FRIENDSHIP PUNK

I’m about to interview Pinhead Gunpowder and all I can think about is Madonna. I have 15 minutes on Zoom with the punk quartet made up of Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong (vocals/guitar), Aaron Cometbus (drums/lyrics), Jason White (vocals/guitar), and Bill Schneider (bass), and it’s reminding me of when I interviewed Madonna in 2015—who was my very first concert at 7 years old. Back then I got 20 in-person minutes that turned into 30, and I was so nervous I drank too much of the free greenroom white wine. Afterward her publicist took some pictures of us on the white leather couch, and then the Queen of Pop took my phone and deleted all the pictures she didn’t like, leaving me with one shot, where she looked glowy, glamorous, her platinum hair curled and coiffed. We were so close our knees were touching: me in denim overalls, Madonna in gauzy black chiffon.

I realize writing about the banal mechanics behind the interview can come off as both apologetic and as lame as the “and then we slid across the red leather banquette for lunch and [insert famous actor’s name] ordered the chicken Caesar—hold the croutons,” but look, this is the scene: There’s four fiftysomething punk dudes adorably squashed thigh-to-thigh on a small couch in a Toronto hotel room. After my first question, Armstrong launches into an answer, but someone’s accidentally pressed mute. Green Day are mid-tour—celebrating the 30 and 20-year anniversaries of Dookie and American Idiot, respectively—and on screen the 52-year-old looks pretty much the same as he did in 1994, bleached-blond, dark roots growing.

But today the foursome are gathered to chat about Pinhead Gunpowder’s new album Unt, which clearly stands for “Untitled” but could definitely double as an emphatic mid-song grunt. A compendium of tight, hooky power-pop punk that barrels through, barely touching 33 minutes. They’re in and out. (Much like me today.)

Produced by longtime Green Day audio engineer/ mixer Chris Dugan (and the drummer in the Coverups; see the abbreviated East Bay punk scene family tree), Unt is trademark PG—Armstrong and White trading off on vocals, joining forces on doubled-up, harmony-driven choruses that are made for hollering (“Scum of the Earth”). Elsewhere the distorted, punchy “Chowchilla” offers a tougher, OG edge. The vibe is defiantly upbeat even as the band mulls over a fraught future, the individual, and collectivism. On “¡Hola Canada!” they contemplate becoming “expat runaways,” while album closer “Song for Myself” considers: “I think our generation should have something more to say/Are we going to sit here with a stoned-out smile and watch the world go away?”

Unt is long-awaited, but its arrival is also never guaranteed. It’s Pinhead Gunpowder’s first full-length album since 1997’s Goodbye Ellston Avenue (the 1994 LP Jump Salty being a compilation of their first two EPs, '91’s Tründle and Spring and ’92’s Fahizah), and their first new music since 2008’s “West Side Highway” 7-inch. In the in-between, they’ve released a clutch of EPs and compilation albums, and in 2021 they rereleased their entire catalog on vinyl, dropping limited-edition bundles each accompanied by exclusive T-shirts and art on 1-2-3-4 Go! Records.

Aaron Cometbus founded the group in 1991, cycling through a personnel change in the first few months so that the second iteration included Armstrong and Sarah Kirsch (a fellow Bay Area punk fixture who passed in 2012 from a rare genetic disease at 42). That same year, the trio knuckled down to record and release the aforementioned debut EP, Tründle and Spring. By that point, Green Day were up and running, and the graffitied all-ages venue and clubhouse 924 Gilman St. was a thriving central hub for Berkeley’s punk scene. Meanwhile, Cometbus was already a local lynchpin: By his mid-20's he was a founding member of Crimpshrine (along with Jesse Michaels, and briefly Tim Armstrong, who would later form Operation Ivy). Beyond music, Cometbus was and remains a prolific writer, the founder of his influential eponymous zine, the self-published contents of which include interviews, heartfelt essays, and memoir-esque pieces. Cometbus now stands as a chronicle of punk history as it happened, a reflection on its cultural impact by exploring the intricacies of underground music scenes and the struggles and triumphs of small, independent communities.

As a writer, he captures the spirit of rebellion, friendship, and the quest for authenticity, all while maintaining a distinctly personal narrative style. These days his zines are highly sought-after and tough to get ahold of, with some issues going for as much as 100 bucks (early issues were initially sold for $1-2). Various national libraries and educational institutions have also preserved his work. As one internet listing quips: “If you’ve never read Cometbus, are you really a punk?”

The more recent resurgence in (niche) print publications in the flux and flow of the media landscape is certainly one Cometbus appreciates. “I actually just got a copy of CREEM from 1970,” the 56-year-old shares, adding, “but I would say it’s not as cool as the later ones.”

The 2010 #54 installment of Cometbus titled “In China With Green Day” is one of the most coveted in his catalog. Just as the title suggests, the pages offer a snapshot of Green Day’s tour of Asia that year. Cometbus joins the crew as a roadie for the first time in 20 years. And boy, a lot had changed—the last time Cometbus was on the road in that capacity, it was in a van; in China they had a 70-something crew in tow.

In the pages of #54, Cometbus explores the shifting nature of friendship, punk purism, and the power of music against the backdrop of fame and a lengthy shared personal history. Just where do those snaking roads split and come together again? It’s tender, searing, and honest.

Jason White was also on that Asia tour, having joined Green Day as a touring guitarist in 1999. Both Armstrong and Cometbus first met White on the aforementioned 20-years-ago tour when he approached them with a demo of his then band Chino Horde. “Like all punks from Little Rock, he soon moved to the East Bay,” writes Cometbus.

White and Cometbus became roommates, went on the road together, and wound up with an ex in common. White also briefly attended high school with Bill Schneider and has a cameo making out in the video for “When I Come Around,” plus White helped run Billie Joe’s indie label Adeline Records (which also released Schneider and White’s project the Influents). As for Schneider, he started guitar-teching for GD in the mid-’90s and is now part of the band’s day-to-day management.

All of which is to say, these roots run deep, and Pinhead Gunpowder are founded on friendship and fun. They’ve performed fewer than 20 shows in public, their releases are sporadic at best, but they continue to play with each other—without an audience, when the scheduling Jenga of life allows it—because they love it. We have a record at last, just don’t hold your breath for a tour.

“We talked about playing some shows, but nothing definite,” offers Armstrong noncommittally. “We’re just sort of flirting with the idea and seeing if our timeline falls on the same page.”

You’re releasing a record after a gazillion years. Why now?

Billie Joe Armstong: I sent Aaron some music, just some melodies, and then he wrote some lyrics. I don’t know if that’s where it started...

Aaron Cometbus: That’s where it started, but we’ve been playing every year the whole time—for 35 years. We never stopped playing.

Did the process of going through your catalog for the reissues affect the creative process for Unt?

Cometbus: Yeah, having to get all those records together definitely spurred more interest in all of us, like, “Oh yeah, we have those songs, and we have these things, and it’d be cool to be creative and finish some stuff that we’ve had hanging around for a while.” It felt good getting back into the studio and seeing what was going to work.

Bill Schneider: The reissues were a total fucking pain in the ass, but that’s okay! The weird thing was that we rereleased five records, and we got along through the whole process, which maybe took three years. So I think that was what kick-started it. Like, oh, we work pretty well together!

Cometbus: We put those records out starting in 1991, so we didn’t have the artwork or digital masters of any kind. So we had to go back and find all these pieces and reassemble everything, almost like a new release.

Schneider: It was easier to do the new thing, honestly! [Everyone laughs.]

You all have such long-standing relationships with one another, some of which go back to you being teenagers. I’m curious if you can remember your first impressions?

Armstrong: I remember Aaron walking around Gilman with a Black Sabbath hat on, even though he wasn’t a Black Sabbath fan. And then the first time we ever really talked, it was probably 1988 or ’89. When Green Day were still Sweet Children we played a show at a Masonic Temple in Vallejo, California, and then we started just talking about songs and girls. I have a pretty good memory of it.

Cometbus: I almost fell through the roof! There was this weird room at the top, which was sort of like the old costume room. It was very strange. Billie and I met Jason at the same time; we were on the first Green Day tour in Memphis, Tennessee. I don’t remember when I first met Bill. With Bill and Billie both, it was more of a sense that, by the time you realized who they were, you already knew them.

Schneider: Right, we knew each other’s bands more than we knew each other.

Cometbus: The band partly started because Bill and Sarah had a band that rehearsed at my house. So I would be trying to sleep and I would be woken up every day, a few times, because they’d rehearse four or five bands in the day, and then they were like, “Hey, do you want to jam too?” Like, really, you want to jam with me? I was sort of the old grumpy guy, even though I was, like...fun! [Laughs] Schneider: That is true.

And then Bill and Jason, you were in high school together for a hot minute, right?

Jason White: Just a hot minute. I knew who Bill was because he had a band called the Skinfluents that played at lunch one day.

Schneider: We’d both moved to Walnut Creek in the Bay Area. I grew up in Santa Monica, L.A., and he grew up in Little Rock, Arkansas, and we both just happened to be at the same suburban high school and were transplants at the same time. [To White] I was a senior, you were a freshman, so we weren’t close, but we knew of each other’s existence.

Cometbus: The weird thing is that, being a band for 34 years, we kind of didn’t know each other when we started the band. I would say we all saw each other’s faults on day one—that was clear. But your strengths come out later, and they come in handy later. Sometimes it takes a few years and then you’re like, “Oh, you are really good at that”—whether it’s music, or the way you handle things, or the way you are in a crisis. I think 10, 20, 30 years on, you see it even more.

Yeah, it’s funny, I did want to talk to you about that, just what you each bring to the table; creatively, sure, but also so much of being an artist is the connectivity you have with people as humans...

Armstrong: I think that’s what Aaron was saying, still rehearsing and being in a band together but not playing shows. And also Aaron lives in New York, and I live in the Bay Area, and I could say the same thing about Bill and Jason where, if we were out in New York, Aaron says, “Hey, let’s go out and just go for a walk,” and we always call it the Cometbus tour, because Aaron would take us along to different spots, whether it’s a café or a park...

Cometbus: Or a jail, when you thought you were just going for coffee! [Laughs] For me, one of the best things about the band is that you start out with certain roles, and you think you’re stuck in them, but the power dynamics have shifted so many times in the band. Me and Bill were the main people who worked on the music on one record, me and Billie on another, me and Jason on another. Originally I was unfortunately sort of like the dictator, and then that shifted, and they got their day. I like the fact that things can change, and I don’t know that all things can, but I think because we stuck around long enough, we were able to shift in that way. We’re not all that different from our first impressions, but we grew into ourselves and each other.

I love this perspective. So as the former quasi-dictator, Aaron, are you no longer the primary lyricist?

Cometbus: I’m a little bit more than the other guys, but only by a little. On this record everybody wrote lyrics and music, which is unusual.

Schneider: On that tip, Billie and Jason and I are in the same room a lot, and we do all kinds of projects and maybe if we were working on one of our other projects we would be like, “Oh, today we’re gonna work on two songs." Aaron is like, “Okay, we did those two songs, how about 31 more?” and we’ll play 33 songs in an evening. It’s fun because it’s a different flow, everybody loves that spirit, and it’s a really good time whenever we all get together.

With some perspective from this record, are you able to pick out any overarching themes that perhaps you weren’t conscious of in the writing and recording?

White: I wrote all the lyrics to “Here Comes the Neighborhood.” We were pressed for time, so in those instances it’s really write what you know because it comes really quickly. And mine is just about having kids for the first time in my life.

Cometbus: It’s mostly songs about trying to come together and make a better world. It’s all over the place, but you can start to find little threads...

Schneider: The more I listen to the lyrics of all the songs, there’s definitely that theme. Even ones that are maybe on a sadder breakup note, they’re still aiming at the same growth through that.

Armstrong: There’s one line that Aaron wrote where it says, “If Canada can change its tune, so can you,” because Canada literally changed their national anthem. So it’s about compromise and making your bonds stronger, whether it’s with your love relationships or your friendships.