If you're looking for something to do this New Year's Eve, there's hardly a better way to do it Philly-style than spending the evening with Kenn Kweder.
Kweder is fiercely loyal to his hometown, a kind of patron saint to all those who have spent countless nights scrambling around the city's bars and nightclubs trying to make a buck. Having recently moved up to Port Richmond from Fishtown, the Southwest Philly native has done stints in neighborhoods all over the city during the course of his three-decade long music career.

Kweder first broke out in 1972 when he splattered the city with a poster that had his name and one word - Folk - paired with the unsettling image of Jack Ruby offing Lee Harvey Oswald.It was a disconcerting billboard that got him blacklisted from some clubs. But it also got a Kweder-buzz humming around Philly and set the tone for his music, a weird blizzard of folk, rock and punk.
Implied in the now-infamous image was the notion that there ought to be some level of danger and risk in art and music.
And, if there is one thing that can be said about his career, let it be that known he has staked it all on his own insistence that things be done the Kweder way.
Early on, Kweder rocketed into the spotlight of the mid- to late '70s rock scene, and had the pleasure of jamming with the likes of Elvis Costello, Patti Smith, and the Ramones.
For a while, big-name recruiters like the Arista label dogged Kweder in attempt to get him a contract.

But Kweder says those offers also came with the stipulation that he ditch his band, then the Secret Kidds, and come to New York.
It was a sacrifice Kweder insists he could never swallow. And he assumed that one concession would just lead to a long list of other creative constraints that would be levied on him.
"It was just something I wasn't going to do, man," says Kweder, who, at 55, still explodes with Neal Cassidy-like energy. "It literally would have killed me."
From that point on, Kweder has persisted, never really giving up control of his own work and direction.
He's put out a handful of albums, popped up in Rolling Stone magazine, and had his song, "The Ballad of Manute Bull," featured in an ESPN documentary about the former 76ers player.

Those are just a few of the strange places the ferociously independent Philly rocker has managed to surface while stringing together a career that has been largely financed by personal funds and gifts and loans from believers.
Perhaps, though, what is most impressive is his tenacity.
Kweder is like some kind of an enigmatic dynamo, powered by god-knows-what, who has been ceaselessly cranking out music since adolescence, even in the face of seeming futility.

Last year, Kweder quit his 17-year long run as a bartender, evoking a kind of seedy, booze-soaked Charles Bukowski existence that stretched on for close to two decades.
"It was great, something I really liked. I got to meet talented people, untalented people, all sorts of real kaleidoscope type personalities, which is great for songwriting," explains Kweder.

Before that?
"Oh, I had a job with the government, which was hilarious. I busked in Europe, came back to Philly, then lived in Copenhagen. I was all over," says Kweder.
Today, it's all music, and Kweder seems as dedicated as ever.
"I gig about four nights a week, wherever I can, and I'm always talking to people and looking for somewhere else to play," Kweder said.
Musically, his long career has been a whirlwind of styles, changing about as often as the line up of musicians he plays with.
Much of his work is like a schizophrenic mix between Don McClean, Bob Dylan, Daniel Johnston, and the Violent Femmes.
The common thread that runs through all the years of recording and bands is Kweder's surging energy, quirky creativity and masterful vocals.
He can jump from a clear-voiced country tune (imbued with his own brand of Kweder weirdness, of course) to growling and near-violent garage numbers like a train switches tracks.

It's that pliability and vigor that makes him as much at home in the WHYY studios with Michael McGrath recording his song "Two Little Bugs" for the gardening show as he is in a rough Grey's Ferry bar.
This New Year's, Kweder will join his five-man group, The Men from Wawa, at the Tin Angle for raucous celebration.
There's a good chance that show will sell out soon, but Kweder's unfading enthusiasm makes it easy to catch him live elsewhere.
Finding out where he will be from night to night is bit more tricky, but you can subscribe to his e-mail list at kwedersdigest@gmail.com for nightly updates.
If you're looking to soak up Kweder's massive body of work, it's hard to beat Kwederology Volume 1 and Kwederology Volume 2, which rack up 53 tracks from '72 and on.

And even if you haven't been hanging in rock joints since the early 1970s, Kweder and John Henderson recently went to the trouble of sorting through hundreds of taped performances to release A Million Light Years of Kenn Kweder.
The DVD retrospective, available at AKA music, is loaded with great live performances, candid crowd interaction, and some bizarre intoxicated rants.
Pure rock 'n' roll folly.
"It's kind of embarrassing, but also honest, I guess," laughs Kweder. "And a lot of fun."
Brian Rademaekers