The Indiana Music Archive and Online Community
The Zero Boys
This is an article/fan piece I've written about the Zero Boys to celebrate their recent Secretly Canadian reissues. I'm sending it around a bit to find a print publisher, so if you have comments about the facts or anything else, please post them or hit me privately. It should be obvious that this is more of a memoir piece that doesn't purport to be a definitive history. I'm not the guy to write the definitive history since I was on the sidelines, but perhaps that's something somebody should do...
The Zero Boys changed my life. My discovery of the then-obscure 1980s Indianapolis punk band as a teenager helped set the course for my adult life. More importantly, however, the Zero Boys kicked major ass.
I first saw the band in the summer of 1981 at a free outdoor show in Bloomington, Indiana, my home town. I was a lonely, long-haired fourteen-year-old kid totally obsessed with rock n’ roll. I played the drums and I dreamed of being in a band. On summer afternoons and early evenings, I would follow the thump thump of distant music to live concerts by local bands. Bands seemed to play all the time in those days – on the rickety stage in the park outside the student union, at fraternity ice cream socials, even at random front yard parties. I saw mellow, bearded students playing Eagles covers, freaky “new wave” bands with wraparound shades and bright-colored jumpsuits, and meandering post-hippy jazz-rock weirdos. I didn’t discriminate; I loved it all.
The Zero Boys show was a street dance, sponsored by a local cable-only freak radio station. The term “street dance” must have been a holdover from a bygone era, because nobody ever seemed to actually dance. Nevertheless, I never missed a street dance if I could help it, because the bills were strange and unpredictable. All the local freaks came out. That evening I’d already witnessed an arty band of mopey chain-smokers dressed in all black, and a band of high-schoolers – friends of my older brother – playing punk covers. I’d have left happy at that point, but I wasn’t about to miss the band I’d really come to see. Someone told me the headliner was a “real” punk band from Indianapolis.
I knew a little bit about punk rock. I read Creem Magazine religiously, which extensively covered the London and New York punk scenes. My best friend Harry had spent the prior year in England, and he brought back a bunch of punk and ska records that we devoured. Despite my growing interest in punk, however, in those days I enjoyed nothing more than going to the arena concerts to check out the big rock acts. I saw E.L.O., Van Halen, Styx, Cheap Trick, the Police, ZZ Top, Black Sabbath, and many others. I’d beg my parents or my friends’ parents to take me see anything that came through nearby Indianapolis that wasn’t completely wussy, and then I’d proudly wear my concert T-shirt to school the next day. As far as I knew, the Police were a punk band, as were the B-52s and Talking Heads. I had a sense that the culture was in transition, but all I really cared about was whether or not the music rocked.
Although I didn’t discriminate among the bands I saw at free shows, I drew a clear distinction between local music and the bands that toured and played arenas. That’s why street dances were free while concerts cost ten bucks, right? The arena bands just played better music. If the local bands were that good, they’d be playing arenas. I clung to this attitude as I watched these four lanky guys from Indianapolis in sleeveless T-shirts and canvas sneakers set up their gear. I hoped they’d play some good rock n’ roll, maybe even some Ramones covers. I hoped to be entertained, but I didn’t expect all that much. My parents regarded Indianapolis as a cultural backwater; the popular bands from there that I heard on Indianapolis radio seemed to be run-of-the-mill, blue collar bands in the mode of R.E.O. Speedwagon or Bob Seger. As I’d learned from Creem, real punk rock came from faraway, exotic places.
The Zero Boys launched into their set with awesome precision and ferocity, leaving me dazed and disoriented. I’d never heard a band play such short songs at such fast tempos, or with so much energy. I had no context for the music; it wasn’t heavy metal, and it didn’t sound much like the punk records I’d heard. I guessed it was something entirely new. The singer, a scrappy kid who appeared to be only a few years older than me, commanded the makeshift stage as he launched one explosive, melodic song after another. I couldn’t even process what I was hearing, but in that moment I abandoned all of my notions about rock music. I was seeing the future – a future I wanted desperately to be a part of.
Over the next couple of years, inspired by that fateful summer evening, I diligently filled in my knowledge gaps regarding punk music. I read every fanzine I could find. I snapped up everything I could get my hands on: The Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, The Circle Jerks, Fear, X, The Misfits, Bad Brains, The Germs. I loved it all, but nothing really compared to my memory of the Zero Boys show. I met other punk kids. I adopted the style of the day of cropped hair, a leather jacket, and army boots, plus buttons and stickers advertising my favorite bands. I finally started my own band. I told everyone who would listen about the Zero Boys, but few had heard of them and nobody had seen them play.
Finally, in the fall of 1982, a few copies of a lurid, bright yellow album depicting a grotesque drawing of severed head arrived at local stores: the Zero Boys’ Vicious Circle LP. More than a year had passed since I’d seen the Zero Boys, so my memory was dim. I now realize that the show I saw in ‘81 occurred around the time they recorded the album. By that time, a couple years into their existence, they’d gelled into a fierce unit. Vicious Circle is practically unique among hardcore punk albums, since it was professionally recorded and performed by seasoned rock n’ roll musicians. The material is as strong as any album of its time, with accessible, sing-along choruses; the execution is far more assured and realized than many of the hardcore standard-bearers. I literally wore out my copy. I learned every word, beat, lick, and nuance of the album. To me, at the time, it was perfect.
The Vicious Circle lineup consisted of three seasoned instrumentalists in their twenties (ancient by hardcore standards): Terry “Hollywood” Howe (guitar), David “Tufty” Clough (bass), and Mark Cutsinger (drums). Each had played in pre-punk bands, playing glam, hard rock, even funk. Teenage singer Paul “Z” Mahern completed the lineup. Howe and Cutsinger had scouted Mahern after hearing his high school band play at a party. A short-lived original lineup, consisting of Howe, Cutsinger, Mahern, and bassist John Mitchell, started out playing covers, eventually composing a set of original material heavily influenced by first-generation punk acts such as The Ramones and The Sex Pistols.
The original lineup self-released a seven-inch EP titled “Livin’ in the 80s” in 1980. The EP included early versions of two songs that ended up on Vicious Circle, but when compared to Vicious Circle, the EP sounds more like a rough draft than a fully realized effort. It’s easy to identify the band’s influences from the EP, and Mahern seems in the process of finding his voice. The EP sold well locally and attracted some national attention, and the 500 copies quickly disappeared. Had the EP been their only document, it would probably not have established the band in the pantheon of American punk rock.
So how did the Zero Boys evolve from a transparently derivative, reasonably competent local punk act into the incredible band that recorded Vicious Circle in the course of a year? It’s apparent that the addition of Tufty Clough helped. As represented on Vicious Circle, the Zero Boys’ rhythm section actually swings, which is rare if not unique in early hardcore. Cutsinger demonstrates a subtle touch on the drums, often adding intricate accents on the cymbals to embellish his thundering back-beat. Clough played the bass with his fingers rather than the typical punk pick style, adding dazzling speed runs and arpeggios to the simple bass lines. The ultra-tight, rather clean rhythm section provides a strong foundation for the dirtier guitar and vocal. Howe plays actual solos – anathema to hardcore – and they work. His signature pick drags and controlled feedback bursts color the spare tracks. Mahern’s assured voice serves the songs perfectly; it’s at once melodic and abrasive, snotty and sincere. Every piece fits together, every sound is essential.
Furthermore, in the year or so between the EP and the album, hardcore finally found its way to Indianapolis. The band took its early inspiration from first generation punk such as the Sex Pistols, The Ramones, and the Stooges. Following the release of the EP, the band supported numerous hardcore bands from the coasts and major cities that visited Indianapolis on tour. The band members clearly paid attention. Whereas their early work represented on the EP paid tribute to the influences, Vicious Circle assimilates and transcends its influences. The resulting sound is signature and immediately identifiable.
My friends and I listened to and discussed Vicious Circle constantly. We talked about the lyrics, some of which were brilliant, while others seemed downright goofy. But it all sounded cool, so we gave it the benefit of the doubt. We wondered if the anti-drug songs were sincere or sarcastic (they were, in fact, sarcastic – the chant on the song Drug Free Youth is, one discovers upon close inspection, “drugs for you”). We compared the Zero Boys to other hardcore bands (favorably) and to arena superstars that now seemed like dinosaurs. We couldn’t understand why the Zero Boys weren’t famous; it seemed their rise was all but inevitable.
The Zero Boys were my true entrée into the punk scene, and I didn’t look back. I saw them perform several times, and each set proved better than the last. My friends and I drove to Indianapolis regularly from the winter of 1983 through late 1984 to see them perform with numerous lesser acts, both local and national. I lived for the adrenaline rush of sweat, crashing bodies, clenched teeth, screaming the lyrics at the top of my voice with a cluster of kids as Paul held the mic into the crowd. Once I returned from a show at 3:00 a.m. with a slam dancing injury: a gash on my chin that required a late night emergency room visit and seven stitches. I lied to my mother and told her I’d hurt myself skateboarding. I didn’t mind being forbidden to skateboard, but I wasn’t about to give up going to Zero Boys shows.
Eventually the kids on the scene started our own all-ages club in Bloomington, booking local and touring hardcore bands. In what turned out to be one of their final shows, the Zero Boys performed at our club in 1984. I remember feeling annoyed that they played a short set; however, upon re-hearing the tapes of that show, it’s that we were treated to something very special. They’d moved on from Vicious Circle, playing what songs that should have constituted their follow-up album. Paul introduced the band as “manhole.” The club stopped having shows soon thereafter; it’s like we’d fulfilled our mission by enticing our favorite band to finally return to our sleepy town.
Rumors circulated about a follow-up Zero Boys album, but eventually the band just stopped playing altogether. Tufty left to join the more established Toxic Reasons, a popular, workmanlike hardcore band from Ohio. I’m sure it was the sensible thing to do at the time. Paul formed a psychedelic band called Dandelion Abortion and started playing more frequently. My interest in hardcore gradually waned; I started playing guitar, writing songs. After high school, I packed my crate of LPs including Vicious Circle and moved to Boston for college. I didn’t listen to Vicious Circle much; I didn’t really have to. I’d memorized every second of the record; it had become part of my musical vocabulary.
Despite my own love for Vicious Circle, it didn’t really occur to me that the Zero Boys were anything but a local band. Then one day, a year or so after I’d moved to Boston, I was listening to college radio. I’d started my first real band at that point, and things were coming together very slowly. Every Sunday evening, both for entertainment and research, I listened to a show on the Emerson College station that featured a live set by a local underground band.
On the Sunday in question, the show featured a new band called The Lemonheads, a trio of local recent high school graduates. I liked their sound, which was sort of a scrappy pop/punk stew with short, melodic songs. The two singers switched between guitar and drums on every other song. Suddenly they launched into a familiar riff, a distorted two-chord boogie. Then the singer came in, “I have no heeeeeroes, I’m just havin’ a gooood tiiiimmme”. My heart leapt in my chest: it was Livin’ in the 80s, the title track from the Zero Boys EP and a standout from Vicious Circle. I couldn’t believe it.
Eventually I met The Lemonheads; later I joined the band. The first time I spoke with them, we discussed The Zero Boys. They’d learned about the band from the Harvard College radio station WHRB. Vicious Circle was considered by aesthetes and record collectors to be a classic in the genre. The album had, apparently, found its way into the right hands and the right ears. The music prevailed.
Once my own career as a musician hit its stride, I sought out Paul Mahern. After the Zero Boys split, he had become a skilled and sought-after audio engineer. He fronted an excellent psychedelic rock band called The Datura Seeds. I found him to be approachable and gracious; he even tolerated my constant raving about the Zero Boys. Paul and I became good friends, and we made several albums together. We even shared a house for a year or so in Bloomington. But I never stopped being slightly in awe of him. In fact, I’m still slightly in awe of him.
The Zero Boys eventually re-formed. A young, talented local and Vicious Circle devotee named Vess Ruhtenberg stepped in on guitar. The re-formed band made a couple of albums in the early 90s, which were released overseas. Various indie labels re-issued Vicious Circle, as interest in the album continued to grow. The most recent re-issue of the album on Secretly Canadian Records, along with the re-issue of the odds and ends compilation History of the Zero Boys (featuring the EP along with tracks recorded for the shelved second album), represents a high-water mark for the album, over twenty five years after its initial release.
After listening to Vicious Circle for the first time in at least a decade, I completely understand why I connected so strongly with the album as a teenager. The songs and performances have aged well; they sound as fresh and relevant as ever, despite some dated lyrics. One can’t help wonder how things would have been different if the album had been released at a different moment. They could have – should have – been superstars. But it really doesn’t matter now, because they inspired me and others like me at the time, and they will likely inspire future generations of disenfranchised kids as well. Rock n’ roll this great transcends time and context.
The Zero Boys changed my life. My discovery of the then-obscure 1980s Indianapolis punk band as a teenager helped set the course for my adult life. More importantly, however, the Zero Boys kicked major ass.
I first saw the band in the summer of 1981 at a free outdoor show in Bloomington, Indiana, my home town. I was a lonely, long-haired fourteen-year-old kid totally obsessed with rock n’ roll. I played the drums and I dreamed of being in a band. On summer afternoons and early evenings, I would follow the thump thump of distant music to live concerts by local bands. Bands seemed to play all the time in those days – on the rickety stage in the park outside the student union, at fraternity ice cream socials, even at random front yard parties. I saw mellow, bearded students playing Eagles covers, freaky “new wave” bands with wraparound shades and bright-colored jumpsuits, and meandering post-hippy jazz-rock weirdos. I didn’t discriminate; I loved it all.
The Zero Boys show was a street dance, sponsored by a local cable-only freak radio station. The term “street dance” must have been a holdover from a bygone era, because nobody ever seemed to actually dance. Nevertheless, I never missed a street dance if I could help it, because the bills were strange and unpredictable. All the local freaks came out. That evening I’d already witnessed an arty band of mopey chain-smokers dressed in all black, and a band of high-schoolers – friends of my older brother – playing punk covers. I’d have left happy at that point, but I wasn’t about to miss the band I’d really come to see. Someone told me the headliner was a “real” punk band from Indianapolis.
I knew a little bit about punk rock. I read Creem Magazine religiously, which extensively covered the London and New York punk scenes. My best friend Harry had spent the prior year in England, and he brought back a bunch of punk and ska records that we devoured. Despite my growing interest in punk, however, in those days I enjoyed nothing more than going to the arena concerts to check out the big rock acts. I saw E.L.O., Van Halen, Styx, Cheap Trick, the Police, ZZ Top, Black Sabbath, and many others. I’d beg my parents or my friends’ parents to take me see anything that came through nearby Indianapolis that wasn’t completely wussy, and then I’d proudly wear my concert T-shirt to school the next day. As far as I knew, the Police were a punk band, as were the B-52s and Talking Heads. I had a sense that the culture was in transition, but all I really cared about was whether or not the music rocked.
Although I didn’t discriminate among the bands I saw at free shows, I drew a clear distinction between local music and the bands that toured and played arenas. That’s why street dances were free while concerts cost ten bucks, right? The arena bands just played better music. If the local bands were that good, they’d be playing arenas. I clung to this attitude as I watched these four lanky guys from Indianapolis in sleeveless T-shirts and canvas sneakers set up their gear. I hoped they’d play some good rock n’ roll, maybe even some Ramones covers. I hoped to be entertained, but I didn’t expect all that much. My parents regarded Indianapolis as a cultural backwater; the popular bands from there that I heard on Indianapolis radio seemed to be run-of-the-mill, blue collar bands in the mode of R.E.O. Speedwagon or Bob Seger. As I’d learned from Creem, real punk rock came from faraway, exotic places.
The Zero Boys launched into their set with awesome precision and ferocity, leaving me dazed and disoriented. I’d never heard a band play such short songs at such fast tempos, or with so much energy. I had no context for the music; it wasn’t heavy metal, and it didn’t sound much like the punk records I’d heard. I guessed it was something entirely new. The singer, a scrappy kid who appeared to be only a few years older than me, commanded the makeshift stage as he launched one explosive, melodic song after another. I couldn’t even process what I was hearing, but in that moment I abandoned all of my notions about rock music. I was seeing the future – a future I wanted desperately to be a part of.
Over the next couple of years, inspired by that fateful summer evening, I diligently filled in my knowledge gaps regarding punk music. I read every fanzine I could find. I snapped up everything I could get my hands on: The Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, The Circle Jerks, Fear, X, The Misfits, Bad Brains, The Germs. I loved it all, but nothing really compared to my memory of the Zero Boys show. I met other punk kids. I adopted the style of the day of cropped hair, a leather jacket, and army boots, plus buttons and stickers advertising my favorite bands. I finally started my own band. I told everyone who would listen about the Zero Boys, but few had heard of them and nobody had seen them play.
Finally, in the fall of 1982, a few copies of a lurid, bright yellow album depicting a grotesque drawing of severed head arrived at local stores: the Zero Boys’ Vicious Circle LP. More than a year had passed since I’d seen the Zero Boys, so my memory was dim. I now realize that the show I saw in ‘81 occurred around the time they recorded the album. By that time, a couple years into their existence, they’d gelled into a fierce unit. Vicious Circle is practically unique among hardcore punk albums, since it was professionally recorded and performed by seasoned rock n’ roll musicians. The material is as strong as any album of its time, with accessible, sing-along choruses; the execution is far more assured and realized than many of the hardcore standard-bearers. I literally wore out my copy. I learned every word, beat, lick, and nuance of the album. To me, at the time, it was perfect.
The Vicious Circle lineup consisted of three seasoned instrumentalists in their twenties (ancient by hardcore standards): Terry “Hollywood” Howe (guitar), David “Tufty” Clough (bass), and Mark Cutsinger (drums). Each had played in pre-punk bands, playing glam, hard rock, even funk. Teenage singer Paul “Z” Mahern completed the lineup. Howe and Cutsinger had scouted Mahern after hearing his high school band play at a party. A short-lived original lineup, consisting of Howe, Cutsinger, Mahern, and bassist John Mitchell, started out playing covers, eventually composing a set of original material heavily influenced by first-generation punk acts such as The Ramones and The Sex Pistols.
The original lineup self-released a seven-inch EP titled “Livin’ in the 80s” in 1980. The EP included early versions of two songs that ended up on Vicious Circle, but when compared to Vicious Circle, the EP sounds more like a rough draft than a fully realized effort. It’s easy to identify the band’s influences from the EP, and Mahern seems in the process of finding his voice. The EP sold well locally and attracted some national attention, and the 500 copies quickly disappeared. Had the EP been their only document, it would probably not have established the band in the pantheon of American punk rock.
So how did the Zero Boys evolve from a transparently derivative, reasonably competent local punk act into the incredible band that recorded Vicious Circle in the course of a year? It’s apparent that the addition of Tufty Clough helped. As represented on Vicious Circle, the Zero Boys’ rhythm section actually swings, which is rare if not unique in early hardcore. Cutsinger demonstrates a subtle touch on the drums, often adding intricate accents on the cymbals to embellish his thundering back-beat. Clough played the bass with his fingers rather than the typical punk pick style, adding dazzling speed runs and arpeggios to the simple bass lines. The ultra-tight, rather clean rhythm section provides a strong foundation for the dirtier guitar and vocal. Howe plays actual solos – anathema to hardcore – and they work. His signature pick drags and controlled feedback bursts color the spare tracks. Mahern’s assured voice serves the songs perfectly; it’s at once melodic and abrasive, snotty and sincere. Every piece fits together, every sound is essential.
Furthermore, in the year or so between the EP and the album, hardcore finally found its way to Indianapolis. The band took its early inspiration from first generation punk such as the Sex Pistols, The Ramones, and the Stooges. Following the release of the EP, the band supported numerous hardcore bands from the coasts and major cities that visited Indianapolis on tour. The band members clearly paid attention. Whereas their early work represented on the EP paid tribute to the influences, Vicious Circle assimilates and transcends its influences. The resulting sound is signature and immediately identifiable.
My friends and I listened to and discussed Vicious Circle constantly. We talked about the lyrics, some of which were brilliant, while others seemed downright goofy. But it all sounded cool, so we gave it the benefit of the doubt. We wondered if the anti-drug songs were sincere or sarcastic (they were, in fact, sarcastic – the chant on the song Drug Free Youth is, one discovers upon close inspection, “drugs for you”). We compared the Zero Boys to other hardcore bands (favorably) and to arena superstars that now seemed like dinosaurs. We couldn’t understand why the Zero Boys weren’t famous; it seemed their rise was all but inevitable.
The Zero Boys were my true entrée into the punk scene, and I didn’t look back. I saw them perform several times, and each set proved better than the last. My friends and I drove to Indianapolis regularly from the winter of 1983 through late 1984 to see them perform with numerous lesser acts, both local and national. I lived for the adrenaline rush of sweat, crashing bodies, clenched teeth, screaming the lyrics at the top of my voice with a cluster of kids as Paul held the mic into the crowd. Once I returned from a show at 3:00 a.m. with a slam dancing injury: a gash on my chin that required a late night emergency room visit and seven stitches. I lied to my mother and told her I’d hurt myself skateboarding. I didn’t mind being forbidden to skateboard, but I wasn’t about to give up going to Zero Boys shows.
Eventually the kids on the scene started our own all-ages club in Bloomington, booking local and touring hardcore bands. In what turned out to be one of their final shows, the Zero Boys performed at our club in 1984. I remember feeling annoyed that they played a short set; however, upon re-hearing the tapes of that show, it’s that we were treated to something very special. They’d moved on from Vicious Circle, playing what songs that should have constituted their follow-up album. Paul introduced the band as “manhole.” The club stopped having shows soon thereafter; it’s like we’d fulfilled our mission by enticing our favorite band to finally return to our sleepy town.
Rumors circulated about a follow-up Zero Boys album, but eventually the band just stopped playing altogether. Tufty left to join the more established Toxic Reasons, a popular, workmanlike hardcore band from Ohio. I’m sure it was the sensible thing to do at the time. Paul formed a psychedelic band called Dandelion Abortion and started playing more frequently. My interest in hardcore gradually waned; I started playing guitar, writing songs. After high school, I packed my crate of LPs including Vicious Circle and moved to Boston for college. I didn’t listen to Vicious Circle much; I didn’t really have to. I’d memorized every second of the record; it had become part of my musical vocabulary.
Despite my own love for Vicious Circle, it didn’t really occur to me that the Zero Boys were anything but a local band. Then one day, a year or so after I’d moved to Boston, I was listening to college radio. I’d started my first real band at that point, and things were coming together very slowly. Every Sunday evening, both for entertainment and research, I listened to a show on the Emerson College station that featured a live set by a local underground band.
On the Sunday in question, the show featured a new band called The Lemonheads, a trio of local recent high school graduates. I liked their sound, which was sort of a scrappy pop/punk stew with short, melodic songs. The two singers switched between guitar and drums on every other song. Suddenly they launched into a familiar riff, a distorted two-chord boogie. Then the singer came in, “I have no heeeeeroes, I’m just havin’ a gooood tiiiimmme”. My heart leapt in my chest: it was Livin’ in the 80s, the title track from the Zero Boys EP and a standout from Vicious Circle. I couldn’t believe it.
Eventually I met The Lemonheads; later I joined the band. The first time I spoke with them, we discussed The Zero Boys. They’d learned about the band from the Harvard College radio station WHRB. Vicious Circle was considered by aesthetes and record collectors to be a classic in the genre. The album had, apparently, found its way into the right hands and the right ears. The music prevailed.
Once my own career as a musician hit its stride, I sought out Paul Mahern. After the Zero Boys split, he had become a skilled and sought-after audio engineer. He fronted an excellent psychedelic rock band called The Datura Seeds. I found him to be approachable and gracious; he even tolerated my constant raving about the Zero Boys. Paul and I became good friends, and we made several albums together. We even shared a house for a year or so in Bloomington. But I never stopped being slightly in awe of him. In fact, I’m still slightly in awe of him.
The Zero Boys eventually re-formed. A young, talented local and Vicious Circle devotee named Vess Ruhtenberg stepped in on guitar. The re-formed band made a couple of albums in the early 90s, which were released overseas. Various indie labels re-issued Vicious Circle, as interest in the album continued to grow. The most recent re-issue of the album on Secretly Canadian Records, along with the re-issue of the odds and ends compilation History of the Zero Boys (featuring the EP along with tracks recorded for the shelved second album), represents a high-water mark for the album, over twenty five years after its initial release.
After listening to Vicious Circle for the first time in at least a decade, I completely understand why I connected so strongly with the album as a teenager. The songs and performances have aged well; they sound as fresh and relevant as ever, despite some dated lyrics. One can’t help wonder how things would have been different if the album had been released at a different moment. They could have – should have – been superstars. But it really doesn’t matter now, because they inspired me and others like me at the time, and they will likely inspire future generations of disenfranchised kids as well. Rock n’ roll this great transcends time and context.
Comment
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Comment by mike whybark on January 16, 2009 at 7:18pm - ... And Freda, nice to hear from you in here! Tell Jake to pile in, the water's fine!
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Comment by mike whybark on January 16, 2009 at 7:14pm
- Marvin, I didn't have long hair 'til I moved out here! i would have looked roughly like this the first time we met. But I think I just figured out what you mean - I had that crazy dredhead/beard thing when i first started spending significant amounts of time in Indy and the dreads did get longish.
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Comment by mike whybark on January 16, 2009 at 7:08pm
- Ha, I remember working on deprogramming Lee a few years later. I think he may even have come to a couple shows at Ricky's and been freaked out by the kids rolling around on the floor. God, i think I may have met him via QAX pretty damn early, 1980 or so maybe? JB, do you remember if Lee was at QAX for the duck incident?
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Comment by John P. Strohm on January 16, 2009 at 7:05pm - I was just a nice kid back then, disliked occasionally only because I had a good-looking girlfriend. I didn't become the monster I am today until I'd been on MTV and hung around Evan Dando.
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Comment by Marvin P. Goldstein on January 16, 2009 at 6:48pm - Yea, that hippie hating thing was really popular with us earlierish Punks! We all used to yell at people to get a haircut, although just a few years prior we were hippies. Mark was quite the stud, and attracted many a women back then! Funny, I remember that Mikebark and Burd were both Punkies (Punk Hippies), but I loved all the Bloomington kids. I don't remember hating you Strohm till a lot later! Just kidding.
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Comment by John P. Strohm on January 16, 2009 at 6:24pm
- Cutsinger is hot.
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Comment by John P. Strohm on January 16, 2009 at 6:23pm
- Pretty much every single punk of my age from Bloomington smoked cloves. If you'd have suggested it was hippy at the time, you'd have had a gang fight. That's my memory of Ricky's - the smell being a mix of moldy used clothing from the Salvation Army store and clove cigarettes. That Lee guy did not understand rock. He's found his perfect niche doing that world music festival, but he had no business booking rock acts. Sort of elitist as I recall.
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Comment by Marvin P. Goldstein on January 16, 2009 at 5:41pm
- Us haters stand our ground, Mikebark! I think the Cigs actually smoked cloves, and we thought that was hippie shit! We did like no wave, due to the connection with Hardly Music Records. I remember, I think the Zero Boys actually got banned from Second Story for being too Punk. That Lee guy really hated us!
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Comment by Freda Love on January 16, 2009 at 5:28pm -
yes, that's so cool: the dancing cigarettes, ampehtamine addiction, all of it. great. i would add all that in. marc alghini!
i sure do remember the show at the academy and it was pretty damn epic. i think you're right, that they played the album, because that's the feeling i remember; knowing every song, freaking out about every single one.
and reagan platz thought cutsinger was hot.
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Comment by mike whybark on January 16, 2009 at 5:18pm
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Laurie *just* posted the Academy show flyer, like, yesterday.
Also, there is an outside chance if the street dance was in Dunn Meadow that it was WIUS affiliated.
Funny, Marvin, I always reeally liked the Cigs; still do, truth be told. I'm not sure I even realized that Terril was in the band until years and years later.
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Andy, yeah, I know what you're saying...the Lemonheads then instantly faded into multi-platinum obscurity. That's such a great perspective when most people have no idea the band even existed pre-1992.
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ahhhh Bullet Lavolta,their 1st 12" almost bordered on being the new Jerry`s Kids !!! Then they hit the UK with the Lemonheads & they both fell away.....those were the days lol
What gets me is people forget that punk/hardcore was NOT a private party…
Burd, I would never accuse you of being shy about speaking your mind. And I doubt anyone would have thought me anything but a raging snob from way back. And with the anti-Manilow snobbery of the post below, we continue to have plenty in common. FTR:…
John, it didn't seem like good natured to me when I went back and looked. It reeked of pretentious snobbery. Haughtiness. The funny thing is; I'd probably step up and say something if someone was doing it to you. Incidently, there are all sorts of t…
John I will indeed buy you a drink but you will first have to drive the van of screaming kids northward!
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