Jim Hutter’s Feels Like The First Time Pencil Storm series deals with him "Experiencing Iconic Music For the First Time."
Here’s his latest…….
Anyone who has known me for the past four decades knows that I love first generation Punk Rock (1976 to ’80). Iconic bands like The Clash, Sex Pistols, Buzzcocks, and Ramones are in my top twenty musical artists. This wasn’t always the case.
I became aware of Punk in January of 1978 when I was 13. Being a kid who loved following current events, I frequently watched the CBS Evening News. One night a middle-aged reporter did a story on The Sex Pistols and their first tour of America. To hear it from this “Silent Generation” journalist, the four British musicians were the absolute “scum of the earth.” He repeated claims of their prison records with an overall attitude of contempt. It didn’t help that CBS showed footage of The Sex Pistols in concert. Always a sloppy band live, the poorly-shot film with bad audio made the Punk icons sound like an inept Heavy Metal band. I was not impressed.
I had a very negative understanding of the word “punk” at this point in my life. Derived from the prison sexual euphemism, it generally referred to cocky young men with a defiant mentality. Attending inner city schools in the South End of Columbus, adults aimed the derisive term at self-appointed “tough guys” who were bullies and petty criminals. These were kids destined for prison or a life of menial jobs. They were the type that this bright & ambitious kid stayed away from, mostly out of fear and loathing. I wanted nothing to do with Punk Rock.
The new musical phenomenon pretty much slipped my mind for the next year. I received a reminder as I watched my then-favorite musical-variety show, “Sha Na Na.” I loved the retro-1950’s vocal group for keeping vintage Doo-Wop alive into the 1970’s. Every week, the program featured a guest artist. That night, it was The Ramones.
Watching with my older brother, John, I could sense his enthusiasm for these newcomers. I had no idea who they were. He explained, “The Ramones are a modern-day greaser band.”
I saw the leather jackets, but no greasy ducktail hairstyles. He further elaborated, “Modern-day greasers wear shoulder-length hair.”
And then I finally heard The Ramones. They performed “Sheena is a Punk Rocker.” I kind of liked the energy, the catchy hooks, and the Beach Boys-like vocal harmonies. The loud and crunching guitars, though, sounded like just another run-of-the-mill Hard Rock band. I was underwhelmed. They weren’t retro enough for me, unlike the corny stereotypes of Sha Na Na.
Shortly thereafter, I was engrossed in one of many musical conversations with my brother. I lamented the current state of music. I was bummed that my beloved Beatles, Who, Kinks, and Rolling Stones were irrelevant to my schoolmates. I bemoaned the music they loved - Kiss, Van Halen, and Ted Nugent - as striking me cold. I yearned for something new with the simplicity of Rockabilly or The British Invasion. Once again, I could see the ideas spinning through my brother’s head.
“Ya know, Jim,” he began, “I just read about a new band that I think you would like. They’re called The Jam. They are part of a new mod revival coming out of England. The reviewer described them as a mix of the early Who and Kinks. They wear matching suits, play Rickenbacker guitars, and have hair as short as Charlie Watts.”
John further explained that the mod revival was part of the “New Wave movement,” where musicians shared my desire to see Rock return to the simplicity of pre-psychedelia. I was sold.
The following week, we paid a visit to Singin’ Dog Records and snagged a copy of The Jam’s latest album, “All Mod Cons.” The minute the needle hit the platter I was hooked. This young trio really did sound like a modern version of The Who: slashing chords, bass rumbling like a motorcycle engine, and manic drumming. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I had just entered the gateway to Punk.
One song in particular caught my attention; “Mr. Clean.” It was a scathing critique of a middle-class and well-educated business professional. It mostly focused upon his cluelessness about the less fortunate and struggling members of society. The angry storyteller promised to “fuck up his life.” Up until that moment, I studied hard so I could become Mr. Clean. I now wanted to be The Jam.
Over the next year, I purchased Rock magazines like Creem, Hit Parader, and Circus, looking for more New Wave bands. I became fascinated with two in particular, The Police and The Clash. In pictures, they superficially reminded me of The Jam. With that spiky hair, I asked myself, “Are they New Wave or Punk?” I would soon find out.
When I finally heard The Clash, I did not know what to think. I loved their energy, tight songs, and intelligent lyrics. Their dirty guitars, once again, sounded like average Hard Rock. Even with that personal hang-up, I kept listening and soon fell in love with their music. I started to blur the lines between New Wave and Punk. That was a good thing.
As 1980 began, I started a gradual metamorphosis from squeaky-clean goody two-shoes into a teenaged Mod wannabe. I cut my hair as short as The Jam and traded sleeveless sweaters and flares for skinny ties and straight legs. I continued discovering new music. Before the end of the year, my hang-up about Punk faded and I finally gave The Sex Pistols a second chance. Never Mind the Bollocks struck me as nothing less than a masterpiece. I was proud to identify with something so daring, outspoken, and intelligent. At that point, Jimmy became a Punk Rocker.