Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes! (Part Dieu)

THIS IS PART DOS. If you want to know what’s going on here, please read Part Uno..

So, uh, where was I? I’d landed in Boston, it was the early 90s, I was in my early 20s, and I was deep into my discovery of punk.

Some people discover a sub-culture, endeavor to be a part of it, and never leave it. There’s that old adage; “If you used to be punk, you never were.” Since my interest was always mostly based on the music, perhaps less so the fashion or culture, and no amount of multi-genre investigation was ever going to satiate me, I kind of disagree with that. I learned a lot from punk. Parts of my brain were hard wired by punk rock, that’s for sure. But do I want to walk down the street dressed like Colin from GBH at almost 55 years old? Nah, thanks. Punk was a big part of me figuring out who I was. The music is now forever in my veins. If I’m sitting in a bar and someone puts on Sham 69 or the Undertones, I’m always going to get excited and sing along, too loudly, much to the embarrassment of my wife. Some of my very favorite bands existed in that late 70’s period; The Boys, The Ruts, Purple Hearts, The Jam, The Jags, Elvis Costello, The Business, The Adverts, Protex, SLF, Rudi, come on! But I cannot ONLY listen to those things. My goal was to always be learning, always be evolving. Like Paul Weller and Joe Strummer taught me to. I absorbed punk’s lessons, contributed to it through the Dimestore Haloes, and all the ‘zine writing I did in the 90s, then part of me moved on. I tried on different styles of dress, read a lot of different books, found a lot of different sounds and ideologies that fit me as a person along the way.

In the 90’s, there was so much going on. Punk, Power Pop, Garage, Goth, Rockabilly, Brit Pop… I indulged in all these things. Since I seem to have a confession obsession, here goes:

OH MY GOTH!

Yes, I had a Goth phase in the early 90’s somewhere. It kinda just made sense. Already loved horror movies, David Bowie and eyeliner. I was skinny and pale. There you go. The great Mick Mercer had released (the bats, and) his first two comprehensive books on Goth, and I devoured them religiously. I think I’m even in the second book, or third one, not sure. I definitely have a song on the first 2LP “Gothic Rock” set that he compiled for Cleopatra Records. It’s a punk song called “Numb”, and it sounds a lot like the Manic Street Preachers. At least, that was my goal. There is a pic of me on the inside sleeve, all decked out in my black nail polish and smudgy eyeliner. Do I look like an utter Muppet? Yes. Yes, I do. But I tried it all on like a champ, for a while. An aside about the Gothic Rock Compilation I was on: There’s one CD copy on Amazon and it’s going for 57 whole US Dollars, currently!

I also wrote for and helped edit a Punk/Goth zine called “Machine Gun Ettiquette” with my first wife, and that got us in with the whole Ghastly Magazine/London after Midnight crowd which was the big deal scenemaker crew in Goth circles at that time.

Truth be told, I still absolutely love the 80’s Goth stuff, your Bauhauses and Rozz Williams (who I got to meet and interview once…more on that some other time) Siouxsies and Eldritches, etc. I’ve even picked up on some of your newer bands like Altar De Fey and Vision Video. You’d have to pay me quite a bit to sit through any of the new Tik Tok influencer Goth music though. There’s a thin line between spooky and ridiculous. Most of what passes for goth these days isn’t recognizable to me.

Photo: Me in 1994 in front of legendary Boston Goth Club Man-Ray. Just a weird, insecure punk-goth mutant at 24 years old. I had fun, though.

ROCKABILLY

I think my hairstyle got stuck forever in this phase, but what this really did was to give me a much healthier approach to playing guitar. This was my bridge to finally understanding country music, and it made me really want to play guitar well again, something which, to be honest, isn’t necessary, and even a bit frowned upon in punk rock. During the Dimestore Haloes run of shows and records (1996-2001), I didn’t learn anything new. Johnny Thunders, Mick Jones, Steve Jones, Chuck Berry. That’s it. Learning solos by Cliff Gallup, James Burton, Eddie Cochran, Johnny Meeks, etc. really dragged my chops back in line in an era when I, like most “punk rock and roll” guitarists, was happy to just supercharge Chuck Berry licks dripping in Marshall overdrive ala Johnny Thunders. I never did get that ‘57 Chevy, but cuffed Levi’s are eternal. I found rockabilly people a little harder to stomach in some cases, as I have no interest in wearing 50’s underwear or hanging out by a swimming pool in Vegas. Mostly, they refuse to admit they listen to or enjoy anything created after 1960. Now, I love 1950s everything: cars, film, music, fashion, literature. But to deny everything that has happened since then? All of the amazing music made since 1960? It’s denial. It’s cosplay. It’s silly.

Above Photo: a very poorly scanned pic of me in my Punkabilly finery. That was not my car.

POWER POP

Really, this was the one. In the early 80’s, like most red blooded American young ladies who watched TV and listened to the radio, my sister couldn’t stop listening to Rick Springfield, and strangely, neither could I. We know now what I did not know then: RCA tried to shoehorn Springfield into the New Wave singer/songwriter subgenre, because it was selling then. They force fed Rick with records by Elvis Costello, The Jam, Joe Jackson, The Cars, The Knack, Boss Springsteen. Melodic, short sharp songs that are over in under 4 minutes, and catchy as a bag of rusty fish hooks. It was like a flipped up collar on a polo shirt: omnipresent. On the radio all the time, everywhere. It was during this that the powers that be convinced Rick to put on the skinny tie and write the “Working Class Dog” album, and somehow, it’s one of the best power pop records ever made. Manufactured? Yes. Bad? Watch your mouth! This served as the loose blueprint for everything I would do going forward. Def Leppard came along soon after to introduce me to the stiffly chugging guitars of British Heavy Metal, while still holding on to the pure pop hit single format, with songs like “Photograph”, “Bringin’ On The Heartbreak”, and “Foolin’”. It wasn’t long before I realized that catchy melodies, guitar based, punchy songs, and lyrics that tell a story or make an interesting statement was where it was at for me. Still is. I’ve changed so much, and yet not at all. No matter how much Goth, Punk, Jazz, Soul, Blues, Surf Music, Country, Rockabilly or Metal I listen to, the Beatles’ early formula of three chords, catchy harmonies and energy was and is where I feel at home. It feels the most honest.

And that’s basically where I am now. Here I sit, fully formed as whatever it is I’m going to be for the 20 years or so I have left on this planet. “Is it me, for a moment?” There’s no way I would align myself with a subculture and adopt it’s specific strict dress code now. Rather I use the subcultural touchstones as ingredients; in what I wear, what I listen to and how I view the world.

My view of the world was formed by punk and always will be. Look around you these days, in this political climate, and tell me the punks weren’t right all along. I will always love the flash bombs, stupidity and fun of hair metal and that hard chargin’, dragon slayin’ chug of classic Metal (Maiden, Priest, Sabbath, NWOBHM, etc)- and I’m not going to hide it to fit in with a “cooler” scene. The goth phase? I looked great in black lipstick, I love all things macabre, and I will vigorously pull the dark taffy and pick up discarded bats like a madman when somebody puts Specimen, Siouxsie, or Ausgang on. I will wear Fred Perry and Ben Sherman and Doc Martens and blast skinhead Oi and Trojan reggae on the regular. I will spend hours dissecting a James Burton guitar solo on a Ricky Nelson record, like a real rockin’ cat. And power pop music (let’s throw Mod and Jangle Pop and Brit Beat in with that as well, for flavor)? Well, there goes my heart. I belong to none of you, yet hey, I love all (well… not all) of you subcultures and subcultural types. Just don’t tell me how to dress, what to listen to, or how to be. In that sense, I am a subculture of one. How about you?