How Punk Rock Shaped My Worldview

Photo of me and Milo Aukerman at the McDonald’s across from the Emerson Theater in 1997.

Photo credit: Ryan Kennedy

You could blame my individualistic, anti-authoritarian worldview on being of Scottish via Appalachian descent.  Or, you could say it is because I’m an only child who spent the first twelve years of his life living in the country with no kids around.  However, even if those things are true, it was punk rock that solidified it.  It was punk rock that gave me not only a reason to do what I dreamed of, but a way to do the things I dreamed of. 

For all the hardcore socialist or communist punks out there, they’ve sold out.  Back in the analog days, we had our own separate economy.  Almost every one of us was an entrepreneur.  We started bands.  We promoted shows.  We started zines.  We made t-shirts.  We started record labels.  Some of us even started clubs.  I went to business school and spent a ton of money on an MBA just to be taught everything I already knew thanks to being a teenage punk. 

It was a completely voluntary, capitalist society.  Everything was cash.  We gave charity when it was needed.  We bought t-shirts and records so that the band had cash to gas up the van to make it to the next stop and grab a couple of burritos at Taco Bell on the way.  Often times we gave them (or folks gave me) a place to sleep so they didn’t have to waste money on a hotel or sleep in the van.  They got to take a shower and have a hot breakfast before they headed out. 

You saw the bands you wanted to see and, because there was nothing else to do, you often went to shows anyway because for $5 you got to see three or four bands.  Sometimes they all sucked, but sometimes someone blew your doors off.  You made friends with people in different cities, exchanged phone numbers and when you went to their town, you called them up, you hung out, and you probably crashed at their house.  I had friends in Indianapolis, Bloomington, Chicago, Detroit, Dayton and Columbus, Ohio. 

For many of us, it was the only place we belonged.  Broken homes, neglect or abuse and poverty were all common.  We were weird, we didn’t fit the mold, but within the punk community, you were accepted whether you looked like the Wattie from the Exploited or Rivers Cuomo from Weezer. 

No one was giving anything to us.  Even a little bit of help from the outside was rare.  We weren’t the sons and daughters of titans of industry or scumbag politicians.  We were mostly blue-collar kids, who if we wanted something out of life, had to figure out how to go about getting it on our own.  We had to be industrious, creative and hard-working.  We had to have confidence in the face of resistance and we had to have perseverance.  And I’m happy to report, amongst my friends, we all made it in our own ways. 

And more importantly than the economics of things, we had a community.  Those friends from out-of-town bands, those friends from your scene, they were there when you were hungry to feed you.  They were there for support when your parents got divorced.  They were there to give you a place to sleep when you couldn’t get along with the people in your house.  They gave you a ride when your car broke down.  They loaned you a few bucks to get in the show.  Unless you were a complete mooch, there was never any accounting of this cash.  If you had it, you shared it.  Voluntarily.  Because you cared.  And because someone, maybe even that person, had done it for you and would do it for you again.

In thirty years, I haven’t changed much.  I can argue my positions better, I’m wiser, I have more scars, but I’m essentially the same.  I’m still making music. I’m still promoting it myself.  I started my own record label so that I can work with people I want to work with and help them with their music. 

And, if I’ve got it, and you need it, I’ll give it to you. 

JC