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 Pair of (Minimalist) Queens

Ever since being turned on to the likes of Feist and Regina Spector of pop fame, possibly even since, long ago, I was turned on to Nico of The Velvet Underground or the big three: Ella, Sarah, and Billie, I've been an admirer of the female vocalist. Even better when they rock out on their respective instruments. There's just something about a girl and a guitar, I guess...

Anyhow, I've got a couple of choice picks for you to consider for your listening pleasure:

Lia Ices: Grown Unknown

I heard a track on this album recently that really caught my attention. There seems to be an uncanny balance between minimalism and complexity here. I'm not talking about quantum physics-type complexity, but merely a thickness not usually produced by just a handful of instruments. In "Love is Won," instrumentation consists mainly of drums and piano, with a smattering of organ for emphasis(nice drawbar settings, by the way). The song follows a simple change and is reinforced by a fairly simple, on the down beat, drum line, but something makes the song remarkable. It could be Lia Ices' voice, a fragile sounding ambience, yet in the driver's seat lead, but I think there is some sort of eclectic sound built in the plain. This album is far from plain in the traditional sense of the word, but it would be a nice, easy listen for one of these upcoming rainy spring days. Justin Vernon, that by-now-ubiquitous Jack of all trades, even lends some support to his fellow label mate's latest effort.

Zoo Animal

Fronted by Holly Newsom, this trio is dynamic in their minimalistic efforts. I recently had the opportunity to witness their music/awkward stage banter live, and I have to admit that even the awkward stage banter impressed me. Like their music, the stage banter was just them doing their own thing. The uniqueness of Newsom's voice again stands out, but she also expertly weaves guitar-picking and melody lines into one natural flow. A few minimalistic guitar solos later, you hardly notice that this is three separate musicians playing in a band as opposed to a single entity itself. The bass grooves of Tim Abramson along with a solid drummer (Thom Burton) really solidify the wholeness of the sound. They just seem to all click. Once again, this group is, what I would define as, minimalism with a knockout punch.

Ray of Light

Rightfully so, Ray Charles has been deemed by many to be one of the original creators of soul music. As with many artists whose longevity is almost mystical, Ray was the ultimate shapeshifter. Going from jazz to country western to psychedelic circles, Ray was able to stand the test of time in his marketing and business savvy, his ambition, and, ultimately, his creativity in the way he approached music.

Though the Ray Charles sound is unmistakable on hits like "Georgia on my Mind" to "Hit the Road Jack!", his true genius lies in the root of it all: the root that stems from having a tough go at it, the root that shows us what it's like to be at the bottom looking up, and the root that reveals just a tiny pinhole of light shedding through if at all. The blues. The notion that we can't always get what we want when we want it, and that, sometimes, it's even harder to get what we need.

The Genius Sings the Blues seems to encapsulate the true meaning of the word. From lonesome heartbreak to hopeful cry in the night, from fiery romance to forging on ahead, Ray Charles shows off the range of the blues itself. From more commonly-known Ray tunes such as "Hard Times" and "The Right Time" to earlier tunes like "The Midnight Hour", Ray shows how the blues doesn't get much more blue than this. This album seems to say, "If you're on the up and up you better cross your lucky stars, or, even better, say a cautious prayer of thanks at the edge of your bed at night because the blues can be hiding around anybody's corner." Do yourself a favor and, whether you find yourself on the high side of the tide or the low, listen to brother Ray tell you how it is. If you find yourself fortunate for what you've got or find solace in the fact that someone else is also missing what they had, you'll be better off whichever way you cut it.