Paid-up punks

September 16, 2005

http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2005/09/15/1126377383560.html


Original punks the Clash.
Photo: AP



Sponsorship deals, credit card endorsements, apathy and MTV. Punk ain't what it used to be, writes Michael Dwyer.

Punk. It may be the most adaptable four-letter word in the modern musician's vocabulary. Between the Clash's Know Your Rights and Blink 182's Show Us Your Boobies lies the broadest pigeonhole known to rock'n'roll.

It's universally accepted that Iggy Pop's scarred chest smeared with peanut butter was punk.

The Ramones' 90-second garage rock nuggets were punk.

The Sex Pistols swearing on television was punk.

The Dead Kennedys' California Uber Alles was punk.

But fast forward to modern Swedish 'punks' Millencolin - they have a skate sponsorship deal. And Canada's Simple Plan offer a personalised Mastercard offer.

We're either talking about a radical post-modern redefinition of the term here, or a flagrant perversion of punk ideology. But one thing hasn't changed. To the old guard, it's incredibly offensive.

"When you look around today, it's like punk never happened," bemoans Don Letts, maker of Punk: Attitude, the allegedly "definitive" documentary out on DVD next week.

"Not only have people forgotten, they don't care.

"Back in my day you could blame The Man," says the London dub DJ and influential associate of The Clash.

"Now there's complicit guilt, because kids don't want much. They just want their 15 minutes of fame. They're playing up to the cult of celebrity.

"If you wanna be on MTV and be in the Top 40 then you're not gonna be allowed to be that radical. It's become increasingly difficult to be radical within the format of music.."

If punk is ''the fight against complacency," as fellow film-maker Jim Jarmusch declares early in Letts's film, Simple Plan's Jeff Stinco strikes a contentious pose from his laid-back position in Montreal.

"I gotta tell you, it's an awesome day here," he gloats.

"I spent my whole day just chilling on the main street, drinking beer and watching the girls. It's great."

A multi-platinum major label concern, Simple Plan is one of the most successful "punk-pop" bands of recent years.

Like practically every band labelled punk in the last 35 years, Stinco doesn't identify himself as such. It's not his fault that the first link when you Google 'Simple Plan Punk' is 'Punk rock music artists - corporate entertainment bookings.'

"I think punk is an era in rock'n'roll,'' he says.

''I'm not even sure it's a genre. We're not making any statements, not even fashion statements - like the Sex Pistols were.''


New punks Millencolin.
Photo:Supplied

''I mean, I have respect for them and the Clash but they weren't my early influences. The bands that got me were bands like Face to Face, Lagwagon, No Use For a Name, Strung Out" - all sound-alike hardcore skateboard enthusiasts that cranked up amps in sunny California in the '80s.

"As a teenager I was pretty rebellious. I needed some kind of outlet for my anger and my frustration and those bands seemed to express those feelings in very easy-to-understand words and straight-to-the-point music. The simplicity and the intensity of it was fascinating to me."

In that respect, Simple Plan picked up on much the same energy that the Ramones or the Pistols ignited in a previous generation.

And in purely sonic terms, the thread hasn't changed much from '60s trailblazers the Stooges to Millencolin - who could be described as generic Swedish skate rockers. They return to their core Australian market for the umpteenth time next week.

What's changed is the tapestry of music as a whole. Since Nirvana made punk synonymous with mainstream rock, the subversion potential of a snotty-nosed, electrified squall has become virtually zero.

To Millencolin guitarist Erik Ohlsson, who also designs the artwork for the band's independent releases, punk is a question of personal control, rather than sound or intent.

"Punk rock, for me, has always been about doing it yourself," he says. "Be aware and be creative. For me it's a really personal, positive thing. You're not following the rest of the stereotype, being who you should be. You follow your own path."

Reminded that Millencolin's "own path" is now identical to the mainstream youth culture superhighway as seen in Coca-Cola ads, Ohlsson can only offer a sheepish chuckle and "hope that everyone is doing it for the right reason."

In his band's case, that reason was creating a soundtrack to their skateboarding exploits. Hardly the "death or glory" minefield that the Clash's Joe Strummer spent his life negotiating.

"We are political personally, but we don't involve that in our music," Ohlsson says. "I think in this time, it's really important to bring out a positive vibe and entertain people. A lot of our lyrics are political in a personal way: growing up issues, relationship issues, which are really important too."

It's a pretty safe mission statement. In fact, for a band that prides itself on operating outside the corporate music sphere, it's plain lame. Asked how he thinks Millencolin's outlook might differ from a major label rock dinosaur like Bon Jovi, Ohlsson doesn't even sound insulted.

"We never had a manager, we grew up from the underground, being in control of everything," he says.

"I don't know how Bon Jovi felt when they started a band but I think those guys had a goal to be rock stars and get tons of girls and they have never been the issues for us. Well, of course it's great getting girls," he concedes, "but it's not the focus."

Don Letts understands the fundamental lack of ambition he perceives in the modern punk.

"Counter cultural movements are fuelled and informed by the social, economic and political climate of the times," he notes.

"And I guess the youth of the west don't want for too much. But sometimes you gotta get really ill before you know you need a cure. And look around, man. We're really sick."

That fact has not been completely hijacked by the punk-pop gravy train that's made Simple Plan and their ilk so comfortable. Detroit punk agitators the Suicide Machines mount their first tour of Australia next month, albeit on a much smaller scale.

Given the temper of the times, guitarist Dan Lukacinsky is appalled that so few of his contemporaries share their blatant tone of political dissent.

"Punk rock has been too safe for a long time," he says. "Great bands like Anti-Flag have been banging away forever but it's like people just didn't wanna hear it. People who work normal jobs look at music as an outlet to have a good time. They think really hard at their jobs, they don't wanna do that with music. And that's the whole problem in the US right now: ignorance and complacency."

Don't bother looking for the Suicide Machines' latest album, War Profiteering is Killing Us All, on the Billboard or ARIA charts.

Song titles such as Capitalist Suicide, All Systems Fail and 17% 18 to 25 (about the low youth voter turnout at the last US election) are plainly less commercially viable than the navel-gazing cliches favoured by Simple Plan.

Lukacinsky lays much of the blame for youth apathy at the door of MTV.

"If you have a captive audience of young people like they do, they have a responsibility to tell the truth about certain things. They have Rock the Vote (young voter registration campaign), but it's all a bunch of garbage when you see how empty and meaningless their programming is."

Lukacinsky stops short of dissing MTV pawns such as Simple Plan.

"They're friends of ours," he chuckles, "and I know they didn't get into this to get rich."

He does, however, acknowledge a certain ideological contradiction in Suicide Machines' website link to their skatewear sponsors.

There's no such concession from Jeff Stinco, who talks with equal enthusiasm about his band's involvement with the Make Poverty History campaign and the new Simple Plan cash card.

Dude, it's totally a Mastercard with the band's picture on it.

"It's a concept that allows young people to get used to using a credit card," Stinco explains.

"Their parents fill them up with money and hopefully it teaches them how to spend wisely. The coolest thing is people get to have their favourite band on their card. It's personalised, so it's another way for them to express their identity."

But, says Don Letts: "When we got into music, it was an anti-establishment thing. Now people are getting into music to be part of the establishment. The pop culture of that time broke down social, class and race barriers. It was very instrumental in making our world a better place. In a certain section of UK society, music has been a galvanising force. It has that potential. I think people have forgotten that.

"But I am an optimist," he says.

"You can't stop this thing. I think we've got to look to places that haven't been saturated with satellite dishes and haven't had MTV rammed down their throats for 25 years. Maybe places like Iraq? Like Orson Welles said, if you wanna make a truly original film, don't watch movies."