Books for Dudes: A Punk Rock Bibliography

By Douglas Lord -- Library Journal, 7/1/2009 8:40:00 AM

Stick with me, I’m going out on a limb here: librarianship and punk rock are closer in spirit than you might initially think. I’m going further: libraries ARE punk (hey, they're two great tastes that go great together!). Consider the following points:

• Both punk and ’braries favor a grassroots, do-it-yourself approach to reaching audiences; when punks can’t get record deals, they form their own labels. When librarians get all access-angsty, we turn to open-source solutions.
• Neither cares too much about packaging or exteriors—it’s what’s on the inside (your heart, your need) that counts.
• Never forget that both have hard-core aesthetic concerns, with one favoring combat boots and safety pins, the other cat sweaters and socks with sandals.

Even though I’m a relative poseur, punk informed my sense of self and my life mission from 1982 to 1990ish: Reach out, try something, do something, try to make it good. OK, perhaps that last part is more residual Boy Scouts and Catholicism than punk, but you get the picture. A dude is often comprised of impulses from pretty disparate sources. As a librarian, I help people; as a punk rock fan, I listen to youth singing about wanting to help change stuff. Punky mod revivalist Paul Weller of The Jam fumed in "In the City" thus: "I wanna say, I wanna tell you/ About the young ideas/ But you turn them into fears/ In the city there's a thousand faces all shining bright/ And those golden faces are under 25."

And I’m not talking about YA shelves and gamer programming. Real change can find a forum in libraries where we render few judgments and give all-access passes to as many as possible.

So punk is the music and culture against which I gauge both work ethics and rock bands. Blink 182 is mediocre stacked up against Ed Gein’s Car. Avril Lavigne has nothing on Exene Cervenka (though Amy Winehouse might). And, sure, Green Day is cheerfully remaking The Clash, but at least those guys are open about it. Work-wise, the traditional reference model has pretty much died; we need to be roaming, digital and maximize use of our dwindling resources. All of which point out the fine, organic goodness of Kings of Leon, Spoon, and Jessamyn West.

When I load up my iPod for a long run or make a mix CD for someone special (this task, BTW, does not compare with the artistry and complexity involved in making a mix tape), I look for excellence from which to pull and ponder. Even if I don’t wind up choosing a particular Clash song, a song with a similar vibe might fill the spot. Is it all that different when I’m blogging about some great new resource that helps connect people with the information they need? Is there a huge difference between a deep-in-the-stacks bibliography pull or sitting on the floor at home sorting through knee-high piles of CDs and albums (my son calls these "those really big CDs"? Bibliographies and mix tapes have purposes and audiences.

Try replacing the word punk with the words a library in this sentence from encyclopedist Brian Cogan: "to those who need what punk has to offer, it doesn’t ever go away."

And as Paul Weller wrote, "[I]f it don't work, at least we say we tried!"

Headon, Topper & others. The Clash. Grand Central. 2008. 384p. ed. by Mal Peachey. illus. ISBN 978-0-44653-973-9. $45. MUSIC
This is one big, fat, sexy book. Compared with more scholarly works like Marcus Gray’s Last Gang in Town: The Story and Myth of the Clash or Chris Salewicz’s Redemption Song: The Ballad of Joe Strummer, this is pure pap. But, damn, if it ain’t a pleasure to riffle through. It’s too weird that my anticapitalistic heroes have a coffee table book, so I need to remind myself that it’s only rock ‘n’ roll (and I like it; yes, I do). Not much in this book is new, but that’s not the point—it’s a celebration, not a completist tract, of a band that tried its damndest to make you think. Lavish and lush, it chronologically presents the band’s eight years in photos of the players and ephemera (adverts, ticket stubs, set lists, tour itineraries, etc.) in a way that Pennie Smith’s powerful black-and-white portraits from The Clash: Before and After don’t. It captures a bit of the band’s energy, reveals some of the inner processes and struggles, and also shows what fashion sluts they were. (See LJ’s original review.)

Cogan, Brian. Encyclopedia of Punk. Sterling. 2008. 400p. illus. ISBN 978-1-4027-5960-4. pap. $24.95. MUSIC
Populist rather than elitist, Cogan refreshingly contends that punk didn’t die in 1982 as so many purists contend—it’s a living ethic that will be around "as long as bored teenagers get together…start their own bands, and try to live by their own artistic and aesthetic code." His impressive encyclopedia thoroughly covers canonical figures like Johnny Rottten, related genres (e.g., rockabilly and reggae), and influential musicians (read: Nico). Fantastic photography sweetens the package, but musical snob that I am, I have quibbles. Uniform-length entries give approximately the same amount of ink to punk giants (like Minor Threat) as to a good-not-great band (like 76% Uncertain). Like everyone else, he skips The Nerves and pays too much attention to Joy Division. At $24.95, this fat coffee-table book is a bargain, though it’s unlikely that true punks will have a coffee table for it to stand on. Note: this was originally published in hardcover as Encyclopedia of Punk Music and Culture by Greenwood Press in 2006. (See LJ’s original review.)

McNeil, Legs & Gillian McCain. Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk. reprint. Grove. 2006. 452p. illus. ISBN 978-0-8021-4264-1. pap. $16. MUSIC
This 100 percent great tome, originally published in 1996, provides interviews with all the major players from the American (mostly New York) and English punk scenes. Think of it as an in-their-own-words companion to Cogan’s Encyclopedia of Punk (above). While some of the text is banal, like reading Iggy Pop talk about cigarettes or hamburgers, and some is disturbing, like pretty much any Johnny Thunders anecdote, it’s mostly wicked interesting. For instance, Dee Dee Ramone describes the mess of tension and animosity between band mates in The Ramones. Who knew the dudes who sang "Gabba Gabba, we accept you" didn’t get along? (See LJ’s original review.)

Rollins, Henry. Get in the Van. 2d ed. 2.13.61. 2004. 256p. illus. ISBN 978-1-880985-76-2. pap. $20. MUSIC
Once known as "The Angriest Man in Los Angeles" (watch the 1985 short film The Right Side of My Brain for proof), Rollins has been busy both distancing himself from and celebrating his involvement with the hugely respected hard-core band Black Flag since their 1986 breakup. Originally published in 1994, this underground classic is augmented by more photos and a few new insights. While some of Rollins’s reminiscences sound just plain stupid—"I hope I get bashed up soon. I need the pain to play"—some are nicely crystallized moments of hindsight, e.g., "the essence of Black Flag…Endlessly pushing on one of our broken vans."

Moore, Thurston with Byron Coley. No Wave: Post-Punk. Underground. New York. 1976-1980. Abrams. 2008. 143p. illus. ISBN 978-0-8109-9543-7. $24.95. MUSIC
Moore of Sonic Youth fame is older than you think he is. I actually got to meet him once at a show; yes, dudes have brushes with greatness. He and Coley offer a glimpse into the particularly dirty-looking no wave scene that sprang up in New York City in the vacuum created by the demise of the Patti Smith–Television–New York Dolls triumvirate. Termed a "photo essay" by the authors, this documents chronologically the scene with lots of portraits and group shots at CBGBs, Max’s Kansas City, The Kitchen, and Franklin Furnace. It’s the kind of scene where Jean-Michel Basquiat or Iggy Pop turn up, and the fascinating-as-a-rotten-carcass Lydia Lunch figures prominently.

Savage, Jon. England’s Dreaming: Anarchy, Sex Pistols, Punk Rock and Beyond. rev. ed. St. Martin’s. 2002. 656p. illus. ISBN 978-0-312-28822-8. pap. $22.95. MUSIC
Half of the charm of this old chestnut is Savage’s closeness to the subject. A London based punk aficionado, he wrote about the scene for Sounds magazine, and the book retains some of the time’s frenetic energy. The other half of its charm is that punk and the Pistols are merely the lens through which Savage examines the culture of recessionista England. Long and ridiculously detailed, this stands as one of the first "serious" treatments of punk as a movement; it manages to place punk definitively in its larger historical, social, and political contexts (even if many of the participants didn’t. Can you hear me, Billy Idol?). Plus, there’s plenty of juicy bits. Impresario Malcolm McLaren is revealed as an overambitious Napoleon; Sid Vicious is shown to be the complete moron that he was (especially stacked up against original bassist and songwriter Glen Matlock). Jah Wobble even gets some props. Pick it up on the cheap on half.com or eBay. This revised edition covers the Pistols' 1996 reunion and provides a new introduction. The ultimate English punk analysis by an astute thinker and fan. (See LJ's original review.)

Summers, Andy. One Train Later: A Memoir. Griffin: Saint Martin's. 2007. 368p. illus. ISBN 978-0-312-37481-5. pap. $14.95. MUSIC
Summers’s literate autobiography succeeds at chronicling his time as guitarist for The Police and at relating his own musical development. A journeyman who had kicked around London during the early 1970s before hooking up with The Police, Summers had no special bond to punk, and the reason his book is included here is strictly personal. I was 12 years old when I handed over my hard-won $8.98 for the band’s first album, Outlandos d’Amour, to the fella behind the counter of The Paperback Booksmith. I vividly remember this guy telling me, in his way-cool-music-shop-guy jargon, "That album was packed when The Police were still billed as a punk band." I enjoyed how the band created space for songs (e.g., "Hole in My Life") and then wandered around inside; silence, emptiness, and expanses were important and each successive album felt more evolved (or perhaps it was only Mr. Toe Sucker evolving). While the book ends with the Police’s demise (the curious will love it), I had hoped it would cover his solo career and two albums with Robert Fripp. (See LJ’s original review.)

Extra Credit

Bukszpan, David. Encyclopedia of Heavy Metal. Sterling. 2003. 300p. illus. ISBN 978-0-7607-4218-1. pap. $19.95. MUSIC
There was a time when punk somehow met metal; in Connecticut, this was about 1986. The result was fewer fistfights in the parking lot of the Enfield Roller World and less facing off at Toad’s Place in New Haven. It was weird, but I despised metalheads less. Big hair? No problem. I can deal. Lavishly illustrated, this alphabetically covers all the heavy metal bands that you know and love (Scorpions, Zep, Priest). There are also the ones you’d rather not know (Korn, Insane Clown Posse). Then, too, it includes some that give Satan nightmares (Marilyn Manson, Cannibal Corpse). Bukszpan’s entries drip with sarcasm and wry disrespect, providing excellent comic relief to a genre that somehow manages to take itself way too seriously and relentlessly poke fun at itself. Mocking Sebastian Bach (Skid Row) is like shooting fish in a barrel, but Bukszpan roasts Whitesnake, too. Extra-long entries are provided for significant bands (e.g., Metallica, Zep, KISS), but it’s sometimes funny to see bands like L7 or Queen here. Also, this gives overdue props to a lot of fine bands, like King’s X and UFO. There are a lot of top 10 lists in the back for musical noobs like me (bassists, goofiest/most awesome songs, most rabid fan bases, etc.).

Smith, Chris. 101 Albums That Changed Popular Music. Oxford. 2009. 304p. ISBN 978-0-19-537371-4. pap. $18.95. MUSIC
Honestly, I love this book for one reason—it will score me maximum points at parties when I parrot its contents arguing with other musicos (hey, Matthew Moyer, think you can take me?). However, it’s also completely charming because it’s jammed with fascinating historical tidbits about the titular albums. Proving a consummate music critic/historian, Smith sums up each entry in two to three pages, replete with the essence of the album’s importance and historical context. And while there are no "controversial" picks here, Smith certainly draws from a huge musical pool. Classics (Floyd, Beatles, etc.) are here, as are Trout Mask Replica and Bitch’s Brew. But Television’s Marquee Moon, Metallica’s Kill ’Em All, and Public Enemy’s It Takes a Nation… are also, finally, recognized as "significant."