 Happy Friday everyone! You made it through another stinking week, mostly unscathed. Just checking in ‘cuz it’s been a weird week here at The Compound.
By that, I mean, it’s been, for the most part, quiet. Cousin Fred and the hairdressing hydrologist Gigi have remained underground apparently maintaining their cosplay fun as a WWII German U-boat crew. Who knows what’s going on down there? After their daring resupply the other day, they can probably remain submerged for weeks. The Wife has been remarkably quiet this week. Despite the occasional launch of Old Crow bottles again the U-002, she’s pretty much kept to herself. Suspect she’s been binging on Law & Odor episodes where they exhume the characters who have died over the years and have them reprise their roles. Fascinating stuff…no, really. Friends, if you know me well, and for those of you who do, I pity you. But if you know me well, you know I have soft spot in my head for punk rock. If you’ve read this blog over time you know that I can positively wax poetic about The New York Dolls being the advent of punk. Okay, technically, actually it was The Beatles with the so-called White Album, but that’s another post for another time. The Dolls were it. The Ramones and Sex Pistols came along and took it (kinda, sorta) mainstream, which I know is the very antithesis of punk, but it is what it is. Over the years, nay decades, punk has risen and fallen with the times, with each artist putting their own spin on it (e.g., Glam-Punk, Proto-Punk, Retro-Punk, etc.). No matter the spin, it was the same idea…snappy three-chord songs played through an amp cranked with as much distortion as the laws of physics will allow and a singer who belts out angst-ridden lyrics that no can understand, but bounce to anyway. Here in the most dysfunctional state in the union, there is an underground punk culture based in OKC. Who knew? I only found out about it a couple of years ago. And no, I’m not talking about Wayne Coyne (he stole my idea, you know). Alas, some of the punk pioneers are no longer with us or are so burned out they barely know what day it is. The thing about aging punk acts is that while they may appear to grow older, the concept remains – though atavistic angst is replaced with just plain anger. Take for instance the LA-based band Superbean. They’ve been around for a while (four decades to be exact). They’re over 50. They used to be known as just Bean, their incarnation in the late-20xxs, Superbean. They just released a new album with a song called, “F**k Youth”…it provides a view of today’s youth through the eyes of us aging baby boomers. The video (including an aged man yelling at kids for being on his lawn) can be found here. Warning, this is not something you play at high volume at work. Unless, you just don’t give a s**t anymore! Rock on! That is all! Comments are closed.
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