Response:
I’ve seen hundreds of shows in the Carolinas over the years (decades) - some good, some incredible and some not worth the price of admission - as a fan, a manager, a publicist and a promoter. You tend to remember the bad stuff - the sound system blowing up, the police interrupting the show, the lead singer so stoned that he crawls around the stage for the entire show. But the good stuff makes for much better memories.

I saw R.E.M. at the Milestone Club after they had signed with I.R.S. Records, and, with only a handful of other others, I saw the Bangles there. And there was that night at the Double Door Inn when Eric Clapton just happened by (yes, I was there!). And there is a long history of damn fine performances by the likes of such local stalwarts as Bill Noonan (who as it turns out was the opening act for Clapton), David Childers and Lenny Federal.

But the night that sticks in my mind as somewhat magical - kind of like that scene at the end of Purple Rain when the whole club is mesmerized by The Kid - was in December 1981 at a long-defunct and short-lived club called Viceroy Park. The band that night was the Happy Eggs in what would be their last Charlotte performance.

If ever a band defied characterization, it was the Happy Eggs. To take a stab at it, how about “high-energy new wave psychedelic power pop.” The band’s core was Murphy Moore on keyboards and random insanity, Jamie Hoover of Spongetones fame on guitar and killer drummer Gil Ray. The band went through a couple of bass players.

I had seen the Happy Eggs a number of times previously - some good performances, some so-so - but on this night, it all came together. The band members were in sync, not only musically but also in terms of their banter and zaniness. The musicianship, always outstanding, seemed to be ratcheted up another notch. And the song list, which was weirdly eclectic long before eclectic was cool, helped define the evening.

In between sets, Murphy had prepared these bizarre tapes of Xmas stuff he had gotten off the radio that added another layer to an already intense, exhilarating and decidedly different evening of music.

Perhaps the band knew what we did not, which is that they were not long for the world. Within a month, they were no longer: Gil off to San Francisco, Jamie to the Spongetones and his various other projects, and Murphy to who knows where.

The Happy Eggs did leave behind an excellent four-song 45, but to the best of my knowledge nothing of their live shows has survived.