PUNK GUIDE: A Consumer Manual To New Wave Wax

Although the exceptions are significant, most English punk is unreleased in the Yew Ess Ay, and some of it will remain so. That puts a seeker at the mercy of importers and makes genuine discount buying next to impossible. In New York, many Village record stores now stock some “new wave”, but the best selection by far (and all of the following stores do mail-order) is at Bleecker Bob's Golden Oldies, 179 MacDougal, NYC 10011. Discophile, 26 West 8th, NYC 10011, employs a well-respected enthusiast named Michael (mail-order to his attention; add $1.25 postage for all orders under $20). Both shops charge around $7 for an album, $3 for an EP, and $2 for a single. Cheaper but more out of the way is Pantasia, 4752 Broadway, Washington Heights, NY 10040. The two major import distributors—the rock-oriented Jem (Box 362, So. Plainsfield, NJ 07080) and Peters International (619 West 54th, NYC 10019)-both do retail mail-order. Rough Trade, 202 Kensington Park Road, London Wll, England, will also mail, and is worth visiting, should you find yourself nearby, as is Rock On, 3 Kentish Town Road.

There are two essential albums in English punk: Never Mind The Bollocks, Here’s The Sex Pistols, available on American Warners, and The Clash, a CBS import that may well never be released here. Hard rock fans should pick up one and seek out the other. I know no one who was bowled over by The Clash first listen, and I know a lot of people who love it now; it’s one of my favorite records of the decade. Give it some time.

Also recommended are Pure Mania by The Vibrators (now available domestically on Columbia), revved-up and slightly arty, showing roots in pop r&b to great advantage; In The City and This Is The Modern World by The Jam (domestic Polydor), in which a very bright, very ambitious working class rock and roller writes relevant songs because that seems the thing to do and proves so honest and thoughtful he renders all questions of posing, well, irrelevant; and side one of The Boomtown Rats (domestic Mercury), raw, nasty, relatively unhistrionic, and not without melodic appeal. The Heartbreakers never got to me in New York, but side one of L,A.M.F., a Track import recorded after their move to London, is a perfect, catchy version of (to borrow Caroline Coon’s phrase) MOR punk, in which (to borrow Greil Marcus’ image) the guitarist lays down a line of fire to cover the vocalist; side two ain’t so catchy. I am less impressed by The Boys (Nems import), Eater’s The Album (The Label import), and the two Damned LPs (now available domestically on Arista), but all have virtues and supporters—as do the Stranglers, I suppose. Almost no one likes either Eddie aind the Hot Rods albums.

A punk anthology I’ve been playing a lot is Streets (Beggars Banquet import); its 17 independent label cuts include no instant classics, but the overall quality, especially on side two, indicates how vital puhk is as a movement right now. I find The Roxy London W.C. 2(Jan.Apr. ’77) (EMI import), a live anthology, valuable primarily as documentary. Most of the great punk on New Wave (Vertigo import) is American. And three pub-to-punk compendiums deserve mention: A Bunch Of Stiff Records, Hit’s Greatest Stiffs, and Submarine Tracks & Fool’s Gold Chiswick Chartbusters, Volume One. All have been constructed with discophiliac attention to detail and all are proof that rock and roll, of all sorts, is here to collect.

With albums, idiosyncracies of taste tend to even out over 10 or 12 cuts: singles are more hit-or-miss. The ones I happen to love are: “Complete Control”/“City Of The Dead” by The Clash (CBS); “2-4-6-8 Motorway” by the Tom Robinson Band (now available domestically on Harvest); “Oh Bondage Up Yours”/“I Am A Cliche” by X-Ray Spex (Virgin—try to find the seven-inch version); “New Rose” by The Damned (domestically from Arista); “Johnny Won’t Get To Heaven”/ “Naive” by The Killjoys (Raw); “Can’t Stand By My Baby” by The Rezillos (Sensible); “Don’t Dictate”/“Money Talks” by Penetration (Virgin); “Right To Work” by Chelsea (Step-Forward); “Do Anything You Wanna Do” by Rods (domestic Island); and “Television Screen”/“Love Detective” by The Radiators (from Space). The latter was dismissed in Sniffin’Glue as a “moronic mess”; Michael at Discophile thinks it’s worse; and on their second single and album their producer, Roger Armstrong, has slowed down The Radiators’ r&b cliches to accentuate their song writing. I find the songs mediocre and everything but their mad debut disappointing. “I guess you haven’t had as many fast guitars in the States as we have,” Armstrong explained. Never, never—give me more.

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Finally, a book—Caroline Coon’s 1988: The New Wave funk Rock Explosion (soon to be published in the U.S. by Harvest Books). It’s no musicological classic, but for an exploitation quickie it’s well-informed, intelligent, passionate, and good to look at. The interviews—especially with The Slits—are uniformly fascinating, if partial.

Reprinted courtesy of the Village Voice