I’m reading excerpts from a book entitled “The Cultural Resistance Reader” edited by a guy named Duncombe. In the introduction, he speaks of how people can create their own forms of culture. His was getting into the subculture of punk rock, starting a band. He says that, “punk was a great tool for articulating the problems of my world, and providing a supportive culture where I could develop that critique.”
Reading along further, it appears that his problems and my problems were quite similar, namely suburban boredom, being corralled into school, being forced into situations that our parents deemed were “in our own good.” We were looking for something controversial. Punk rock opened my life up to create something that was mine instead of having my parents tell me what I was going to do.
When I discovered punk at age 12 or so with Green Day, then Pennywise, then Nofx, I was hooked. I was bored with being shuttled to sports, school, boy scouts, etc. I needed some meaning put into my life that only I could provide. I needed something that nobody else could help with. It had to be up to me and my friends.
A few of my friends were also feeling destined for nothing and took up the cause with me. We felt so controlled, corralled like cattle. We would trade CD’s and tapes back and forth and all of our parents hated it, but some were cooler with it than others. Mine were decent about it for sure, but goodness gracious a few of the parents hated the fact that we wanted green hair or shirts with dogs shitting out a bands logo across the front (that would be the Vandals). They didn’t get what happened to their little angels, so they tried to control us more, which only widened the distance growing between mothers/fathers and sons. Having our parents hate our music only made it that much sexier to us.
When I tracked down a $50 drum kit and Derrick got his hands on a Fender Squier, we became determined to start a band influenced by NOFX, Blink 182, the Vandals, Pennywise, Bad Religion, whoever! As long as it was fast, loud, and beckoned the youth, they had us by the throats.
The band set up shop in the backroom of my basement with me on vocals, Derrick on guitar, Ryan on bass, Kevin on drums, and Craig on second guitar. I’d say this line up lasted a few months, before John worked his way into our lives on bass and vocals.
I had been practicing drums every day instead of doing homework. I got better at the double time punk beat with the speedy bass pedal work. We booted Kevin and I sat in on drums and the band became a trio called ’ No Comment’ which paid homage to our suggested apathy toward the institutionalized lives that had been cast upon us like a fishing net.
We learned some tunes and recorded a 10-song cassette, which I still have. Since we were 13 or 14 year olds with no money, we had to do everything ourselves, including recording. Our method was genius. Our buddy Spencer would hold up a microphone, which fed into the tape deck of my dad’s 1970’s technics stereo set-up. We had Chris draw up some artwork, then dubbed 40 copies or something of that cassette, and then we sold them for like $3 a piece at our school. We were the band at the school.
We would play shows anywhere. My yard, church’s, the school, clubs, theaters, anywhere really. We would drive to out of town shows in Illinois or outside of St. Louis in John’s little diesel Ford Ranger with the camper shell. We loved every second of it.
This band was us making our own little slice of expressive culture. We eventually made a CD in an actual “studio” (some dude’s basement) and then jerry-rigged some photo-copied artwork and sold them as a full length. It was great!
The band broke up, but I still talk to those dudes. It’s amazing how much that culture still affects my life. I still listen to the music because it speaks to me just like it always has. It challenges me to hear the problems in the world and to look at issues. It’s so incredibly important to me, even 14 years after I first heard my first punk songs.
This is my culture. This is my history. This is my life.
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