In 1989, I was an undergraduate student at Brigham Young University. I was playing bass in the BYU Philharmonic and also in a jazz combo, and was looking for other musical opportunities. One day, on the bulletin board of the music building, I saw a flyer that had been posted by a singer and trombonist who was looking for a band. If I'd known what was going to happen I'd have kept a copy of that flyer, but my recollection is that it said the person in question was looking to start a group that would play ska, reggae, funk, and rock, and listed several bands as influences: Fishbone, the Specials, the English Beat, the Clash, etc.
This sounded fantastic to me. I took down the phone number and went back to my apartment and called. Thus I came into contact with Rod Middleton. He and I got together and shared some songs that we loved, and I started figuring out how to play them on the guitar while we looked for more people to join us. Eventually (I don't remember how) we made contact with a local guy named Russ Cluff, who played bass and shared a lot of our musical tastes. He was an outstanding bass player and had a particular gift for writing, which was important -- early on, it was clear that we'd eventually want to start writing our own songs, not just playing covers.
Swim Herschel Swim logo, designed by Dave Merkley
Soon we made a connection to another local musician, a high school student who played the drums (and whose name, I'm ashamed to say, I don't remember). He was a fine drummer and the four of us got together once or twice at his house to start working through some songs. I don't remember whether we wrote anything with him, but we definitely created a rudimentary arrangement of Fishbone's "Ghetto Soundwave" and I'm pretty sure we nailed down "Monkey Man" by Toots & the Maytals (via the Specials).
And then... fate intervened.
Again, I don't remember how this connection happened. I only know that one evening Rod, Russ and I met at a funky little house (affectionately known as the Acid House, we later learned) just south of campus, where three people (maybe one or two others as well) lived: a keyboardist named Jon Armstrong, a drummer named Rich Hillquist, and an artist/graphic designer named Dave Merkley. Jon and Rich had been in a couple of other bands that hadn't worked out, and they were looking for something new. Dave's room was in the basement, where Jon and Rich had their instruments set up. We started messing around together, and it was immediately clear that the chemistry was there.
Rich and Russ and I never saw the high school drummer again -- I can't even remember whether one of us ever called him to explain. I wish I could remember his name so I could try to find him and apologize, 35 years too late.
Within a month or so, we had about 30 minutes of songs ready to go: mostly covers, but a few originals as well. There weren't any real live music venues in Provo at the time, and of course we had no way of attracting a crowd on our own. But someone knew someone who knew the guy who published Salt Lake Underground (SLUG) magazine and who was also in a band called Dinosaur Bones, and someone knew someone who had a loft apartment in downtown Provo, so things came together for our first gig: we invited Dinosaur Bones to come down and play a show in the apartment and we prepared to play the opening set. We probably offered them the whole door -- at this point we cared more about getting up and playing than getting paid. Dave created some posters that we distributed around town, and we started tightening up in earnest.
On the day of the gig, we were all really nervous, of course, but I was particularly worried about Rod -- he was so anxious I was afraid he was going to freeze up onstage, or maybe throw up. But I'll never forget what happened when we took the stage and started playing: Rod absolutely came alive, and delivered an amazing performance. I'd never seen a more natural frontman. We had gotten through the first song just fine and started on the second, when I started to relax enough myself to really look out at the audience (which consisted of probably 100 or so people) -- and I realized for the first time that absolutely everyone was dancing. That moment was one of the most purely pleasurable of my life, and certainly a turning point for me as a musician.
Swim Herschel Swim's first gig. Left to right: Rick Anderson, Jon Armstrong, Rod Middleton, Rich Hillquist, Russ Cluff. (Photographer unknown)
We never played another opening slot in the Provo/Orem area -- at least, not for a local or regional band. Our reputation grew quickly, and before long we settled into a routine of playing gigs about every two weeks: sometimes in local, makeshift event spaces, and sometimes in Salt Lake City for national and international ska bands that came through town. During my two years in Swim Herschel Swim, we opened for Bad Manners, the Special Beat, Food for Feet (a ska-pop trio led by Johnny Vatos and John Avila, the drummer and bass player for Oingo Boingo), Ras Midas and the Bridge, Steel Pulse, the Blasters, the Donkey Show, and -- particularly memorably, since this was my last gig with the group -- the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, who came and played in Provo just before they signed to a major label and hit it big. By this point Dave Merkley had become more than our promoter and poster designer -- he was officially managing the band, and he had a great talent for finding us cool gigs along the Wasatch Front. Also by this point, Russ had left to serve as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (which the rest of us in the band, all of whom were several years older, had done already), and a BYU student named Jeff Hubbard took his place. (Jeff was not only a fine bass player, but also a truly amazing guitarist, and since I was a good bass player but only a pretty-good guitarist, over time he and I eventually traded instruments.)
Eventually we found a venue in Provo where we could play regularly. It was a combination aerobics/dance/martial-arts studio called Center Stage. It was a big, cavernous space where we could set up a stage, and it could accommodate crowds of up to 1200 people, which was necessary -- because by now, when we headlined a show in the Provo/Orem area we could count on at least 1000 people showing up. We were even featured on the cover of SLUG at one point.
These crowds showed up ready to have fun. So much so, in fact, that by this point it was getting difficult for us to play in any spot more than once. For some reason, there was lots of moshing going on at our shows, which was puzzling to us. Yes, we were a high-energy band, but we were playing ska, for crying out loud. Also, we were singing about love and peace and unity. (We played one gig in a BYU ballroom, and I remember noticing afterwards, during loadout, that there was blood on the floor. This was not typical for BYU events.) Below are notes on some particular shows that really stand out in my memory.
After a couple of years in the band I was married, in graduate school, working full time, and starting to develop a side hustle as a freelance writer. It was clear that something was going to have to fall off the edge of my plate, and as I took stock of all the things in my life it became clear that playing in a working band -- as much fun as it was -- was the least important of them. So with regret (but maybe a tiny bit of relief), in 1992 I left Swim Herschel Swim. The band went on to more and more success before flaming out in 1993.
In 2012 we played a reunion show at the Rail Events Center in Salt Lake, and it was almost as much fun as our first show in Provo. Almost.
Swim Herschel Swim reunion show, July 2012. (Photo by Shannon Wolz)
Eleven SHS Shows That Stick Out in My Mind
1. Our first gig, at the Art Twins' Pleasure Palace (a loft apartment in Provo). On the second song, I suddenly noticed that everyone in the room was dancing. That remains one of the most magical moments of my life.
2. Car Wars. We were hired to play an open-air show as part of the entertainment during a competitive car-stereo-installation exhibition. The problem was, they scheduled us AFTER the bikini contest and the awards ceremony, which meant that while we were setting up to play, all the attendees were packing up to go home. We still wanted to get paid, though, so we ended up playing an entire set to an empty field littered with crushed beer cups and one bemused-looking homeless man.
3. Shortly before they signed with a major label and had a couple of big national hits, the Mighty Mighty Bosstones came through Provo and played a show with us. It was a good show, but they were jerks; I got the distinct impression they thought they were way too good for us (though it may have just been the lack of beer). I couldn't help but compare their self-important snottiness with the gracious treatment we'd gotten when playing with genuine ska heroes like Bad Manners and the Special Beat.
4. A random outdoor daytime gig at the University of Utah campus, where 20 or 25 people sat on the grass and listened, and no one danced except for a 2-year-old girl.
5. Mayfest at the U of U in (I think) 1990, where we opened for the Blasters. Another of those magical moments. I mean, come on -- the Blasters. I can still see Phil Alvin doing that manic grin of his and belting out "Marie, Marie" in that unbelievable voice.
6. We played some kind of package show at Utah Valley Community College (now Utah Valley University) with a bunch of other bands. Two I remember in particular: a guy named John Bytheway who did an acoustic music-and-comedy bit (and has since gone on to become a superstar LDS motivational speaker) and a startlingly excellent local funk band called Jonesin'.
7. The first Center Stage show where more than 1,000 people showed up. I remember looking out over that huge throng of people and being amazed.
8. A show at Provo High School where we shared the building with an Amway conference of some kind; as we were loading in, I saw some guy in the lobby giving the hard sell to a confused-looking man in overalls. I shuddered.
9. We once played a frat-house show at the U of U, where we played on the floor because there was no stage, and Rod spent most of the night wrestling the mic back from various drunken frat boys (his favorite demographic).
10. The show at a little sandwich shop on Center Street in Provo. The room we were playing in was much too small, and was so crowded that fights started breaking out. In an attempt to cool things down we composed a slow reggae number on the spot. My recollection is that I started playing a variation on the bassline from the old Heptones song "Book of Rules" while yelling chords to Jeff and Jon, and Rod started improvising lyrics ("This is a song that don't got no words/This is a song that has never been heard"). It turned into "Kick Me (No Words)," one of my favorite SHS songs. (Also, at that show there were a few older guys in attendance whom we didn't recognize. After our set they came over and told us that they were part of the road crew for the B-52s, who were playing that same night up in Salt Lake. Apparently once sound check was over and they were free to go, they had asked around for fun things to do that night, and someone told them "The best band in Utah is playing down in Provo. That's where you need to go. They're called Swim Herschel Swim.")
11. The time we played in a disco club located on the second floor above Los Hermanos, a popular Mexican restaurant in downtown Provo. So many people were there and they were dancing so hard that plaster from the ceiling below started falling into people's food. I later heard that there was structural damage to the floor beams, and that the club closed and never opened again after that show.
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