Terena Scott - Punk Rock Saved My Ass: An Anthology of True Punk Rock Stories

Punk Rock Saved My Ass: An Anthology, edited by Terena Scott and Jane Mackay. Copyright 2010. All Rights Reserved. Authors of essays retain copyright. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the essays author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Printed in the United States of America.

Medusas Muse

PO Box 1021

Ukiah, CA 95382 USA

Book Design by Richard Wismar

Front cover photo of Riverboat Gamblers by Nicole Lucas

Back cover Bad Brains pit photo by Rick Wismar

Back cover punk buns by Jane Mackay

ISBN 978-0-9797152-6-6

ISBN: 9780979715273

ISBN 0-9797152-6-1

Dedicated to everyone who has stared the status quo in the eye and shouted, Fuck you!

oh yeah, and to my mom.

.

Songs the editors rocked out to while creating this book compilation by R. Wismar

Dr. Know of the Bad Brains: photo by R. Wismar

By Terena Scott 2010

T his is not another book romanticizing or denigrating punk rock. Nor do I claim to understand, or even be, punk. Nowadays, everyone claims to be a punk, especially marketing executives who want to shake up the status quo. You can buy books on everything from punk decorating to punk knitting. Despite how the term punk has been ripped off, there is no denying the mystique of punk. Our culture is fascinated with it. Countless movies and books celebrate the great bands and singers of classic punk, like Sid Vicious and Jello Biafra. We cant seem to get enough of those tragic, train wreck stories. But theres more to punk than junkies and self-destructive celebrities. Punk has inspired and saved the lives of thousands of people by providing a sense of belonging and a code for living. Im one of them.

I love punk rock music, but I would never call myself a punk. Im a hippie-punk, if there is such a thing, although when Ive asked I was told no. One friend even said hed punch someone in the mouth for calling him that. He is definitely a punk.

Regardless of what cultural category I fall into, one fact is irrevocable: I love punk musicIggy and the Stooges, The Clash, Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, Joan Jett, Bad Religion, Rancid, Bad Brains, Generation X, M.D.C., Dead Boys, Cramps, The Avengers I love the chaotic, destructive energy that screams, Why? Why is the world fucked up? Why are corporations in control? Why is there a hole in the ozone? Why are we so complacent? No other music can reach the same howl of rage as punk when demanding social justice.

I grew up in Northern California, the nirvana of counter-cultural ideals, where I played hide-and-seek in the pot fields with other hippie kids. We were raised on the ideals of the 1960s, convinced that by the time we were adults the revolution would have come and wed all be living John Lennons Imagine. And my dad was making it happen; he was a community organizer who stopped a nuclear power plant from being built on the Mendocino Coast. At age three I cut the ribbon to open my dads environmental center on the very first Earth Day. We were recycling before it was cool.

But something odd happened while I grew up. Slowly, the revolutionaries set down their flowers and bought BMWs. Although my dad remained a hippie and didnt buy a new car, he stopped fighting the man, preferring to drop further from society and let someone younger do the fighting. Problem was, no one picked up the gauntlet. Reagan got elected and the revolution ended. They had won.

My parents divorced and my mom, tired of being broke, married a middle-class, conservative guy with a steady job. We moved to Kelseyville, the Pear Capital of the World, population 1700, where I went to high school. When we were old enough to drive, my best friend Nellie would pick me up in her VW bug and drive us to school, where we would sit in her car in the parking lot, drinking OJ and vodka from a thermos while listening to the Talking Heads. One morning, a group of kids walked by the car and paused when they heard our music. One of them said, I knew you two were punks.

Punks? Were the Talking Heads a punk band? Wed heard of punk music, but in Kelseyville they werent exactly playing it on the radio, nor were any bands coming within a hundred miles of us. No one wore band shirts or dressed punk. To our tiny high school, the Talking Heads were absolutely punk.

After high school, I went to Humboldt State University in Arcata, the school for hippie kids. The university radio station played the Grateful Dead and reggae. College students wore their hair long and dressed in flowing gypsy skirts or organically grown cotton pants with T-shirts declaring Jah Love, No Nukes, and Save the Whales. There was a drum circle on campus every lunch break and avant-garde performance art every night, usually from the dance or drama departments.

By that time, I was more goth than hippie, preferring Sisters of Mercy to the Grateful Dead. Later, the Seattle sound attracted me, especially the fury of Soundgarden and the longing of Nirvana. The music was considered the third wave of punk and was my gateway drug to harder, classic punk. I dressed in baggy pants, heavy boots, and flannel shirts like the rest of the grunge crew, but I found the grungers more insipid than the hippies. They didnt even bother to go to the demonstration. The hippies talked too much after smoking too much dope, but at least theyd leave the house to protest.

Stop the Nicaraguan Occupation. Fuck yeah! Stop the killing. I wanted to scream against the ReaganBush policies in Central America. How many people were being killed in my name? The war crimes had to stop. Id join the hippies at the protest and chant for the downfall of the Bush regime, but after a good protest, complete with drumming and a performance piece from the Underground Puppet People, the hippies would go home to discuss more politics and smoke another bowl. I would go home feeling more depressed than before I protested.

The glorious revolution was proving yet again to be utter bullshit.

And then, I fell in love with my math tutor, Greg. He was blond and gorgeous in a nerdy, math genius sort of way, complete with glasses. His smile made me forget everything he taught me about math. We went out a couple of times and then moved in together to begin a tumultuous, mad, lovely relationship that lasted four years.

T-shirt iron-on design for a one off show. Baton Rouge, La. 1986 by R. Wismar Another time where the T-shirt was better than the band.

He wasnt what I imagined a punk must be. He didnt have spiked hair or ripped clothes decorated with chains. He didnt smoke or fight or spit at people. He even got along well with his parents, who obviously adored him. But one day, he introduced me to punk music.

It was a rare sunny day in Arcata. I was sitting outside the front door on the steps when Kill the Poor by the Dead Kennedys suddenly blasted through the speakers. The sound blasted me out of my dreamy, warm reverie, startling me awake. The music was so angry, so intoxicating, so much like everything I was feeling inside.