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What happened to Squirrel Nut Zippers

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The Squirrel Nut Zippers were a bizarre musical anomaly in the ‘90s grunge and alternative rock era, where authenticity was measured in angst and guitar distortion. While the decade was ruled by bands in flannel playing loud, emotional rock, this group from Chapel Hill, North Carolina, was channeling the jazz, swing, and old-school party music of their grandparents’ generation. Led by James “Jimbo” Mathus and his then-wife Katharine Whalen, the band grew out of informal backyard jams and Mississippi fish fry-inspired get-togethers with friends. Mathus, who played the mandolin in his father’s bluegrass band as a child, drew inspiration from his grandfather’s love for Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman, favoring the mysterious storytelling of 1920s and ’30s music.

Their name, Squirrel Nut Zippers—borrowed from an old candy—mirrored their retro spirit and quirky energy. The band’s initial lineup didn’t feature musical veterans; instead, it was a self-described "theatrical troupe" obsessed with forgotten genres: Delta blues, hot jazz, klezmer, and gypsy swing. Their first gigs were lively, Vaudevillian spectacles that bridged the gap between generations and quickly earned them a cult following. Even local indie label Merge Records took notice, releasing an early EP. Their debut 1995 album, The Inevitable, was a modest, charming record recorded cheaply and celebrated for its upbeat feel, with NPR and college radio championing their cause.

Everything changed with their sophomore album, Hot (1996), recorded on a shoestring budget at a New Orleans mansion. The album was made purely for love, without commercial ambition. But, when the surreal, calypso-inspired track “Hell” got a fluke spin on a major Los Angeles alternative radio station as a joke, it unexpectedly became a national sensation. Calls flooded in, MTV picked up the video, and the song climbed to #13 on the Billboard Alternative chart. The album itself stayed on the Billboard 200 for 51 weeks, eventually going platinum. Suddenly, this oddball group found themselves at the forefront of a nationwide swing revival, alongside bands like Brian Setzer Orchestra and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy—a movement they’d never sought to lead.

The afterglow was both glamourous and grueling: gigs at the Olympics, presidential inaugurations, and late-night TV brought them fame, but also pressure, personal tragedy, and lawsuits. The group’s partnership agreement, which once seemed hypothetical, was put to the test as money poured in from record sales and commercial deals (including a lucrative Intel ad). Success exposed rifts: original members began leaving, feeling cheated over royalties and management fees. Arbitration and legal battles ensued, with relationships soured and finances depleted.

The band was further rocked by personal loss when their former trumpet player died, and soon after, inner circle members left or divorced. By 2000, Squirrel Nut Zippers were a shell of their former selves, limping along as the “swing fad” faded. As members scattered into other projects, their legacy surprisingly endured: they had proved that weird, authentic art could still accidentally make it big in a mainstream world. The Squirrel Nut Zippers eventually reunited for tours and new recordings, preserving their unique place as one of the most improbable—and chaotic—success stories in 1990s music.