However, after six hours of daily practice throughout his freshman year. Federer decided that classical music was not for him. Although it meant that he had to repeat his freshman year, he transferred out of music--majoring instead in psychology. In the next four years. Federer played soccer (he was captain of B.U.'s team) and gradually gained an interest in non-classical music. He improvised on the violin with records of Eastern music, mostly Ravi Shankar. Federer left B.U. in 1970 just one course short of graduation, unsure of what he would do. August saw him at Stonehenge jamming with anyone who was willing--including Bo Diddley and finally Guns & Butter.

Just after Lenny joined them, Neal Grossman, a Boston-based manager, offered to take on the group. "We thought he was kidding," recalled Lyons, but the group entered into an agreement and Grossman assured them of a recording contract.

In the next few months the group made little concrete gain. Grossman made a tape of them and fought his way into the offices of several record company executives, only to be given the classic "don't-call-us-we'll-call-you" routine.

Lyons recalled that the band had trouble finding places where they might practice through the fall, and at one point rented a small storefront in Swampscott where he said they nearly froze. But Federer added, "We were finally getting our own music, getting up on our own feet. That was enough to keep us happy." That winter they received miscellaneous jobs at dances, including several Harvard mixers.

The big break for Guns & Butter came when Lennie Sogoloff, of the renowned club Lennie's on the Turnpike, agreed somewhat reluctantly ("Well, it doesn't knock me on my ass," he said) to let them back up the James Cotton Blues Band for one night. That night G & B stacked the house with relatives, friends, anybody they could convince to pay the cost of admission. "They started yelling for us to do encores before we even came on." Lyons recalled. Sogoloff wasn't fooled, but kept them on another night to see how they'd do. They did well enough for him to keep them the whole week.

From there the route to success was more certain. Sogoloff had them back again in March, but this time as the feature attraction. In search of experience and exposure they landed jobs in concerts and at small clubs. "It really helped that we could say that we'd played at Lennie's," Lyons said. "People would give us a chance."

It all led up to an audition for Marshal Chess, business manager of the Rolling Stones, and director of Rolling Stones Records. A contract through Chess--coming just as Lyons and Peter Cohen graduated from Marblehead High School--with Atlantic Records followed in August, 1971.

They recorded the album late last summer and have given a few college concerts since then. For the last few months, it's been something of a waiting game for them. "We want to get out and play, but we have to wait until the record comes out before we start touring." Lyons said. "The strategy is to be in each town just as the album is released there. It seems like we've just been sitting on our asses, waiting since we started..."

We were sitting in Neal Grossman's apartment discussing Guns & Butter with Jeff Lyons and Lenny Federer. We had just finished discussing the group's history.

"We're really skipping all the stages a rock band goes through," Jeff said. "Some bands spend years backing up other bands at concerts before they put out an album. We're kind of jumping to the top right away. In some ways I think we suffer."

"The band would grow up smoother--mature more--if we were going slower," he added.

We wondered exactly what he meant.

"We were up at Rochester a little while ago, and the audience wanted to hear schlock-rock. So they didn't like us, and we just turned them off completely. We played just for ourselves. That's a very poor attitude."

We weren't quite so sure. We asked where one should draw the line in music between the art and the product.

"You're innovative when you write music, but beyond that it's a product."