When I Say Punk Rock, I Mean...

I started this draft in 2014... let's see if I can finish it up, finally...

This is how many hair bands I go through in a month... (photo by Charlotte)

When I say "Punk Rock," I mean not necessarily what you might think that I mean.*

*this was as far as I got in 2014... now, today (03/31/2019) I shall try to finish it...

When I was a young noob growing up in a farm community in Ohio - a place I absolutely did not fit into and did not get along in, no matter how much I tried. And I did try! Oh, yes, I did. But I liked art, music, and theatre. That made me a weirdo. Especially since I was not a big fan of country music or metal. Also - my dad's family was pretty prominent in the town but, as pointed out by my cousin's wife one time recently, not for "good" things necessarily... more "infamous" things.

Like being weirdos.

Not that we were THAT weird, honestly. But my immediate family into art, music (not country or metal... or contemporary christian music - which was kind of a thing at the time), and theatre did not fit into this back woods kind of town. And our extended family - into motorcycles, high end construction work, and academics... without a lot of the usual drinking at going to bars that seemed to take up the time of a lot of people.

PLUS my immediate family is not, nor ever has been, rich. Rich people get to do whatever the fuck they want wherever they may find themselves. They get a pass to be weirdos. Or break the law. Or just be fucking assholes no matter where they go.

Fuck those fucking fucks...

In their fucking goat asses.

Anyway -- that aside... SO I grew up not rich and weird in a small town. This meant I, personally, hung out with other artist, weirdo, loaner types - who were also not looked upon favorably in our little rural Ohio community. We looked at ourselves as "punk rock."

Now, understand, that in the late 1970s and VERY early 1980s, being "punk rock" was pretty hard. There were no Hot Topics (hell - there were barely malls out in the sticks), there was no internet to connect you with shops in London or New York, no cool "indie" newspapers, and there was little chance of finding out about a tour by the Dead Kennedys or any of that shit because they sure were not coming out to the sticks. And unless you knew anyone in a bigger town or city where they WERE coming, who could clue you into it. There wasn't even MTV to introduce you to new music!

And get, too, that we still considered The Sex Pistols to be the ultimate representation of punk. We did not understand they were just another boy band... (photo from http://theduran.com/conservatism-is-not-the-new-punk-rock/)

I cannot speak to every small town, but if you wanted to be "punk rock" in a rural southwest Ohio farming community - and, by that, I mean wearing leather clothes littered with studs, have ear & body piercings, listen to punk music, and having a punk band - here is what you had to do:

1. Get leather collars, studded belts, lengths of chain, nylon straps, and other bondage & pseudo bondage gear by going to the local pet store to buy (or steal) it, then piece it all together yourself as best you could. Expect strange looks from the staff. One of them may call your mom to ask when you got a new herd of dogs.
2. On a trip to a city, stop off at one of "those" sex shops in the questionable part of town - or while on the road with someone willing to stop by one of those questionable truck stops (that are obviously just sex shops) - swing on in and look for the serious bondage stuff. Sure, you're gonna get hit on by some greasy dude (or few) who are there cruising. That just adds to your imagined "street cred." For the most part, though, the place is filled with dudes not making eye contact with anyone else as they pick up their porn (a lot of it is weird fetish-y stuff, too - little girls-type shyte). You can pick up a bunch pretty much anonymously, but if someone who knows you sees your car in the lot - they're gonna call your mom to ask what you're doing there. For sure.
3. Tear out an ad from the back of the Rolling Stone magazine - or even Hit Parader which, for the most part, loved rock-n-roll and the coming hair band trend, but were more than willing to just let anyone advertise in the back of it for merchandise - and mail it in with a money order to some PO box in a big city for punk band logo merchandise, EPs, LPs, and (finally) cassettes to get the music. First time you send it in, you have no idea what you are getting or even if you will like it... but it has to be better than what the local FM radio station is shoving in your earholes.
4. Even better was to get a bunch mimeographed pages that one of your buddy's older sibling or cool uncle who went off to college sent back, that was effectively gold for punk rock stuff! Music (usually re-recorded audio cassettes of low quality) of bands you had never heard of, shirts with logos of these bands (sure to offend everyone around you), "real" bondage pants from London, Doc Marten boots & shoes, hats, bandanas, and all the accessories... then, if you could, you send well-concealed cash to a post office box in New York City - and then pray that you don't get ripped off before your stuff arrives.
5. There was a constant stream of kids from larger cities coming into the town. Either their folks had to move there, or they were exchange students from Europe. Either way - they were miserable to find themselves stuck in this little town. If you were lucky, these kids were cool (usually, they were not...), and could put you in the direction of stores or catalogs. That is how I found out about Commander Salamander.

The Commander Salamander Catalog was the gold standard of cool catalogs for me for YEARS! A guy who moved to our town had been to the store in Washington D.C. - got me my original catalog, then I managed to finagle my way onto a mailing list to get a couple more... I could never buy anything from there. My parents wouldn't let me... I recently found a couple of these old catalogs as my parents clean out their house and gave them to my 9-year-old daughter. She thinks they are the greatest thing in the world - because they are. You can & should buy this print from Steve Shook: http://www.steveshook.net/product/commander-salamander-cmyk-edition

If you wanted a piercing - you had to do it yourself. AND, understand, that guys with pierced ears was NOT the norm at the time at all. They were sending you home from school if you had an earring. Churches were preaching against you. People driving by on the street would flat out chuck their beer at you and, if feeling provoked, jump out of their car to pummel you! And your parents - knowing damn good and well you might get accidentally killed by some redneck flipping out over the fact there is a man in front of them wearing an earring, which goes against everything they have ever understood is right and just with the world - aren't going to let you get a piercing, either. That meant that when you left your house, you took an earring (often stolen by one of my friends, who would sneak the cheap ones off the display cards at the drugstore, then slip them in his mouth to get them out) and just punched it through your ear when you went out... then took it off when you got home before anyone saw you.

Was it really that risky? Oh, yeah - because...

There was a risk to wearing these clothes, listening to this music, and doing these things. These farm kids around here are going to kick your ass for being different. And they can! Seriously, years of dealing with farm animals, fixing tractors, and bailing hay have made them all freakishly strong. Their conservative christian churches literally preach against you, personally, so it honestly completely makes it okay in their eyes and they eyes of the town to beat you up. I never thought anyone wanted to really kill me - but I realized that they did not necessarily know their own strength or to the level of violence things could get - and that it might accidentally happen. 

While I did not like getting beat up - I do have to say it taught me how to take a punch, and usually was a surprise to everyone (including me) when I took a pretty hard shot to the chin and was still standing. That means something. After a couple times of not immediately collapsing, the attempted assaults stopped...

and I usually didn't cry until afterward...

But it toughened me up. I can take the insults. I can take the punches. When the time came I finally grew bigger, got stronger, and then after I learned how to really fight - I realized that I honestly (and finally) had a choice about whether to walk away or stand and fight. Choosing to walk away is a much different thing than having to walk away...

Additionally, I got better at taking risks. No one was going to help me - and it meant that much more when someone was willing to help out with some crazy idea that I had - and I got used to doing it myself. I better understood the Do It Yourself (DIY) prerogative that is such a big part of being "punk rock." 

So when I say "punk rock," I am not talking about heading down to the Mall (or, hell, even the Walmart these days) to pick up some stuff to look "edgy." Especially because you'll just look as "edgy" as the next cat who came in and got the same stuff. Too easy now. Too contrived.

When I say "punk rock," I am talking about the DIY ethic. Standing up, against the crowd, and making your own way in the world. Following your vision. Following your own lead. Making it happen yourself and helping others to get their hand up as well. Getting shit done your way.

Here is the old Commander Salamander shot... or is it...? They rebuilt a version of it for the new Wonder Woman movie!! The original store closed in 2010. Sad.