Hopefully obscure

Kenne Highland's long road to cultdom, plus an update from Puddle

by John O'Neill

It's probably more than a coincidence that Boston's Kenne Highland was born in Virginia -- the geographic starting point for many of America's wildest, sickest, and most respected cult-rockers. Mojo Nixon, Hasil Adkins, Link Wray, Dex Romweber -- all come from the fertile triangle of Virginia, West Virginia, and North Carolina. They carry the credentials of a fervent and fanatical fan base and have toiled in obscurity, some for decades, before receiving due respect. And now Kenne Highland, after 22 years and 35 albums into the business, is beginning to smell success.

"I find it interesting that a lot of younger kids now, all of the sudden, [consider] '77 as the root of their music," says Highland from his day job at Boston University. "A lot of them had my records in high school and now they have bands that I'm opening for! But they do their homework and ask questions, and I regale them with stories of what I was doing when they were in diapers."

Getting his career off to a dubious start with the Indiana snot-punk band the Gizmos (who recorded four rare EPs for Gulcher Records, the same label that gave little Johnny Cougar his start), Highland moved to Boston in 1980 after a four-year hitch in the Marines. From there he played in a slew of bands who revered '60s garage and '70s punk, most notably the Exploding Pidgins, the Hopelessly Obscure (whose psychedelic "Everything She Says Is Cryptic -- She's So Obscure" stands as one of the '80s garage-movement's greatest numbers), Johnny and the Jumper Cables, and the Kenne Highland Clan. After a second shot at marriage and at a city caught up in the early '90s alterna-boom, Highland packed up his guitar and retired from performing. And then he became suddenly popular.

"Life began for me at 40, musically," he says with a chuckle. "The early '90s were not good. I retired; but people began bugging me to do shows. So I came back. Now it's great that the kids dig me. I'm meeting girls, and I'm old enough to be their father."

The new Kenne Highland Clan, featuring the John Felice-alum rhythm section of Bruce Hamel and Matt Burns, along with guitarist Mike Quirk, have been regulars on the Boston scene, performing at the Linwood Grille, Middle East Cafe, and Kirkland's Club Bohemia. (They'll appear in Worcester at the Above Club Saturday, November 7.) And Highland appears to be back on top. The Clan have a new CD slated for release on Northampton-based Dino Records (Stanton Park Records will release the vinyl version). Washington's Bag-O-Hammers Records will be re-releasing the Gizmos' material. And Highland recently received a thousand dollar royalty check from the Swedish band Fator, who have sold 10,000 copies of his tune "Kiss of the Rat."

"It's like Willie Dixon living in the projects while Led Zeppelin covers his songs," equates Highland.

"You always have to take it day by day, you just stick to your style and you'll have it" he says of his new-found success. "B.B King played the chitlin' circuit for 40 years. I want to move back down to Virginia when I retire. I figure if you're from one of the 13 Confederate states, you just do music and live longer."

Why Puddle Rein

If Kenne Highland is finally starting to get his due some 20-plus years into his career, you gotta wonder how long it will be till folks wake up to Dave Parent. As the frontman for the criminally overlooked Puddle, Parent has been churning out some of the finest music ever to call Worcester home. Beginning with the 1993 demo tape Milk Money, and continuing on for three excellent full-length releases and an EP, Puddle's collective body of work is unparalleled in Worcester in terms of quality output. And, just as in the beginning of the decade, when they were overshadowed by ultimately lesser bands, Puddle continue to grind away on the fringe of acceptance like the unloved, redheaded stepchild of the music scene.

"We always get polite applause, if the crowd don't like [the music] they don't show it," says Parent of the general ambivalence accorded the band. "But they don't buy anything either. Our audience are people like us . . . they don't go out!"

Operating out of their rehearsal space near the Midtown Mall, the band (Parent, drummer Tom Woundy, and bassist Jim Quenneville) are on the eve of releasing their newest EP, the three-song quickie Walking Around the Sun (Apostrophe), and looking to capitalize on the first solid line-up since bass player Greg Olson split for the Midwest. Quenneville, a Toronto transplant, finally solidified the ongoing bass problems shortly after Parent and Woundy finished their third album, Loner, as a duo.

"It's a musical opportunity and a challenge I haven't had before," Quenneville explains. "Most recently I was in a Heart tribute, so this was a big jump. But I love the energy and the music."

Walking Around the Sun picks up on Parent's running fixation with razor-edged pop-punk, and specifically, Bob Mould. It's not exactly a mirror image, but the similarities are unmistakable. Parent wraps his messages of alienation, angst, love, and (mis)understanding around the same uncompromising mix of melodic hardcore and firepower that Mould made famous. And, not so surprisingly, Puddle take on the same hard-hitting dynamics of a Hüsker Dü/Sugar synthesis. But where Loner, a concept album of Parent's thinly veiled trip into adulthood, almost drowned in his self-conscious attempts at brute honesty, Walking Around the Sun is a step back to the more upbeat sound the band caught on their debut, And They All Began With `A'.

"It's not as heavy, not as serious," Parent agrees. "Loner had a weight and a purpose. Maybe this goes down easier."

Produced by longtime engineer Roger Lavallee, the new EP sparkles with a cool indie-pop crispness that offsets the usual hard-fast rule by which Puddle have played till now. It's a more confident, assured session that finds Parent in a good state of mind, and the band in top form.

They head back into the studio later this year for the final Puddle release; Parent is sticking to a self-imposed timetable to record a notebook of songs and dissolve the band. How history will treat Puddle is uncertain, though it's unlikely there will ever be another area band who have worked so long and hard for so little in return. It's been a true labor of love.

"I don't have any intentions of keeping this together, though Tom and Jim will probably still play together," says Parent. "When we're called for a reunion show, I just wanna get paid. That would be different!"