The History Of Peter Case Part 2: The Plimsouls

Originally published in Teenage Kicks #2 (Fall 1997)
By Devorah Ostrov

Back cover of the "Zero Hour" EP

In our last issue, we traced Peter Case's career with seminal power pop band the Nerves, whose lineup included Jack Lee on guitar and Paul Collins on drums.

After the Nerves disintegrated in early 1978, Case and Collins continued to work together as the Breakaways. Although short-lived ("It lasted about a month," states Case. "We played the Whisky once, that was it.") the band did record "eight or nine" tracks. Two Breakaways' tunes, "One Way Ticket" and an early version of "Walking Out on Love," can be found on the excellent Bomp Records compilation The Roots of Powerpop. "Walking Out on Love" would later turn up on the Beat's debut album along with "U.S.A.," another song originally by the Breakaways.

Amongst other things, the Breakaways suffered from an unstable lineup. "We had a bunch of different guitarists," acknowledges Case. In his opinion, the rhythm section was also weak. "I wanted to get off bass and I wanted Paul to get off drums," he says. At Case's urging, Collins switched to lead guitar, becoming the group's true frontman. Case took up rhythm guitar, Mike Ruiz and Steve Huff were recruited on drums and bass respectively, and the group's name was changed to the Beat.

Still, tension between the two principal band members led to Case's departure before the Beat was signed to CBS Records. According to Case, "Some problems went down, and I didn't want to work with Paul anymore. I just wanted to do my own thing. I let him have the Beat, and I went off and put my own band together."

Except it wasn't really that easy. For a year, Case kicked around LA, writing songs, painting houses, working "weird jobs." He even joined 20/20 "for a day." And he ran ads in music papers. "I knew Carla Olson [from the Textones] and Kathy Valentine [ex-Textones, soon-to-be Go-Go]. We were all running ads trying to start bands. We were going through thousands of people, and we'd always compare them."

Geffen Records publicity photo

Although he didn't know him well, Case was also acquainted with drummer Lou Ramirez. "He'd been over to my house a couple of times," recalls Case. "I think I might have met him through a want ad." Ramirez and his bassist friend Dave Pahoa had a regular gig backing a blind guitarist named Doc at a bar in El Monte. One night Ramirez invited Case to join them.

Things went brilliantly for several shows, with Case mixing in some rock 'n' roll and rockabilly with Doc's usual country repertoire, and alternating sets allowed the threesome to work out some originals. Plus, they got free beer.

Legend has it, one night they answered a request for "Polk Salad Annie" and delivered a rave-up version. "Hell-bent, lying on stage!" was how Case once described it. The bar's owner, sober for a change, freaked when he saw the guys going nuts and fired them.

In reality, only Case was fired, but the rest of the story holds true. "We did get way outta hand on 'Polk Salad Annie' quite a few times. We used to do a lot of feedback and noise... smash stuff! The boss came in one day and said, 'Pete's on acid.' He told David, 'We can't have Pete anymore.' David said, 'Well, we quit.'" For the record, Case wasn't on acid — that night.

Publicity photo

Case, Ramirez, and Pahoa stayed together, debuting as the Plimsouls for a performance at the Camarillo State Mental Institution (as openers for the Angry Samoans). Gigs in LA proper soon followed — at Club 88, Madam Wong's, and the Hong Kong Café. 

The group's moniker, a British expression for sneakers, was Case's idea. (He mentions having put together another outfit called the Plimsouls shortly after leaving the Beat, but that long-forgotten lineup never played live.) However, he's somewhat ambivalent about the name these days. "It's lightweight. It doesn't really mean anything, except that we like soul music. That's all it means. We named it that because the other groups were like the Cars — real obvious. And we hated that! So, we called it the Plimsouls. I guess it's a cool name."

Even though he can't remember exactly when it was, Case does know where he met guitarist Eddie Munoz. "It was at a Flamin' Groovies show at the Starwood." (He also recollects that the show was in promotion of the Groovies' Now album, which puts it sometime in 1978.) And according to Case, Munoz was considered a Plimsoul as early on as their first rehearsal. But Munoz, an Austin native who repaired guitars for a living, had to postpone joining the group while he worked as a guitar roadie on the Elvis Costello/Nick Lowe Armed Forces tour. His first appearance with the Plimsouls wouldn't be until they played Gazzarri's a year later.

Meanwhile, the three-piece group (reportedly on a budget of "something like $300") entered the studio to record the "Zero Hour" EP, which was released in 1980 on the very indie Beat label. "The label was this guy Steve Zepeda," says Case, "who lived with his mother in Long Beach. He lived in the garage, y'know."

Beat Records advertisement for the "Zero Hour" EP

Produced by the band's manager, Danny Holloway (introduced to them by Zepeda, his prior production credits included the Heptones' Night Food), the five-song EP featured the effervescent "Great Big World," and a nifty cover of Otis Redding's "I Can't Turn You Loose" as well as the rockin' "Hypnotized" and "How Long Will It Take?" Case wrote the bopping title track while he sat in a car waiting for his girlfriend. "I was trying to catch a train," he says of the song's inspiration. "So, I was mad!"

The EP sold well in Los Angeles, and KROQ's Rodney Bingenheimer played "Zero Hour" repeatedly, turning it into a regional hit. Overnight the Plimsouls became local superstars! "Before the EP we were making $150 a night playing pubs," muses Case. "We would take the bus to Santa Monica, with our amps, to play this pub called the Londoner. Then all of a sudden, we were packing the Starwood!"

And the Plimsouls appealed to all types. As Case told one rock 'zine, "We get everybody at our gigs: punks, skinny-tie college-types, bi's, tri's. You never have to worry about what to wear to a Plimsouls' show..."

Planet advertisement for the "Now" 45

"That was true," he confirms. "There would be punk rock people... I know the Circle Jerks were Plimsouls fans. And I just found out that Brett from Epitaph Records was a Plimsouls fan. All kinds of people were Plimsouls fans. On a lot of different levels, people were into it."

With all the hoopla surrounding the EP, their decision to sign a two-album deal with small-time Planet Records (an Elektra offshoot whose roster included, says Case, "nobody you've ever heard of") was a strange one. Case still can't explain how it came about: "It's a good question, really. I'm not sure, y'know. They just got real interested. They really wanted to sign some new bands. After [the success of] the Knack, they probably wanted a 'new wave' band and thought we fit the bill."

In 1981 Planet released the group's self-titled debut, with Holloway again acting as producer.  The opening R&B infused "Lost Time" featured a horn section arranged by New Orleans great Harold Batiste, while other tracks bounced ("In This Town" and "Hush, Hush"), swaggered with a country tinge ("I Want You Back"), and provided a rush of adrenaline ("Everyday Things"). Combined with the mid-period Beatles feel of "Now," the finely crafted "I Want What You Got," and the note-for-note remake of "Zero Hour," the album showcased their exceptionally wide-ranging skill. Meanwhile, two covers — the Easybeats' "Women" and Wilson Pickett's "Mini-Skirt Minnie" — neatly highlighted the Plimsouls intertwined pop and soul influences.

Planet issued "Zero Hour" as a 45 (b/w a live cover of "Dizzy Miss Lizzy" and a live take of "Hush, Hush"), which did okay in LA, but went nowhere nationally. A follow-up single of "Now" b/w an instrumental version of the old Nerves' tune "When You Find Out" (sounding very surfy) didn't fare much better. But it did garner an appraisal from Trouser Press' celebrity guest reviewer Billy Idol, who grumbled: "I don't really like this kind of American-sounding record... It's very professional — or sounds it." And, possibly due in large part to a lack of promotion by the record company ("There was no promotion, absolutely none," says Case), outside of a few major California cities, the LP didn't sell at all. Through sheer force of will, it climbed to #153 on the Billboard chart.

Nevertheless, a cross-country tour went well. (A live recording of their Cleveland show, dubbed One Night In America, is perhaps a better document of the group during that period than the studio album. "It's a lot more exciting!" asserts Case.) And they got some favorable write-ups in the national rock press.

Live! Beg, Borrow & Steal (Alive Records - 2010)

In his Trouser Press article, Jim Green enthusiastically described the Plimsouls' sound: "Ah yes. The ringing guitars, simple rocking beat — definitely American but with a twist of Limey-philia."

But he also brought up some sore spots. One was the evil Knack and the enormous hype build-up/backlash that was sucking up all other LA pop bands in its wake. "We ain't just another Knack," Case seethed back then. "We're real different — in motivation, content, approach... Sure, you can make superficial comparisons, and people do it before they hear us, see us live."

Sixteen years later, Case recalls a proposed anti-Knack photo shoot: "We were gonna take a picture of the Plimsouls with machine guns and call it Get the Knack!" With a vicious chuckle, he adds, "Would've been good."

Point number two was the slick sound of the LP, which Billy Idol had referred to in his review of the "Now" 45. Green treated the dilemma delicately, saying that the band was "displeased... inasmuch as it was cut in the conventional, fragmented manner of laying down backing tracks and then overdubs, making for less spontaneity than they would prefer." He then immediately stated that "some of the album retains their live R&B grit, and onstage the Plimsouls are hotter than ever."

Today Case can be more candid in his assessment: "It got ruined in the mastering. Planet had really taken the guts out of it. Somebody was afraid of how it sounded, and they ruined it right before it came out. Which was a real great surprise! They said, 'Here's your record.' And I remember me and Eddie were both holding our chests; we were both doubled over in pain. We were having dual anxiety attacks, going, 'Oh my God! They've ruined it.'"

(The Rhino Records CD reissue, Plimsouls... Plus, includes a re-mastered version of the entire first album and features a much superior sound quality. "I was pleasantly surprised when I got the tapes," comments Case. "They redid it, really made it a lot better.")

Photo from Trouser Press - August 1981

Once back from the tour, Case asked Planet to release the group from its deal. Although there was one more album to go on the contract, the record company didn't argue. Planet clearly thought the Plimsouls were a lost cause; for his part, Case didn't trust Planet to handle something new the band was working on called "A Million Miles Away."

The song actually dates from some months earlier. Case and his friend Chris Fradkin had gone to see the Germs (one of Darby Crash's last shows). Afterwards, they stopped off at a bar and Case, still reeling from the death of John Lennon and a recent break-up with his girlfriend, poured out his feelings of loneliness on a napkin:

"Friday night I'd just got back

I had my eyes shut

Was dreaming about the past

I thought about you while the radio played
Should've got moving
For some reason I stayed
I started drifting to a different place

I realized I was falling off the face of the world

And there was nothing left to bring me back..."

Later, the two went to the apartment of another friend, Joey Alkes, where a massive hook of a chorus...

"I'm a million miles away
A million miles away
I'm just a million miles away

And there's nothing left to bring me back today..."

was paired with an exuberant rhythm track and a Ventures-meet-the-Byrds guitar riff to finish a rough mix of the destined-to-be classic tune.

The prolific threesome (who had previously collaborated on "Now" and "Hush, Hush") wrote several other songs that evening — and then forgot about the tape "for quite a while." Finally, Munoz got a hold of the tape, and chose "A Million Miles Away" as the one they had to learn.

Planet Records publicity picture

Released in April 1982 as a 12" single (backed with the equally wonderful "I'll Get Lucky") on the group's own Shaky City label (with distribution through Bomp Records), "A Million Miles Away" blasted forth from radios across the country. "It was a huge radio hit!" exclaims Case. "It was a hit in San Francisco, San Diego, Atlanta, Boston, New York, Texas..."

And in Los Angeles, the Plimsouls pretty much ruled the airwaves. "I remember driving to a gig in LA," says Case, "and I turned on the radio — it was playing on all four of the stations I turned to!"

The band was selling out the Roxy night after night, and it quickly became apparent that they needed help handling the monster they'd created. "We felt like we just couldn't meet the demand that was going on with the record," explains Case, adding that releasing an LP on Shaky City was, at most, a brief consideration. "I didn't wanna be in the record business," he states.

On the strength of "A Million Miles Away," the Plimsouls were picked up by Geffen Records, then seen as a small label. "They only had a few acts, like John Hiatt, who was a friend of ours. And we thought that it might make sense to be with John. Of course, it didn't. But that's what we thought."

Case terms the months preceding their Geffen signing as "the winter of our discontent," but maintains that it was "actually a really good period for the Plimsouls. We were just hanging out, writing, playing music all the time, rehearsing five or six days a week." During this interval, Case wrote most of what would become the Everywhere At Once LP, and "half or more" of the songs were recorded through Shaky City.

Photo used for Beach Town Confidential 

(Live at the Golden Bear) - Alive Records 1983

So, with the inclusion of one track lifted from the "Zero Hour" EP (a re-recorded version of "How Long Will it Take?"), "A Million Miles Away" and its B-side, plus two well-chosen covers (the Equals' "My Life Ain't Easy" and Mouse and the Traps' "Lie, Beg, Borrow, and Steal"), it should have been straightforward for Geffen to rush-release the Plimsouls' second album. 

Instead (or as Case quips, "what sank the ship"), Everywhere At Once wasn't issued until July of '83. And by then, "A Million Miles Away" had finished its run. Geffen then reissued the exact same recording (supposedly the EQ of the mastering was slightly different) of "A Million Miles Away" as the album's first single. Were they hoping lightning would strike twice? It didn't. In fact, the reissue only reached #82 on the Billboard Hot 100. "They underestimated what we'd done on our own label," states Case. "They had no respect for underground stuff at that point."

The record was accorded a modicum of publicity, and it received some good reviews. One noted that the tunes all "bubbled with undiminished fire and melody, while the lyrics showed signs of frustration." But Case claims the reviewer was reading too much into it: "My frustrations were huge, but the Plimsouls were probably the least frustrating thing in my life at that point. Those songs were mostly about relationships, just being alive."

However, it was too little too late, and Everywhere At Once stiffed.

A video of "A Million Miles Away" (using "fake actors, fake scenes, and fake singing") was made for MTV, but it was rarely shown. "The big thing was Flock of Seagulls, all that New Romantic stuff," observes Case. "That's what we were up against on MTV."

A second 45, the rhythm-driven "Magic Touch," with its echoes of "I Fought the Law" and "Pipeline" guitar riffs, never made it onto the radio. It was "too primitive," says Case, quoting KROQ. "I thought it was a hit single," he remarks, "but they didn't."

Publicity photo by Craig Dietz

A minor role as a bar band in the teen-fad flick Valley Girl (they got the job through fan Nicholas Cage) has proved to be unforgettable (if hard to live down), but it didn't boost album sales. "They didn't tell me it would be called Valley Girl," sighs Case. "They said it was like Romeo And Juliet set in modern LA."

One day David Geffen asked Case, "What happened?"

"I said, 'You're David Geffen. You tell me what happened.' That was the last conversation we ever had about the Plimsouls."

Officially, the Plimsouls broke up at the tail end of '83. Ramirez had already wandered off, and Case announced that he was going solo. "I told 'em I was gonna go back to my folk roots, or what have you." However, he was coaxed into staying for one more cross-country tour to pay off the band's tax bill. "Of course, nobody used the money to pay off their tax debt," Case laughs. "They just accrued more tax debt!"

The Plimsouls with Clem Burke circa 1997
               Photo: Greg Allen

With a lineup that included a third guitarist and Charlie Quintana (ex-Plugz) on drums, the Plimsouls raged through some of their most legendary concerts. "It was a great tour!" enthuses Case. "I remember playing Liberty Lunch in Austin. We set the attendance record; there were thousands of people there. And the band just rocked out! We were just blazing as we went through Texas that summer."

Following the split, Case didn't see much of Pahoa. "I think he fronted a band called Psycho Witch," he says. But Case and Munoz (who emerged with the Walking Wounded) remained friends. "Me and Eddie were always the closest," he reflects. For the next decade, Case concentrated on his solo career, releasing five primarily folk albums. There were no plans to reunite the Plimsouls. Until...

An offer to re-record "A Million Miles Away" for the Speed soundtrack brought Case, Munoz, and Pahoa together again for a series of live shows. Case is vague about Ramirez, saying only that he spoke to the drummer when the group first got back together, but that his rejoining the band "is just not gonna happen." The lineup now includes ex-Blondie/ Dramarama drummer Clem Burke.

And while Case intends to carry on performing as a solo artist, a new Plimsouls' album has just been released (currently only available as an import through France's Musa label and Big Star in the UK). Titled Kool Trash, the ten songs (including "Playing with Jack," "Falling Awake," and "Dangerous Book") are as strong and catchy as ever. More US live shows also look certain.

★ ★ ★

Some intriguing trivia: When Case had some momentary doubts about being a full-time frontman, power pop icon Phil Seymour was offered the post. "I was trying not to be the singer," says Case, "because it seemed cooler to just be the guitar player — like Pete Townshend. We asked Phil to join, but he wanted to call it Phil Seymour and the Plimsouls. We said, 'No!' So, he wouldn't join." The group recorded a version of "Now" at Shelter Studios with Seymour on vocals, which has yet to surface.

* You can read part 1 of my interview with Peter Case about the history of the Nerves here: devorahostrov.blogspot.com/2017/01/peter-case-part-1-nerves.html

The History Of Peter Case Part 1: The Nerves

Originally published in Teenage Kicks #1 (Summer 1997)
By Devorah Ostrov

The "hopelessly rare" 4-song Nerves' EP (self-released, 1976)

It was the dead of night, in the middle of winter, and a raging blizzard was dumping several inches of snow on upstate New York. Meanwhile, a teenager from the suburbs of Buffalo named Peter Case was on a bus to Chicago, guitar in hand, living out his personal version of On The Road.

"I would hitchhike all over the East Coast, play folk clubs, see how far I could get on $10," Case recently reminisced about the inconspicuous launch of his musical career in the late '60s. He would go on to become one-third of power pop trailblazers the Nerves and leader of the Plimsouls, for which he wrote the hit "A Million Miles Away," before revisiting his roots as a solo artist.

Much like the heroes of On The Road, Case's Midwest chapter was only a stopover on an ultimate journey to the West Coast — albeit lacking in Kerouac's romanticism. "I got drunk in a bar," he laughs, "and bought a train ticket to San Francisco!"

Why San Francisco? The reason, says Case, was simple: "I wanted to get as far away from Buffalo as I could, and I didn't want to go to Los Angeles." And it didn't hurt that Case's sister, ten years his senior and a key influence on his musical upbringing (it was her record collection which instilled Case with a passion for '50s rock 'n' roll as well as '60s folk, to which he added his own leanings towards country-blues and American garage-punk), had lived in the City during the glory days of the 1960s, returning home to fuel her little brother's imagination with "amazing stories."

Case arrived in San Francisco during the strange post-hippie/pre-punk year of 1973. He took to playing guitar and singing on the street for spare change. "I didn't even have an apartment," he emphasizes. "I just lived on the street and wandered around."

L-R: Paul Collins, Peter Case & Jack Lee

Jack Lee, a fellow itinerant musician, caught one of Case's street corner performances and inquired, "How much you makin' out here?"

"Fifty dollars a night," Case exaggerated.

"I'll double that if you join my band," boasted Lee.

It didn't take Case long to surmise that Lee had perhaps misrepresented the situation. "Jack lied about everything," chuckles Case. "He didn't have a drummer. He didn't have any gigs."

Still, Case decided to stick it out with Lee and the two soon roped in Paul Collins, another ex-New Yorker, to fill out the trio. "Paul didn't know what he wanted to do really," muses Case. "He joined the group... but he didn't know what he was getting into."

In 1975 with Case on bass, Lee on guitar, and Collins on drums, the newly christened Nerves began playing Friday and Saturday nights at a seedy bar in the then no-man's-land South of Market Street. "I remember one time the owner gave us free drink tickets to get people to come in," says Case. "We couldn't even get winos to come in off the street. That's how bad it was!"

The group's earliest sets consisted of mostly covers. As Case recollects: "We used to do 'Howlin' for My Baby' and 'Hitch Hike,' weird blues and Motown, a lot of soul, country, rock 'n' roll..." But by the summer of '76, they'd worked up enough strong originals to think about putting out some vinyl.

At the time, the major labels were too busy with chart-toppers like Wings and Elvin Bishop to care about the stirrings of the Bay Area underground. Signing locally with Berserkley Records, which was having some success with Jonathan Richman, the Rubinoos, and Greg Kihn seemed like a good idea — until Lee and Collins got into a shouting match with label president Matthew King Kaufman.

In the end, they agreed a DIY EP was the way to go, becoming the first of the soon-to-be Mabuhay scenesters to issue product. (Crime's debut single, considered to be the first true SF punk release, followed by a matter of weeks.) 

L-R: Paul Collins, Jack Lee, Peter Case
(photo for the 2008 One Way Ticket retrospective)

The EP's unpretentious black and white cover photo showed three clean-cut young men. And judging by the just visible wide lapels, they had already taken to wearing the snazzy three-piece suits for which they'd always be remembered, fondly or otherwise. Case stresses that the suits were "just a gimmick when we thought we needed a gimmick," and further insists that they weren't powder-blue and doesn't know why everyone thinks they were.

Meanwhile, the four songs within showcased each member's uncanny ability to write and sing short, fast, catchy tunes. There was the British Invasion feel of Case's "When You Find Out," and the classic pop of Collins' "Working Too Hard." And there were two tracks written by Lee: "Give Me Some Time" and "Hanging on the Telephone" — the latter a wallop of a two-minute ditty concerning a frazzled would-be lover, the girl of his dreams and Pac Bell, which had been part of his repertoire for awhile. (Case mentions an earlier recording of the song featuring Lee backed by some hired hands, possibly musicians from the Condor Club!)

Three thousand copies of the EP were pressed, and although it's now listed in record collector guides as being "hopelessly rare," at the time, it was a seemingly enormous amount. "I remember when the truck pulled up," says Case, "and we unloaded them into our basement on Folsom Street. We were like, 'What the hell are we gonna do with all these?' It was really hard to get rid of them."

The final Nerves' show - a Bomp! night at

the Whisky with the Fast, the Zippers, and the Zeros

In fact, SF's Aquarius Records and Berkeley's Rather Ripped — the two hip Bay Area record stores — only stocked "like five" copies each. An ad in the back of Rolling Stone helped sell "a bunch," and Greg Shaw bought the remaining discs to distribute through Bomp. Ironically, Case didn't keep one for himself.

By late 1976 things were beginning to happen. Local radio station KSAN picked up on the EP and began playing "Hanging on the Telephone." That Christmas, Case heard himself on the radio for the first time. "KSAN played us in a set with the Flamin' Groovies and the Hoo Doo Rhythm Devils," he reflects.

Simultaneously, the SF punk scene was gelling around the Mabuhay Gardens, with the Nerves appearing on some of the first bills. "There were a few bands before us," states Case, "but we were there early on."

But that wasn't enough to keep the guys in San Francisco. On January 1, 1977, the Nerves packed up and relocated to Los Angeles. "There really wasn't much going on in San Francisco at that point," explains Case. "We didn't really know the people that were about to start the whole scene. We were like, 'Where is everybody? Where is our generation? It's gotta be happening in LA!' We bought some LA papers and saw that there were a few bands playing around."

Not surprisingly, the LA music scene circa early '77 also left a lot to be desired. "I remember we went to the Whisky," says Case, "and Van Halen was playing. I couldn't believe that they were still listening to music that was so prehistoric. Then a week later, I saw Tom Petty play to 50 people." And LA didn't trip over itself to welcome these newcomers who, as one 'zine observed, played "crisp songs with strong melodies" but "looked more like Hoover salesmen than rock and roll stars."

"We couldn't get a show at the Whisky," Case recalls. "We couldn't get a show at the Starwood. Nobody would book us." However, as they'd proved with their EP, the Nerves were nothing if not self-reliant.

"Ramones meet Merseybeat"

 The Nerves in Trouser Press - September 1977

On the corner of Sunset and Gower sat the tiny Orpheum Theatre (described by one patron as "tacky"). With their last $700 Case, Lee and Collins rented the basement (described by another patron as "dilapidated"). 

They dubbed it the Hollywood Punk Palace and booked a series of shows that in hindsight are referred to as "essential." In the March '78 issue of Bomp! magazine, writer Kenneth Funsten goes so far as to say that from the Punk Palace, "L.A. new-wave was born." Perhaps more accurately, these shows, along with Rodney Bingenheimer's KROQ nights, the Masque rehearsal rooms, and several other forces helped to push along an already burgeoning punk scene.

Some of the groups given exposure at those Punk Palace gigs were the Germs, the Weirdos, the Dils, the Zeros, and Screamers — with the Nerves being featured on every bill, although they weren't necessarily the standout attraction.

Recounting one Punk Palace show, the book Hardcore California: A History of Punk and New Wave notes: "The band of the hour was a bizarre group dressed in clothes that looked like a hellish collision between Robert Rauschenberg and Jackson Pollock. Taking the intense, bombastic stage style of Captain Beefheart and welding it to a frenzied wall of Ramones power chords, this band was called the Weirdos, and their shock rock tactics demanded you 'Do the dance, do the dance, do the dance!'"

In May, the Nerves were on the move again, booking their own cross-country tour as well as supporting their idols, the Ramones, on a number of dates. "It was like going on tour with the Beatles for us," enthuses Case.

L-R: Jack Lee, Paul Collins, Peter Case

The initial leg of the tour began with a three-night stand at the Starwood and took in San Francisco, Denver, Washington DC, and Boston (with DMZ); while the Ramones' shows took them through the Midwest and into Texas (where they played Randy's Rodeo well before the Sex Pistols). 

When the tour ended some three months later in Chicago with Mink DeVille, they'd logged over 100 shows and put 28,000 miles on a '69 Ford LTD station wagon — "The highest-paid member of the touring organization," they once quipped. "I was the driver and the bass player," remarks Case.

Their LA homecoming was celebrated with two bill-topping nights at the Masque (support bands were the Avengers, the Zeros, and Shock). Then they disappeared. 

When a 'zine writer eventually tracked them down, Case told him: "We've just been getting oriented to what our next move is going to be. I mean, say you're a new group, you've released your own record, you've run your own club, and then you went out and did your own national tour, now what do you do after that?"

There was some talk of recording an album on Bomp Records, and a new 45 ("One Way Ticket" was even listed in the Bomp catalog as "forthcoming"). But the truth was, the tour had taken its toll. "We were just wasted," sighs Case. 

The Nerves made their final appearance during a Bomp! weekend at the Whisky with the Fast, the Zeros, and the Zippers sharing the bill. After the show, they "discussed" the direction of the band.

L-R: Jack Lee, Paul Collins, Peter Case

"Jack felt that we'd been upstaged by the Fast," states Case. "I dunno why. Their songs weren't that great, but they threw stuff into the audience at the end of the set, and Jack felt like they'd upstaged us. Jack was always paranoid about being upstaged, and he was afraid of being upstaged by punk rock. He wrote this song called 'Sex,' which was basically that word repeated over and over. He thought that would be controversial. Then he wanted to chainsaw all the equipment in the middle of the set. He wanted to have fake amps and chainsaw them! I said, 'I don't really wanna do that. It's against everything we stand for. I think we should just write really great songs and be a rock 'n' roll band.' So, we had a big disagreement, and the band broke up."

Today the Nerves are hailed as one of the pioneering originators of power pop, but for much of their short-lived career, it was an uphill battle. Case quickly (and rightly!) points out that "we had a lot of fans; there were a lot of people into the Nerves."

Yet he also admits that the group "never really fit in, except that we played really fast and hard. The power pop thing is a lot bigger now than it was back then. A lot more people are aware of it as a style. Back then, people just didn't understand."

As for the "power pop" tag, he adds, "I never really saw the Nerves as power pop. We just considered ourselves to be a rock 'n' roll band. We thought we were like the Beatles or the Stones. Power pop just sounded like a fake term to us. Punk was kinda a cool name, but power pop never sounded that good to us."

The Nerves retrospective LP (Offence, 1986)

After the split, Case and Collins continued to work together as the Breakaways, but internal conflicts led to a quick dissolution.

According to Case, the Breakaways did record a handful of songs (including a version of the Collins/Case tune "USA") but only two, "Walking Out on Love" and "One Way Ticket," made it to vinyl (both were featured on the 1996 Bomp Records compilation The Roots of Powerpop!).

At Case's urging, Collins switched from drums to guitar and formed the Beat. He reprised "Working Too Hard," "Walking Out on Love" and "U.S.A." on the Beat's debut LP. Lee sold "Hanging on the Telephone" to Blondie (supposedly Debbie Harry heard the song on a mixtape made for her by Blondie fan club president Jeffrey Lee Pierce). It was included on 1978's Parallel Lines (along with a second song written by Lee) and became a hit in Britain. Lee went on to collaborate with the Rubber City Rebels, who recorded a cover of his "Paper Dolls." He's also behind the 1986 Nerves' retrospective on the Offence label.

Case, of course, formed the fabulous Plimsouls!

* You can read part 2 of my interview with Peter Case about the history of the Plimsouls here: devorahostrov.blogspot.com/2017/01peter-case-part-2.html