The ghosts of American Music are all around us. They glide in and out of our lives, all but undetected, enshrouded in familiarity and nostalgia. But occasionally the ghosts get restless and make themselves known. They find musicians ripe for possession, folks with syncopated heartbeats and a flair for wantonness. The ghosts rub against us when we're smoking muggles or swilling bathtub gin. They are present in the smell of a crowd; body musk and booze, cigarette smoke, excitement and platform sweat. And sometimes you can hear them crooning madness when the Squirrel Nut Zippers play.

It all began when Jim Mathus (vocals, guitar, trombone) and Katharine Whalen (vocals, banjo), a couple of mad young artists, left Chapel Hill for the rural splendor of Efland, NC in 1993. They renovated an old farmhouse, and filled the rest of their time painting, making puppets, and listening to old jazz records. Jim practiced his guitar playing and taught Katharine how to play the banjo. Katharine began secretly singing to herself in the car. Soon, under the guise of unwinding from their labors, Jim and Katharine mysteriously began frying chicken, and inviting their friends over to "play music."

At first they shared company with two unusual young men. Bassist, and licensed biomedical engineer, Don Raleigh of Washington, DC and a former Democratic party worker from St. Louis, Ken Mosher (guitar, baritone and alto sax, vocals).

Before long, Chris Phillips showed up with his bag of strange, percussive sound effects, adding a comedic charm to the recipe. Sticking with the percussive duties while Ken beat the skins, Chris soaked up the rhythmic ideas that were being carved out. Shortly before the first album was recorded he made the move to the trap kit. With Ken free to realize his commanding talents as multi-instrumental arranger and soloist, the boys never looked back. Drawing not only from years of touring with bands such as Subculture and Grover, but also from the profound influences of Gary Cole and Max Roch, Chris dealt a hard hitting attack to the rhythm section. "l took what I knew about rock drumming and applied it to what I imagined about old school jazz drumming."

Meanwhile, another restless Rock and Roll musician was stalking around Chapel Hill bedeviled by Hot Music. Tom Maxwell (vocals, guitar, baritone sax and clarinet) had been listening obsessively to jazz and early swing, since the dissolution of his outfit What Peggy Wants. He had steeped himself in the menacing beauty of Fats Waller's pipe organ pieces, the exuberant spiritual compromise of Cab Calloway's bandstand patois, and the brazen cocksure threat of old time Calypso artists like Lord Executor and The Growler. Maxwell was ripe, and with little coaxing, he joined the band.

Named for an old time brand of chewy peanut-flavored sweets (still made in Massachusetts), The Squirrel Nut Zippers debuted in a tiny basement bistro playing for many of Chapel Hill's jaded clever set. The show was a triumph, startling the milque-toasts and school marms into acts of abandon and passion. Overnight, The Squirrel Nut Zippers had a feverish, delirious following.

Dazzled and sweaty-palmed, the executives at the Mammoth Recording Company of Carrboro, North Carolina signed The Zippers up to make some records. After some "woodshedding," they recorded The Inevitable with Brian Paulson (Uncle Tupelo, Superchunk, Slint, Unrest, The Spinanes) over nine days at Hillsborough, NC's WaveCastle.

Since The Inevitable was released, The Squirrel Nut Zippers have enchanted their way into a modest fame. They've appeared on national television (Conan O'Brien), and at millionaire's weddings. They've played at Fourth of July celebrations and film festivals (Sundance). They're on the road fifteen days a month, playing to happy, dance-mad crowds all over the south, and up and down the east coast. They conjured a near riot at the Cafe Du Nord in San Francisco. Don Raleigh's composition, "Anything But Love" was picked up by Miramax for use in the feature film Flirting With Disaster.

Last summer, Tom, Jim and Ken took a break from touring and made a pilgrimage to New Orleans. They ate and drank and walked the streets, absorbing the beautiful menace of the city. The three paid a visit to Daniel Lanois' Kingsway Recording Studio, and immediately fell in love with the elegant, allegedly haunted facility. It was a temple to musical heritage and a warehouse of vintage recording equipment; speakers from Abbey Road, a mixing board made for Jimi Hendrix, and ancient compressors and recording devices of all shapes and sizes.

"We went to this palace with a three story balcony, and a hanging garden on the second floor," says Mathus. "We walked in and sat in the parlor and talked to the people there, and it was just love at first sight for us." The band descended on Kingsway in October to begin work on the Hot album.

With spirits of all kinds in attendance, the Squirrel Nut Zippers began recording Hot. This time the Zippers were determined to record their record the way their heroes had; live to tape in single takes, with very few microphones. They recorded for ten days, beginning at noon and worked until around midnight.

"We did everything live, straight to the tape. The vocals, the horns, everything. "Put a Lid On It" was done with one mic, not counting the drums and bass," explains Mathus. "And Katharine did all of her vocals right there, as the band played."

For the recording The Squirrel Nut Zippers were blessed with the help of two additional musicians, Duke Heitger and Andrew Bird.

Mathus recalls, "The Duke guy came in cold. He listened to the songs and just digested them. It was amazing, second nature to him, first nature really. We gave him a little whiskey, and he got laid back, and blew out about one song an hour. He's the best musician we've ever seen."

Andrew Bird, a fiddle player from Chicago,first crossed paths with the Zippers at a music festival in Asheville, NC. He went to see them at a gig in Chicago, and announced that he HAD to play with them. After learning their set backstage, he took the stage and fiddled himself a place in the Zipper's hearts. Bird joined the band in New Orleans for the recording, and infected everyone with his musicianship and enthusiasm.

In November, Je Widenhouse, a quasi-professional gardener and family man from Asheville, North Carolina joined the band as the full time trumpet player. Je played with original Zipper trumpeter, Stacey Guess in Chapel Hill's Sex Police, and had been straying sharp playing in the college jazz ensembles in Asheville when he got the call. "Je has added a big-toned. ballsy, hair-parting, raucous horn sound to the line up," says Mathus. "The people go nuts when he plays. Then the rest of us don't have much choice."

The Squirrel Nut Zippers are enjoying themselves these days. "The great thing in this band is the friendly competition going on," says Maxwell. "Jim taught himself how to play the trombone, so I got inspired and picked up the clarinet. And when we're performing, we're constantly drawing from each other and the crowd. When somebody is playing really good and really loose, I get that way. There's just a momentum, that everybody's trying to do better."

"And this is happening to us, now,"adds Mathus. "Every night when we play. There ain't much nostalgia to it. This is very happening."