When the Stray Cats burst upon the scene, some quickly judged them to be a poor man’s Sha-Na-Na at worst, poseurs at best. The East Village Eye declared that the band was “about as much rockabilly as the Doobie Brothers.”
The band’s rise and fall (along with periodic re-risings) is chronicled by Christopher McKittrick in the new release, Howling to the Moonlight on a Hot Summer Night: The Tale of the Stray Cats (Backbeat, 232 pp, $26.95). As a native of Long Island, McKittrick is well-equipped to tell the story of a band which was founded in the same New York City suburb, went to England to be discovered and then burned brightly during the ‘80s.
A familiarity with the milieu in which the Stray Cats began their journey to stardom serves McKittrick well in Howling to the Moonlight. This in marked contrast to his previous book, Gimme All Your Lovin’: The Blues, Boogie, and Beard of ZZ Top’s Billy F. Gibbons. In the case of the former, McKittrick seems to be in his element. With the latter, well, maybe it’s too much to ask a New Yorker to really understand the nuances of Lone Star culture.
The Stray Cats story has not been told often in print, so Howling to the Moonlight is largely a treat, containing pieces of trivia for nerdy music fans to file away for future reference. Stray Cats drummer Slim Jim Phantom published an autobiography, A Stray Cat Struts, in 2016, and it is a highly entertaining read, particularly the story of how Phantom became trapped in a backstage bathroom after a testy Keith Richards abruptly ordered that his dressing room be cleared following what he believed was a substandard show. Fortunately for Phantom, Richards was not upset when the drummer tried to sneak out of the privy after finishing his business, inviting the drummer to sit down and have a beer because he was a musician and, therefore, understood Richards’ sour mood.
Howling casts a rare light on band leader Brian Setzer’s musical pursuits prior to the Stray Cats, when he fronted a group called Bloodless Pharaohs (frequently misspelled by band members on their promotional materials), which aped Roxy Music and their New Romantics / New Wave progeny. Still, as a YouTube video demonstrates, hints of Setzer’s future were already in the mix, e.g. his rendition of “Park Avenue Beat,” a piece which served as the theme for the Perry Mason television show and was later performed by the Brian Setzer Orchestra.
As a means of explaining how Setzer, Phantom and bassist Lee Rocker became the Stray Cats, McKittrick does an admirable job charting the genesis of rockabilly, a style of music that peaked during the late ‘50s, emphasizing its wild and rowdy nature. Sure, most music lovers know Elvis Presley and, to a lesser degree Carl Perkins, but few are aware of the crazy bastards that gave rockabilly its kick, folks like Gene Vincent, Sleepy LaBeef and Jumpin’ Gene Simmons. From there, McKittrick details the rising tide of ‘50s nostalgia that emerged in the early ‘70s, thanks to the film American Graffiti, the television show “Happy Days” and the Broadway musical Grease.
This historical sidebar sets the scene for the Stray Cats’ emergence, which was hastened by a trip to England, where the band heard rockabilly was growing in popularity. To be sure, the Stray Cats were not some lame oldies act. They were kids who had absorbed the ethos and the energy of punk rock while gigging at Manhattan clubs like Max’s Kansas City and CBGB.
Additional fuel was thrown on the fire in the form of admiration on the part of the Rolling Stones, who attended some of the band’s first shows in England and actually thought about signing the Cats to Rolling Stones Records. Typical of the supportive attitude exhibited by a number of British artists (including members of Led Zeppelin and The Who), former Faces bassist Ronnie Lane even let the guys crash at his house for a few days.
Adding to the Cats’ appeal was a striking visual style, one that incorporated pompadours, leather and lots of tattoos. Utilizing an unusual stage plot, the three musicians lined up in a row at the front of the stage, with Setzer in the middle, singing into a vintage chrome microphone, drummer Phantom stage right, and bassist Rocker stage left. Each member brought something to the show, with Phantom playing a minimal (no hi-hat, no toms) drum kit while standing up and Rocker taking a cue from his rockabilly forbears, spinning his upright bass around, climbing on it, and generally beating the hell out of the instrument.
After working with pub rocker Dave Edmunds (“I Hear You Knocking”), who produced their debut album in 1981, the Stray Cats headed back across the pond, arriving in the United States as conquering heroes after notching hits like “Stray Cat Strut,” “Sexy + 17” and “Rock This Town.” The hits kept coming, aided in large part by the band’s heavy presence on MTV.
In 1984, however, Setzer decided to throw in the towel. The Cats’ most recent album, Rant N’ Rave with the Stray Cats hadn’t sold as well as its predecessors, and, according to McKittrick, this shook Setzer’s confidence in the band, along with a media backlash in both England and the United States. McKittrick reports that one reviewer said of the album, “The Stray Cats couldn’t lick Jerry Lewis’ boots. Jerry Lee could blow them off stage on a stretcher on the way to the hospital after a massive coronary.” Another wag observed that Setzer looked like one of the cartoon characters on the Rice Krispies box.
When Setzer called Phantom and Rocker to deliver the news of the band’s demise, both were incensed by his decision, and by the fact that Setzer had chosen to break up the band over the telephone. Consequently, the three musicians did not speak to each other for some time. Eventually, the band members managed to repair their relationship in 1986, motivated, no doubt, by the opportunity to record a new album, go on tour and earn much more money than they had during the past couple of years.
McKittrick tells the story in a competent, workmanlike fashion. Don’t expect any clever turns of the phrase here, much less a bon mot. And, for that matter, don’t look for anything salacious, as McKittrick sticks to rock and roll for the most part, with precious little ink given to sex or drugs.
The Stray Cats’ periodic reunions, along with the members’ other musical pursuits (among them the Brian Setzer Orchestra and the trio Phantom, Rocker and Slick), are covered as well, but it is the band’s rocket ride during the early ‘80s that makes for the most entertaining reading. The Cats still occasionally hit the road these days, and, aside from a few extra pounds here and there, it is — to quote one of the band’s contemporaries on MTV — the same as it ever was.
This article appears in Jan 1 – Dec 31, 2024.
