The Cherry Poppin' Daddies came together in the gray light of the pre-grunge dawn, when a University of Oregon chemistry major named Steve Perry posed a question to fellow musician friends: what if a punk rock rhythm section shared a practice space with jazz-schooled horn players and an equally trained keyboardist? The beaker-busting result made a stellar EP, sold out local clubs and soon drew comparisons to contemporaries like Fishbone, Faith No More and Bad Brains. It also irritated the local PC police. When the moniker hit the streets of "liberal" Eugene, OR, an angry group hired a lawyer who proceeded to hamstring any hope of a case by physically removing the band's fliers - a practice known as censorship (apparently in violation of an obscure constitutional provision). Not ones to count their blessings, the Daddies then employed a kinetic sculpture of an ejaculating male member - affectionately called the "Dildorado" - as a stage prop.

Musically, they were equally out of step with a regional scene that mssrs. Cobain and Vedder and Roger Nusic had come to define. But even relegated to "ska" bills, the Daddies distinguished themselves by incorporating big band swing into their eclectic mix (one fan likened the band to a David Johansen backing group that could play new York Dolls and Buster Poindexter tunes). "Drunk Daddy", the first song on the first full-length release, careens through a blazing horn chart to a chilling climax when Perry assumes the quavering voice of an abused boy staring down his approaching father:

Okay, Dad. You can beat me But you'll never beat me

The tenacity these lines imply carried the band through two more indie releases and into 1997. As the phrase "swing scene" rolled off the critical number of tongues necessary for mass acceptance, Universal subsidiary Mojo got behind an already-available compilation called "Zoot Suit Riot: The Swingin' Hits Of..." When Los Angeles' KROQ put the eponymous lead-off track into rotation, it became clear that modern rock radio was stretching its format to include sounds about as disparate from Nirvana as one can imagine. Some lamented the change, some praised it; either way, these musicians from Eugene, OR found themselves strolling through the intersection of Cobain Street and Timberlake Avenue when America decided to turn. Eventually ZSR would sell two million copies, which raised expectations considerably for the follow-up. So Perry and Co. recruited notables like glam legend Tony Visconti and the late free jazz icon Dewey Redmond (the sublime tenor solo from "The Saddest Thing I Know") for Soul Caddy, which found them resuming their tradition of eclecticism and experimentation in the studio. The fact that a T.Rex-inspired single called "Diamond Light Boogie" failed to reach the chart heights of "Riot" surprised no one, especially since radio was now under the spell of a certain boy band the Daddies had shared an Oklahoma City stage with the previous year: 'N Sync.

Following the Soul Caddy tour, Perry re-enrolled at the U. of O. and completed a molecular biology degree, while the band laid low and convened for the occasional show. But by 2006, rotation of "Zoot Suit Riot" on shows like "So You Think You Can Dance" had sparked new interest in the band, and all began contemplating new directions for what is still a vital musical experiment.

Now in their 19th year, the Cherry Poppin' Daddies are poised for a whole new phase, starting with a brand new record. Like its predecessors, "Susquehanna" revels in facets of the group's ourve ranging from the familiar (White Trash Toodle-oo begins with the same type of Krupa-joins-Motorhead tom intro heard on 1989's "Dr. Bones") to areas where the musicians might have had to reach for their compasses. Opener "Bust Out" begins with a blast of trumpets and Spaghetti-Western guitar like a sonic inverted-exclamation mark at the start of the record. A nod to the Rock En Espanol of bands like Los Fabulosos Cadillacs, the tune explores what Perry sees as an important strand of Pop's future. "My prediction is that in 30 years, American pop will owe a huge debt to world sensibilities", he wrote in a recent MOG (music blog) post, "and to me...exploring the creation of a new, more international style is a worthwhile pursuit." "Mongoose and the Snake" might be the Daddies' first stab at the genre known as Psychobilly, while "Julie Grave" picks up on a glittery vibe first felt in the aforementioned Diamond Light Boogie. "Roseanne" frames Jacque-Brelian lyrics in flamenco guitar and percussion played by real dancing feet, altogether a lovely and dark meditation on the sway of sex and death. "Wing Tips" will feel most comfortable to neo-swingers - that is until the chorus continues "...Black Socks/And Diaper".

Despite it's typically Daddy-esque melange of styles, Susquehanna may be lyrically the band's most cohesive . “ I guess I hoped for each song as a chapter in a modernist novel," Perry says of the record, "...like James Joyce’s, Ulysses: where the literary style/genre that each chapter is written in is radically different.... So a pop album, disjointed, maybe even jarring in style and structure, but thematically coherent". So does he think such an approach will succeed in the age of youtube? "Its a little ambitous, I ‘spose, but you know, why not shoot for something special? You only live once. I’ve been trying to do a version of this with my genre experiments for five albums... I think this one feels the rightest.�