Is Punk Back?

by Sam Houghton 

To answer that question simply: no, punk is not back. In the 21^st century, nothing is back. The music scene (that’s worth paying attention to) is simply a hodgepodge of everything, a potpourri of sounds if you will, which for the sensationalists is quite depressing. No national taglines or mass inspired protests or anything exciting like that – long are the days since bands and musical movements captured the vast consciousness of the population. Perhaps Lady Gaga can claim that title, but she’s too high on silicone and day-glo and crack to know that there is even a vast consciousness.

But while punk may not be garnering headlines like the CBGBs or the Sid Vicious days, it has made a quiet come back to the small indie underground. Bands like Fungi Girls and JEFF the Brotherhood and Screaming Females have made lasting impressions beyond the college circuit to a new, burgeoning sub underground.

The distinction between rock and punk is difficult to comprehend on recordings, because punk bands aren’t nearly as punk recorded as they are live. Live is where Punk packs its gritty punch, and the posers get tossed to the sidelines.

At a show at the Mercury Lounge last week, a band called Bass Drum of Death opened for a casual rock band Japandroids, a relatively successful two-man outfit from Canada. Japandroids is not a punk band. They are an over-hyped, pop-rock band. They hide behind enormous walls of amps – huge voltages careening out on the audience with a simple soft swipe of the strings. It is like a chick with too much make up on, hiding instead of revealing the real deal. The show became a perfect metaphor for the comparison between rock and punk. Every time the Japandroids played a song off of their new, unreleased album, there was a total disconnect with the audience. Nothing. And once you got past their overwhelming “wall of sound” there really wasn’t much left. The audience was anxious to get into the show. They were the cargo short, threatening-ankle-tattoo types like a young Henry Rollins ready to join the military and raid around in Humvees but just a wee bit too smart, yearning to get a little taste of the ever revered mosh pit… but waiting, waiting, waiting for the right cue from the main man behind the mic. But the moments were rare, if ever, with nothing much to really let loose or jostle the old joints around. When the lead wasn’t tuning his guitar, he was apologizing for playing new songs. There wasn’t even an encore because they “ran out of time,” and needed to party in NYC. This is not punk. The fans did not get their rocks off, but a couple eyebrows were raised with the sheer shock value of the chords and pounding drums coming from the openers, Bass Drum of Death.

As music becomes free to listen to with streaming and downloading, the live set will begin to reign supreme as a career provider for musicians (a regression through time of sorts). Bass Drum of Death are proud members of an ever increasing punk elite that endlessly tour. When Bass Drum of Death played, they didn’t speak during their entire set, but rattled off sick riff after sick riff, blowing through their repertoire, their surfer hair in their eyes or flying around mid solo. These are true punks, borderline teenage/early 20s freaks with unkempt hair, no direction, a cool band name, and neck-tingling guitar licks alongside hammering, precise drums that push the show as fast and hard as they can. They push the limits of human endurance – for the audience and the musicians. And while in the past, punk music has been mostly about harsh noise, these young jammers have added some melody and some harmonizing to go along with their feverish attack. They hover in the realms of relative obscurity, surviving with the wonders of the internet and blogging junkies, remaining just as obscure as the individuals in the audience. Which is essentially their ethos: as long as the music is coming out fast and hard and the audience is digging it, there’s not much else to worry about.

While much inspiration has been drawn from the past, there is nothing nostalgic about the new foundations for a punk revival. It has dropped the kind of artsy anger that inspired much of the past American scenes. They are not so much into what shade their pictures are taken in or how poetic their lyrics sound. Ironically, however, JEFF the Brotherhood, a leader to this punk wave, were featured in the New York Times fashion week sporting plaid shirts with some barking dogs enshrined within the pattern. It was more goofy than anything. Hilarious really. Amongst the many other “fashionable” and hip bands, JEFF appeared like they had just been yanked off the streets.

The feeling these punk bands give off are in way a continuation of grunge. Where grunge was a feeling of almost pissed off ennui, the new wave is just plain bored with reality. Music, it seems, is not a means for their expression, but a way of life. Many critics, rightfully so, have classified it as “Stoner-Punk.” Along with the dropping of the artsy aspect, there is limited political motivation like we saw in the 70s and 80s. While Johnny Rotten sang “God Save the Queen,” or Ian MacKaye sang “Straight Edge,” Jake Orwell of JEFF sings “Cool Out” and “Bummer.” The new wave of punk suggests that if these dudes weren’t in a band, they would be sipping buds, smoking weed and watching re-runs of Wayne’s World and Beavis and Butthead and eating pepperoni pizzas. And in the current conservative, workaholic world that many of us are a part of, it is no surprise that these bands are beginning to gain an ever-increasing fan base. The feeling of “who gives a shit” is wildly refreshing when you are pressured from a young age to attend college, get good grades and get a job – rebellion at its purest form. To be able to go blow off steam with a couple of regular bums is unexplainable. 

At a recent JEFF the Brotherhood show, over in Manhattan at The Santos Party House, the audience and the band seemed to morph together. The audience cresting into a jumping wave as the band went into another one of its steady but intense riffs. The band had the same respect for the audience as the audience for the band. There was none of that: “Please play that song” or apologizing from the band or thank you for your support crap, but just a constant release of hard tempos. It must have been similar to a rave with constant heavy rhythms and heat and intensity. At one point, a fan jumped up on stage and starting jamming on his air guitar with his head down and eyes closed. There was little reaction from anyone in the entire venue – no suggestions that this was abnormal. What happens at a punk show just plains happens and no one questions it.