Punk Rock Wannabe in Hunstville, Alabama

For all I know, punk rock music and Huntsville, Alabama have always been synonymous in some select circles. There may very well be a punk-sanctioned map of the United States that pinpoints the Rocket City as a kind of Grand Central Station for youthful acceptance of song lyrics shouted over squirmy guitars, each clocking in around a minute and a half. However, my experience witnessing that incongruous intersection in the mid-1990's felt like I was spying on an alternate universe version of my hometown.

I had known Ryan since I was about five years old. He was always cooler than me when it came to music...well, music and everything else, but especially music. I could easily chalk it up to access, since Ryan's dad was a rock DJ and he did a bit of jockeying himself at the Skate Odyssey roller rink, but Ryan had a knack for gravitating to some really exciting corners of music. And, such as the case with all gems, punk rock music was an assortment of rough stones waiting to be unearthed, though its lack of polish is what gave it value.

I probably followed Ryan to three or four live shows (never called "concerts" for some reason), usually in somebody's weirdly unfurnished house, dark fairgrounds, or the occasional backroom of a Mexican food place. Later, I would seek out shows myself, alone or with my girlfriend Lauren, who seemed much more casually entrenched in punk culture, maybe because her older brother Donny was "old school" and about as authentic of a punk as I'd ever meet. I was a tourist at best; most of the punk guys and girls called me a "poseur" and sometimes, if they were being generous, "new school" (as in, "Nice shoes, new school. Did Pay Less have a sale this week?").

I tore the stuffing out of my grey winter coat to make it look more ragged and cool. It might not have looked more cool that way to anybody else, but at least it was less puffy. However, I stopped short of drawing an Anarchy symbol on it, never sure if that was "conformist" or not. I would buy homemade cassettes of local bands with Xeroxed black-and-white covers and put Vaseline in my hair before going to shows. My head would be shiny and funny-smelling for days afterward, but the energy of the bands I saw was awe-inspiring. Of course, the crowds would be less energetic, usually just casually nodding, save for random acts of "moshing" which would usually lead to short-lived fistfights.

The most notoriously-named and insanely talented band playing in northern Alabama at that time was Joey Tampon and the Toxic Shocks. I only caught one of their live shows at a downtown dive, but Joey was an incredibly nice guy that didn't seem to care that I'd forgotten to put Vaseline in my hair that night. Lauren and I once made a trip to an abandoned shopping mall just to see The Fun Girls perform and were incredibly disappointed to hear that they didn't do the "cross-dressing thing" anymore. Well, that turned out to be untrue and I can't tell you how excited we were to see the guys take to the mall's makeshift stage in full feminine costumes, complete with their burly bass player painted blue from head-to-toe, wearing a tight white dress, a la Smurfette. But my favorite show was one put on by the Grumpies in a cold park near Airport Road that I still believe somehow magically didn't exist during the daytime. The band's songs were poppy and wonderful, their energy palpable, and it was the fastest I've ever seen a guy replace a busted guitar string. Also, I'm pretty sure their drummer was a Vietnam vet forever lost in the throws of combat shock, fueling his rage through the most basic of drum kits.

Before long, Ryan was playing in his own band, though I can't remember the name of it now. I caught him playing a crazy show at a place called Bandito Burrito where he spent about half of his set hiding amongst the crowd while his fifteen-year-old drummer, the Notorious B.O.B., was the only visible part of the band. Still, the crowd loved the gimmick and Ryan's songs took on a life of their own in that way. I congratulated him after the show on a great performance and caught a bit of the following band, fronted by a completely nude man who had strategically lowered the strap on his guitar so that it covered his shame.

I never formed a band during that time, happy enough just to be a fan and play the punk rock part, easily falling short of authenticity. Before long, I started getting attention at my high school for my acting abilities, which led to the inevitable transition from my gutted grey coat and Vaselined hair to old man makeup and plenty of shiny black shoes from Pay Less. But my time exploring Huntsville's punk rock scene gave me a unforgettable glimpse into the fun and dangerous side of a city I called home for the first eighteen years of my life. And I like to believe that the scene still exists there, shouting pure electricity to those who seek out the shadowy corners of town.