Top Ten Nihilist Songs

A playlist of 10 nihilist themed songs.

1. Flipper – Nothing

2. Rancid – Nihilism

3. Sacripolitical – Nihilist Void

4. Fear – No More Nothing

5. Agent Orange – No Such Thing

6. Sex Pistols – No Feelings

7. GG Allin – No Rules

8. Fuck Ups – Negative Reaction

9. Angry Samoans – Lights Out

10 UXB – Anti-Everything

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UXB

(Note: This is part of a larger project chronicling the history of punk rock in Marin County, California during the 1980’s.)

UXB at the Shelter. (Left to right) Bob Christman, Julie Resing (BB Gunn), Peter Hansen (Ira Hood), and Derek Johnston (Brian Barbituate). Photo courtesy of Shaaron Murphy.

UXB was among the most noteworthy hardcore bands to emerge out of Marin County during the 1980’s. “They were not just one of the best Marin bands; they were one of the best punk bands of all time,” says John Marmysz, vocalist for Sacripolitical. Called the “pride and joy” of the Marin scene by fan Gordon Edgar, and “kinda the biggest band in Marin” by Walter Glaser of the Pukes, UXB was formed in 1980 by Bob Christman. Bob had discovered punk rock three years previously when he attended a 1977 performance of the Nuns, Dictators and the Ramones at Winterland in San Francisco. “I was blown away with the high energy, machine gun beat and cool looks. I had never seen anything like it before and I swallowed it hook, line and sinker. I saw GOD!” In a strange case of missed connections, Derek Johnson, who would become UXB’s lead guitarist, also was introduced to punk rock at that same concert, though Bob and Derek did not know one another at the time, even though they lived in the same Novato neighborhood.

The only Marin band to have a track included on the now classic Northern California punk compilation Not So Quiet on the Western Front, UXB was in existence for just three years. During that time, they performed regularly with local bands, while also appearing on the bill with many more well-know, legendary names in West Coast punk – bands like Black Flag, 45 Grave, Social Distortion, and DOA. With this sort of exposure, one might expect that UXB’s success would be assured, but despite frequent high-profile gigs, enthusiastic fans and positive critical reviews, Bob says that UXB waited in vain for “the call that never came.”

“To tell you the truth punk bands from Marin were looked down upon by the so called ‘core’ from the city. They thought we were just a bunch of rich kids from the ‘burbs. We were prejudged by everyone in the city as poser punks. This was coupled with having to deal with petty philosophical differences with the ‘punk powerbrokers.’ Even with the Marin County albatross proudly worn around our neck we did everything we could to change the narrative…by kicking ass!”

And kick ass they did. Musically tight and lyrically sophisticated, UXB was aggressively hardcore while also delivering a smart libertarian message. Bob reports, “I wanted us to be a more cerebral punk rock band using satire, metaphors and humor to get [our] underlying message across. I got tired of hearing ‘fuck this, fuck that…anarchy shit. …Many of our songs were written about freedom: freedom from oppression, personal freedoms, freedom of speech/expression, and 2nd Amendment freedoms.”

Take, for instance, “Die’s Song,” a pro-gun, anti-Dianne Feinstein number:

 

Should of known it wouldn’t work

You can’t take our guns away

We’ll stand up and bear our arms

To protest this constitutional rape

Die-anne, you’re a nazi are you a party member too?

Hitler tried it in ’35 and the same thing is going to happen to you.

Meet your new fuhrer… Dianne Feinstein

Hail to the fuhrer … Dianne Feinstein

Bow to no one… Die Feinstein

Do us all a favor and go die… Feinstein

Your Gestapo, your men in blue

Will do anything that you say

But the D.A. won’t prosecute

Cause he knows that he ain’t got a case

Die-anne, you’re a nazi and now we’re going to recall you

Don’t you know the only real crime was that White shot Milk instead of you!

Wave goodbye, die Feinstein

Cause you’re going to, die Feinstein

Guns on the crosses, die Feinstein

Political suicide, we’ll have the last laugh on you die… bye bye…

As Julie Resing (AKA BB Gunn), UXB’s bass player attests, “Making outlandish statements was part of the whole punk thing,” and indeed while UXB’s lyrics – written jointly by Bob and lead singer Peter Hansen – were audacious, unapologetic and belligerent, they were never uniformed or unintelligent. It was hardcore with a message: that people should refuse to submit to authority of any kind, whether from the left or from the right.

UXB began when Bob learned to play guitar and then convinced his best friend Peter Hansen (AKA Ira Hood) to ditch his “disco polyester for a black leather jacket” and take on the role of lead singer. Bob’s then girlfriend Julie Resing (AKA BB Gunn) learned the bass and Bob’s friend Daniel Dee was recruited to play drums. Derrick Johnston (AKA Brian Barbituate) was added in 1981 as a second guitarist in order to develop a heavier sound. Over the course of their career, the band went through a number of drummers, including Rick Wreck, Scott Williams and William Shore. With these frequent changes in the percussion section and with their many absurd, hilarious adventures together, Bob likens UXB’s career to that of the fictional band in the movie Spinal Tap. Despite the likeness, he insists that UXB “didn’t get a dime in royalties!”

UXB at the Shelter. Photo courtesy of Shaaron Murphy.

Brooke Johnson, bass player for the Pukes and Sacripolitical, recalls that the first time UXB performed live, “they only had a few songs, so they just played their set twice.” However, after Derek joined the band, they developed a full repertoire (enough to fill an unreleased album) that they played with rare skill. “They were really good, tight and seemed to really have their shit together,” says Walter Glaser.

UXB’s razor-sharp sound was the result of frequent and rigorous practice sessions coupled with the able musicianship of the band members. “We didn’t get so tight by fucking around…we worked our asses off,” Bob recalls. As the self-confessed “taskmaster” (and sometime “asshole”) he made sure that everyone gave their all; and it showed. UXB’s music was dominated by the buzz saw roar of Bob and Derek’s guitars. While Bob’s rhythm guitar was raw and ferocious, Derek’s lead guitar was sophisticated and unusually complex for a hardcore band. Derek was the talent behind the innovative and unique hooks, fills and solos – like those heard in Breakout and Anti-Everything – that gave UXB’s songs their catchy but menacing appeal. Julie’s precision on bass contributed a bottom end to the rhythm section that audiences’ felt deep in their bones at the same time the guitars rattled their teeth. Put it all together and the resulting sound was powerful and aggressive, while still being tight and disciplined.

Peter Hansen (Ira Hood). Photo courtesy of Shaaron Murphy.

Lead singer, Peter Hansen, had an on-stage presence and commanding voice that constituted another huge part of UXB’s allure. Though he wasn’t an unusually big man, Peter, a construction worker, did exude a kind of working-class toughness that gave the band’s performances a sense of authenticity. He did not screech his lyrics, but actually sang them with a voice that, despite its husky, gravelly rasp, was able to hold a note and stay in tune. At times he would dye his crew-cut brilliant colors, like green or blue, but otherwise his style was simple and down to earth, consisting of jeans, a t-shirt, a thermal, or a Boston Celtics jersey. Bob remembers that Peter was a bit of an exhibitionist, enjoying his role as the center of attention; though he was occasionally upstaged by the only female member of the band, BB Gunn, who was singled out and praised as the band’s “smoking hot bass player” by one critic for both her musical talent and good looks.

UXB initially held their practices in the garage at Bob’s parent’s house in the suburban waterfront neighborhood of Bel-Marin Keys. Derek recalls that despite copious sound proofing, neighbors still complained about the bone-jarring percussion that would quake through their community when the band practiced. Noise complaints, coupled with the sometimes rowdy groups of teenage punks who would show up at practices, eventually created enough upset that UXB, in 1983, moved their gear south to a larger, rented warehouse in Sausalito. Bob recalls that the landlord of the new space was friendly and the acoustics were good, but “a few times each year a heavy rain in combination with a high tide caused flooding in the building… that’s why the rent was so cheap!” In order to keep their equipment dry, Bob and Peter constructed a raised stage, which transformed the practice studio into a club where UXB and other local bands could perform and hold regular shows. The place became known as The Shelter, and in addition to UXB, it hosted performances by bands such as the Pukes, The Fuck-Ups, Verbal Abuse, TOC, Urban Assault, and 5th Column.

The police break up a show at the Shelter. Photo courtesy of Shaaron Murphy.

Walter Glaser recalls, “The Shelter was awesome. It was about as punk as you could get.” Located on Gate 5 Road in a boat yard near the waters of the San Francisco Bay, The Shelter drew a diverse crowd of punks and weirdoes who usually – though not always – got along with one another. John Marmysz remembers “the police would often break up shows around midnight. One night as the police were coming into the club, UXB started playing a medley of the songs “White and Proud” and “Kill Whitey” in mockery of the cops. It was hilarious!” Nonetheless, according to Derek Johnston, “Most of the cops were cool and expressed concern about the safety of the young girls in what they considered an unsavory area.”

Punks at the Shelter: Myka Ransom, Linda Murphy, Sara Parker, and others. Photo courtesy of Shaaron Murphy.

There was a lot of underage drinking and other questionable activity that would go on in the lot out in front of The Shelter, and at least once, a young punk rocker drunkenly stumbled and fell into the bay waters. Fights, though not common, did happen. On one memorable occasion, the audience ganged up on a fellow who would not stop smashing beer bottles on the dance floor. After repeated attempts to get him to behave, a crowd of angry punks beat him to the ground, kicking and punching him until he was forced to flee the building in fear for his life. So much for mellow Marin!

In addition to frequent gigs at local punk clubs, UXB also performed under some rather unusual circumstances to less than punk-friendly audiences. Perhaps the most infamous show they played was one that barely happened at all. Somehow invited to appear at a noontime homecoming concert at Redwood High School in Corte Madera, the band was warned that there was to be no use of profanity during the performance. Things were instantly off to a bad start when the Vice Principal saw that Peter had arrived at the school wearing a black t-shirt with the word ‘fuck’ printed on it repeatedly. When the Vice Principal demanded that the shirt be turned inside out, Derek protested and was verbally threated and jabbed in the chest by the hostile school administrator. Things only went downhill from there.

As they took to the stage, UXB’s opening number was Breakout:

 

Are you blind, can’t you see

We’re all just prisoners of society

Locked in the suburbs, they’re all the same

In life we’re numbers, ain’t got no name.

Breakout, fight the system

You’re not all alone

Breakout, let’s stand together

Breakout.

Propaganda on your TV

Say what you want but we don’t believe it

Fuck your rules, your conformity

We’re marching to an urban blitzkrieg

We don’t fight here among ourselves

We stand together and share your wealth.

Breakout, fight the system

You’re not all alone

Breakout, let’s stand together

Breakout.

The song includes only one occurrence of the word “fuck,” but this apparently was one occurrence too many. After this first number, the plug was literally pulled and all went silent. The abrupt halt to the music was followed by a volley of apples, soda cans, and full yogurt cups lobbed at the band by an assembly of angry football players. Bob recalls that he was “totally pissed off,” and, wielding his guitar like a baseball bat, started hitting “the yogurt bombs back into the crowd.” Derek remembers that Julie avoided being hit square in the face by a full soda can only because it was intercepted at the last minute by Peter, who reached out to stop it in mid-flight. At this point, the teenaged football players, whose anger was in full frenzy, began to converge on the stage. However, when they realized that the band members were ready to actually fight, the jocks pulled back, and things devolved into a shouting match.

Walter Glaser, Linda Sue Koscis and Robert Jupe Jr., all Redwood High students at the time, recall the fracas, with “people throwing food; maybe a few punches.” “It certainly woke my ass up!” Robert remembers. Enough chaos was generated that the police were called and the band was advised by the Administration to leave the campus immediately. With the help of the Redwood High punks, UXB loaded up their equipment and tried to make a quick escape. However they were again confronted in the parking lot by the angry mob, and once more they were pelted with cans, rocks and other projectiles. Derek had borrowed his brother’s truck for the day, and after he and Bob piled in to make their getaway, the ignition would not catch. Sitting ducks, they remained in place as the engine repeatedly sputtered and died as bottles and cans ricocheted off of the hood and the sides of the vehicle. Finally, the truck started and they peeled out, making tracks across the school’s playing field, jumping the curb, and then hitting the road just as a Corte Madera SWAT van and multiple cop cars made their arrival.

Despite the truncated performance, Bob remembers that the Redwood High punks were elated. They were “totally stoked that we shit on the jocks in front of the whole school!” Derek reports that one of the Redwood students thanked him, saying, “It was great to have someone give the jocks something back. Do you know what it’s like to have to go to school with those assholes?!” In one final afterword to the incident, Derek learned that when the new wave/pop band Tommy Two Tone later played a gig at the same high school, a riot again ensued. This time, however, the band was not lucky enough to escape before all of their equipment was trashed!

Another one of UXB’s memorable, Spinal Tap-esque gigs also occurred on a school campus; this time at Mills College, a then all women’s school in the East Bay. As Bob recalls, someone must have decided that the school needed “an injection of coolness that only a punk rock show could supply.” The problem was that the college was in “a place no punk would ever venture or even know existed. I guess the plan was to have a punk show and not have any punks show!” UXB was scheduled to hit the stage at 10pm, but when it appeared that there was going to be no audience, Derek decided to drop acid and the rest of the band proceeded to get falling-down drunk. When show-time rolled around, the inebriated band took to the stage for a 20 minute set that, according to Bob, was just terrible. “It sounded like a free form punk version of a Dead concert.”

It was then, Bob claims, that the band realized there actually was an audience that was hiding in the shadows at the very back of the hall, as far away from the stage as they could get. At one point, some of the elusive Mills College students finally mustered the courage to approach the stage for a closer look. Bob reports, however, that “as soon as eye contact was made they scurried back to their safe haven in disbelief as if we were creatures from another planet. They thought they wanted a punk rock show and we gave them a freak show that they will probably never forget. I know I won’t!”

Derek’s recollection of the same evening is quite different. It was the first live show he had played with UXB, and so as he recalls it, he was very eager to perform well. “No one was drunk or on drugs. We actually played a good set. And there were plenty of people slam dancing and enjoying the music.” What Derek didn’t realize at the time, however, was that they were sharing the bill with one the greatest of all San Francisco punk bands: MDC. “I saw their Marshall stack, but I just thought one of the other bands was borrowing it. I didn’t even know it was them until they took to the stage. If I had known, I would have included their name on the show flyer!” This incident, Derek claims, established a pattern that would continue throughout the time he was with UXB. He remembers being regularly left in the dark until the day of a show, which meant that he often had no idea with whom, or where, they would be performing. But then, sometimes the best things do happen at the last minute!

A case in point was the biggest concert that UXB ever played; a booking that Derek was not aware of until one week before the event. The show was at the LA Olympic Auditorium, in downtown Los Angeles. Built in 1924, this was the location of the 1932 Olympic boxing, weightlifting and wrestling competitions, but by the 1970’s and 1980’s, the venue had switched to hosting regular music performances; including high-profile punk rock shows. The concert that UXB was booked to play was a sort of punk rock Woodstock, featuring Black Flag, 45 Grave, DOA, Descendents, and Hüsker Dü.

The trip to and from LA was one of the absurdly memorable parts of this particular adventure. Derek traveled with his own girlfriend, drummer Scott Williams and his girlfriend, as well as UXB’s roadies – including Ricky Paul of the Pukes and a couple of Ricky’s female friends, dubbed the “Pukettes” by Derek. Peter drove separately in his own truck, which was decorated in an especially eye-catching way. Peter’s uncle was Bob Dornan, a controversial right-wing Republican and member of the US House of Representatives who had earned the nickname “B1 Bob” because of his stanch support of the B-1 bomber program. In ridicule of his own conservative relative, Peter had plastered his truck with Bob Dornan campaign posters, each of which was spray-painted with a large, black swastika! “It was a real sight to see a caravan of punks with crazy colored hair driving down the freeway like that!,” Derek recalls. They must have turned some heads, indeed.

Arriving in Southern California, the band and their friends stayed in Huntington Beach. The night before the big show at the LA Olympic Auditorium UXB practiced their set in their host’s backyard. Derek remembers that there was a good turn out of punks at the evening party, but mid-way through the performance they were interrupted by the “chop-chop-chop” sound of rotor blades. An LAPD helicopter appeared overhead, spotlighting the band and, over a loudspeaker, ordered them to disperse. Derek says that his instinct was to flip the cops off, but when he did so, his hosts warned him that such behavior was especially risky in LA, as the police wouldn’t hesitate to “beat your head in” if you showed them any signs of disrespect or hostility. Luckily, the party ended without anyone going to jail.

The next day UXB arrived at the Olympic Auditorium and set up their equipment. After “a lot of waiting and sitting around,” both Bob and Derek remember that the show went really well, with UXB putting on a great concert. “The entire set flew by and was well received by the So Cal punks,” according to Bob. After a “killer encore,” the members of the band went backstage to drink beer and congratulate one another on a job well done. As they were doing so, Bob recalls that Henry Rollins, the lead singer of Black Flag, came wandering around while making “primal grunting sounds” and “hammering the walls with his fists and his head.” As he continued to grunt and carry on, Bob came to realize that this was Henry’s “pre-show psych-up routine.” The backstage performance reached an amusing conclusion when Henry staggered over to a dirty drinking fountain, and bent over to take a sip. The fountain had been booby-trapped by some prankster, and so when Rollins turned the handle “a high pressure stream of water hit ‘ol Henry in the eye,” provoking laughter from the members of UXB.

After witnessing Henry Rollins’ amusing run-in with the water fountain, Derek recalls breaking away from his band mates, eating nachos and having a really good time mixing and socializing with the audience and members of Black Flag. Black Flag, in fact, ended up borrowing UXB’s amps for their headlining performance, which ended with a rousing rendition of “Louie, Louie.”

Though he would have liked to have spent more time in LA after the show, Derek says that he had to catch his ride back home with Scott Williams and his girlfriend. “Scott’s girlfriend was this kind of natural, hippy girl. She was sitting up front when we hit the freeway, and at one point during the trip she rolled a hash cigarette.” Taking a puff, she became nauseated from the smoke and began retching, and so frantically rolled down the passenger side window in order to be sick. The problem was that the car was moving at 70 miles per hour, and consequently when she vomited, it all came rushing back inside, creating a “hurricane of puke in the car.” Derek remembers thinking that the vomit looked like “pancake mix” as it splattered both himself and his girlfriend, who were sitting in the backseat. “It was all over my face and in my girlfriend’s hair.” This was a messy ending that would have certainly been appreciated by Ricky Puke had he been lucky enough to have been in the car.

In addition to their live performances, UXB also did a fair amount of studio recording. The song Breakout, from 1982’s Not So Quiet on the Western Front compilation, was recorded, engineered and produced at the Big Pink studio in Mill Valley. Afterwards, the band rented time at a 16 track studio in San Rafael, recording songs for an album titled In Your Face. The album, however, was never released because, according to Bob, “I ran out of time and money.” Two of the tracks from In Your Face – Die’s Song and Anti-Everything – were supposed to be released as back-to-back singles, but that also fell through. Anti-Everything ultimately appeared on the compilation tape Marin Underground.

 

Two other punk bands from around the same time period also bore the name UXB: one from the UK and the other from New York. The website Last FM warns readers not to confuse the Marin group with these other bands, but then mistakenly attributes an album released by the UK band, titled Crazy Today, to Marin’s UXB.

“All good things must pass,” and so in 1983, UXB broke up. “I always embraced change. If one did not evolve they would soon face extinction. That’s where I thought our music was headed.” Bob recalls that he tried to introduce a synthesizer at one point, hoping to augment the guitars and to add another layer of sound to the music, but some members of the band objected, claiming that it sounded like a “sell-out” and “too new-wavie.” “I said to myself, don’t you have to make money to sell out? This question brought me to the fork in the road.” These sorts of creative differences, along with personality clashes, expenses, work pressure and sheer exhaustion, led to the band’s breakup in 1983. The split was nevertheless amicable, and Peter and Derek went on to start a new band, called Ludoviko Technique.

Sources:

Christman, Bob. Interview with John Marmysz. April 9, 2018.

Christman, Bob. Correspondence with John Marmysz. May 1, 2018.

Edgar, Gordon. “The Death of Ricky Puke,” (Blog posting).    <http://gordonzola.livejournal.com/125133.html > Last accessed 3/13/18.

Glaser, Walter. Interview with John Marmysz. March 7, 2018.

Johnson, Brooke. Interview with John Marmysz. February 2, 2018.

Johnston, Derek. Interview with John Marmysz. May 11, 2018.

Jupe Jr., Robert. Facebook posting. April 1, 2018.

Last FM. < https://www.last.fm/music/UXB/+wiki > Last accessed 5/16/18.

Resing, Julie. Correspondence with John Marmysz. March 26, 2018.

The Pukes

(Note: This is part of a larger project chronicling the history of punk rock in Marin County, California during the 1980’s.)

The atmosphere was somber at the Sleeping Lady Café. It was September, in the year of Orwell – 1984 – and Ricky Paul, the lead singer for the Pukes had recently hanged himself, dying at the age of 22. The young people gathered that evening were there to remember, mourn and share their grief over his passing. Erik Meade, one-time member of the Pukes and other Marin bands, summed up the feelings of many when he said that along with Ricky, the Marin punk scene had died. The sentiment, while not literally true, successfully conveys Ricky Paul’s central importance for Marin punk during the early 1980’s.

The Pukes at College of Marin, c. 1983: (From left to right) Brook Johnson, Ricky Paul, Nicky Poli, and Mark Wolf

Creative, friendly and full of enthusiasm, Ricky was known and loved by just about everyone. His band The Pukes played often in Marin and in San Francisco. Whether at house parties or clubs, they always attracted a large throng of young, enthusiastic fans. The Pukes were so named because Ricky had the talent of being able to vomit on demand at key points during performances, to the delight – and often the horror – of those in the audience. Wolfing down large quantities of pizza or other junk food before getting on stage, Ricky would then stick his finger down his throat halfway through the set and upchuck, providing visual punctuation for the lyrics of one song or another.

“It always grossed us out, but it was the one thing that set us apart from other punk bands, so we never complained,” remembers Brook Johnson, founding member and bass player for the Pukes.

Audience members unprepared for the messy display inevitably recoiled in shock and disgust, sometimes experiencing something close to trauma.

“I’ll never be able to look at him the same way again,” one of Ricky’s College of Marin classmates, Kent Daniels, once lamented, his face flushed white in shock after witnessing the voluntary vomit launch for the first time.

Walter Glaser, back-up vocalist for the Pukes, and later, after Ricky’s death, the lead singer, recalled a show at the Mabuhay Gardens in San Francisco when Ricky, after vomiting on stage, began throwing the mess at audience members; including a group of skinheads. “All the skinheads basically ran out of the club, which was hilarious, because they were the notorious ‘tough guys’ of their day. I remember the skinheads coming back in after we were done and I was scared they were going to kill us. But they didn’t. Instead, one guy, ‘Crazy Horse,’ introduced himself and said he thought we were cool!”

When he wasn’t puking on stage and screeching punk rock lyrics, Ricky spoke in a nasally, hoarse but gentle voice; described by one interviewer as half the time like “a 331/3 at 45, the other half like a 45 at 331/3.” He was thin and wispy in build, with hair of changing colors; sometimes shorn into a crew cut, sometimes grown out long and unkempt, sometimes fashioned into a mohawk. In a 1983 profile appearing in the Music Calender, Rebecca Solnit described him as “a self-acknowledged wimp. …a pale boy with prominent, fragile bones and eyes like myopic morning glories. His voice conveys his sincerity. It’s soft and hoarse, the aural equivalent of out-of-focus.”

Ricky Paul, c. 1982.

In contrast to his onstage persona, which was outrageous and confrontational, offstage Ricky was sensitive, tender and sweet with his friends and comrades. Juneko Robinson remembers the first time she met Ricky when he approached her at a Marin County bus stop. Recognizing her as a fellow punk, Ricky greeted her excitedly, exclaiming “Hey, punk rock!” before offering to share his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. There was something child-like and innocent about him, she remembers, even if when performing he had an unruly lack of inhibition.

When it came to confronting bullies, however, Walter Glaser remembers that Ricky was assertive, standing up for himself and unhesitant to tell them “to ‘fuck off’ to their face even when it seemed disadvantageous to do so.” He wasn’t gentle or a wimp when it came to “fighting against things that he thought were wrong in the world.” It seems that the anger and outrage that Ricky channeled into his onstage performances could also come out on the street if there was enough provocation; for example, when he once deliberately puked on the hood of a car occupied by one of his high school enemies!

So there was not such a clear incongruity between his on- and off-stage personae after all. Performing was just his opportunity to share with a sympathetic audience something of his own real-life disgust with the injustices of the world. Indeed, Ricky claimed that his Jewish identity and his identity as a punk were connected, as both groups are “oppressed minorities,” with a duty to confront and challenge a society that misunderstands and derides them. He felt that minorities and punks needed to make their voices heard. He thought speaking the truth about oppression was an act of rebellion against those who didn’t want to listen, who wanted to block their ears to the anger and distress of the outcast. Singing in a punk rock band, then, was the perfect outlet for those most authentic emotions that Ricky was struggling with throughout his life, and the band, rather than being a sideline, was central to who he was. As he once said in an interview, “It’s honest, the most honest thing there is.”

“Ricky once told me that the Pukes were his life,” recalls Brook Johnson. Brook had first been introduced to punk as a high school freshman in 1981 when he saw the Ramones play in Sonoma County. The next year he and his friend Mark Wolf started to talk about forming a punk band, and when they met Ricky things quickly came together. Sporting a green mohawk and possessing an enthusiastic, do-it-yourself attitude, Ricky wanted nothing more than to front the group as lead singer. Lacking a drummer, he encouraged his friend Nicky Poli to learn how to play and to join the band as well. Thus The Pukes were born. Within a month, they had developed something resembling a set of songs and played their first gig at the Sleeping Lady Café in Fairfax, opening for another Marin punk band, U.X.B.

“We sounded terrible,” says Brook, “but a reporter from a local newspaper, The Marin Independent Journal, was there and did a story on us along with a photo.” In that article, the author, George A. Frasier offered his own assessment of the Pukes: “Primitive is not the word for the Pukes. They produce a cacophony that would send almost anyone over the age of 30 running from the room.” Despite (or because?) of this, the Pukes became something of a local legend, with people thereafter recognizing them as “that band with the singer who pukes on stage.”

Some of the songs played by The Pukes were just flat-out noisy, with Ricky moaning and screeching incomprehensibly against a background of droning guitar, bass and clunky drumbeats. “Sometimes he would freestyle the lyrics, making them up as he went along.” But they also developed more polished songs like Parents, or The Question Is?, which had an upbeat, catchy sound that successfully harnessed the raw energy and anarchic nature of the group’s talent to great effect.

There was nothing despairing or sad about The Pukes’ music. Even as Ricky spewed anger at his parents, the police, or at jocks, their mood was consistently buoyant, inspiring fans to dance, laugh and interact with the band. Part of this probably had to do with the fact that through this music audience and performers found solidarity and unity against common enemies. The song Parents complained about the bane of all teenagers: chores and rules set down by mom and dad. A song like Macho took good humored jabs at the jocks and tough guys who were the natural foes of punks in Marin, while Red Badge of Courage used the title’s literary allusion to comment on the ongoing hostility between punks and the police. If you didn’t listen closely to their music, it might be easy to dismiss it all as noisy, mindless punk rock. But once you really gave them your attention, it became clear that they were doing more than just making a racket. They were actually making a statement. Their music was social and cultural commentary done in true punk style, conveying what it was like to live as a punk in Marin County.

 

 

 

The song S and M Waltz was a particularly good illustration of how the Pukes gave voice to the Marin experience. It poked fun at the image of Marin punks as softies, as coddled residents of one of America’s richest counties, living in the seat of luxury and who were thus perceived as less “hardcore” than punks from San Francisco or from Huntington Beach:

“We’re not from San Francisco, or Huntington Beach!

This is the S and M Waltz;

Sonoma and Marin,

And we always dance the Waltz, no matter what county we’re in.

We do not thrash, and we do not bash!

We dance the S and M Waltz, around and around,

We like the Waltz, and the 3, 4 sound.

We like to waltz,

All day long.

But we do not thrash, ‘cause we are not strong.

We’re not from San Francisco, or Huntington Beach!

This is the S and M Waltz,

Dance it if you can.

We know you can’t,

‘Cause you’re such a Man.

We’re not from San Francisco, or Huntington Beach!’

These lyrics were delivered against a punked-up, “oom-pah-pah” musical backdrop that encouraged audience members to join together in pairs and perform an exaggerated version of the waltz, frantically running in circles about the dance floor. It all had an aggressive yet silly and fun-loving feel to it that resonated perfectly with the image of the Pukes themselves.

Ricky Paul playing the saxophone, c. 1984.

Toward the end of his life, Ricky became increasingly fascinated with beatnik culture and art, adapting his appearance with the addition of a beret and learning how to play the saxophone and bongo drums. This new interest served as his motivation to begin attending the San Francisco Art Institute.

Brook Johnson and Walter Alter both remember Ricky expressing irritation with the San Francisco art scene after he started attending the Art Institute. “He told me he had become disillusioned with the teaching approach and the negative, nihilistic work that was being encouraged by the faculty,” Walter Alter writes. “The last time I saw him several days before his death he looked worried and distracted, like something was up.”

Apparently Ricky would sometimes spend the night in Studio 8A of the Institute, which is where he was found hanged in September of 1984.

Brook recalls learning of Ricky’s death from Mark Ropiquet (AKA “Snoopy”) –then guitar player for the Pukes – after Ricky failed to show up for a scheduled film shoot. The true circumstances of his death are still a matter of controversy for those close to him, with speculations ranging from suicide, to auto-erotic asphyxiation, to a performance art piece gone wrong. Whatever the real truth, in the end it all amounted to the same thing: Ricky was gone, leaving his family and friends to mourn his passing, and his musical collaborators to struggle with how to carry on and to honor his memory in the future.

The Pukes didn’t die with Ricky, but they were transformed. Walter Glaser stepped in as lead singer and Dave Lister took over as guitarist. “In retrospect, I think we should have changed our name to something else. You could say we kept it out of respect for Rick,” Brook explains, echoing a sentiment also expressed by Walter: “Ricky was not only my bandmate, but also a good friend, a Marin punk legend and really, an inspiration to me. No one could fill Ricky’s shoes. We kept the band going out of respect for him.”

Walter Glaser, c. 1985.

The “New” Pukes wrote an original set of songs and continued to perform at venues in Marin and San Francisco. There was no more on-stage vomiting, but Walter had his own hilarious stage presence, altogether different from that of Ricky Paul. He sported a simple, down-to-earth style, with cropped black hair and a wardrobe rarely deviating from t-shirt and blue jeans. He would bounce around the stage – sometimes being silly, sometimes aggressively confronting audience members – all the while making exaggerated faces and hand gestures reminiscent of the Don Martin cartoon character Mr. Fonebone from Mad Magazine. His voice, like Ricky’s, was nasal and came from the back of the throat, but it was less high pitched, sounding more like the growl of coyote than the shriek of bobcat. His lyrics continued to lash out at familiar targets, but instead of parents and cops, now they denounced asshole drivers, tedious loudmouths, and the patrons at one of Marin’s popular punk gathering places, Café Nuvo:

I’m so hardcore, don’t you know,

‘Cause I hang out at Café Nuvo.

Everyone knows how punk I am,

Then I go home and listen to Duran Duran.

I got my boots for 35,

And I’m the toughest guy alive.

I need some pot so gimmee some dough.

I think punk rock is a fashion show.

Think I’ll go scam on a chick,

And brag about my 10 foot dick.

Picking up girls is such a gas,

So I can get a piece of ass.

These are the people that make me ill,

To the point that I could kill.

Stupid attitude I can’t bear,

They’re just fuckin’ jocks with short hair.

Walter says that all of the shows he played with the “New” Pukes were “really fun,” especially when the audience was filled with lots of friends. “The Pukes were a pretty beloved band amongst a small group of people.” That was certainly true; and it remained true all the way up until their final breakup sometime in the late 1980’s.

Sources:

Alter, Walter. “The Death of Ricky Puke,” (Blog posting).         <http://gordonzola.livejournal.com/125133.html > Last accessed 3/13/18.

Anonymous. “Odd One Out,” (Newspaper article. Source and date unknown.)

Cornell University Library Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections.     <https://digital.library.cornell.edu/collections/punkflyers&gt;

Daniels, Kent. Interview with John Marmysz. December 17, 2018.

Frazler, George A. “The Punk Scene: It’s Alive and Ill in Marin County,” in Independent Journal, Friday, May 21 1982.

Glaser, Walter. Interview with John Marmysz. March 7, 2018.

Johnson, Brooke. Interview with John Marmysz. February 2, 2018.

Marin Underground (Compilation tape. c. 1985.)

Meade, Erik. (Myspace Page). < https://myspace.com/erik_meade/mixes/classic-the-pukes-friends-362755/photo/91231825> Last accessed 3/13/18.

Pukes Demo Tape. < https://youtu.be/j3onVSzX354> Last accessed 3/13/18.

Robinson, Juneko. Interview with John Marmysz. January 3, 2018.

Solnit, Rebecca. “Marin Punk Explained!” Music Calendar, November 1983.

Cornell University Punk Flyer Collection

Cornell University’s Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections has a digitized assortment of thousands of punk flyers taken from The Johan Kugelberg punk collection and the Aaron Cometbus Punk and Underground Press Collection. Included are a bunch of flyers I’ve never seen before from Marin punk bands, including the Pukes, UXB, Ludovico Teknique and Sacripolitical.

Amusingly, Sacripolitical’s name appears on different flyers with three different spellings: Sacripolitical, Sacri-political, and Sacro-political.

1985 Maximum Rock N Roll Interview with Sacripolitical

This interview was conducted by Kent Jolly for the Maximum Rock N Roll radio program in 1985. It took place at the studios of KPFA in Berkeley, CA. I recently digitized the audio from a cassette recording of the original radio broadcast.

John, Matt and Sam from Sacripolitical act foolishly, hurling insults at an absent Jello Biafra, making fart noises and toilet jokes. The segment opens with an early recording of the song Napalm Baby and ends with the song Sick Fact. Tim Yohannan (RIP) and Jeff Bale usher the program to a close with characteristic disdain and contempt. Silly as it all is, I still laugh out loud listening to this.

Porno

I have gained a great deal of mischievous glee from telling people that lately I have spent a lot of time reading Porno. Responses to my confession have ranged from amused laugher to uncomfortable embarrassment. Upon telling this to my sister-in-law, she awkwardly wondered if I meant that I had been studying scholarly commentary on pornography. “No,” I answered. “I’ve just been looking at page after page of Porno.”

Everyone seems relieved when I go on to explain that Porno is the title of Irvine Welsh’s nearly 500 page sequel to his book Trainspotting. This, apparently, makes things more respectable, though if they were familiar with the book’s content, they might still be prone to blush. Porno is filled with explicit scenes of drug use, violence and descriptions of just about every kind of sex act that you could imagine. If books required ratings, it would earn an NC-17.

Porno is the source material for the recently released movie T2: Trainspotting, although the actual similarities between book and film are very slim. Both pick up the story of Renton, Sick-Boy, Spud and Begbie after the events of Trainspotting, but whereas the film rejoins the characters about 20 years later, the book takes place about 10 years after Renton has ripped off his buddies. The film highlights Renton, the most likable of the characters, while the book focuses more attention on Sick-Boy, perhaps the least likeable of the crew, who now prefers to be called by his given name, Simon. And while in the book the plot is driven by Simon’s plan to make and market a porno movie, in the film it is his plan to open a brothel that is central. Overall, the film and book are more different than they are similar, with the film, I think, being the superior piece of work.

The main failing of Welsh’s novel lies in how scattered and disjointed its episodes are. It is not that the book is uninteresting or boring, but rather that there are too many threads that never get tied together or fully resolved. While in the film all of the various stories have a purpose and place in the overall plot, in the book many of these same story lines are initiated, but then go nowhere, getting dropped as if they were unimportant. And this is disappointing; particularly in the case of Spud, whose failed effort to write and publish a history of Leith is transformed in the film into a really fascinating subplot that reveals important aspects of Spud’s personality, Begbie’s personality, and even, perhaps, the personality of Irvine Welsh himself. In the film, Spud’s writing project is not a history of Leith at all, but appears to be the beginning of what will eventually become the book Trainspotting. In this it is suggested that it is Spud (and not Renton) who is Welsh’s real alter ego. In Porno, nothing comes of Spud’s writing, and this intriguing subplot just fizzles, as does the subplot having to do with Renton’s troubled relationship with his Dutch girlfriend, Begbie’s inner struggles with his masculinity, and Dianne’s struggle to complete her dissertation. The film does a better job of tying up the various story threads by eliminating the superfluous ones and more deeply developing and tying together the really interesting ones.

I do love the fact that Porno begins with a quote from Nietzsche: “Without cruelty there is no festival…” This gives us an initial philosophical articulation of Welsh’s literary strategy, which is to explore and celebrate his characters by following them through the gutter, taking cruel joy in describing their participation in acts of debased sex, substance abuse and senseless violence. It is all of these things that I want in a novel about my favorite Scottish hooligans. But now that they are in their 30’s, there is a danger that they might start to grow out of their old ways. Awareness of growing old is one of the major themes in Porno, but we soon find that despite the characters’ recognition that they are no longer kids, their general patterns of behavior have not really changed. Sick Boy is still a schemer, a drug addict and an exploiter of women. The only difference is that now he fancies himself an artist, who uses his charms to make “erotic” adult entertainment. Begbie, who has just been released from prison for manslaughter, is still a thug who thinks himself superior to heroin junkies, even though his addiction to violence is perhaps even more destructive than his friends’ substance abuse. Spud now has a son, but he still cannot break his drug habit, even though it is ruining everything. All of these characters have, in a sense, started to experience the challenges of adulthood (career, prison, fatherhood), but they seem not to have learned anything, and so they endlessly repeat their past mistakes in ways that are at once revolting and hilarious. And this is precisely why I feel personally drawn to their stories. I take perverse pleasure in laughing at them, while also sympathizing with their struggles and rooting for them to overcome their defects, even though I know that they won’t.

Renton is the most sympathetic of the group, and in both the book and the film he seems to be the only one who has matured to any degree at all. He has moved away from the UK, starting a career overseas, kicking heroin, embarking on a program of physical exercise and developing a concern for his health. It soon becomes clear, however, that even in his case, he can’t resist the temptation of being drawn back into the seedy world that he fled from. He once again becomes entangled in the schemes of Sick Boy, he can’t turn his back on the self-destructive Spud, and ultimately he can’t resist the urge once again to scam his pals out of money. All the while, he anxiously tries to avoid running into Begbie, who wants to murder him.

It is the absurdity of it all that is both so funny and disturbing. I, for one, sympathize with many of the anti-establishment sentiments of the central protagonists, and in reading Welsh’s book, I find a bit of myself reflected in the histrionics, the dramas, as well as in the proclamations and smug decrees made by the book’s characters. At the same time that I see hypocrisy in each of them, I’m reminded of the same hypocrisy in myself as well. For instance, Sick-Boy’s closing monologue, as he sits next to Begbie’s hospital bed, sent a shiver of self-recognition through me:

I believe in the class war. I believe in the battle of the sexes. I believe in my tribe. I believe in the righteous, intelligent clued-up section of the working classes against the brain-dead moronic masses as well as the mediocre, soulless bourgeoisie. I believe in punk rock. In Northern Soul. In acid house. In mod. In rock n roll. I also believe in pre-commercial righteous, rap and hip hop. That’s been my manifesto. (p. 483)

In reading this I tremble in self-serious accord; and then I am reminded that not only are the characters laughable, but so am I.

There are some of us who criticize the pointlessness of capitalism and of consumer culture while still participating in patterns of behavior that reinforce empty and meaningless excess, indulgence and consumption. “Cigarettes, alcohol, heroin, cocaine, speed, poverty and media mind-fucking: capitalism’s weapons of destruction are more subtle and effective than Nazism’s and he’s powerless against them,” (p. 384) Renton says of Spud at one point. But he is really talking about himself and all of the rest of us who express antiestablishment sentiments while still participating in ways of life that are no less absurd than anyone else’s.

People are trapped, as Renton says, “consuming shite that does them no good at all, often just because they can.” (p. 408) The “shite” he is referring to could be drugs, porn, consumer products, poetry, literature, violence, movies, fame, power, a career, or a family. The absurd tragedy of it all is that even though nothing is all that important, you have to do something to fill up the time that you are alive. Heroin or fine wine? Porn or fine art? Punk rock or symphony orchestras? Anarchy or totalitarianism? Communism or Capitalism? The freedom to choose is endless.

Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin? (Trainspotting, 1996)