After we moved into town, it wasn't long before she appeared. Cursed with an alien- shaped head and a tendency to unconsciously show her panties from underneath her short- short skirts, we liked her at first. That is, before she started to talk to us about swing. Every week she'd lush her way over to us at the local bar and press us to accompany her to Philly's hot spots, The Continental and The Five Spot. Under the influence of too much liquor, marijuana and love, we sometimes agreed to go. Other times, we simply evaded the question or just copped a feel with a bleary smile.

When the agreed- upon day came around for our introduction to the world of cool-- the world of swing, the world of Martinis, cigars and retro wistfulness-- we expected her call, and thus, took appropriate action: we screened the calls. None of us were up to letting down the alien- headed one. And whichever of us poor bastards took her call would certainly have to invent some preposterous excuse. After three months of this cycle, I began to suspect that I might be destined never to swing.

Now, cigars and martini bars seem awkwardly fashionable ways for the stylish pseudo-riche to while away moments in smoky self- congratulation. But despite my love for that wicked green, I find cigars utterly disgusting. The martini bars? Hopefully, they're just a flash in the pan. However, the new swing that's just now worked its way into mainstream music is a worthy addition to our collective musical consciousness. Which brings us, avid readers, from the alien-head to Indigo Swing. It's been a long and winding road, I admit. But it's the trip-- not the getting there-- that counts, right?

All Aboard! fell upon my eager ears with a resounding klunk that brought a joyous tear to my eye. Those familiar with the Squirrel Nut Zippers shouldn't expect the same sound; Indigo Swing's flavor leans more toward the traditional, disdaining the Zipper's mod- bluesy sound for high- energy brasses and tongue- in- cheek lyrics that set it far apart from those round, black, grooved things that grandpa keeps underneath his hi-fi. Johnny Boyd's vibrant vocals are the shiznit, blithely hopping through lyrical gems like "I want to make whoopee, too/ And have a little fun with you/ I want to make violent love/ To you" and "Well, the world today is like a left hook sucker punch/ Revolutions rise and Wall Street dies/ But I'm just wonderin' what I'm gonna have for lunch." Oh, Pedro! Boyd also occasionally manages a wicked croon that reminds us that even white guys with wide ties, double- breasted suits and wingtips can feel the delicious pain of lost love.

All Aboard! is strong and vibrant from beginning to end. It's a full- bodied smoke with a hint of chestnut and rich spices and, my friends, it has inspired me. Yes, it's inspired me to rethink my feelings about the girl with the alien-shaped head. It has inspired me to lead a more balanced life and remember that the owls are not what they seem. Its jubilant high- kneed jam has given me new reason to seek my own personal truth. Of course, it may not do this for you, but then, how many alien-heads do you know?

-James P. Wisdom