What Is Punk?: An Outsider’s Take on the Outsider of Rock Music

Big Mario's Pizza, Seattle. The inspiration for this piece came while listening to punk in this booth.

It’s easy to picture arena rock: conjure up the tank-topped falsetto greatness of Freddie Mercury or the white and black, mime-from-hell makeup of KISS. It’s easy to conjure up an image for pop music: Madonna in a wedding dress, maybe Miley Cyrus donning a skimptastic outfit while belting out sounds defiantly if you’re a bit younger. However, it’s always been hard for me to picture punk rock. Sure there’s the green mohawk. The iconic sweat-torn jean jacket complete with band patches. But then there’s also an underlying infatuation with pizza that comes to my mind. Vans skate shoes. Skateboarding. MTV. Jackass. Even heartthrob actor Ashton Kutcher.

Why does the idea of punk lead me down so many different avenues? These associations confuse me not only because punk seems to be very special in this regard, but also in that I associate a food for which I have an innate childhood love with a musical genre I claim to care nothing about. Why do I connect a certain food or shoe brand with punk alone and not with any other type of music?  This was the type of question I found myself confronting when I started the stud-filled journey to identify what punk music means to me. 

Growing up listening to the likes of jazz smoothies Al Jarreau and Kenny G on my parents’ early nineties stereo system, the punk rock genre has always been near-impossible for me to define within my own musical schema. It’s easier for me to explain some specific genre like Norwegian black metal or psych soul. These are genres that emerged out of necessity of location or blending of genres. Trying to disseminate the layers of a musical system like punk, something so essential to the music being created today, is like trying to reverse engineer a milkshake.

All it takes is a listen to a few songs from post-punk rockers Butthole Surfers to understand why the concept of punk is so hard to pin down: the Surfer’s sound ranges from grunge to metal to what this outsider believes to be almost straight-up radio-play indie rock. Tinges of psychedelica a la Pink Floyd and Gun’s n’ Roses acoustic balladry mesh seamlessly when one listens closely. It doesn’t help that a quick internet search reveals that the Butthole Surfers might be categorized into Noise Rock, the No Wave movement, or just plain sell-outs after a controversial signing to Capitol Records in 1992.

Maybe a true (I use the attribute loosely here) punk fan would tell you that Buttonhole Surfers are the furthest removed from punk. They took the money. But the slow commercialization of a genre of music has happened since the money-making side of music began. Another punk fan might say the exact opposite: that Butthole Surfers epitomize the punk sound. It’s not that this is a new phenomenon within the categorization of music. Fans disagree on what defines a genre. Genres change. Let’s take the aforementioned musical genre of jazz for example. Since I’m much more familiar with this family tree, and since it’s been around significantly longer than the punk genre, I think it might lend some insight into how complex a musical genre can get within its own contributors and listeners.

In the twenties, listeners would have associated jazz with big bands, heavily-scripted solos, and a certain clarinet-playing white guy whose playing encouraged a light-hearted dance from its listeners. By the late fifties and into the sixties, however, jazz became more counter-culture, a commentary on big issues (see Mingus’ Fables of Faubus), and took on the pre-rock image of the badass sticking it to the man. Now, jazz seems to have moved towards a multitude of different sounds and attitudes towards the genre. Perhaps, as jazz illustrates, it takes decades to evolve a genre to the point of accepted coherence, but in punk’s case it seems like the timeline is more fluid in defining the genre. Bands emerged during the mid-seventies that took punk in entirely different directions at the same time.

 As I read Patti Smith’s Just Kids a number of years ago, I couldn’t imagine punk being CBGB and the Talking Heads, this idea that punk could be glamorized in a late-seventies New York setting where famous artists and writers flocked to the same area as movie stars and trying-to-make-it, retail-working poets. I thought of the Ramones’ self-titled album (released in 1976) as having defined the genre at the time. Patti Smith’s music was much more contemplative in both lyrics and execution. There was also something about old poets representing an influence on punk that rubbed me the wrong way.

Near the end of the book, however, Smith discusses the recording of her seminal album, Horses. She cites three sources as inspiration for the album’s songs: “The gratitude I had for rock and roll as it pulled me through a difficult adolescence. The joy I experienced when I danced. The moral power I gleaned in taking responsibility for one’s action” (249). In this passage, I finally found a clue. I’ve always struggled with the concept that one can associate a certain attitude with a style of music, but here Smith, discussing her own music, unwittingly combines a number of tenets which clearly outline what punk is supposed to represent on the whole: not just one attitude, but a series of inclinations joined together to create an art form.

It is within this set of attitudes and beliefs that people like David Byrne or his recent associate, Annie Clark (St. Vincent), might fit under the punk umbrella: something that is one part showmanship, one part rock and roll, and one part belief system. Certainly this breakdown is a broad one, and naysayers might argue that other genres of music throughout history have had these three characteristics.

There are, then, other intangibles that make punk what it is. Take its place in time for instance. Punk emerged during a time when free speech was not only embraced but pushed to its barrier in terms of comfort. It has become a symbol as the bullhorn for a culture of people. It has also become a commercial enterprise as is evident in the Vans Warped Tour. T-shirts and band merch have almost become a necessity to young fans of the genre. There are so many little things that make punk difficult to define. Maybe what I’m looking for is too complicated, or maybe I’m over-complicating a genre that is simple by nature.

In the end, this is the understanding I have come to in terms of what makes punk so unique and defines it at the same time: it is a series of contradicting attitudes, attitudes that have bonded over time and become one unit. Like braided streams forming a river, the culture-hungry NYC Patti Smiths of the world are equally as punk as the skate-punk bands hocking five-dollar sew-on patches in backroom DIY venues while sucking down greasy slices of pizza in lieu of payment. It is in embracing this fact that I found resolution to the question, what is punk? Punk is not one idea, but instead the evolution of ideas over time to form a coherent ideology. Punk is what you make it. Give a shit, don’t give a shit. Think deeply, turn off. Dance in a crowd or listen carefully alone. Make a boatload of money or scrape by on pizza. Destroy the system altogether or rebuild it to your liking. Punk is all of these things. Punk is none of them.

Recommended Listening:

·      Horses by Patti Smith

·      Stop Making Sense by Talking Heads

·      Electriclarryland by Butthole Surfers

·      Ah Um by Charles Mingus

Recommended Reading:

-Just Kids by Patti Smith      
-The First Collection of Criticism by a Living Female Rock Critic by Jessica Hopper

Pit Wagon's Self-Titled Release Digs Up a Pile of Musical Goodness

Under most circumstances, this writer would use the word “unsatisfying” in a less-than-complimentary way, but it happens to be the only way to describe Pit Wagon’s self-titled debut. It’s congruency, lyricism, and musicality are top-notch: no doubt in my mind. The instrumentation, collaborations, and wit are all superbly well thought-out. So why, one might ask, is the first word that comes to mind when listening to this album “unsatisfying?”

The answer: we live in a beautifully unsatisfying world, time, and place. This is a soundtrack for the unfulfilled soul, sidewalk heartbreak, lovers constantly quarreling, brimstone-crossed comfort, and, of course, the feeling in the back of the throat after nights and days filled with too much whiskey and half-smoked cigarettes: the dust and residue of which mostly comprises the songs on Pit Wagon’s record. 

Take, for instance, the character Kassandra in the track of the same name, who’s “not an angel from heaven; she’s an angel from hell I can tell.” The stories told are those of gray relationships, one-way infatuation. “Black Heart” is the search for the hypothetical one in all the wrong places. This writer’s favorite track, the song walks a blues with a few boot kicks square through a door and has a female antagonist that storms her lover more like Godzilla taking a city rather than the Hollywood-invented run across a park towards welcome arms in a smoothed-out summer dress. 

The album even takes its message further, defending downtrodden and beat-down unions of Wisconsin in “Hey Gov.” However, the fact that Voldy, the lead songwriter of the group, might know a thing or two about love comes through loud and clear. Giving everyone who listens a throat lozenge of hope after all that smoky mess of cynicism, the last track poses, “Hey guv’ner, hey guv’ner, well what about love? You think your decisions are sent from above. You think you can change things with a push and a shove. Hey guv’ner hey guv’ner, well what about love?”

I’d say that if there’s anything this album tells us about love, it’s that it’s not forced. But it does show up between the cracks in rotting floorboards, on long drives down swervy, pot-holed highways, and resolves itself in the clarity of a self-destructive hangover soothed by the sounds of Mabis’ slide guitar, Jensen’s self-taught harmonies, and Voldy’s rasp-tinged vocal cords. I’d also reckon this album will convince you to catch Pit Wagon at one of their upcoming shows or later on down the road this summer. They’ll be filling the holes in the streets of Eau Claire and beyond with sweet, sweat-drenched, and lemonade-spiked songs that represent this town well. 

A Poet's Dilemma: One Person's Search for Insight into a Poem's Success

Over the last couple years, I've been dipping into prose poetry and simpler forms of poetry, poetry far from those that are taught in the "standard canon" collection. On multiple occasions, I've read poems and thought, "Well, I've read (or, in some unlikely cases even written) something far greater than that." Contrary to common sense, I appreciate these instances because they allow me to return to the poem in order to explore why that particular poem has been published or even reached exceptional acclaim.

Now, there's no doubt in my mind that poetry has a certain knack for grandfathering in poets who have reached a certain level of acceptance by peers, but there are many times when the poem in question, upon return, reveals some layers that were unexpected. One particular poem, "Nothing in That Drawer" by Ron Padgett, has had me pondering the nature of poetic genius for a long time. 

You can view the poem below:

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20967

I had a love/hate relationship with this poem. It's easy to see why upon first read. The poem is published in a collection of Padgett's poems, and it's also been anthologized in 180 more Extraordinary Poems for Everyday, a book of poems selected by noted plain-prose poet Billy Collins. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love the "180" anthologies, but I struggled for a long time with how this poem could possibly be so successful. 

My thought process, then, went from extreme dislike to trying to find a way to rationalize the quality of the poem. I'm a deep thinker, I'll admit, but I just couldn't accept that this poets' circle would just include this poem as a joke or, worse, a crass chuckle in the face of the general public. I trust Mr. Collins with my poetic taste far too much to believe this was the case.

My first thought was to go to the line count: 14. After running this through my head, I thought that the poem gives more space for the reader to change intonation from line to line. This also allows the reader to create an individual storyline for the speaker. There are many avenues to take this into one's imagination. Perhaps the speaker is looking for something lost, hoping that something doesn't get found by someone else, or perhaps the speaker is an invader shocked by the bareness of each drawer. In any case, the point is that this poem allows space for the reader to construct their own storyline. This is an achievement for any poet.

Second, this poem holds a universal experience in its lines. The reader senses the frustration of the speaker through repetition and anticipated outcome. There is something to be said for the tone of the poem upon repetition of the same line. The reader is forced to change intonation from line to line in anticipation of getting somewhere. By the end of the poem, however, we are left with coming to our own conclusions. Does the speaker ever find what they were looking for? Were they even looking for something? How important is it, really, that the drawers are empty? These are all questions that came to my mind.

Finally, this poem is simple. It has a narrative, a flow, and a tone all created by piling one line on top of itself multiple times. Had I published this poem, would it have gone anywhere? Probably not, but I guess there's just something a little magical about that as well. 

In With the Old, Out With the New: An Eau Clairian’s Take on the Musical Year in Review

"From the desk of..."

Let’s face it folks. 2012 held, in its grasping and rough-hewn hands, many ups and  downs for most of us. The times are (perpetually) changing, but it seems like 2012 swung the scales to both extremes and back again numerous times both nationally and locally. Due to this exaggerated sway, this writer found himself falling back on some of his favorite albums for the times behind as well as the times ahead. They say an optimist looks to the young year ahead at the clang of midnight, while the pessimist is ready to sweep that old, bitter chrono-dust under the rug, but I think it’s important to remember the experiences that have made us who we are: the people who have come and gone, the places we have been and left behind, the words we have had etched on the backs of our eyelids or forgotten forever. It’s important, in these reflective times, to remind ourselves of a question family friend Steve Betchkal taught me: What are we but the history of our love? 

The music we love is perpetuated by the people we enjoy it with, the times we had while  cranking the volume dial to ten, and the emotions we experienced, both joyous and despairing, all along while trying to paddle our proverbial flippers through the choppy river confluences of our microcosmic lives. Sometimes, just like the old Chippewa and Eau Claire, the waters run high enough to threaten bridge abutments or low enough to cause it all to run dry. Subtly and suddenly, music becomes a constant in the background to even things out. With that, I give you some old standbys and new finds that have gotten me through it all, the end of the world and beyond. Keep yourself going on with these, my picks for 2012.

Etta James At Last

When Etta James passed on January 20th of this last year, I dove into her music to find out why she became so important to music history. Though the first part of her career was lackluster, she hit it big with the song and corresponding album she will forever be known for, the title track off this staple of soul and R&B music. Every song on this album, as with many quintessential works, deals with love and loss and the in-between. From impossible situations to the purest form of mutual endearment, from rocky tempestuousness to the serenity of feeling whole again, Ms. James’ growl is a constant, calming presence throughout. Every track is great for an early morning cup of coffee on the way to work, but deep-cut gems include “All I Could Do Was Cry,” a track about a love not acted on soon enough, and “Spoonful,” a reworking of Howlin’ Wolf’s classic about the effect love can have on us. I’ve appreciated this one while enduring below-freezing weekend mornings as a reprieve from window-scraping. 

Kalispell Westbound

I wrote an unpublished review of this album this past summer, so I thought I’d use this opportunity to turn you all out there in Radioland on to this one. Kalispell’s had a banner year—both locally and nationally—always doing it in their own way. I’ll let this excerpt from the article speak for itself: “One of the songs that stands out on the album is 'Lucky a Hundred Times.' It is a song that creates the perfect balance between feelings of sadness and optimism. The lonesome traveler and the hopeful searcher alike will appreciate the tale spun by the song, which follows a man who appreciates the life he has lead but who is also looking for a love-filled horizon. 'Staring down a cold street light/ Darling won’t you tell me when it’s in the right?/ Your goodbyes had me./ I’ve been lucky a hundred times.’ In this writer’s humble opinion, the lyrics speak to a howl etched by coyotes in the cold moonlight, the heavy rope burn of unrequited love, and the sun inching up over the horizon, painting the workingman’s fields an indescribable red-orange hue. 

It is this beauty, combined with Shane’s guitar picking and attention to genre-appropriate details, that makes Westbound perk the ears of old-time aficionados and pop-bent listeners alike.”

The Flaming Lips Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots

The F-Lips have always been a staple in my musical collection, but the album that got me a (albeit late) start to the band was Yoshimi. A friend of mine played the album at a summer camp just before my senior year of high school, and my musical life has been changed ever since. I was able to return the favor when the album was repressed on vinyl fairly recently. Though not truly a concept album, it turned me on to the idea that an artist could sing about cartoon karate femme fatales versus robots, and them systematically dispatch the surreal at the same time with lyrics like “And instead of saying all of your goodbyes/Let them know you realize tat time moves fast/ It’s hard to make the good things last/You realize the sun doesn’t go down/It’s just an illusion caused by the world spinning ‘round.” This is a great listen for letting go of regrettable moments and moving forward. Also, it’s a blaster for the summer sun.

Amateur Love It’s All Aquatic

These guys were all the rage as I was growing up in EC. I remember the iconic synthesizer tee floating up and down the halls of Memorial High School almost as much as the school colors a few years back. It’s funny that they have since returned to the high schools for a new generation thanks to Chigliak Records. And, with the rumors that Josh Scott is getting his chops back, this would be the album to revisit. It’s also been great music as an energy boost for when the going gets tough. I think 2013 will see this album as a staple for learning new things. 

Wilco Sky Blue Sky

I wasn’t exactly a latecomer to this album, but something about the music appealed to me this year. I read an article on Jeff Tweedy that painted him as a regular guy with a lot of inner turmoil, and this album shows off the lyrical ability of Tweedy along with a throwback rock-western sound. A great number of songs deal with the reality of life and love and show off the guitar stylings of one Nels Kline, known for a raucously-controlled  guitar solo or two. Great for walks over one of the many snowy bridges we seem to be having this year. 

Wilson Pickett Wilson Pickett’s Greatest Hits

Last but most certainly not, in terms of the cosmic, planet-aligning R&B continuum, least comes this throwback giant-of-an-artist. I’ve been on Wilson Pickett ever since a friend of mine turned me on to The Commitments, an overseas soul band film starring a young, pre-Once Glen Hansard (whose 2012 album Rhythm and Repose is also worth checking out). Since then, I’ve grown accustomed to his sweet horn lines and sweeter background harmonies. “If You Need Me” (25-24 on the jukebox at the Joynt) is a great way to roll yourself back a few years while drinking a glass of your favorite beverage. It’s also a great way to keep your heart warm and yearning during the winter months.

Ray Charles and James Brown: The Voiceless Prowess of R&B's Greatest Voices

Leaving the microphone behind is not an issue
for these R&B and Soul legends.

James Brown and Ray Charles: definitively the two biggest names in R&B and Soul music history. Arguably, they are the majority molders of many popular genres of music today. Together and separate, the two musicians fought through countless hurdles during their heyday, both within the music industry and outside it, in order to accomplish something greater than themselves. Ray Charles struggled to have his music heard by a segregated South, eventually having his song, “Georgia On My Mind,” adopted as the Georgia state song in honor of his ability to overcome. James Brown opened up a televised set in a riot-torn Boston the day after Martin Luther King Jr.’s death in 1968, showing a divided population that it was possible to unite through music. These were great men, musicians, and, most importantly, movers in the U.S. and beyond.

These two individuals were known for many things, some good and some bad, but one of their united transcendental qualities is easily their respective vocal chops. Ray could be silky smooth, but he often pushed the envelope of his voice, giving it the grit that he’s known for on tracks such as “Night Time is the Right Time” and “Drown in My Own Tears.” J.B., on the other hand, had that grit from the start, evident in early tracks like “Please, Please, Please” and “Try Me.” His grittiness, however, matured to a point where he became known for his guttural, percussive sounds used to accent the prowess of his songwriting and backing band. 

It might be considered ironic, then, that I recently came across two record albums that remove these two songsters’ voices from the mix, allowing the instrumental talents of the groups  to shine through. On Atlantic Jazz Anthology:The Best of Ray Charles, the sounds of David “Fathead” Newman’s tenor and alto saxophone become more integral, shining through on leads on “Hard Times,” a reworking of the seminal Charles’ track, and others. Ray’s impeccably delicate piano playing is also a highlight of the album; he is even featured blowing a bluesy alto sax solo on “How Long Blues,” which also features vibraphonist great Milt Jackson. 

On Grits & Soul: The Instrumental Sounds of The James Brown Band, James Brown sidles up to Ray’s instrumental band sound, but he adds a decidedly James Brown feel. The organ is a key instrument used, which is different from the all-piano tracks found on the Ray Charles album. Grits & Soul also features more of the band itself, but Brown definitely throws in a tasty lick or two when he is playing the keyboards. This particular album is also interesting because it provided Brown a way to record outside of the label he resided on at the time. According to this source, his contract had a vocal stipulation on him, and he was able to circumvent legalities by removing his voice from the music entirely.

No matter why these albums were made, they are treasures that take both of these great, game-changing musicians out of their popular element. Crossing genres is a tricky thing, especially in the twentieth and twenty-first century, and this proves that both James Brown and Ray Charles will not only stand the test of time as innovators, but that they have shown that they are all-around experts in their craft of music-making. They not only created music for themselves and others, but were both able to lead their bands and the world closer to greatness. 

Chicago's Record Store Gems: Funk, Jazz, and Soul Searching in the Windy City

Chicago may be known for its breezy demeanor, deep dish ‘za, and its distinctive version of the blues, but what many people don’t know is that it’s a great place to find vinyl records. As far as my research goes, though it’s hardly definitive, there are quality record stores numbering into the double digits. In 2010, in fact, three of Chicago’s stores made Rolling Stone’s list of top record stores in the country. I checked out one of the stores that made the list, as well as a jazz specialty store, during a recent visit. 

The first stop was Jazz Record Mart, located in downtown Chicago, just off of Michigan Avenue. Downtown has some great architectural accoutrement, but it can be hard to have a small business downtown that stands out. Jazz Record Mart has overcome this hurdle by displaying oversized covers of classic jazz albums as well as some newer up-and-comers in the genre. Entering the store, I got the distinct feeling of the grittiness of an old record store—the overstock shelves loaded with records was reminiscent of older, over-the-counter type stores—and the huge selection of records pressed prior to World War Two was unique and impressive. 

Jazz Records draws you in with ample poster bling.

"As an English teacher, I was impressed that both Jazz Record Mart and Dusty Groove prominently displayed literature about the music they sold. This is a hearty plus for anyone wanting to learn more about the respective genres."


There was a great selection of reissued jazz, and the used albums they had were not your normal fare and very reasonably priced. I found an early album of Chicago native Gil Scott Heron, and was happily delighted in my interaction with the staff member at the desk. When I asked about a certain Jimmy Smith album on LP, he told me he hadn’t seen it but engaged me in a conversation about The Beastie Boys sampling of the album and Gil Scott Heron’s poetry. I wandered out into a downpour, thankful to have visited and that the only records I purchased were still in the shrink.

The next day, I sought out Dusty Groove America, a store known for its rare funk cuts and soul collection. I wasn’t planning on making another trip into the city, but this writer has a soft spot for anything that has a great 60’s and 70’s era, as the kids these days put it, “drop.” This store didn’t disappoint in delivering a great selection of records, though it was definitely a more new-school record shop. Dusty Groove does a lot of business online, but they didn’t sacrifice anything in-store. There was a clean, mainstreamed ambience that would appeal to many different types of people, but this isn’t a crate-digging place. Prices are at a premium, but they had some interesting compilations of world music (Bossa Nova, Indian-Psych-Funk, Afrobeat, to name a few), and a number of James Brown deep cuts. I didn’t have much of a chance to talk to the staff, but they seemed friendly enough. 

Dusty Groove is spacious and well-organized: easy
for an in-and-out visit when you know what you want.

One thing to note about Dusty Groove is that I noticed an interesting collection of music-related books, and I found my favorite record publication, Wax Poetics, there. As an English teacher, I was impressed that both Jazz Record Mart and Dusty Groove prominently displayed literature about the music they sold. This is a hearty plus for anyone wanting to learn more about the respective genres. 

Though there are many more stores that I have yet to check out, I would be willing to make a bet that the Windy City could easily make a run for the Midwest record capital title alongside its numerous NBA Championships, award-winning food, and record-setting skyscrapers. Based on these two stores alone, I’d give a high recommendation to looking for your favorite music on vinyl record in this city, a mecca flush with musical goodness. 

The Man, the Myth, the Organ: "Respect" by Jimmy Smith

Historically, jazz musicians have always been regarded at the top of the list when it comes to having “cool factor.” Jimmy Smith was arguably located in the coolest category of jazz musicians: jazz organists. From Wild Bill Davis to Joey DeFrancesco, jazz organists’ fingers have always flown across the key bed with an effortlessness that seems to mystify even the most casual music listener. 

Jimmy was not only in the coolest category of jazz musicians; he was the coolest. From his laid-back demeanor to his nonchalant virtuosity, he was the go-to man for hipness when it came to finding the right balance between funk and jazz sensibilities. And, he was dedicated. Rumor has it that, when he decided to switch from piano to organ in the 1950’s, Jimmy locked himself away in a warehouse with a hammond organ in order to learn to play bass parts with his feet. 

If you haven’t seen a jazz organist play live before, it is a syncopated dance in which the player, for all purposes, is a one-man band. A traditional jazz organ trio might include only a guitar, drums, and organ, which oftentimes leaves the organ player to fill out the lead, bass, and comping parts. Though the album “Respect” also includes Ron Carter on bass, it features Jimmy Smith as the powerhouse groove-making machine that he was, powerhouse enough to many years later be sampled by the Beastie Boys. 

“Respect” is a highly-recommended album of reworked soul tunes from the Sixties including the title-track, the ubiquitous Otis Redding-turned-Aretha-Franklin mega hit of the era. Strangely enough, this track isn’t the highlight of the album. Its tight-fitting form doesn’t lend itself well to Jimmy’s band’s “jam-it-out” mentality, but an interpretation of Wilson Pickett’s “Funky Broadway” and a b-side blues called “T-Bone Steak” allow the band the time they need to find the groove and explore that true Jimmy Smith sound that has spanned nearly five decades. If you’re looking for instrumental interpretations that still carry the weight of 60’s soul stand outs, look no further than Jimmy Smith’s “Respect.” If you’re looking to hear one of the best keyboard players to ever hit that high jazz prodigy stage, look no further than Jimmy Smith. Plus, who doesn’t like a man doing karate poses in front of a B3 organ?