As a goofy high school freshman in 1989 who had already memorized the catalogs of the Dead Kennedy’s, Black Flag, The Misfits, etc etc etc, “punk rock” was still a wondrous world of discovery where anything that fell outside of the mainstream of my reality in a suburb outside of New York still fell under the umbrella of “punk.” As I’ve mentioned in previous entries here; this was when my taste was still heavily influenced by the t-shirts for sale in Sessions Skateshop ads in Thrasher Magazine. Hence, punk to me was everything from Echo & the Bunnymen and The Smiths, to Ministry and KMFDM to Agnostic Front and the Crucifucks. One of my mentors, Dave Kendall, was just about midway through his career as host of 120 Minutes (“Ere’s da noo won from FAT-uh-muh MAN-shuns!”) It was on that program that I first saw the Dead Milkmen’s video for “Punk Rock Girl”, a track from their 1988 album “Beelzebubba”. Now, if you know the Dead Milkmen, you know that “Punk Rock Girl” is by far not even CLOSE to their funniest song, but you also know that it was a suburban teenager ANTHEM of the late 80’s. I bought the album on cassette and upon him seeing it one day I was SHOCKED when my “cool” uncle said to me, “They’re awesome…have you heard, “Bitchin’ Camaro”??” Nothing made me happier than impressing my cool uncle so I was then and there a Dead Milkmen fan. The next year their album “Metaphysical Graffiti” was released. I bought it the day it came out and I could not wait to play it for my friends. Funny, slightly offensive (but not “get suspended from school” offensive) punk rock was social cred GOLD for a 14 year old kid like me. I rode out introducing classmates to the Dead Milkmen for most of my freshman year and then straight into the summer program for nerdy art kids my parents sent me to at Wesleyan University. It was that summer at Wesleyan where I was able to talk about the Dead Milkmen to an actual nerdy art GIRL who then BLEW MY MIND by playing me an Alice Donut cassette. I can still feel the beads of sweat dripping down my temples as she played “Tiny Ugly World” for me in her dorm room while I was silently debating whether to try to kiss her or (more likely) start talking about GG Allin for 15 minutes. The safe, inoffensive humor of bands like the Dead Milkmen, Alice Donut and New Haven, CT’s The Crabs were the perfect social lubricant for talking to all sorts of people.
Then I started going to hardcore shows.
Now, to say that New York Hardcore bands and fans lacked a sense of humor in the early 90’s would be an understatement (as far as I could tell at the time). Paul Bearer of Sheer Terror’s stage banter notwithstanding, the only time I remember seeing anyone laugh at a hardcore show in the early 90’s was when people were watching someone getting beaten senseless. I was relatively shy but I had plenty of friends and while I was shoved and verbally abused at shows once or twice I managed to avoid ever actually getting punched. The one time I was pretty sure I was about to take a beating was when I had the gall to wear a Dead Kennedy’s “Welcome to 1984” Ronald Reagan shirt to a Sick Of It All show and a young man with a closely shaven head decided it was an offense worth not only mocking me for, but worth trying to get those around me to show their disdain as well. I’m pretty sure I just ran for my life, hid outside a block away from the club and then, realizing my ride home was still inside, snuck back in just in time to catch the last song or two and then made myself invisible until I could permanently escape the venue. Recounting the story to my older, wiser next door neighbor (I think he was probably 18 at the time) who was responsible for introducing me to punk in the first place, he laughed and then explained that the Dead Kennedys, the Dead Milkmen, The Crabs.. this silly shit I listen to.. It wasn’t “tough”. It wasn’t “real” enough. It was laughable to these hardcore guys. Sure, he liked it too, but he wasn’t dumb enough to tell some of these shirtless thugs whom he too was trying to impress. So, lesson learned: don’t wear anything but skateboard shirts to shows, continue to just keep my mouth shut and try my best to fit in.
It was around this time that I first heard the song “Lawn Dart” by Ed’s Redeeming Qualities on the University of New Haven student radio station WNHU 88.7FM. It’s a pretty lo-fi, folky track, nothing “punk” about it, but I taped it off the radio one afternoon and it quickly became a favorite of mine that I was sure to include on mixtapes I made for my not-so-tough friends who liked to laugh like I did. If you’re not old enough to remember, lawn darts or “jarts”, they were, for a short time in the late 80’s, considered, if not Public Enemy #1, at least a huge threat to the white, suburban youth of America, right up there with Dungeons & Dragons and breakdancing. The Ed’s Redeeming Qualities song is a ballad about the result of that lawn game hysteria and what it meant for good, honest, law abiding Americans who just wanted to have a safe, fun summer evening sport to play with friends. I wouldn’t have given this song a second thought if the subject matter wasn’t so funny. I still put this song in the same category in my head as songs like “Stuart” by the Dead Milkmen, Lawnmower Deth’s cover of Kim Wilde’s “Kids In America”, and the Dead Kennedy’s “Pull My Strings”, a live track of them giving the Weird Al treatment to “My Sharona” by the Knack. I loved this goofy stuff and sadly it felt like it was my little secret for a long time because almost everyone I knew who was into punk thought it wasn’t cool to joke around (or so it seemed?). I still can’t decide if, a few years later in 1992, when “Detachable Penis” by King Missile and “Push the Little Daisies” by Ween were released, complete with silly videos, I felt nothing but disdain for both. If I hadn’t already “grown out of” silly, unpretentious music, I was trying desperately to do so. I don’t think it was until after I graduated high school when I realized I didn’t have to hide being into anything really. A lot of the people I was trying to impress in my teens were pretty joyless in general and that just wasn’t me.
Around the time I turned 19 I had moved up to Northampton, MA to be closer to friends and my first roommate there played me a 7″ by a band called The Violets from 1991 with the song “I Hate the Grateful Dead”. I remember listening to that song and then playing him my Crabs cassette and the song “The Day Jerry Garcia Died” and realizing how much better it felt to just not give a shit about being cool if it meant you couldn’t laugh.
Side note: If you haven’t read it yet, here’s a fantastic interview/article from a few weeks ago in The Believer with musician, producer and founder of Shimmy Disc Records, Kramer. Kramer produced and released music by the aforementioned Alice Donut, Ween, King Missile and many, many more amazing artists. I can’t remember the last time I’ve enjoyed an interview so much. Kramer’s work as a producer and label owner was full of humor and artistic risk-taking and exemplifies everything I love about independent music, then and now.
Here’s Ed’s Redeeming Qualities “Lawn Dart”..
