To hear this fellow tell it, just because I was usually writing about popular music was no reason to flat-out make up words that dont exist, or neologize (my term, not his) existing words to fit the bill.
Specifically, he was incensed by my repeated use of the term nugget to describe old, obscure, or otherwise unjustly overlooked tunes from a (presumably) Golden Age. Now, for the record, in rock parlance, nuggets or Nuggets, as theyre sometimes referred to are quite an established notion.
Coined by Patti Smith Group guitarist and music aficionado Lenny Kaye for use as the title of his early-70s anthology of rare American garage band tracks from the pre-psychedelic era, its now unfortunately become synonymous with virtually any underappreciated side from a salient artist that never cracked the mainstream.
Thats unfortunate, because it can only serve to dilute the initial intent: namely, to salute those intrepid souls who scraped by in the mid-60s, playing to half-empty dance halls, school gymns and armories.
Those idealistic and determined groups who saved up their meager gig money to record and press small runs of brittle, fuzzed-out 7-inch singles, all in the hopes of getting a little local airplay and making the jump from being regional kings to national jacks.
I mean, why not? The Kingsmen struck a type of gold with a barely decipherable, low-fi, ode to maritime travel called Louie, Louie, so why not anyone else?
Well, if theres any band in the land that knows the true meaning and value of The Nugget, its The Woggles.
This Atlanta quartet began in the Classic City of Athens, Georgia in 1987, and immediately established itself as one of the leading exponents of the U.S. garage-rock revival scene. With a look, sound, stage show and attitude that was (admittedly and respectfully) cribbed from a half-dozen other groups both existing and long-gone they appealed to both the uninitiated and the well-versed.
To those out of the loop who had never haunted flea markets and yard sales doing the sort of dusty, polyvinyl spelunking that for years was the prerequisite for earning even a laymans degree in vintage garage rock The Woggles matching outfits, ruffled bullfighter shirts, pegged slacks, shaggy hairdos and minimalist, pawn shop gear seemed as though it had emerged whole from some miasma of pop culture.
Then again, those of us who found such ephemera as beguiling as the bandmembers themselves, recognized their shtick for what it was: a glorious, carefully honed pastiche of audio/visual highlights from many of the best trashy, liquor-soaked groups of yore.
But that didnt stop both camps from loving this band like nobodys business. Fact of the matter is, most of the artists The Woggles emulate (and celebrate) had something that most of their competition could never muster: passion. Its what sets those rare and mostly-ignored sides apart from the tracks youll find ad nauseam on any number of Time-Life or Billboard compilations.
That same passion runs through everything The Woggles do. Its what defines their sweaty, foot-stomping live sets. Its what keeps frontman Manfred The Professor Jones climbing up on (willing) audience members shoulders at nearly each show from here to Japan, or dancing so hard that he injures himself.
Its what keeps his oversized tambourine shaking much harder than required, and its what keeps drummer Dan Electro Hall pounding out relentless primal rhythms on his tiny, oystershell trap set like some dapper cross between Ringo Starr and Moe Tucker from the VU.
And its that same passion that no doubt fueled their decision to soldier on after the sudden and tragic death of their longtime guitarist George "Montague" Holton, welcoming former Guadalcanal Diary axeman Jeff Flash Hammer Walls into their fold.
In the end, it doesnt matter that The Fleshtones were milking essentially the same act for a decade before The Woggles made their debut. It doesnt matter that most of what they do has been done before in one way or another, by everyone from The Music Machine to The Leaves to Link Wray.
What matters is The Woggles are doing it now, and theyre doing it to death.
Now, make this gig, and dont get me started on the phenomena commonly known in record collecting circles as The Timeless Chestnut... w
The Woggles play the hell out of The Jinx Friday.
