Memory man, part two
What a morning. The sun pouring through every open window of the apartment. Liz had to go to work today, so I've eschewed the gym as I'd rather not go without her (no, I'm not getting lax). Already showered, dressed, went out to move the car into the parking lot and bought the New York Times for the first time in ages. I have another pot of coffee brewing and now is the time to sit with my thoughts--in the most perfect setting I could hope for.
Was a hectic day yesterday: out at 8:30--first stop, Starbucks; grocery shop for us, then my dad and then off to New Jersey to run errands and have a fun, relaxing lunch. Apart from the necessities, et al., that one winds up coming out of Target with, I also wound up finally buying the first music that I've purchased this year--I do believe this is my record--longest period for NOT buying CD's. While the record store seems in a state of flux, it's the last, great independent store based around my musical preferences/tastes. It has to be said that the day ended on a frenetic and some what down note as our 3 year old cat, Midnight, needed to be rushed to the vet center as we noticed a large and frightening patch of fur missing along with what looked to be a rash--thankfully, she's fine and will be 100% in a few days. Nonetheless, it took the wind out of our sails for an otherwise great Saturday.
As to the motives in buying those CD's--following along with the previous posting, I've been having many conversations with folks about the "American Underground" scene and I realized that it was necessary to finally get those seminal albums on CD, as my vinyl copies are sadly beaten to shit. As "Do You Want New Wave Or Do You Want The Truth?" ripped through the car speakers, I explained to Liz that this was the why and how The Punch Line came to be.
As soon as Marc and I had gotten wind of those albums as they were being released, we knew (instinctively or otherwise) that this was where we needed to go. No more pretending to be British; no more pretending to be something that we couldn't be any longer -- we knew that these bands had what we were looking for. They were all closer to us in age (unlike our First Wave heroes, who were substantially older than us); they didn't look dissimilar to us -- they looked and acted like the dudes we went to school with -- and they sang and spoke about the same things we were singing, writing and talking about. We couldn't relate to England and it was liberating. We weren't ignorant--we were students; we were reasonably intelligent and aware for 18-year olds from the middle-class suburbs. Why pretend to be who we really weren't? And so we embraced this explosion of sound and art like a long-missed relative.
We could see these bands almost every week. The shows were plentiful and inexpensive; the bands were accessible and unpretentious. They hated deification and we loved them for it. We made many friends in the "scene" and spent many nights drunk or high, hearing great stories and sharing thoughts with like-minded people that embraced us equally. And it was this inspiration that led us to go from being Two Minutes Hate into The Punch Line -- christened on May 18th, 1986, when my then-girlfriend asked me during a phone conversation "have you come up with a new name for your band?". We were playing nothing but covers by Black Flag, DC3, The Minutemen, Husker Du, etc.; as we hadn't begun the metamorphosis, we weren't who we became yet. As I was about to answer her, I turned my head to sneeze and glanced at my parents' dining room table--lying on it were a pile of albums, The Minutemen's "The Punch Line" was on top and I said to her "yeah--I did--The Punch Line. What do you think of it?" and she said "that's great. It sounds tongue-in-cheek political" and I knew this was it. When I saw Marc the next day, I asked him and he said "well, that's it, then, isn't it?". And that's the truth. No funny stuff. That summer, I wrote "The Wild Flowers" and the rest is history (and for the record, I don't hate that song--I'm just really tired of it and the next person who dares say to me "well, that's the best song you've got" will be rewarded with my boot right in the throat. Can you possibly be more insulting? As if I never evolved as a songwriter. Then again, as my wife, my cousin and just about every one else has said, "Every cunt's a critic". Okay, enough editorializing).
My point is that to hear those incredible albums again, after such a prolonged distance, was emotionally uplifting. They still gave me a smile and a rush of excitement, as they did 21, 22 years ago. Liz said it's all that matters and she's right. So for that alone, it's overdue, but to Bob Mould and Mike Watt, thank you for it all. Most of all, to D. Boon--I never met you, but you were a friend and your blueprint helped shaped us to be. Bless you.
Rather than sermonize any further, I'm going to have another cup of coffee and put on "Meat Puppets II". Now listen to me: go re-introduce yourself to the music. The music is what's it's all about--it's all it's ever been about.
Was a hectic day yesterday: out at 8:30--first stop, Starbucks; grocery shop for us, then my dad and then off to New Jersey to run errands and have a fun, relaxing lunch. Apart from the necessities, et al., that one winds up coming out of Target with, I also wound up finally buying the first music that I've purchased this year--I do believe this is my record--longest period for NOT buying CD's. While the record store seems in a state of flux, it's the last, great independent store based around my musical preferences/tastes. It has to be said that the day ended on a frenetic and some what down note as our 3 year old cat, Midnight, needed to be rushed to the vet center as we noticed a large and frightening patch of fur missing along with what looked to be a rash--thankfully, she's fine and will be 100% in a few days. Nonetheless, it took the wind out of our sails for an otherwise great Saturday.
As to the motives in buying those CD's--following along with the previous posting, I've been having many conversations with folks about the "American Underground" scene and I realized that it was necessary to finally get those seminal albums on CD, as my vinyl copies are sadly beaten to shit. As "Do You Want New Wave Or Do You Want The Truth?" ripped through the car speakers, I explained to Liz that this was the why and how The Punch Line came to be.
As soon as Marc and I had gotten wind of those albums as they were being released, we knew (instinctively or otherwise) that this was where we needed to go. No more pretending to be British; no more pretending to be something that we couldn't be any longer -- we knew that these bands had what we were looking for. They were all closer to us in age (unlike our First Wave heroes, who were substantially older than us); they didn't look dissimilar to us -- they looked and acted like the dudes we went to school with -- and they sang and spoke about the same things we were singing, writing and talking about. We couldn't relate to England and it was liberating. We weren't ignorant--we were students; we were reasonably intelligent and aware for 18-year olds from the middle-class suburbs. Why pretend to be who we really weren't? And so we embraced this explosion of sound and art like a long-missed relative.
We could see these bands almost every week. The shows were plentiful and inexpensive; the bands were accessible and unpretentious. They hated deification and we loved them for it. We made many friends in the "scene" and spent many nights drunk or high, hearing great stories and sharing thoughts with like-minded people that embraced us equally. And it was this inspiration that led us to go from being Two Minutes Hate into The Punch Line -- christened on May 18th, 1986, when my then-girlfriend asked me during a phone conversation "have you come up with a new name for your band?". We were playing nothing but covers by Black Flag, DC3, The Minutemen, Husker Du, etc.; as we hadn't begun the metamorphosis, we weren't who we became yet. As I was about to answer her, I turned my head to sneeze and glanced at my parents' dining room table--lying on it were a pile of albums, The Minutemen's "The Punch Line" was on top and I said to her "yeah--I did--The Punch Line. What do you think of it?" and she said "that's great. It sounds tongue-in-cheek political" and I knew this was it. When I saw Marc the next day, I asked him and he said "well, that's it, then, isn't it?". And that's the truth. No funny stuff. That summer, I wrote "The Wild Flowers" and the rest is history (and for the record, I don't hate that song--I'm just really tired of it and the next person who dares say to me "well, that's the best song you've got" will be rewarded with my boot right in the throat. Can you possibly be more insulting? As if I never evolved as a songwriter. Then again, as my wife, my cousin and just about every one else has said, "Every cunt's a critic". Okay, enough editorializing).
My point is that to hear those incredible albums again, after such a prolonged distance, was emotionally uplifting. They still gave me a smile and a rush of excitement, as they did 21, 22 years ago. Liz said it's all that matters and she's right. So for that alone, it's overdue, but to Bob Mould and Mike Watt, thank you for it all. Most of all, to D. Boon--I never met you, but you were a friend and your blueprint helped shaped us to be. Bless you.
Rather than sermonize any further, I'm going to have another cup of coffee and put on "Meat Puppets II". Now listen to me: go re-introduce yourself to the music. The music is what's it's all about--it's all it's ever been about.
posted by R L Ross at
10:24 AM
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