers in the crowd was Nancy Bekavac '69, who just happens to be the president of Scripps College. I'm sorry to say that we haven't been able to get Al Bloom to boogie down with us yet, but we're working on it."
All of that is fine, but how good are these guys, anyway? Observes Frost, "When we first started, we were pretty raw. But we had a lot of enthusiasm, and people responded to that. Now, people tell us that we actually sound pretty good. At the end of the night at the Class of '74's reunion, the crowd was chanting, 'More! More! More!' We must be doing something right."
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