Defining Punk

"Punk Rock" is one of the most hotly debated musical genres in the history of music. When discussing Punk, many complex and often meta questions arise. Is it a specific style of music or a loosely defined genre? When did it really began? Can it still be heard today and where? Perhaps the most commonly pondered but rarely asked aloud is "What makes a band 'punk' rock?"

All of those questions raise inevitably subjective answers from both fans and critics. I developed my own perspective based not on the ruminations of either category, but from neophytes. A devoted music historian might offer a complex answer as to why Chuck Berry was more punk rock than Talking Heads, yet the average person would most likely scoff at the idea of Berry being punk while loosely associating Talking Heads with the genre. I'd tend to agree with the latter, and here's my reasoning behind it:

"Punk" is usually described in its simplest form as speedy, simple and irreverent rock music played with no more than three chords. Yet this serves as an accurate description of Chuck Berry, early singles from The Kinks and The Who while most records from Blondie and Television would swiftly fail the litmus test. If this serves as the defining factor of Punk, why did it take until the late '70s for the genre to be officially named when artists had already been playing it for almost two decades?  Most fans would cite the latter half of the decade as being the official era of Punk's arrival when the likes of Patti Smith, The Ramones, The Sex Pistols and The Clash released their subversively ragged debut albums in reaction to the bloated, overly polished excess of the Progressive Rock that reigned in the earlier half of the decade.

I would agree with this assertion, because I also feel that Punk is contextually tied to the decade that began in the late 1970's and ended in the late '80s before it was reborn as "Alternative Rock". Musically, three subversive and simple three chord rock existed in the 1960's as a collective of artists known in hindsight as "Proto-Punk", named for their influence on the artists that would officially be dubbed Punk Rock in the subsequent decade. Proto-Punk bands included The Velvet Underground, The Stooges, MC5 and later The New York Dolls, who served as a bridge between the two generations. These bands played off the wall, fast, loud rock music outside of the mainstream but what they lacked was a sense of unity or generational identity.

Community was distinctly characteristic of Punk and separated it from Proto-Punk as a true musical movement rather than a style or label. The first notable community of musicians to be known as Punk was the cadre of bands that originated from Hilly Kristal's New York nightclub CBGB's. Many of the bands that came from CBGB's indeed played an intensified variation on the same three chord rock The Who played in the previous decade, but bands like The Ramones, The Dead Boys and The Dictators augmented it with a bizarre, intentionally dumb flair for irony that renewed teen rebellion for a new era. The snobby, youthful sentiments of "My Generation" were taken to the streets of "Beat on the Brat" by kids that weren't simply rude, they were little thugs too. Punk bands didn't simply take the "fast, three chord rock" to a new level of intensity, there was also a sense of nastiness and rebellion that countered the joyous celebrations of youth heard in "Johnny B. Goode". Berry celebrated youth while his Punk antecedents lamented how shitty and confusing it could be.

Not all of the CBGB's bands followed this trend, which is why it would be incorrect to define Punk with only sonic characteristics. Bands like Television and Talking Heads played Rock music mostly free of loud, distorted guitars which was often complex in rhythm, form and even harmony. These qualities almost sound like they would be more akin to the Progressive Rock against which Punk was rebelling, yet there are indeed some intangible aesthetics that tie those bands closer to The Ramones than Yes or Pink Floyd. It wasn't rebellious lyrics or attitude, because both bands wrote lyrics more reminiscent of 19th century French poetry than Joey Ramone. What bonded those bands and pop outfits like Blondie with Punk was the context and an adventurous spirit that came from being in a struggling scene where the only thing every band had in common was a desire to play whatever the hell they wanted.

Though the definition of Punk is more contextual than it is strictly musical, that context wasn't limited to New York. My personal favorite  strains of Punk came from across the pond, where the first wave of Punk Rockers like The Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Damned and The Jam were highlighting the rebellious nature of Punk with a sociopolitical consciousness in reaction to that nation's turbulent era of government. I still remember the rush that overcame me when I first I played Nevermind the Bollocks...Here's the Sex Pistols. I had already heard intense rock from The Stooges and The Clash's only marginally Punk sounding London Calling, but nothing prepared me for the fiery, nihilistic onslaught of "Holidays in the Sun". John Lydon's rabid bark led Steve Jones' thunderous guitar and Paul Cook's unstoppable drums directly in the face of the listener and shook you out of your seat.

I had no idea what to make of the lyrics when I could even discern them. But it didn't matter that I didn't know what Belsen was or that the Berlin Wall had already crumbled fifteen years prior. I felt and identified with the anger, frustration and energy that drives you when you're sixteen. It was liberating, not unlike the first time I heard Brian Wilson turn youthful vulnerability into innovative symphonies with Pet Sounds. It reassured me that people experienced the same confusion, unhappiness and oppression that plagues our adolescent years, whether you're in the bleakest parts of London or the posh suburbs of Pasadena. Punk rock gave me a form of solace and the feeling that you're never completely alone, even in the worst times of your life.

Punk guided me through my teenage years and has resurfaced in the same consoling light in the past few years as I struggle through my late twenties. As a musician, my romantic ambitions have been completely subdued by a volatile, assembly line driven music business built on the soiled ashes of Rock music. To quote Philip Seymour Hoffman's Lester Bangs from Almost Famous: "The war is over. They won." Now with the digital fast food masquerading as music produced by Taylor Swift, OneRepublic and Ariana Grande polluting the world around me, the only solace I can find is the ragged, driving rants of Elvis Costello and a young Paul Weller. It reminds me of a time when songs weren't written strictly for the intention of selling to the masses but to inspire something within them.