Critter’s Gonna Critter
Critter's Gonna Critter on a low plywood riser in a gravel lot outside a Gulf Coast bar at night

Parking Lot Acceptance Rock · Mobile, Alabama

Critter’sGonnaCritter

What are you gonna do.

1987–1996 · What Are You Gonna Do Records
Four records. Nine years of rooms. Nobody hurried.

Walk over to the table

The Lot · Biloxi, Mississippi · August 1987

A thing happened. The thing was real. The band stood and watched.

Four young men stand at the edge of a gravel lot at night while a raccoon walks away from an overturned cooler and scattered cassettes
The parking lot, Biloxi, August 1987. Fifteen minutes. Nobody moved.

A raccoon entered a parking lot in Biloxi, Mississippi in August 1987 during an outdoor concert and methodically ate the entire merch table. The four musicians stood and watched for fifteen minutes. Nobody chased it. Then the drummer said "critter's gonna critter" and the band had a name.

Song 1 of 4

The Origin

Mobile, Alabama sits at the north end of Mobile Bay, at the place where the Mobile River empties into the Gulf of Mexico and decides it's done traveling. It is not a city that is on the way to somewhere else. It is, for the people who live there, exactly where they are.

In 1987, four musicians had been playing together in Mobile for approximately two years. Dale Whitfield played bass and sang. Bobby Kowalczyk played lead guitar. Mike Tran played rhythm. Jimmy Fontenot played drums. They traveled in Dale's 1984 Ford F-150, covered in the truck bed with a tarp that worked approximately seventy percent of the time.

A pickup truck pulled onto the shoulder of a causeway over a wide bay at dusk
The causeway, Mobile Bay. A man pulled over to keep a line. Forty minutes.

Song 2 of 4

The Raccoon

The show in Biloxi was August 1987. An outdoor stage in a parking lot adjacent to a bar whose name no one has been able to confirm, though three separate people have described it as "the one with the tarpon mounted above the door."

The raccoon was large. Reddish-brown. A notch in his left ear that suggested experience. He moved, according to Mike Tran — who had spent a year in wildlife removal in Pascagoula — like a professional.

For approximately fifteen minutes, four musicians stood at the edge of a parking lot in Biloxi, Mississippi, and watched a raccoon dismantle their merchandise. The cassette tapes. The Styrofoam cooler. The handwritten price list.

Nobody chased the raccoon. Nobody said anything. And then Jimmy Fontenot said four words: "Critter's gonna critter."

He has described it as a factual observation. Not a band name. Not a philosophy. Just a thing that was true.

Song 3 of 4

The Sound

Southern rock, technically. But Southern rock is a genre that performs urgency. What Critter's Gonna Critter played was something different — music that had thought it through and arrived somewhere. Music that didn't need you to agree with it.

A music critic named Darren Mouton drove four hours from Pensacola to see them in 1993. His review ended: "Whitfield sings like a man who has already thought it through and arrived somewhere, and is now generously allowing you to watch him be there."

That is the most accurate description of Critter's Gonna Critter ever written. The band did not know it existed until 2019.

Song 4 of 4

The End

They never broke up. They simply stopped showing up one by one between 1994 and 1996 until there was nobody left.

Jimmy's postcard from Pensacola arrived sometime in late 1995. It said "critter's gonna critter :)" with a smiley face. This was the last communication from him.

Dale played one final show as Critter's Gonna Critter to an audience of four people and a dog in Pensacola in 1996. The dog stayed for the entire set. One of the four people left after the third song. Dale considered this a reasonable outcome.

The dog's name was never recorded.

The Merch Table · Reconstructed

Plywood on two sawhorses. Slightly uneven. Dale said it was fine.

The original table held the cassette tapes, a foam cooler and a price list written on a paper plate. All three were lost in Biloxi. The archive has rebuilt the table from three separate accounts. The tapes are below. Pick one up to read the card.

Critter's Gonna Critter1988

Critter’s Gonna Critter

Critter's Gonna Critter

Self-titled. Self-explanatory. 300 copies pressed from the truck.

SIDE A

  1. A1Critter's Gonna Critter
  2. A2Raccoon at the Merch Table (The Incident)
  3. A3Mobile Bay Decides It's Done Traveling
  4. A4Not On the Way to Somewhere Else

SIDE B

  1. B1Seventy Percent Tarp
  2. B2A Dollar Sounded Nice
  3. B3Truck Bed Gospel
  4. B4Mobile Alabama Saturday Night

8 songs · words on file: 8Open the case →

What Are You Gonna Do1990

Critter’s Gonna Critter

What Are You Gonna Do

The follow-up. Same answer to every question on it.

SIDE A

  1. A1What Are You Gonna Do
  2. A2Gerald (Out of the Rain)
  3. A3The Bass Was Good
  4. A4Four Hours to Play for One

SIDE B

  1. B1Rained on the Amps in Hattiesburg
  2. B2Cuss It or Grin It
  3. B3Road Acceptance

7 songs · words on file: 7Open the case →

Possum Logic1992

Critter’s Gonna Critter

Possum Logic

Their most philosophical record. The songs are longer. Nobody complained.

SIDE A

  1. A1Possum Logic
  2. A2Arrived Somewhere
  3. A3The Restraint Is the Point
  4. A4Let It Finish

SIDE B

  1. B1Patient as Alabama
  2. B2Nobody Complained
  3. B3Slow Is a Decision

7 songs · words on file: 7Open the case →

One More Show1995

Critter’s Gonna Critter

One More Show

There were several more shows after this. The title was aspirational in the wrong direction.

SIDE A

  1. A1One More Show
  2. A2Stopped Showing Up
  3. A3The Last Full-Band Show ('94)
  4. A4He Didn't Say Why (Bobby Left for Biloxi)

SIDE B

  1. B1Three More Cassettes (Sold by Mail)
  2. B2Thank-You Notes, Unsigned
  3. B3The Sandbar (Charlie's Room)

7 songs · words on file: 7Open the case →

PRICE LIST

The original plate was eaten in Biloxi, August 1987. This is a reconstruction. The prices have been left off.

ON THE TAPE DECK

What Are You Gonna Do · What Are You Gonna Do, 1990

Side A, track one. The only recording the archive can play for you.

A folding merch table with a cooler and stacked cassettes in a bar parking lot at night
A merch table, Gulf Coast, late 1980s. Not the original. The original did not survive.
The bed of a 1980s pickup truck loaded with amplifiers under a blue tarp in light rain
The truck. The tarp. Approximately seventy percent.

Loose tapes

Four songs that never made a record. Dale kept them on unlabeled cassettes in a shoebox. The archive has labeled them. Dale has not objected.

01Four People and a Dog (Pensacola '96)

The final Critter's Gonna Critter performance. Whitfield has confirmed every detail in this song except the number of people, which he has said may have been five.

Words on file
Pensacola, ninety-six, a Tuesday
Bar that I had played about eleven times
Four people in the room when I plugged in
And a dog laid down in front of me

Four people and a dog
And I played the whole set
One of them left after the third song
The dog did not

Played every song I had that I still liked
Which by that point was more than you would think
Nobody requested anything — nobody would have known to
The dog slept through the loud ones. The dog was fine.

I have thought about that room more than the full ones
And I do not know exactly why that is
Might be there was nothing left to prove there
Might be I finally got to just play.

02Postcard from Pensacola

The postcard is the last known communication from Fontenot to any member of the band. Whitfield has it. He has allowed the archive to confirm the postmark and nothing further.

Words on file
Card came in the mail in late November
Picture of a beach I have seen in person
Postmark Pensacola. No return address.
Four words on the back, and a smiley face

Critter's gonna critter
That is all he wrote
That is the last that I have heard from Jimmy Fontenot
And that is all he wrote

I have turned it over more than I will admit to
Looking for a thing that is not there
It is not a goodbye. It is not an apology.
It is a man telling me that he is somewhere.

I played Pensacola the next year, in the spring
Did not look for him. Would not have known where.
But I checked the room before I started
Which is a thing that I did not used to do.

03The Last Member Standing

Whitfield has never registered the name and has said he would not know who to register it against.

Words on file
There is not a ceremony for it
Nobody hands a man a thing at all
You just notice on a Thursday in the kitchen
That the calling of the name has come to you

Last member standing
Which is not a thing you win
It just means everybody else had somewhere better
And you did not

I could have quit. I want to be clear that I could have.
It was available to me the entire time.
Nobody would have thought a thing about it.
It just never got to be the thing on my mind.

The name is mine now, I suppose, by attrition
Which is the worst way to come by anything
I have not changed a word of it. It is still ours.
I am just the one still saying it out loud.

04The Dog's Name Was Never Recorded

The final track in the Critter's Gonna Critter catalogue. The dog has never been identified. The archive has made no attempt.

Words on file
There were four people there and I did not get their names
There was a bartender and I did not get his
There was a dog that stayed for the entire set
And nobody wrote down what his name was

The dog's name was never recorded
And neither was most of it
Not the rooms, not the nights, not the two hundred drives
Somebody should have written some of it

There is a version of this where I am bitter
I have looked at it. I have tried it on.
It does not fit, and I have not got the frame for it,
And I would have to be a different man.

So here is what I have got, and it is not much:
Eleven years. Four records. One truck.
A raccoon in Biloxi and a man out of the rain
And a dog whose name I never got.

Critter's gonna critter.
What are you gonna do.

The Band

Four on the riser. Three who got them there.

The Four

They played together for two years before the name. They played together seven years after it.

Dale Whitfield, Lead Vocals / Bass

Dale Whitfield “Possum”

Lead Vocals / Bass · 1987–the end

“Critter's gonna critter. What are you gonna do.”

Habit on file. Dale ends every set with a single slow note held as long as possible on the bass. When it fades completely he nods once, slowly, and steps back.

Now. Still in Mobile, Alabama. Has accepted the situation. Plays occasionally under his own name. The audience is usually small. He is fine with this.

Bobby Kowalczyk, Lead Guitar

Bobby Kowalczyk

Lead Guitar · 1987–1994

“What are you gonna do.”

Habit on file. Bobby ends guitar solos by looking at Dale. Not for confirmation. Just to see what Dale thinks. Dale almost never shows what he thinks.

Now. Moved to Biloxi in 1994. Did not say why. This was considered an appropriate departure for a member of Critters Gonna Critter. He has not elaborated.

Mike Tran, Rhythm Guitar

Mike Tran “Raccoon”

Rhythm Guitar · 1987–1995

“He'd done that before.”

Habit on file. Mike watches the audience while playing — not performing for them, watching them. He wants to know what the music is doing to the room.

Now. Was present when the raccoon ate the merch table. Worked briefly in wildlife removal before the band. Has described the raccoon as professional. He means this as a compliment.

Jimmy Fontenot, Drums

Jimmy Fontenot

Drums · 1987–1995

“I keep the time. That's what I'm there for.”

Habit on file. Jimmy ends every song by coming off the final beat slightly softer than the rest — a gradual diminuendo that brings the song down instead of stopping it. Dale noticed and built the bass endings around it.

Now. Named the band. Sent a postcard from Pensacola in 1995 that said critters gonna critter with a smiley face. This was the last communication from him. The smiley face is considered the most important punctuation mark in the band's history.

Load-In

A road manager, a sound man and the woman who kept booking them on Tuesdays. The archive counts all three.

Leland Dupree, Road Manager

Leland Dupree “Rooster”

Road Manager · 1988–1996

“Four outlets that work and a place to park the van that is not mud.”

Habit on file. Rooster arrives at every venue forty-five minutes early, walks the room, checks the outlets, and identifies the nearest Waffle House. This has never varied.

Now. Retired. Lives in Pascagoula, Mississippi. Owns a bait shop. Still wears the hat.

Wendell Crews, Sound Engineer

Wendell Crews

Sound Engineer · 1988–1996

“The signal was clean. That was my part.”

Habit on file. Wendell arrives at every venue before everyone else and tests every outlet with a multimeter before plugging anything in. He has never varied from this. He does not trust venue wiring. The archive considers this reasonable.

Now. IT department, Mobile County school system. Still has the screwdriver in his pocket. Still wears the glasses.

Charlene Broussard, Venue Owner (The Sandbar, Biloxi)

Charlene Broussard “Charlie”

Venue Owner (The Sandbar, Biloxi) · 1988–1993

“They were quiet. They loaded in on time. Dale said thank you. The bass was too loud but I never told him because he was polite about it.”

Habit on file. Charlie stands in the doorway of The Sandbar and counts the house before the first song. She does not count during the show. She counts again at close. The numbers are always in her head.

Now. Sold The Sandbar in 2002. Retired. Lives in Ocean Springs, Mississippi. Plays mahjong on Wednesdays.

A small Gulf Coast bar on a weeknight, a four-piece band playing to a handful of people, a woman in the doorway
The Sandbar, Biloxi. A Tuesday. Charlie counted the house from the door.
A handwritten setlist taped to a plywood stage floor beside a bass amplifier
A setlist, taped down. The last song was always the same song.

The Date Book

Three nights the archive has written down.

Most of the nights were not written down. These were. The book is kept in pencil.

1987

The Raccoon

Outdoor venue parking lot, Biloxi, Mississippi

A raccoon climbed onto the Biloxi merch table and methodically ate the whole thing — cassettes, cooler, price list — while the band stood and watched for fifteen minutes. Nobody chased it. Nobody said a word. Then Jimmy Fontenot said four words: "Critter's gonna critter."

Full entry

The Raccoon Incident occurred in August 1987 in Biloxi, Mississippi, at an outdoor show in a parking lot beside a bar no one has ever been able to name. The band had a fold-out merchandise table — plywood on two sawhorses that Dale had built and Bobby had criticized as slightly uneven and Dale had said was fine. It held the cassette tapes, a Styrofoam cooler, and a price list handwritten on a paper plate. Mike had arranged the merchandise with a precision that Bobby found excessive and Dale found appropriate. The raccoon came from the direction of the drainage ditch at the edge of the lot. It was substantial — Bobby says large-cat size, Mike says medium dog, Dale says a raccoon. Reddish-brown, with a notch through its left ear that suggested experience. It went directly to the table and began, methodically, to eat the merchandise. It worked through the cassette tapes one at a time. It tipped the cooler and let the ice go. It ate the price list. For approximately fifteen minutes the four of them stood at the edge of the lot and watched, and nobody chased it, and nobody said a word. When it had finished it looked at the band for a few seconds, and then it left. Jimmy Fontenot said four words: "Critter's gonna critter." He has described this as a factual observation — not a band name, not a philosophy, just a thing that was true. After a moment Bobby said "What are you gonna do." Mike, after about thirty seconds, said one thing: "He'd done that before." The archive asked Mike how he knew. Mike said you could tell by how comfortable he was.

1989

The Gulfport Show

A bar in Gulfport, Mississippi

Gerald came in out of the rain. The other person left. Gerald stayed, bought a cassette with exact change, said the bass was good. Dale says it's his favorite show.

Full entry

On a Thursday in March 1989, two people attended a Critter's Gonna Critter show in Gulfport. One was a man named Gerald who had come in out of the rain. The other was a woman waiting for someone who did not arrive. The woman left after twenty minutes. Gerald stayed for the full set. Gerald bought a cassette. He paid with exact change. He said the bass was good. He left. Dale has said the Gulfport show is his favorite show. Nobody has asked him to explain this. He has not explained it.

1994

The Last Full-Band Show

Mobile, Alabama

The last time all four played together, Mobile, 1994. Dale said the music was finished and they should let it finish. Bobby said that was a hell of a way to put it. Mike said nothing. Jimmy said okay. Nobody called it a breakup — they just started showing up less, until it was only Dale.

Full entry

The last time all four members of Critter's Gonna Critter played together was in Mobile, in early 1994. It was not announced as anything. After the show Dale said he thought they had probably played what they were going to play. Bobby asked what that meant. Dale said the music was finished and they should let it finish. Bobby said that was a hell of a way to put it. Mike said nothing. Jimmy said okay. Nobody declared a breakup. They simply started showing up less — Bobby to Biloxi that same year, Mike and Jimmy the year after — until it was only Dale. Dale kept the name alive by himself, playing occasional shows through the final one in Pensacola in 1996.

A man in a wet jacket stepping into a dim bar out of the rain
Gulfport, March 1989. A man came in out of the rain. He stayed.

Napkins

Left on the bar after close.

Some people write reviews. Some people write on a napkin and leave it under a glass. The archive collected both.

★★★★★

The raccoon story is either the best band origin story in Southern rock history or the most accurate description of being on tour. Possibly both.

— D. Whitfield, Mobile, AL
★★★★★

Gerald said the bass was good. Gerald was right. I was there.

— A Person Who Was Also There, Gulfport, MS
★★★★★

Four People and a Dog is the most beautiful song title I have ever encountered. I have not listened to it. I do not need to. The title is enough.

— Music Fan, Pensacola, FL
★★★★★

The raccoon had done that before. You could tell by how comfortable he was.

— Mike Tran, Mobile, AL
★★★★★

I wore this shirt to a situation I could not control. It helped more than it should have.

— Anonymous, Somewhere in Alabama
★★★★★

I came in out of the rain in Gulfport. Stayed for the whole set. Bought the cassette. Worth getting rained on.

— Gerald, Gulfport, MS
★★★★★

Possum Logic is seven minutes and forty seconds of the most patient music ever recorded in the state of Alabama. I have listened to it fourteen times. I understand it slightly less each time. This is correct.

— B. Kowalczyk, Biloxi, MS
★★★★★

The dog stayed for the whole set. The dog had better taste than three of the four humans present. I can only respect this.

— J. Fontenot, Pensacola, FL

CLIPPING · Gulf Coast Weekly · August 1987

LOCAL ACTS: Various performances

Critter's Gonna Critter plays the Biloxi circuit

Contributed

Critter's Gonna Critter, a four-piece out of Mobile, Alabama, played a show at an outdoor venue in Biloxi last Saturday that this reviewer attended due to a scheduling confusion and stayed for due to the bass playing.

The band's music is slow, heavy, and warm in the way that the Gulf Coast is warm — not aggressively, but persistently, in a way that outlasts your resistance. The songs are long. The bass is very good. The guitar fills are precise in a way that rewards attention.

There was an incident with a raccoon after the set that this reviewer witnessed and has decided not to report on, as the context would require more space than this column allows and the band's response to it was, this reviewer believes, a private matter.

Critter's Gonna Critter plays the Pensacola circuit next month.

“Slow, heavy, and warm in the way the Gulf Coast is warm — persistently, in a way that outlasts your resistance.”

Archive Notes

What the archive understands.

FILE · MYTHOLOGY

The Raccoon Was Never Named

The raccoon has never been named. Not by the band. Not by the archive. Not by anyone present that night in Biloxi. This was never discussed. It was never proposed. It was never considered necessary. The archive refers to him exclusively as "the raccoon" — definite article, lowercase — as though there is only one and everyone knows which one. Bobby Kowalczyk calls him "the raccoon." Dale Whitfield calls him "the raccoon." Mike Tran, whose nickname became Raccoon because of this animal, calls him "the raccoon." Jimmy Fontenot, who named the band after the raccoon's behavior, never named the raccoon himself. When asked if anyone ever named the raccoon, the consistent response across all four members has been some variation of: "No. That was never discussed. He didn't need a name. He knew who he was." The archive considers this appropriate. The raccoon arrived, conducted his business, and departed. His identity remains unconfirmed. The archive does not editorialize.

  • The raccoon had done this before. You could tell by how he moved.
  • Mobile, Alabama. 1987–1996. They never broke up. They just stopped showing up.
A lone bass player on a small stage in a nearly empty bar, a dog asleep on the floor in front of him
Pensacola, 1996. Four people. Possibly five. One dog, for the entire set.

Sign the clipboard.

There was always a clipboard on the table. Name and town. The band never mailed anything to it. The Sideband Label merch table does. New recordings, shirts, and anything the archive confirms.

Go to the merch table

The raccoon has not signed. The archive does not expect him to.

Printed on the back

Mobile, Alabama. 1987. The bass was good.

The dog stayed for the whole set.

Critter's gonna critter.