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Showing posts with label rude boys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rude boys. Show all posts
10.10.2007
8.08.2007
With subcultures mainly being a boy's game, I've always looked closely to the few females involved as a support group. You would think that with females being about one to every three men (if not less) in subcultures, they would be tight and appreciative to their sisters involved in the game.
Sadly, this is not a reality.
It seems that in the years I've been involved in this subculture, I've seen women become more or so "frienemies" rather than a stable support system to eachother. This deeply saddens me, as I too have seen this first hand. I guess I am perpetually naive to this, or just hopelessly optimistic to find nice women who are looking for sisterhood through music. I am not saying all females are like this, but there are quite a few out there who are.
What causes this? Why does it happen? Who are these females? I'm going to go forward and explain my views and opinions on this subject. These are strictly my opinions based on my own personal experiences so you are more than welcome to disagree.
Although a lot of teens come into a subculture looking to rebel and be non-conformist, they are just joining another form of conformity and rules. These "tribes" have their own sets of rules and dress within themselves. There are usually unspoken rules of how to act, and who holds what seniority. This does vary from subculture to subculture, but they all have the basic skeleton from subculture to subculture.
Those whom have been "in" for the longest usually have the utmost respect, and typically, they feel they have the right to put those younger and less senior "members" in their place. Women have a similar yet very different set of rules. Women cut each other down almost endlessly.
Womens rules in these youth cults are those in the same to men, however, I feel that they are much more harsh. Typically, it all starts out with how you got in. Usually, it's one of the two - you got in on your own will or from your boyfriend. If you got in from your boyfriend, the rest of the local scene usually knows, as you showed up on the arm of Johnny Subculture at a random gig. If this is the case, respect for you is typically next to nothing - even if you truly do become part of the subculture in the long run - guy or not. You'll almost always be known as so-n-so's girlfriend or ex-girlfriend. Men do not have this problem. They do not have to deal with derogatory names such as"oi toy", "scene whore", or something similar to that. This sexism runs rampant from both males and females. This in itself starts vicious cycle of women's roles in youth cults.
Youth cult or not, women tend to run in cliques and groups of friends in which they trust those few friends and hardly anyone else. I often hear young women from every cultural, social, and ethnic background say, "women are such bitches, I can't stand them!"
Although they've made a few friends, what prevents their clique from being "bitches" to each other? Again, youth cult or not - women tear each other down and can be harshly judgmental to each other to their faces or behind their backs. The sport of tearing down other females isn't a pretty one, but it is often played. In my personal opinion, I honestly think women who tear others down for no apparent reason is just a verbal venting of their own short comings and insecurities. To me, those who bash on other people who have not done anything to them are just insecure cowards trying to build themselves up by tearing others down. In the subcultural view, I often think that this happens because some women are not 100% comfortable with themselves and the role they play within a subculture. They often come off as they have the world to prove to others. The "pros" of the bashing game for one whom plays is typically to brag about how many girls they've driven away. This, I think, is a result of the need to be an alpha female.
Socially speaking, a woman with lots of male attention is considered highly desirable - appearances aside. If a female in a niche culture is surrounded mainly by men, logically, she should have plenty of potential mates and attention - boosting her ego, esteem, and popularity amongst males. This makes her an alpha female. Competition gets ripped down without a second thought. Typically, she will do just about anything to keep this status.
This is highly detrimental to the female side of a subculture. Hazing and driving new kids out leaves the scene stagnant and does not allow it to grow or evolve. With the same girls constantly around, this leaves slim options for the males who want to date within the scene. If these girls are single, they will be surrounded mostly by men, and probably have their internal feelings of alpha females pumped up, and will not want new females coming around. Another reason why this can be extremely harmful is that if people within a local scene date amongst each other. With only a few females around dating the men in the subculture, this will typically cause drama. Say, if there were only 6 males and 2 females in a local scene, this would definitely cause trouble. Also, if a female dates amongst the local scene quite often, this can lead her back to being accused of being an "oi toy" or a "scene whore". Even if she didn't get in because of a boyfriend, she can be accused of these things, and her intentions within a subculture can be questioned just because of her dating habits. Most women outside of subcultures don't get called such names when dating around. The dating world for females within subcultural boundries can be dangerous, dramatic, and disheartening. The need to prove that she is genuine and an individual while dating a man in a subculture can cause many issues within herself and her relationship.
I have honestly never understood the "hazing" into a subculture. When I think "hazing", I think of some dumb frat guys putting a new house member through humiliation. What's the point? Isn't that the sort of mentality we wanted to get away from when we chose to stray from the norms of mainstream society? Why do you want to scare away potential new members of a bands, future dj's, or life-long friends? Shame on anyone who participates in these pointless and degrading tactics - male or female.
Having a healthy, thriving subculture relies on having new blood coming in, and often. Driving new people away, believe it or not, has a domino effect within your local town.
First off, driving people away by not accepting them in the local scene or stating that they need to be hazed in makes you come off like a total jerk. Where ever they're from, they'll tell their friend back home (or non subculture friends that are local), "Yeah, I came here and they expected me to do this, that, and the other to hang out with them. Yeah, I know, ridiculous." Honestly, these games make participants look like total childish buffoons and make said person ashamed to be involved in a subculture. Also, this makes you look like an awful example of a subculture. If you're playing these sorts of childish games, you should honestly do some questioning of your personality and how you treat others in general. As harsh as it may sound, I believe it's true. This could also spread around to other places and give your town a poor representation.
Second, the less people you have in your town, the less often bands will come around. Say a fantastic band comes through your town once, but no one shows up. The impression your town will lay on them is that your town is not a money maker. Most bands don't even get guarantees on the road and solely rely on merch sales to keep their tour afloat and stomachs filled with food. If your town has no one going to shows, they'll skip over your town in future tours. Make sense? So, driving fresh blood out of your scene may also eventually drive out touring bands you want to see.
Another thing I've never understood is why older members within a subculture are so demeaning to younger kids. They, too, were once that age. I'm sure they didn't pop outta mama's womb in full subcultural attire with a stellar record collection. They, too had to go through the ins and outs of growing up and discovering who they are, and Im sure they had some embarrassing records in their collection at one point. Being condescending to these kids is downright hypocritical. If they were treated like that when they were younger, they should be empathetic. Treating new kids like they were treated is wrong, and those two wrongs definitely do not make a right. If you truly love a subculture and music, you want it to grow, evolve, and last against the tests of time. Sharing your love of all these things with younger kids who really don't know where to look helps the subculture grow and forms the brotherly and sisterly bond that is so highly idealized. What is the point of hoarding information?
Rarely do you see younger kids coming around these days who are taken in by older members of a subculture with open arms. If just that were to happen, if people could just get off their mighty high horses...they'd see that most slowly dying subcultures would gain new life. Sure, you may think that these kids are dumb and hopeless, but SO WERE YOU! Don't haze them, don't demean them - just be a positive influence. Being an older "brother" or "sister" can be very rewarding!
Younger girls especially need this positive influence to help prevent them falling into all the sexism and gender roles that subcultures dole out. They need to know that it IS okay to be in a subculture and not be sleeping with someone, or constantly causing drama. They need to know that you can be yourself with outside interests from a subculture. Girls in their teens especially need guidance to help their self esteem, identity, and peer pressure issues. I would assume that most of these girls' parents don't quite understand why they are expressing their femininity in a boy's game. My mother thought I was mental. If I had a female to look up to at that age, those years would've been a lot easier.
I hope things change in the future. I would love to see more women reaching out and cultivating a sense of sisterhood amongst themselves instead of breeding jealousy, cattiness, competition, and two-faced behavior. Negative behavior such as the types I've discussed (from males or females) is detrimental to any subculture. Period. It prevents the cultures and scenes from evolving. Why act in such a manner? No one will benefit from it. Acting with class, dignity and grace will never go out of style and will never be looked down upon. Be secure with your place in the sun and don't concern yourself with anyone else's. Honesty, no one has the authority or right to drive someone out of a subculture - seniority or not.
To those whom have a sense of entitlement - think twice first. Your actions will speak louder than your words.
Sadly, this is not a reality.
It seems that in the years I've been involved in this subculture, I've seen women become more or so "frienemies" rather than a stable support system to eachother. This deeply saddens me, as I too have seen this first hand. I guess I am perpetually naive to this, or just hopelessly optimistic to find nice women who are looking for sisterhood through music. I am not saying all females are like this, but there are quite a few out there who are.
What causes this? Why does it happen? Who are these females? I'm going to go forward and explain my views and opinions on this subject. These are strictly my opinions based on my own personal experiences so you are more than welcome to disagree.
Although a lot of teens come into a subculture looking to rebel and be non-conformist, they are just joining another form of conformity and rules. These "tribes" have their own sets of rules and dress within themselves. There are usually unspoken rules of how to act, and who holds what seniority. This does vary from subculture to subculture, but they all have the basic skeleton from subculture to subculture.
Those whom have been "in" for the longest usually have the utmost respect, and typically, they feel they have the right to put those younger and less senior "members" in their place. Women have a similar yet very different set of rules. Women cut each other down almost endlessly.
Womens rules in these youth cults are those in the same to men, however, I feel that they are much more harsh. Typically, it all starts out with how you got in. Usually, it's one of the two - you got in on your own will or from your boyfriend. If you got in from your boyfriend, the rest of the local scene usually knows, as you showed up on the arm of Johnny Subculture at a random gig. If this is the case, respect for you is typically next to nothing - even if you truly do become part of the subculture in the long run - guy or not. You'll almost always be known as so-n-so's girlfriend or ex-girlfriend. Men do not have this problem. They do not have to deal with derogatory names such as"oi toy", "scene whore", or something similar to that. This sexism runs rampant from both males and females. This in itself starts vicious cycle of women's roles in youth cults.
Youth cult or not, women tend to run in cliques and groups of friends in which they trust those few friends and hardly anyone else. I often hear young women from every cultural, social, and ethnic background say, "women are such bitches, I can't stand them!"
Although they've made a few friends, what prevents their clique from being "bitches" to each other? Again, youth cult or not - women tear each other down and can be harshly judgmental to each other to their faces or behind their backs. The sport of tearing down other females isn't a pretty one, but it is often played. In my personal opinion, I honestly think women who tear others down for no apparent reason is just a verbal venting of their own short comings and insecurities. To me, those who bash on other people who have not done anything to them are just insecure cowards trying to build themselves up by tearing others down. In the subcultural view, I often think that this happens because some women are not 100% comfortable with themselves and the role they play within a subculture. They often come off as they have the world to prove to others. The "pros" of the bashing game for one whom plays is typically to brag about how many girls they've driven away. This, I think, is a result of the need to be an alpha female.
Socially speaking, a woman with lots of male attention is considered highly desirable - appearances aside. If a female in a niche culture is surrounded mainly by men, logically, she should have plenty of potential mates and attention - boosting her ego, esteem, and popularity amongst males. This makes her an alpha female. Competition gets ripped down without a second thought. Typically, she will do just about anything to keep this status.
This is highly detrimental to the female side of a subculture. Hazing and driving new kids out leaves the scene stagnant and does not allow it to grow or evolve. With the same girls constantly around, this leaves slim options for the males who want to date within the scene. If these girls are single, they will be surrounded mostly by men, and probably have their internal feelings of alpha females pumped up, and will not want new females coming around. Another reason why this can be extremely harmful is that if people within a local scene date amongst each other. With only a few females around dating the men in the subculture, this will typically cause drama. Say, if there were only 6 males and 2 females in a local scene, this would definitely cause trouble. Also, if a female dates amongst the local scene quite often, this can lead her back to being accused of being an "oi toy" or a "scene whore". Even if she didn't get in because of a boyfriend, she can be accused of these things, and her intentions within a subculture can be questioned just because of her dating habits. Most women outside of subcultures don't get called such names when dating around. The dating world for females within subcultural boundries can be dangerous, dramatic, and disheartening. The need to prove that she is genuine and an individual while dating a man in a subculture can cause many issues within herself and her relationship.
I have honestly never understood the "hazing" into a subculture. When I think "hazing", I think of some dumb frat guys putting a new house member through humiliation. What's the point? Isn't that the sort of mentality we wanted to get away from when we chose to stray from the norms of mainstream society? Why do you want to scare away potential new members of a bands, future dj's, or life-long friends? Shame on anyone who participates in these pointless and degrading tactics - male or female.
Having a healthy, thriving subculture relies on having new blood coming in, and often. Driving new people away, believe it or not, has a domino effect within your local town.
First off, driving people away by not accepting them in the local scene or stating that they need to be hazed in makes you come off like a total jerk. Where ever they're from, they'll tell their friend back home (or non subculture friends that are local), "Yeah, I came here and they expected me to do this, that, and the other to hang out with them. Yeah, I know, ridiculous." Honestly, these games make participants look like total childish buffoons and make said person ashamed to be involved in a subculture. Also, this makes you look like an awful example of a subculture. If you're playing these sorts of childish games, you should honestly do some questioning of your personality and how you treat others in general. As harsh as it may sound, I believe it's true. This could also spread around to other places and give your town a poor representation.
Second, the less people you have in your town, the less often bands will come around. Say a fantastic band comes through your town once, but no one shows up. The impression your town will lay on them is that your town is not a money maker. Most bands don't even get guarantees on the road and solely rely on merch sales to keep their tour afloat and stomachs filled with food. If your town has no one going to shows, they'll skip over your town in future tours. Make sense? So, driving fresh blood out of your scene may also eventually drive out touring bands you want to see.
Another thing I've never understood is why older members within a subculture are so demeaning to younger kids. They, too, were once that age. I'm sure they didn't pop outta mama's womb in full subcultural attire with a stellar record collection. They, too had to go through the ins and outs of growing up and discovering who they are, and Im sure they had some embarrassing records in their collection at one point. Being condescending to these kids is downright hypocritical. If they were treated like that when they were younger, they should be empathetic. Treating new kids like they were treated is wrong, and those two wrongs definitely do not make a right. If you truly love a subculture and music, you want it to grow, evolve, and last against the tests of time. Sharing your love of all these things with younger kids who really don't know where to look helps the subculture grow and forms the brotherly and sisterly bond that is so highly idealized. What is the point of hoarding information?
Rarely do you see younger kids coming around these days who are taken in by older members of a subculture with open arms. If just that were to happen, if people could just get off their mighty high horses...they'd see that most slowly dying subcultures would gain new life. Sure, you may think that these kids are dumb and hopeless, but SO WERE YOU! Don't haze them, don't demean them - just be a positive influence. Being an older "brother" or "sister" can be very rewarding!
Younger girls especially need this positive influence to help prevent them falling into all the sexism and gender roles that subcultures dole out. They need to know that it IS okay to be in a subculture and not be sleeping with someone, or constantly causing drama. They need to know that you can be yourself with outside interests from a subculture. Girls in their teens especially need guidance to help their self esteem, identity, and peer pressure issues. I would assume that most of these girls' parents don't quite understand why they are expressing their femininity in a boy's game. My mother thought I was mental. If I had a female to look up to at that age, those years would've been a lot easier.
I hope things change in the future. I would love to see more women reaching out and cultivating a sense of sisterhood amongst themselves instead of breeding jealousy, cattiness, competition, and two-faced behavior. Negative behavior such as the types I've discussed (from males or females) is detrimental to any subculture. Period. It prevents the cultures and scenes from evolving. Why act in such a manner? No one will benefit from it. Acting with class, dignity and grace will never go out of style and will never be looked down upon. Be secure with your place in the sun and don't concern yourself with anyone else's. Honesty, no one has the authority or right to drive someone out of a subculture - seniority or not.
To those whom have a sense of entitlement - think twice first. Your actions will speak louder than your words.
7.06.2001
I recently did an interview with Jake, the Percussionist/Manager of this month's featured and purely Skinhead Reggae band, THE SOULSTEPPERS. Jake was GUE's first official interview, and discusses matters having to do with his band, and the scene his band caters to. Read on....
So how did you get into Reggae, and more specifically, skinhead reggae?
I got into skinhead reggae through the usual progression of being a skinhead - listening to Oi!, two tone ska, then traditional ska, after getting into ska, people usually discover skinhead reggae because people think Desmond Dekker and Toots are ska, but really they are reggae...Buying Trojan comps and going from there.
What made you want to play skinhead-style reggae?
Well, I have been a reggae DJ for a long time, and most of the guys in the band were reggae DJ's and collectors. We were doing a pirate radio station - all scene style you name it: ska, Oi, reggae, northern soul, etc...The guys started the band and they begged me to manage for a long time. After I saw a few shows and I saw most of the band beat the shit out of some dirtheads from taft, I thought I would give these dudes my time. A week after I started I talk to Luis in L.A. and he booked us at the Whiskey! We thought this would be style of reggae to play, since nobody was doing it. The Rhythm Doctors were playing reggae, but not skinhead reggae. Theirs was post-skinhead reggae. Plus we had all skinheads in the band they didn’t.
Who are your personal major influences?
Clancy Eccles, King Stitt, The Gaylads, Pama-Style reggae, The Rudies, Dandy...Lots of American soul.
So, what is currently going on with the band?
Are you officially broken up? It 's weird right now...The people need to stay tuned, there is some life In The SoulSteppers.
Do you think the scene that your band caters to has significantly changed since you started getting into it?
Here in town (Bakersfield) it has. The scene just died, and the scene has flourished worldwide.
Who is your favorite producer?
Harry Palmer tied with Clancy Eccles.
Who do you think is the most under rated artist and why?
John Holt by far! I sell a lot of reggae in my record store and turn people on the John Holt. A lot of under rated artists...Everybody just knows Marley.
Who is your current favorite modern day band?
Madness, their new CD is dope.
Who is your all time favorite artist/band?
Cocksparrer.
What do you think of modern day traditional styled bands?
I think they are great, the more the better.
What do you think of today's skinhead and reggae scene?
It's kind of lagging needs a boost of something.
What is your favorite aspect?
I like how the skinhead reggae still sounds fresh and danceable.
What is your least favorite aspect?
That nobody knows about it.
If you could change anything, absolutely anything about it, what would you change?
The rare records on Ebay would be cheaper.
(Don't we all!!)
What record would you recommend to the readers?
Herbsman Shuffle LP by Clancy Eccles and the Dynamites featuring King Stitt...And Lloydie and the Lowbites Uncensored Vol.1 and 2. Funny stuff.
And finally, do you have any words of wisdom to our readers?
Keep supporting The SoulSteppers and beg us to come back in full force and we will get real big and rich and become talk show hosts like Suggs from Madness.
You can find more on The SoulSteppers at Their Website and Their MySpace Profile!
Coffee & Cigarettes
By Theresa Meire
Dave the Spazz…
As I sit here listening to his excellent radio show on WFMU (online at www.wfmu.org, Thursday nights at 8pm EST) I reflect on my life and my long journey.
Hair
As any skinhead girl or anyone with some hair knows, finding a good Hair stylist is murder. And finding one to do a good skingirl feathercut or Chelsea or whatever the fuck they call it in your corner of the globe is hard as hell. First, I had a great haircut guy who, after a few explanations and some pictures gave me practically the perfect haircut. Just to be clear, I'm not of the Friar Tuck type, all shaved with a mullet in the back and fringe in the front. I can't pull that off and the fringe in the back looks dumb as hell with my two wacky cow licks in the back. So I go for that more restrained short pixie length with feathers and bangs.
Any who, so this guy Steve cut my hair really great but he was like $30 a pop! I seriously couldn't afford it after he wasn't a two minute walk from my house (we moved to the New Jersey sea shore, Hello Bruce Springsteen!) There was no way I could afford him anymore, regardless how cool he was (an old biker guy who would tell me tales of hair cutting contests with Paul Mitchell!)
So I've been to a couple of those $10 haircut places, but I've never gotten it exactly right. Then, like an idiot, I thought I'd listen to John.
"I can shave my own head, I'm sure I can cut your hair with the clippers!" Okay so I'm sure you could see how that went. Tried to save a buck and ended up going back to a $10 hair cut place to
get it "fixed." I almost got divorced as well but that had to do with a certain man ripping my hair out with a pair of hair cutting scissors and the cheapest comb imaginable.
Well, I'm beginning to look like one of those Hell's Angels again so it's time for a haircut. A Spanish speaking friend told me she'd take me to her Brazilian hair stylist and translate what I wanted. They're cheap and she said she'd get me some Brazilian food so I figure, hey, it can't be any worse than the corny ass haircut I got from John and maybe I'll end up looking like the skinhead Carmen Miranda. Only taller. And fatter. And white. Hmmm…that's a stretch actually but no matter.
Scene
I live near Asbury Park, NJ and there's a little bit of a scene around a bowling alley/bar called Asbury Lanes. I've been to some shows there but I've only ever talked to the bartenders and one random drunk guy. They have cool shows, cheap drinks, great sushi, and Kustom Kar shows. I've never made friends easily and my skinhead husband is also a bit of an introvert. (I guess that's putting it mildly, he's just convinced most other people are jerks and not worth knowing…) We've only been here for two years and most of the people I know and I'm friendly with are my coworkers. Young, hip, black women who are very stylish and to whom the term Reggae doesn't mean roots, but dancehall. Other than that they are great though! I have some buddies in college but I'm 28 and they're all 20 so it's not like we hang out a lot or have too much common ground and most of the honkey toast at that small private school think punk is NOFX. They'd probably go mad if I waved Judge Dread or Rose Tattoo at them.
The Question
It's kind of weird. I'm a lifetime skinhead, I started out as a Metalhead in high school then went to punk in the last years of high school. I've always believed in and known about the American East Coast skinhead life but had hair. Lots of hair. A holdover from my metal days I guess, but when I shaved it off in my mid-twenties, I became sort of identifiable to people in the know.
What to say to the question 'Are you a skinhead?' It depends on who's asking. I do always answer yes, but not before a long pause trying to size up the asker of the question. I answer yes but sometimes I don't feel like the whole 'school you in the ways of the non-racist skin' explanation. Most of the times it's other skinheads or just people who "used to be" or think they are. I haven't had too much bad luck with hammers or headz. Mostly yahoos who say "I'm traditional, I like
reggae" and then blather on about how this group or that group is ruining America. Hey fucknuts, my grandparents were the immigrants once. They had weird clothes, weird food, and weird smells. They were poor, worked shit jobs and honkey toast like looked down on them and called them greasy Italians, or dirty Belgians, stinking gypsies, and lousy Krauts so why don't you can it? Instead of wasting my time I usually just walk away and get another beer. Who has time for that shit?
Clothes
Okay, I am fucking poor. Not living in a motel room with ramen noodles bought on my almost maxed out credit card poor (shut up, you've been there or known people who have!) but after I pay rent, I have to wait until the next payday to do laundry, buy toilet paper or other things most rich people take for granted. I am not, AM NOT going to spend 50 bucks on a fucking shirt because it's some fucking approved skinhead brand. Fuck that! I have to eat and I have to drink. I'm lucky to have a Doc Shop near me with great 75% off sales to get my boots. I'm lucky to have attended a Fred Perry sample sale in NYC once. I'm lucky to have gotten a couple Ben Shermans for cheap off e-bay. Is that my whole closet? Fuck no. I'm not a style queen and if the belief that clothes don't make you a skinhead makes more of a punk so be it. Buying something just because it's Ben Sherman or Levi's is just as bad as buying something because it's Nike or Puma or Tommy Hilfiger. It's fucking white person nonsense that is used against you to make you not think about important shit like 'where's my freedom of thought?' and 'why do so few people have money?' and 'what would the government do if the masses of people revolted?' How can you think about that if you're busy making sure you don't spill ketchup on your new Lonsdale sweatshirt?
Working Class
Everybody knows skinhead is basically a working class movement (oh duh! Did you read that in Spirit of '69 genius?) but not everyone who is a skinhead is working class. I'm not sure what I am. My parents were bureaucrats and I've been a DJ, a music writer, a retail wage slave, a temp slave and I currently work in an office that pays for my college. I pretty much scrape by check to check and have to ride my bike to work (I would probably ride it anyway since work is close by but I don't have a choice right now) but I don't make my living with my back. To tell the truth, a lot of women don't. Women are usually given jobs like sewing, cleaning, waitressing, or a 'pink collar' office job and that's pretty much been my life. I am not going to front with a fake English accent, pretend like I have Irish heritage when I don't, and say shit like "I'm working class." I grew up in rural New Jersey and that's the face of white American poverty. Out in the country, but don't think like I had it bad. It was nice, ya know. A big yard, never wondering where the next meal was coming from and most of the time having a car. Most kids got a $5 allowance and I got 50 cents, but hell, that builds character or something, right? I don't know what class I am except low class.
Drinking
Okay like most honkey Americans I'm a mutt. I'm part German and part Belgian. Both are countries known for their excellent beer and excellent drinking. I'm also Italian and Hungarian, two countries known for their wine and excellent eating and drinking. I am a beer snob and being part Belgian gives me the right to be a snob. I don't drink Bud or Miller. My domestic of choice is Yuengling. If I'm drinking cheap I may as well not pay for advertising and drink Schlitz or Rhinegold or even Pabst if I'm hanging with Psychobilly fans. Favorite Micros: Anything from Brewery Ommegang in NY, anything from Stoudt's in PA, Brooklyn in NY, and Maudite from Canada. Favorite imports? Duvel, Chimay, Delirium Tremens, Vuuve, Gulden Drak, anything Belgian really, Red Stripe (reprazent!), Negro Modelo, Bohemia. I'm willing to try any micro or import once although domestic micros are better than imports because they always import the shittiest stuff and keep the best brews in the country. So ends my beer philosophy.
In Conclusion
Being a skinhead woman (or girl if you must, but hey, I AM an American so “byrd” only cuts it if you're actually FROM the UK) hasn't made my life easier, it didn't make a woman (rock and roll did that… HA!), but it did give me a great haircut and a better personal style. It gave me a pretty good asshole detector and more reasons to buy reggae music (not that I didn't before, I've been a vinyl junkie longer than I've been anything) and dream of the store Jammyland in NYC, and it didn't
make me less of a feminist. I mean think about it, Combat 84 singing "Rapist" says a lot, but an angry skinhead woman singing it? Says a whole lot more I think. You don't have to be prissy, queeny, and girly to prove that you're still a female under your short hair. You can still be yourself and be a skinhead. You have to own it, you have make it part of who you are, not just something you do. You also have to decide: am I the Skinhead Theresa or Theresa, the skinhead or something different? It's not for everyone, but it is more than a book from England, a brand of clothing and a type of haircut. It's what you make it. Just because I make it boots, drinking and roots Reggae
doesn't mean you have to.
Leaving a Legacy
The world of Ska and reggae music came to a halt this past month, when Laurel Aitken's life came to an end. Although he had not been in good health for quite some time, Mr. Aitken still pushed forward to do what he loved to do the most- Performing. Born as Oliver Stephens in Cuba in 1927, he was surrounded by live music from the start of his long, very successful life. Laurel always expressed interest in music and performing even as a young child, and absorbed the sound of the Cuban street music from a young age. When he was 11 years old in 1938, his family picked up and moved to Kingston, Jamaica, where Laurel had even more of a chance to immerse himself in music and performing. Often, Laurel would ham it up and perform for tourists, becoming one of the regular street performers. As he got older, Laurel often participated in Vere John’s ‘Opportunity Hour’, which was often held at Kingston’s Ambassador Theatre. Laurel developed a style, which was becoming popular on the island- a mix of American R&B, Doo-Wop, and Jazz, infused with his own style and flair. His mixture of different styles and knack for performing got him quickly noticed by Stanley Motta. In 1957, Laurel recorded his first single, "Roll, Jordan Roll" at JBC’s recording studio.
Laurel's first major hit was produced by Chris Blackwell at a then up-and-coming label, Island Records. Little did Aitken know that his single he cut with Blackwell "Little Sheila/Boogie in my Bones" would spend a reported 11 weeks at #1 on the Jamaican charts in 1959. Aitken was the first Jamaican to record a number one single on the island's then American dominated charts.
One year later, Aitken emigrated to London, where many Jamaicans were going for work and better living conditions. Aitken saw with as many Jamaicans as there were in the city, there already was a market for music from the Island. He quickly got signed to Emil Shallit's Melodisc label, which already had a Jamaican subsidiary, Blue Beat. Blue Beat, then still experimental, decided to use Aitken as the artist to use on their first single, "Boogie Rock". Laurel still recorded for whom he pleased, including mainstream labels like Columbia. Also during this time, Laurel took his hand at producing, mainly with pama and their many subsidiaries, mainly NuBeat/NewBeat
Toward the late 60's and early 70's, interest in Ska had dwindled and was replaced by Reggae. However, with the growing Skinhead population in the UK, Laurel was very much in high demand and during this period, recorded many skinhead classic singles on labels from Pama to Trojan. Aitken saw that he was a Skinhead cult figure, and started catering to this crowd and writing songs that would appeal to them and their interests.
Enter the roots era of the mid to late 70's. Laurel's popularity seemed to come to a halt, but only temporarily. The 2Tone movement in the UK revived the interest in Ska as well as the Rudeboy and Skinhead Culture. Laurel's popularity soared once again as he performed for the new generation of rudies and skins. During the 80's, Mr. Aitken teamed up with London's Potato 5, once again reaching another young generation's interest in both Ska and Reggae.
Laurel continued to perform throughout the 90's, as well as through the beginning of the new century. Although the past couple years, Aitken's health has not been up to par, he continued to perform quite often in England, most often at Club SKA, even releasing a new live album and DVD. Laurel was hospitalized off an on quite often the past year, having double pneumonia as well as other respitory problems. During his 6 week stay in late 2003 at Leicester Royal Infirmary, he married his partner of 35 years, Sandra.
On July 17th, 2005, Laurel passed away from a heart attack at Glenfield Hospital, Leicester, England. This marks the end of a long legacy of music, as well as the death of a legend in our community. Laurel contributed all he had to music his entire life. His career spanned well over four decades and has affected many of us in our every day lives. He will stay alive in the form of scratchy 45's, photos from performances, and in the memories of those who have seen him and met him.
His family posted the following announcements in the Leicestershire:
AITKEN,Laurel- A very special father who was always there for me. Your kindness was no weakness you cared so much for me, full of understanding for everyone to see. In life you sang your songs for everyone to hear, you sang so sweetly daddy. I wish you was still here. _ From your loving Daughter Karlene. Your singing with the Angels now, so sing on Laurel, sing on (Billy). Gentle Jesus up above, Please give grandad all my love. God bless. _ Karlene, Amber and Billy.
AITKEN,Laurel- Passed away July 17th, 2005. I've tried so hard to write these words, To say how much I love you, The more I try, the more I cry, Laurie I really miss you, I laugh, I talk, I play the part, But behind my smile, Lies a broken heart. - Your devoted Wife Sandra. Funeral arrangements to follow at later date.
AITKEN,Laurel- I watched you suffer everyday, knowing that you were slipping away. I prayed so hard for you to stay. My dad I loved you more than words could say. - Heart broken Daughter Desley, Son-in-law Kara and Grandchildren Chanel, Jade, Laura and Kibbi.
Rest In Peace, Godfather.
This article was featured in Skatastrophe #8, back in Fall of 1998. Too bad Skatastrophe didn't last too long, but this article is a great example of their professionalism and most choice articles. I just decided to scan these in after Laurel's passing. I hope I don't get in trouble! ENJOY!!!
(photos by Anthony Torres)
(photos by Anthony Torres)
I Don't Know Much About History
by Joanna Wallace
I have been in this culture a very long time. Longer than some, not as long as others. One thing I have noticed in the past 6 years or so is the fall of the Rude Boy/Rude Girl culture. This past week, I realized this while going through old zines and whatnot, looking for information while writing the Laurel Aitken article I just put up. What happend to this culture? Was it overtaken by checkers and oversized ties? Did the people just get sick of it? Or did it not even exist as some claim?
When you type in "rude boy" or "rude girl" on Google, or almost any search engine for that matter, what pops up? A lot of awful photos of pre-pubescent teens in large black ties and checkers and sneakers and just all over black-and-white badness. Just awful. This is a far cry from the original pompus Jamaican rude bwoys that ran the streets of kingston in the late 60's and early 70's. So how did this happen? I believe that there are many generations of how this has come to be.
I'm sure most people reading this right now are hardcore Jamaican music fans, like myself. So when people like us think "Rude Boy", we think of the Rocksteady era in which Jamaican Superstars sang songs to either condone or tried to bring their behavior to a hault. These gun and switchblade toting men were angry with how the government did not bring in the goods in which they promised after Jamaica gained its independence in 1962. Most of Jamaica was very poverty stricken, very unsafe, and it was difficult to find food, all in which they thought would be eliminated after their independence was achieved. These Rude Boys became quite a problem in Jamaica, as they'd loot and shoot to get their way, also participating in trafficking drugs and supporting prostitution all the while. They were NOT a good thing for the police or the common people during this time, causing lots of panic and instability in every day life. Where do the "Rude Girls" come into play in this era? Usually the Rude Girls were the girlfriends of said Rude Boys, or prostitutes that helped participate in their unlawful activities. That's something to be proud of.
So how did "Rude Boys" and "Rude Girls" become associated with ska, when they originated in the rocksteady era?
Most of you know that at the dawning of the 2Tone era, founder Jerry Dammers created Walt Jabsco, the symbol synnonymous with 2Tone records and Rude Boys worldwide. Walt Jabsco was based off of an image of Peter Tosh, from The Wailers. Almost overnight, this symbol became a cult icon in which boys and girls based their fashion off of. This started a whole new definition of "Rude Boys" and "Rude Girls", which is just as legitimate as the outlaws of Jamaica post-independence. This new subculture was mainly young adults in the United Kingdom, as well as througout Europe who followed the beliefs and music style of 2Tone and Ska from Jamaica. These people were also known to get rowdy, fight, drink too much, and cause trouble, but over a different reason than just unkept promises. During this whole period, England in particular was going through a lot of political changes, most notably the extreme right wing associations like The National Front and The British Movement. Madness had a very large Skinhead following, and both associations used their shows as recruitment conventions for support. Skinhead violence during this time was looked down upon in the media, but The Young National Front's paper, The Bulldog, was glorifying it as "their" skinheads were fighting for "their" cause, even though most of the time, both skinheads and rudies that were featured weren't associated with either organization. With all these politics going on, the scene was split, and fights were just started over political association...whether about being associated with the NF or the BM, or just stepping on one's loafer, fights were to be had. The 2Tone label, which was known for its multi-racial friendliness was accused of being a racist label, despite the fact that every band signed on at the time was multi-racial. Needless to say, this second generation of rude boys and rude girls also had a reason and cause in their time, and helped bring awareness to their cause by starting a rucous, just like the original rude boys in Jamaica.
During the floating period, between the second definition of the Rude Boy/Girl culture and the third (which we'll get to), let me get to the half way point, which most people don't even think about. The uprising of the US's Rude boy and Rude girl scene. During the mid 80's, right at about the time when the 2Tone movement died the second that The Fun Boy 3 put on their eyeliner, bands started popping up here on American soil in Southern California and New York City. This was the start of the Third Definition, which ended up getting quite ugly. I was very young when this came around, but I was lucky enough to see small glimpses. My neighbor who was also my babysitter was into this music. He dressed full out, and so did his friends. Some of my earliest memories are of him and two of his friends putting records on a portable record player and dancing while I sat and watched. These boys wore small brimmed pork pie hats, very fitted oxford shirts, and pegged pants. They all had sort of cropped hair (about an inch) and wore big sunglases (oh jeeze). When I was young, I wasn't sure what it was all about, but when I was about 12, I found myself dressing in a similar (but feminine) way and hanging out with people that did, too. In my opinion, this was the golden age of the modern Rude boy/Rude girl culture. During this period, it had proven to stick along the same lines of music, the same simplistic but modern fashion, and the same principles. The people had old Jamaican music, and more modern 2Tone, as well as America's answer to 2Tone (acts like The Toasters, Boitovision, The Donkeyshow...). It was still underground, and people were content.
Then came "Definition Three".
The third definition is the one that is still prevelent today. It is the bastardization of a culture that was consistant through time. The ska-boom of the mid 90's. Although many acts worldwide were doing their version of Jamaican styled music or 2Tone, certain bands were mixing horns and pop punk and labeled it ska, despite the fact that compositionally, had very little in common with the true ska. For some reason, these bands were doing the right thing at the right time, and got lots of media attention. Bands like Reel Big Fish, No Doubt, Goldfinger, and Buck-o-Nine all managed to cash in on this "ska craze". Smart on their behalf, as I'm sure they're still getting cash, but they also helped mislabel a whole genre and subculture. Then came "Skaturday" on MTV, hosted by Carson Daly, clad in a wretched black and white suit, a-la Walt Jabsco/Peter Tosh. Sure, this may have helped point some kids that were interested in true ska in the right direction, but I'm sure that Carson Daly stating that rude boys wear black and white suits just helped futher blasphemize this music. During this time, I saw more than my share of wide black ties and ill-fitting suits. I saw more than my share of people in completely checkered outfits. I saw more than my share of people leave because they didn't want to be associated with such people. During this time, "Rude Boy", "Rude Girl", and "Ska" became dirty words. It became opposite of what it was before. Intelligent, sharp-dressed 20-somethings were replaced by goofy, bad tie-wearing young teens.
I remember when people would proudly refer to themselves as Rude Boys and Rude Girls. I don't think I've heard someone call themselves that in well over five years, besides those "checkered weirdos" (as asnis purins referred to them as.) It seems that all the ones I knew became skinheads even though they said they never would, and there is nothing wrong with that....Except the fact that they are helping lay to rest the culture that they were in for years for less hair and a stronger subculture identity.
So here, at the begining of the 21st century, will there be another revival? Will it be for the better or worse? On my recent trip to California, I saw some people that were dressed the part, but since I did not talk to them, I cannot be one to judge. Will there be another culture born of people who appreciate Jamaican music and dress nicely besides modern traditional skinheads? There is a fine line between modern day traditional skinheads and mods, and those are the rude boys and rude girls, the fanatics for Jamaican music. Is that fine line gone for good?
****Photo above is from an old rude boy/rude girl fashion spread in "Rude International"****
Beer and Roving in Las Vegas
By Anonymous
Thursday, March 27
Patrick picked me up around 7:15 p.m. and we drove over to Todd's place. When we left, we all promised our wives that we wouldn't get in any trouble, or get too rowdy. I don't think any of them bought it.
On the trip down, most of the time was spent talking about the War in Iraq, and trying not to listen to Toddy sing along to The Clash, Joe Jackson, and Hepcat. We stopped in the first one-horse town for a pit-stop and considered buying some cheese curd, but finally decided against it. Trying to find an open restaurant in East-Jesus, Omaha after 10:00 p.m. is impossible, let me tell you.
We pulled into my Mom & Stepdad's place around 11:30 to spend the night. After spending an hour or two laughing at my "awkward years" pictures that my Mom has hanging around her house, we finally hit the sack.
Friday, March 28
Vegas
We found the Lady Luck around 11:00 a.m. local time, but couldn't check into the Hotel until 1:00, so we carted our luggage back to the car, and hoofed-it to Freemont Street, about a block away. Freemont is kinda like Main Street at Disneyland . It's got a huge lighted canopy over it that they project stuff on, they've got 3 stages or more for live bands. There's Gift Shops, Casinos, Vending Kiosks, Strip Joints, Arcades, everything. The first thing I noticed about Vegas is that every visitor over the age of 50 must be issued a Gimp Scooter by the city. Everywhere you look, there's another Rascal.
The first time he saw one of these miniature Harleys, Pat asked the rider, "What you got there, a 4 volt?" quoting the Seinfeld episode when George pretended he was handicapped.
This became one of the many phrases that we used innumerably, but never stopped being funny. Another was, "How's it going, Eisenhower?" (John Candy from Stripes) whenever we saw an older gentleman, and "What you got under there?" whenever we saw a redneck with a mesh-backed baseball cap. How do they get those things to balance on top of their heads like that? And "tappin' in." My Stepfather had been a Bass in a big-time Barbershop Quartet, back in his day. He told us about how, back then, they'd do a "tap-in" round. If someone wanted to take a solo, they'd "tap-in." "Heck, you could go all the way from Bass to Tenor, if you wanted to!"
From that moment on, if you sat down at a Black Jack table, you were "tappin'-in." If you wanted to beat some smart-ass down, you were "tappin'-in." If you saw a whore or stripper, you were expected to "tap-in." You get the picture.
Our first stop was Fitzgerald's on Freemont. We sat down at the upstairs bar to play Video Poker and relax for a while. After half an hour or so, we stepped out onto the balcony to do some star gazing. We saw Willie Nelson, George Burns, Queen Latifa, Saddam Hussain, the homos from Depeche Mode, Billy Ray Cyrus, Nell Carter, and several others. At one point, Todd was looking through his wallet complaining that he had lost $5.00. Patrick pulled a fiver from his wallet, threw it towards Todd, saying, "here's your damned five Dollars!" But, at that moment, the wind picked up and carried the cash over the railing and down onto the street. Some loser picked it up, and probably would have waited for us to come down to retrieve it, but we told him it was his luck.
"This is the most I've won all day!" the loser shouted.
It must have been good Karma, or something, because for the rest of the night, Patrick couldn't lose. If he stuck a quarter in a slot machine, he got 10 bucks back. It only lasted the night, but it was a sight to see.
After checking-in, we headed back to Freemont to waste time until our friends showed-up. Walking past the Glitter Gulch (a popular strip-joint) the girl barking outside tried to get us to come in. She was wearing a white faux-fur jacket, white miniskirt, white knee-high boots and a white wig. As we walked by, a man in his 50's approached us with a clear plastic football in his hand, as if he'd known us all our lives. "I've neva been one to frequent dem kindsa places," he said, "But, if I was a younga man, I might consider it..." All we could do was laugh.
"I've been drinkin' since eight o'clock this monin!" he added.
"Very proud of ya," came our response, and we moved on.
Jimmy & the Whale
We took lunch at a buffet in one of the anonymous casinos along Freemont St. When we sat down to eat, we couldn't help over-hearing the conversation going on at the table behind us. Apparently, "Jimmy" was the house concierge, there having lunch with a high-roller from the east coast. The high-roller (or 'Whale' in Vegas lingo) was talking about one of his trips to Vegas several years before. While gambling at the Aladdin, he had lost over $80,000.
"They asked me if I wanted a marker for another 50 G's. 'Yeah, gimme another 50,' I said."
Jimmy didn't look so good, and I don't think it was the Salmon Mousse.
"So I lost that 50 in nothin' flat. And you know what? I stiffed 'em!" the Whale laughed, spraying Jimmy with bits of salad and prime rib as he did so.
Jimmy was turning green. "Did they come after you?" he asked.
"Yeah, they called me a couple of times. You know what I said?" At this point, the Whale was pantomiming a phone with his thumb at his ear, and his pinky at his mouth. "F''' YOU!" he screamed, and pretended to slam the phone down on the table.
Jimmy was obviously not well. To avoid hearing the inevitable discussion about House collections policy, we decided that we were full and hit the street. The Whale coughed up tiny bits of shrimp on Jimmy's Itallian suit as he guffawed.
We got back to the Lady Luck, and after checking in, we ran into Owen & his girlfriend, Maggie, on the street. I was under the impression that everyone was informed that this was to be a 'He-Man-Broad-Hater's-Club' weekend, but apparently Owen didn't get the memo... Not that Maggie was a pain in the ass, or anything, but it was an adjustment. Todd went inside to help sort-out the rooms for them, and while we waited in the Suburban outside, a couple of hookers crossed the street in front of us.
"Now we're talking!" Pat yelled out the window. The ho's didn't even flinch.
About eight o'clock that night, we all found our way to another anonymous casino for dinner, and while we all sat at the table, Patrick's cell phone rang. It was his wife.
"Hi, Honey... Yeah, we got in ok... We're eating dinner... Umm, I don't know, I'm not sure where we are..." Pat started looking around to find out where we were.
"The Glitter Gulch!" I offered, a little too loudly.
Pat's got a pretty mean backhand. Before I knew it, I had a red knot on my forehead and Patrick got up from the table to finish his conversation in private.
Pre-Summit Party
It was difficult to talk Pat into going to the Ska Party at Julian's. When it came right down to it, none of us were really there for the Summit. We were there to see old friends and hang-out for a weekend and give each other shit. We used the Summit as an excuse to leave our daily lives behind, and act like idiots again. But, that's not to say that we were completely uninterested in the concert. Of course, I was gonna go to the Pre-Summit Party, and the Summit itself. I knew that there would be old friends that I would want to see, and new friends that I had promised to meet there.
Pat stayed for about 10 minutes, then left to recover his losses. I guess that as soon as estrogen was introduced into our controlled environment, Patrick's winning streak evaporated. We made plans to call each another around 10:30 that night. Pablo's plane was coming in at 11:00, and we both knew that we had to be there to meet him.
Pablo is more than a friend. He's someone that we didn't have to explain our stupid, obscure movie references to. The three of us could have an entire conversation using nothing but quotes from movies. If someone unfamiliar with our code happened to be listening, they would have no idea what we were really talking about. Pablo may be a few years younger than us, but he has an extensive movie-quote vocabulary. Not only that, but I really owe Pablo everything I have. He was the one that introduced me to my wife, and set up a date between us. If it weren't for this man, I would still be living in a cubbyhole behind a Tapa Cloth with Jughead and his family.
With Patrick gone, it was just me, Todd, Owen and Maggie. We sat around for a while exchanging rounds, and making fun everyone else. We even got little stickers from The Suicide Girls. You know, the sexually-ambiguous, dyed, inked and steeled tough chicks you've seen on Cable TV. It's funny, but when you get old, you see the idiocy in yourself reflected in the younger people around you. It's not that the others were laughable, it's just easier to laugh at yourself with age.
The night was actually fairly enjoyable. At one point, a group of kids from our home town approached us. Some of them we knew, some we didn't. But, it was pretty cool to see that your past life wasn't a total waste, and that if younger kids were still into Ska, then maybe you weren't a complete schmuck.
One of the kids that I had known for a while pulled me aside and asked if he could beg a favor of me. "Shoot!" I answered.
"Well, I'm not sure how to ask you this," he stammered.
Then, it clicked. "Sorry, brother," I shot at him. "I'm not buying booze for you."
"Alright, that's cool," he said. "I had to ask."
I felt bad for shooting-down a friend in cold blood, but I had made up my mind on this sort of thing long ago. "I'm sorry, man, I just can't do it."
He took it well. "Nah, that's OK, I knew what your answer would be. I can respect that."
In all honesty, I was surprised that one so young could be so reasonable. "Thanks, man, I appreciate your understanding," I told him. I gave him my cell phone number to hook-up later that weekend. He never called, and I'm not sure if I'm upset about that or not. Apparently, the party they had attracted some of Vegas' finest.
Pat called me around 10:45, I met him at the Hotel, and we took off for the Airport to meet Pablo's plane. Damn, it was good to see him again. It had been over a year since I had seen Pablo. He had come back to visit us from Stockton a couple of summers ago with his girlfriend, and we all had dinner together, but since then our correspondence had been through email only. I'm sure Patrick felt the same way. It was a lot like seeing a family member again. He looked like he'd lost a few pounds. He was pretty sturdy the last time I had seen him, but I guess he'd been hitting the treadmill since then. All Pablo could say for the first hour was, "Holy Shit! Paddy! Holy Shit! Toddy!", etc., etc. There was a lot of head-locks and reminiscing and hetero-male bonding going on.
We met up with everyone else and headed back to the Horseshoe. While we were there a few of things of note happened.
First, I stayed away from the tables. I was too broke to do much. You'd think that since I had known about this weekend for months, that I would have saved-up a few bucks. But, alas, I am not that smart. Consequently, I did little but watch during most of the gaming. While watching the rest of them at a Blackjack table at the Horseshoe, we witnessed a guy being dragged out of the place in cuffs. He had at least 3 Security Guards and 2 City cops on him. He was yelling something about "all I was doing was just... (something or other)." It didn't matter. It was funny to watch.
Second, during a particularly difficult hand, (the dealer was showing a Queen) a waitress standing behind Maggie dropped a bottle of beer and it landed square on its bottom. The beer fountain that erupted landed perfectly on our table and soaked it completely. Not only was Maggie wet, but the table itself and the whole deck of cards had to be dried-off, as well. Since a hand was in play, they couldn't take away anyone's cards, and had to dry both sides of every card. We saw that the Dealer had a 6 in the hole, giving her a 16, so everyone stayed, the Dealer broke, and everyone won. Later, at the same table, Owen split 2 Aces. He got Aces in return, split them again, and ended up with 4 hands. His final score was; 21, 19, 18, and 20. The dealer busted again, and Owen won all four hands. That was pretty cool to witness.
I left around 2:00 am to get some sleep. Whatever ever else happened that night, I'll never know. I've been told some details, but I cannot independently verify anything, so, anything you may have heard is just heresay.
Saturday, March 29
We found Pat already down in the Casino when we woke up. He was doing his best to make up for the night before. We had breakfast, and we all dicked-around for quite a while.
Finally, late in the afternoon, we headed for the Summit. We had to stop at a Saver's thrift store to ask directions, but we made it by 4:00 p.m. Most of the bands we had wanted to see had already played. It was pretty disappointing. The crowd was mostly children who were all trying very hard to prove their hardcoredness. There were kids buying vinyl LP's at the vendor tents from bands like "The Dead Boys." How many 13-year-olds, do you think, know who the Dead Boys were? 0.00038%, if I'm not mistaken. I felt old. Very, very old. Most of the audience, to us at least, looked like the little brother from The River's Edge. "You nailed it!" was heard more than once that night.
We saw some of our friends again. Sam and I also found our way to a tent to find Tazy Phillips, one of my old Ska DJ compadres. It was good to see him again. We also found Chris Murray, someone we'd known for a long time. It's always good to talk to Chris. I also saw Brian "Boom Boom" Dixon surrounded by quite a large gaggle of groupies, so I decided not to bother him.
The first act we caught was that sturdy girl from Save Ferris, I think. I can't remember her name, and it doesn't really matter. Yeah, she's got a great voice, but so does Barbara Streisand, and I can't stand that slag, either. Next, please!
When Mustard Plug came on, I couldn't believe it. We had missed Fishbone already, and these guys were playing after Fishbone? Twelve years earlier, they were in my area without a show and I gave them the opportunity to play in some dude's living room. Yeah, some dude's front room. They played a helluva show, I'll give 'em that, but how the hell did they go from that to playing after Fishbone? Not only that, but I thought we were at a concert. Apparently, we were at a Socialist Worker's Party rally. Not really my bag.
It took a while, but my boredom was finally evident to everyone. We drove back to Freemont St. and our little group split-up. Most of the rest of that night is a blur. If I remember correctly, three of us wandered up & down the concourse, some drinking 52 oz. football-shaped beers (not me, of course), laughing at everything we saw, and harassing both tourist and vendor, alike. There was one guy from the Middle East (not that there's anything wrong with that...) who had a little kiosk selling Pipes and Bongs. If you've been to Freemont, you've seen him. One bong was black as obsidian and shaped like an enormous phallus. Another was crafted in the image of a nude woman on her knees and elbows, holding a bowl in her hands. You can probably guess from where you were supposed to toke. I think we tied that poor guy up for an hour, trying to get him to explain which one was better and why.
My biggest vice was the Escort Ad magazines that you can find on any corner in the city. You look at the little newspaper machine, and think you're picking-up a copy of the Thrifty Nickel, but not in Vegas, baby!. What you're getting is free ultra-soft porn! I collected these by the dozens, and accosted everyone I saw, waving them in the victims' faces and screaming, "I USE THESE!" (Reference: National Lampoon's Vacation)
A few other interesting things happened that night, but I can't really talk about it. What I can say is that Pablo ended-up with a goose egg on the back of his head after some unwanted sexual advances, Todd gained a pound or two, Pat covered his losses, I, well... I came back. 'Nuff Said.
All in all, not a bad weekend.
By Anonymous
Thursday, March 27
Patrick picked me up around 7:15 p.m. and we drove over to Todd's place. When we left, we all promised our wives that we wouldn't get in any trouble, or get too rowdy. I don't think any of them bought it.
On the trip down, most of the time was spent talking about the War in Iraq, and trying not to listen to Toddy sing along to The Clash, Joe Jackson, and Hepcat. We stopped in the first one-horse town for a pit-stop and considered buying some cheese curd, but finally decided against it. Trying to find an open restaurant in East-Jesus, Omaha after 10:00 p.m. is impossible, let me tell you.
We pulled into my Mom & Stepdad's place around 11:30 to spend the night. After spending an hour or two laughing at my "awkward years" pictures that my Mom has hanging around her house, we finally hit the sack.
Friday, March 28
Vegas
We found the Lady Luck around 11:00 a.m. local time, but couldn't check into the Hotel until 1:00, so we carted our luggage back to the car, and hoofed-it to Freemont Street, about a block away. Freemont is kinda like Main Street at Disneyland . It's got a huge lighted canopy over it that they project stuff on, they've got 3 stages or more for live bands. There's Gift Shops, Casinos, Vending Kiosks, Strip Joints, Arcades, everything. The first thing I noticed about Vegas is that every visitor over the age of 50 must be issued a Gimp Scooter by the city. Everywhere you look, there's another Rascal.
The first time he saw one of these miniature Harleys, Pat asked the rider, "What you got there, a 4 volt?" quoting the Seinfeld episode when George pretended he was handicapped.
This became one of the many phrases that we used innumerably, but never stopped being funny. Another was, "How's it going, Eisenhower?" (John Candy from Stripes) whenever we saw an older gentleman, and "What you got under there?" whenever we saw a redneck with a mesh-backed baseball cap. How do they get those things to balance on top of their heads like that? And "tappin' in." My Stepfather had been a Bass in a big-time Barbershop Quartet, back in his day. He told us about how, back then, they'd do a "tap-in" round. If someone wanted to take a solo, they'd "tap-in." "Heck, you could go all the way from Bass to Tenor, if you wanted to!"
From that moment on, if you sat down at a Black Jack table, you were "tappin'-in." If you wanted to beat some smart-ass down, you were "tappin'-in." If you saw a whore or stripper, you were expected to "tap-in." You get the picture.
Our first stop was Fitzgerald's on Freemont. We sat down at the upstairs bar to play Video Poker and relax for a while. After half an hour or so, we stepped out onto the balcony to do some star gazing. We saw Willie Nelson, George Burns, Queen Latifa, Saddam Hussain, the homos from Depeche Mode, Billy Ray Cyrus, Nell Carter, and several others. At one point, Todd was looking through his wallet complaining that he had lost $5.00. Patrick pulled a fiver from his wallet, threw it towards Todd, saying, "here's your damned five Dollars!" But, at that moment, the wind picked up and carried the cash over the railing and down onto the street. Some loser picked it up, and probably would have waited for us to come down to retrieve it, but we told him it was his luck.
"This is the most I've won all day!" the loser shouted.
It must have been good Karma, or something, because for the rest of the night, Patrick couldn't lose. If he stuck a quarter in a slot machine, he got 10 bucks back. It only lasted the night, but it was a sight to see.
After checking-in, we headed back to Freemont to waste time until our friends showed-up. Walking past the Glitter Gulch (a popular strip-joint) the girl barking outside tried to get us to come in. She was wearing a white faux-fur jacket, white miniskirt, white knee-high boots and a white wig. As we walked by, a man in his 50's approached us with a clear plastic football in his hand, as if he'd known us all our lives. "I've neva been one to frequent dem kindsa places," he said, "But, if I was a younga man, I might consider it..." All we could do was laugh.
"I've been drinkin' since eight o'clock this monin!" he added.
"Very proud of ya," came our response, and we moved on.
Jimmy & the Whale
We took lunch at a buffet in one of the anonymous casinos along Freemont St. When we sat down to eat, we couldn't help over-hearing the conversation going on at the table behind us. Apparently, "Jimmy" was the house concierge, there having lunch with a high-roller from the east coast. The high-roller (or 'Whale' in Vegas lingo) was talking about one of his trips to Vegas several years before. While gambling at the Aladdin, he had lost over $80,000.
"They asked me if I wanted a marker for another 50 G's. 'Yeah, gimme another 50,' I said."
Jimmy didn't look so good, and I don't think it was the Salmon Mousse.
"So I lost that 50 in nothin' flat. And you know what? I stiffed 'em!" the Whale laughed, spraying Jimmy with bits of salad and prime rib as he did so.
Jimmy was turning green. "Did they come after you?" he asked.
"Yeah, they called me a couple of times. You know what I said?" At this point, the Whale was pantomiming a phone with his thumb at his ear, and his pinky at his mouth. "F''' YOU!" he screamed, and pretended to slam the phone down on the table.
Jimmy was obviously not well. To avoid hearing the inevitable discussion about House collections policy, we decided that we were full and hit the street. The Whale coughed up tiny bits of shrimp on Jimmy's Itallian suit as he guffawed.
We got back to the Lady Luck, and after checking in, we ran into Owen & his girlfriend, Maggie, on the street. I was under the impression that everyone was informed that this was to be a 'He-Man-Broad-Hater's-Club' weekend, but apparently Owen didn't get the memo... Not that Maggie was a pain in the ass, or anything, but it was an adjustment. Todd went inside to help sort-out the rooms for them, and while we waited in the Suburban outside, a couple of hookers crossed the street in front of us.
"Now we're talking!" Pat yelled out the window. The ho's didn't even flinch.
About eight o'clock that night, we all found our way to another anonymous casino for dinner, and while we all sat at the table, Patrick's cell phone rang. It was his wife.
"Hi, Honey... Yeah, we got in ok... We're eating dinner... Umm, I don't know, I'm not sure where we are..." Pat started looking around to find out where we were.
"The Glitter Gulch!" I offered, a little too loudly.
Pat's got a pretty mean backhand. Before I knew it, I had a red knot on my forehead and Patrick got up from the table to finish his conversation in private.
Pre-Summit Party
It was difficult to talk Pat into going to the Ska Party at Julian's. When it came right down to it, none of us were really there for the Summit. We were there to see old friends and hang-out for a weekend and give each other shit. We used the Summit as an excuse to leave our daily lives behind, and act like idiots again. But, that's not to say that we were completely uninterested in the concert. Of course, I was gonna go to the Pre-Summit Party, and the Summit itself. I knew that there would be old friends that I would want to see, and new friends that I had promised to meet there.
Pat stayed for about 10 minutes, then left to recover his losses. I guess that as soon as estrogen was introduced into our controlled environment, Patrick's winning streak evaporated. We made plans to call each another around 10:30 that night. Pablo's plane was coming in at 11:00, and we both knew that we had to be there to meet him.
Pablo is more than a friend. He's someone that we didn't have to explain our stupid, obscure movie references to. The three of us could have an entire conversation using nothing but quotes from movies. If someone unfamiliar with our code happened to be listening, they would have no idea what we were really talking about. Pablo may be a few years younger than us, but he has an extensive movie-quote vocabulary. Not only that, but I really owe Pablo everything I have. He was the one that introduced me to my wife, and set up a date between us. If it weren't for this man, I would still be living in a cubbyhole behind a Tapa Cloth with Jughead and his family.
With Patrick gone, it was just me, Todd, Owen and Maggie. We sat around for a while exchanging rounds, and making fun everyone else. We even got little stickers from The Suicide Girls. You know, the sexually-ambiguous, dyed, inked and steeled tough chicks you've seen on Cable TV. It's funny, but when you get old, you see the idiocy in yourself reflected in the younger people around you. It's not that the others were laughable, it's just easier to laugh at yourself with age.
The night was actually fairly enjoyable. At one point, a group of kids from our home town approached us. Some of them we knew, some we didn't. But, it was pretty cool to see that your past life wasn't a total waste, and that if younger kids were still into Ska, then maybe you weren't a complete schmuck.
One of the kids that I had known for a while pulled me aside and asked if he could beg a favor of me. "Shoot!" I answered.
"Well, I'm not sure how to ask you this," he stammered.
Then, it clicked. "Sorry, brother," I shot at him. "I'm not buying booze for you."
"Alright, that's cool," he said. "I had to ask."
I felt bad for shooting-down a friend in cold blood, but I had made up my mind on this sort of thing long ago. "I'm sorry, man, I just can't do it."
He took it well. "Nah, that's OK, I knew what your answer would be. I can respect that."
In all honesty, I was surprised that one so young could be so reasonable. "Thanks, man, I appreciate your understanding," I told him. I gave him my cell phone number to hook-up later that weekend. He never called, and I'm not sure if I'm upset about that or not. Apparently, the party they had attracted some of Vegas' finest.
Pat called me around 10:45, I met him at the Hotel, and we took off for the Airport to meet Pablo's plane. Damn, it was good to see him again. It had been over a year since I had seen Pablo. He had come back to visit us from Stockton a couple of summers ago with his girlfriend, and we all had dinner together, but since then our correspondence had been through email only. I'm sure Patrick felt the same way. It was a lot like seeing a family member again. He looked like he'd lost a few pounds. He was pretty sturdy the last time I had seen him, but I guess he'd been hitting the treadmill since then. All Pablo could say for the first hour was, "Holy Shit! Paddy! Holy Shit! Toddy!", etc., etc. There was a lot of head-locks and reminiscing and hetero-male bonding going on.
We met up with everyone else and headed back to the Horseshoe. While we were there a few of things of note happened.
First, I stayed away from the tables. I was too broke to do much. You'd think that since I had known about this weekend for months, that I would have saved-up a few bucks. But, alas, I am not that smart. Consequently, I did little but watch during most of the gaming. While watching the rest of them at a Blackjack table at the Horseshoe, we witnessed a guy being dragged out of the place in cuffs. He had at least 3 Security Guards and 2 City cops on him. He was yelling something about "all I was doing was just... (something or other)." It didn't matter. It was funny to watch.
Second, during a particularly difficult hand, (the dealer was showing a Queen) a waitress standing behind Maggie dropped a bottle of beer and it landed square on its bottom. The beer fountain that erupted landed perfectly on our table and soaked it completely. Not only was Maggie wet, but the table itself and the whole deck of cards had to be dried-off, as well. Since a hand was in play, they couldn't take away anyone's cards, and had to dry both sides of every card. We saw that the Dealer had a 6 in the hole, giving her a 16, so everyone stayed, the Dealer broke, and everyone won. Later, at the same table, Owen split 2 Aces. He got Aces in return, split them again, and ended up with 4 hands. His final score was; 21, 19, 18, and 20. The dealer busted again, and Owen won all four hands. That was pretty cool to witness.
I left around 2:00 am to get some sleep. Whatever ever else happened that night, I'll never know. I've been told some details, but I cannot independently verify anything, so, anything you may have heard is just heresay.
Saturday, March 29
We found Pat already down in the Casino when we woke up. He was doing his best to make up for the night before. We had breakfast, and we all dicked-around for quite a while.
Finally, late in the afternoon, we headed for the Summit. We had to stop at a Saver's thrift store to ask directions, but we made it by 4:00 p.m. Most of the bands we had wanted to see had already played. It was pretty disappointing. The crowd was mostly children who were all trying very hard to prove their hardcoredness. There were kids buying vinyl LP's at the vendor tents from bands like "The Dead Boys." How many 13-year-olds, do you think, know who the Dead Boys were? 0.00038%, if I'm not mistaken. I felt old. Very, very old. Most of the audience, to us at least, looked like the little brother from The River's Edge. "You nailed it!" was heard more than once that night.
We saw some of our friends again. Sam and I also found our way to a tent to find Tazy Phillips, one of my old Ska DJ compadres. It was good to see him again. We also found Chris Murray, someone we'd known for a long time. It's always good to talk to Chris. I also saw Brian "Boom Boom" Dixon surrounded by quite a large gaggle of groupies, so I decided not to bother him.
The first act we caught was that sturdy girl from Save Ferris, I think. I can't remember her name, and it doesn't really matter. Yeah, she's got a great voice, but so does Barbara Streisand, and I can't stand that slag, either. Next, please!
When Mustard Plug came on, I couldn't believe it. We had missed Fishbone already, and these guys were playing after Fishbone? Twelve years earlier, they were in my area without a show and I gave them the opportunity to play in some dude's living room. Yeah, some dude's front room. They played a helluva show, I'll give 'em that, but how the hell did they go from that to playing after Fishbone? Not only that, but I thought we were at a concert. Apparently, we were at a Socialist Worker's Party rally. Not really my bag.
It took a while, but my boredom was finally evident to everyone. We drove back to Freemont St. and our little group split-up. Most of the rest of that night is a blur. If I remember correctly, three of us wandered up & down the concourse, some drinking 52 oz. football-shaped beers (not me, of course), laughing at everything we saw, and harassing both tourist and vendor, alike. There was one guy from the Middle East (not that there's anything wrong with that...) who had a little kiosk selling Pipes and Bongs. If you've been to Freemont, you've seen him. One bong was black as obsidian and shaped like an enormous phallus. Another was crafted in the image of a nude woman on her knees and elbows, holding a bowl in her hands. You can probably guess from where you were supposed to toke. I think we tied that poor guy up for an hour, trying to get him to explain which one was better and why.
My biggest vice was the Escort Ad magazines that you can find on any corner in the city. You look at the little newspaper machine, and think you're picking-up a copy of the Thrifty Nickel, but not in Vegas, baby!. What you're getting is free ultra-soft porn! I collected these by the dozens, and accosted everyone I saw, waving them in the victims' faces and screaming, "I USE THESE!" (Reference: National Lampoon's Vacation)
A few other interesting things happened that night, but I can't really talk about it. What I can say is that Pablo ended-up with a goose egg on the back of his head after some unwanted sexual advances, Todd gained a pound or two, Pat covered his losses, I, well... I came back. 'Nuff Said.
All in all, not a bad weekend.
editor's note: Bob Walter is one of my favorite people. When I need an honest opinion about anything, I go to Bob. Bob always has the end-all opinion. Out of all my years of meeting people in the scene, I have to say, Bob is the person I respect most out of anyone. I asked him if he was interested in writing an article for me when I first started Get Up Edina, and here it is. Take every word to heart! This man is one of the few people who I actually care what he thinks of me and my actions, that's how important he is! -Joanna
Where Have All the Rude Boys Gone?
by Ska Bob Walter
*A special thanks to the members of the "In a Dancing Mood" Internet Forum, whose comments and critiques gave me the boot to the head I needed to clarify my writing
I've been trying to write this article for several months, now. And, to be honest, I'm not sure if I can properly convey the sense of loss that inspired me to write it. Everyone's experiences are unique to them, personally. What I'm trying to say is, my viewpoint is very narrow, and not necessarily widely appreciable, but so be it.
With the permission of the reader, we will dispense with the true definition of Rude Boy. I realize that this will contradict things I've written in the past (things you've never read, of course), but for the sake of this piece, a Rude Boy is not the underprivileged, hard-assed gangbanger of 1960's Kingston. Instead, we will use the definition popularized in the 1970's and 80's; the hardcore fan who went out of his way to epitomize Ska and all of it's variables.
I was nine years old when my family moved to Utah in 1977. It was 3 or 4 years later before I heard of Ska. Utah is a strange place. Everyone thinks we're all so backward, and they're not completely wrong. But, a lot of people here have relatives from all over the country, including (and particularly) California. If it was popular on the West Coast, it was the best new thing in Utah a year later.
For several years, I suffered in silence. Well, scratch that. For several years, I was silent in ignorance. I had my dalliances with Kool and the Gang, Billy Joel, and even Queen, but it was always 2-Tone and Chrysalis Records that I fell back to. It's not that I didn't have others to guide me. Ron Yrigoyen and Tom Price were the Upper-Class heroes of Provo High School. They were on the cutting-edge of "New Wave" And Tom's younger brother, William Price, had a Vespa by around 1984. Unfortunately, William was more of a Thompson Twins kind of guy, but he taught me a lot about Mods. One of the many girls who broke my heart, Beth Arbizu, tried as hard as she could to make me understand what it was I liked about Ska. Even my older Brothers and Sisters made major contributions to my musical upbringing. My brother, David was a total Anglophile. I remember sitting in his bedroom as a youngster, listening to the original Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy radio broadcasts, and Monty Python records. My sister, Marianne, was a Bob Marley fan. My other sister, Becky was one of those Pre-and-Post New Wave goddesses that is still talked about. My Brother, Walt was one of those guys who was at every Punk show, but stood at the edge of the Mosh Pit and acted as a referee. Today, Walt is a major contributor in the Outdoor Sports world.
Fast-forward a couple of years; I graduated in 1986, still not sure of who I was. Half Preppie, half Punk, half Skater and half Dungeons & Dragons Geek. It wasn't until 1988 that I found my calling. Within a month's time, I saw Quadrophenia, Absolute Beginners, and came across both Moon and Unicorn Records releases at a local Record shop, Reptile Records. In 1989, I made a pilgrimage to London, and attended the London International Ska Festival. This changed my life.
Allow me to pause here, Dear Reader, to remind you that this was before the days of the Internet, before the days of MTV's Skaturday and before real big shit. I bought every piece of Unicorn and Moon vinyl I could find. I was at every Thrift Store buying 3-button suits and inch-wide ties. Doc's were hard to come by, but I was buying Creepers and Monkey Boots at every turn.
And suddenly, I saw the Silent Conspiracy. There were people in my town, about my age, who were diggin' what I was. I started noticing Docs and Monkey Boots and, well... Mini Skirts. I saw Vespas and Lambrettas on the streets. I saw Porkpie hats and Ben Shermans. Mods, Rudies, and Skins. Wow, and I was in Utah! I was part of something that was truly underground, and it felt really cool. I met Deacon and Reese at Checker Auto, and joined English Rose Scooter Club, the only club in existence at the time (and the oldest existing Scooter Club in Utah). I started a Ska show on a local radio station, KRCL, with a good friend, Jack Rude. And, I was asked to manage Stretch Armstrong, one of the local Ska-influenced bands of the era.
The best thing about all of this was that when you were there, people got it. Whether you were at a Ska show, or a Scooter Rally, a bowling ally, or at an ABC Ska Society dance, people got it.
This is my point.
I got married in 1993, and dropped-out. I came back a few years later, and was, to be honest, saddened.
Today, I get asked what Suits have to do with Ska, what Scooters have to do with Ska. Today, I see Scooter Rallies filled with "Kimco" and "People" machines, Scooter clubs filled with people who have never heard of Mods, and "Ska" bands who've never heard of Prince Buster.
Even some of the best bands today don't look like they listen to what they play. And the people on the Internet who know the most about Ska, don't give two shits about the tangents.
OK, so, I'm an elitist. I no longer count that as an insult. I'm tired of going to shows and being the only one with a tie, jacket, Fred or Bennie. I'm tired of looking at Deborah Harry or Gwen Stephanie wannabes.
It's not that I think that to be a "true" Ska fan, you have to dress like this or dance like that, or also have to be into the other. Ska fans have historically been the penultimate example of integration, and not just racially. Every walk of life is typically represented at a Ska show. It seems to be clear, however, that the Iconic Trinity of Rudy, Mod and Skin, while not dead yet, is obviously on life-support. Any day now, someone's going to pull the plug.
The obvious exception to this argument is The Skins. In my experience, Skinheads don't go away. They may tone-down their aura to codify employers as they age, and they may end-up spending more time at home with the wife and kids, and less time at the pub, but there seems to be far fewer "used-to-be" Skinheads as there are "used-to-be" Mods and Rudies. With Skins, it's more about family and finances, and less about fads and fashions. Skinheads don't die, they just get mortgages.
The bottom line, I guess, is that things seem to be so different, today. "Ska" as a subculture is a salt that has lost it's flavor. Pajama pants and Jester Hats have replaced the Suit & Tie. The "look how wacky I am!", Austin Powers look has replaced the quiet, sophisticated James Bond look.
The impact that the entire sphere of the so-called "Ska" subculture had on me is enormous. At 37 years of age, I am still unable to wear pleated or straight-legged pants. I have to peg every pair of trousers that my wife brings home. I cannot wear ties that are more than an inch and a half wide. I just can't do it. It's almost impossible for me to let my hair grow longer than an inch. I don't discount other styles. Not at all. I listen to and enjoy a vast variety of music. I have friends and associates from across the spectrum. But I found my style years ago, and ain't nothin' gonna change it.
Maybe it was small, and the bands didn't get the money they deserved, but, I miss... I really miss... The Scene.
Where Have All the Rude Boys Gone?
by Ska Bob Walter
*A special thanks to the members of the "In a Dancing Mood" Internet Forum, whose comments and critiques gave me the boot to the head I needed to clarify my writing
I've been trying to write this article for several months, now. And, to be honest, I'm not sure if I can properly convey the sense of loss that inspired me to write it. Everyone's experiences are unique to them, personally. What I'm trying to say is, my viewpoint is very narrow, and not necessarily widely appreciable, but so be it.
With the permission of the reader, we will dispense with the true definition of Rude Boy. I realize that this will contradict things I've written in the past (things you've never read, of course), but for the sake of this piece, a Rude Boy is not the underprivileged, hard-assed gangbanger of 1960's Kingston. Instead, we will use the definition popularized in the 1970's and 80's; the hardcore fan who went out of his way to epitomize Ska and all of it's variables.
I was nine years old when my family moved to Utah in 1977. It was 3 or 4 years later before I heard of Ska. Utah is a strange place. Everyone thinks we're all so backward, and they're not completely wrong. But, a lot of people here have relatives from all over the country, including (and particularly) California. If it was popular on the West Coast, it was the best new thing in Utah a year later.
For several years, I suffered in silence. Well, scratch that. For several years, I was silent in ignorance. I had my dalliances with Kool and the Gang, Billy Joel, and even Queen, but it was always 2-Tone and Chrysalis Records that I fell back to. It's not that I didn't have others to guide me. Ron Yrigoyen and Tom Price were the Upper-Class heroes of Provo High School. They were on the cutting-edge of "New Wave" And Tom's younger brother, William Price, had a Vespa by around 1984. Unfortunately, William was more of a Thompson Twins kind of guy, but he taught me a lot about Mods. One of the many girls who broke my heart, Beth Arbizu, tried as hard as she could to make me understand what it was I liked about Ska. Even my older Brothers and Sisters made major contributions to my musical upbringing. My brother, David was a total Anglophile. I remember sitting in his bedroom as a youngster, listening to the original Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy radio broadcasts, and Monty Python records. My sister, Marianne, was a Bob Marley fan. My other sister, Becky was one of those Pre-and-Post New Wave goddesses that is still talked about. My Brother, Walt was one of those guys who was at every Punk show, but stood at the edge of the Mosh Pit and acted as a referee. Today, Walt is a major contributor in the Outdoor Sports world.
Fast-forward a couple of years; I graduated in 1986, still not sure of who I was. Half Preppie, half Punk, half Skater and half Dungeons & Dragons Geek. It wasn't until 1988 that I found my calling. Within a month's time, I saw Quadrophenia, Absolute Beginners, and came across both Moon and Unicorn Records releases at a local Record shop, Reptile Records. In 1989, I made a pilgrimage to London, and attended the London International Ska Festival. This changed my life.
Allow me to pause here, Dear Reader, to remind you that this was before the days of the Internet, before the days of MTV's Skaturday and before real big shit. I bought every piece of Unicorn and Moon vinyl I could find. I was at every Thrift Store buying 3-button suits and inch-wide ties. Doc's were hard to come by, but I was buying Creepers and Monkey Boots at every turn.
And suddenly, I saw the Silent Conspiracy. There were people in my town, about my age, who were diggin' what I was. I started noticing Docs and Monkey Boots and, well... Mini Skirts. I saw Vespas and Lambrettas on the streets. I saw Porkpie hats and Ben Shermans. Mods, Rudies, and Skins. Wow, and I was in Utah! I was part of something that was truly underground, and it felt really cool. I met Deacon and Reese at Checker Auto, and joined English Rose Scooter Club, the only club in existence at the time (and the oldest existing Scooter Club in Utah). I started a Ska show on a local radio station, KRCL, with a good friend, Jack Rude. And, I was asked to manage Stretch Armstrong, one of the local Ska-influenced bands of the era.
The best thing about all of this was that when you were there, people got it. Whether you were at a Ska show, or a Scooter Rally, a bowling ally, or at an ABC Ska Society dance, people got it.
This is my point.
I got married in 1993, and dropped-out. I came back a few years later, and was, to be honest, saddened.
Today, I get asked what Suits have to do with Ska, what Scooters have to do with Ska. Today, I see Scooter Rallies filled with "Kimco" and "People" machines, Scooter clubs filled with people who have never heard of Mods, and "Ska" bands who've never heard of Prince Buster.
Even some of the best bands today don't look like they listen to what they play. And the people on the Internet who know the most about Ska, don't give two shits about the tangents.
OK, so, I'm an elitist. I no longer count that as an insult. I'm tired of going to shows and being the only one with a tie, jacket, Fred or Bennie. I'm tired of looking at Deborah Harry or Gwen Stephanie wannabes.
It's not that I think that to be a "true" Ska fan, you have to dress like this or dance like that, or also have to be into the other. Ska fans have historically been the penultimate example of integration, and not just racially. Every walk of life is typically represented at a Ska show. It seems to be clear, however, that the Iconic Trinity of Rudy, Mod and Skin, while not dead yet, is obviously on life-support. Any day now, someone's going to pull the plug.
The obvious exception to this argument is The Skins. In my experience, Skinheads don't go away. They may tone-down their aura to codify employers as they age, and they may end-up spending more time at home with the wife and kids, and less time at the pub, but there seems to be far fewer "used-to-be" Skinheads as there are "used-to-be" Mods and Rudies. With Skins, it's more about family and finances, and less about fads and fashions. Skinheads don't die, they just get mortgages.
The bottom line, I guess, is that things seem to be so different, today. "Ska" as a subculture is a salt that has lost it's flavor. Pajama pants and Jester Hats have replaced the Suit & Tie. The "look how wacky I am!", Austin Powers look has replaced the quiet, sophisticated James Bond look.
The impact that the entire sphere of the so-called "Ska" subculture had on me is enormous. At 37 years of age, I am still unable to wear pleated or straight-legged pants. I have to peg every pair of trousers that my wife brings home. I cannot wear ties that are more than an inch and a half wide. I just can't do it. It's almost impossible for me to let my hair grow longer than an inch. I don't discount other styles. Not at all. I listen to and enjoy a vast variety of music. I have friends and associates from across the spectrum. But I found my style years ago, and ain't nothin' gonna change it.
Maybe it was small, and the bands didn't get the money they deserved, but, I miss... I really miss... The Scene.
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