Punk, Ageing and Time 3031478231, 9783031478239

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PALGRAVE STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF SUBCULTURES AND POPULAR MUSIC

Punk, A ge PALGRAVE STU HISTORY O DIES IN THE F SUBCULT URES AND POPU LAR MUSIC

ing and Time

Edited b y Laura W ay · Mat t

Grimes

Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music Series Editors

Keith Gildart University of Wolverhampton Wolverhampton, UK Anna Gough-Yates University of Roehampton London, UK Sian Lincoln Liverpool John Moores University Liverpool, UK Bill Osgerby London Metropolitan University London, UK Lucy Robinson University of Sussex Brighton, UK John Street University of East Anglia Norwich, UK Peter Webb University of the West of England Bristol, UK Matthew Worley University of Reading Reading, UK

From 1940s zoot-suiters and hepcats through 1950s rock ‘n’ rollers, beatniks and Teddy boys; 1960s surfers, rude boys, mods, hippies and bikers; 1970s skinheads, soul boys, rastas, glam rockers, funksters and punks; on to the heavy metal, hip-hop, casual, goth, rave and clubber styles of the 1980s, 90s, noughties and beyond, distinctive blends of fashion and music have become a defining feature of the cultural landscape. The Subcultures Network series is international in scope and designed to explore the social and political implications of subcultural forms. Youth and subcultures will be located in their historical, socio-economic and cultural context; the motivations and meanings applied to the aesthetics, actions and manifestations of youth and subculture will be assessed. The objective is to facilitate a genuinely cross-disciplinary and transnational outlet for a burgeoning area of academic study.

Laura Way  •  Matt Grimes Editors

Punk, Ageing and Time

Editors Laura Way University of Roehampton London, UK

Matt Grimes Birmingham City University Birmingham, UK

ISSN 2730-9517     ISSN 2730-9525 (electronic) Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music ISBN 978-3-031-47822-2    ISBN 978-3-031-47823-9 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland Paper in this product is recyclable.

We want to dedicate this book to all the punks that make up this diverse, global community which the editors and contributors are proud to be aligned to. UP THE PUNKS!

Acknowledgements

The editors would like to extend their thanks again to those who contributed to this collection. We would also like to thank the peer reviewers for the time and energy they have given to critically support the authors in strengthening their arguments and contributing towards an academically rigorous edition. Thank you to the Birmingham Centre for Media and Cultural Research at Birmingham City University for financially supporting the process of indexing the collection and thank you to Dino Costi for providing your very thorough indexing services. We would lastly like to acknowledge the support from the editorial team at Palgrave Macmillan and thank them for their ongoing support and guidance to bring this book to publication.

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About the Book

Punk Passages offers the first edited collection to focus on punk, ageing and/or temporality. Whilst a body of work concerned with punk and ageing has begun to be developed, this is still very much in its infancy. Indeed, work approaching punk and ageing, which takes into consideration intersectionality (for example, speaking to also how gender, ethnicity/race, sexuality, disability and/or class intersect with ageing), is extremely limited. Similar problems are found in scholarship focusing on how punk is remembered and represented—this might entail the ‘writing out’ or the minimising of particular participants’ involvement (Reddington, 2006; Stewart, 2019; Wiedlack, 2015), for example, or the way punk historiography assumes whiteness as the taken-for-granted subject position in punk (Davila, 2019). Punk Passages responds to such issues, covering areas such as punk and ageing; the relationship between temporality and particular concepts relevant to punk; and punk memory, remembering and/or forgetting; and offers consideration of areas which have as yet received very little to no academic attention.

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Contents

1 Introduction  1 Laura Way and Matt Grimes 2 Rejecting  and Resisting Ageism: Female Perspectives of Ageing with Punk 15 Alison Willmott 3 Lifestyle  and Memory: Profiling Two Generations of Ageing Czech Male Punks 33 Ondřej Daniel 4 ‘…  And Out Come the Comps’: Punk-O-­Rama, Pro Skater, and Their Roles as Peak Music Experiences in a Current Punk Identity 53 Ellen Bernhard 5 Young  Punk, Old Punk, Running Punk: Keeping the Old Ones Cool and the Young Ones Fresh 71 Ashley Morgan and Chris Inglis 6 Live  Fast, Die Old. Experiences of Ageing in Portuguese Punk DIY Scenes since the Late 1970s 93 Paula Guerra

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Contents

7 “I’m  Not Someone Who Calls Himself an Anarchist, I am an Anarchist”: The Continuing Significance of Anarchism in the Later Lives of Ex-Adherents of British Anarcho-Punk113 Matt Grimes 8 Memories  of the Past, Inequalities of the Present: The Temporality of Subcultural Violence, Gender, and Authenticity135 Matthew Newsom 9 Punk,  Literature and Midlife Creativity: Ordinary Stories, Ordinary Men157 Philip Miles 10 Exploring  Older Punk Women’s Conceptualisation of ‘Punk’ through Participant-Created Zine Pages177 Laura Way 11 Working  With/In: An Exploration of Queer Punk Time and Space in Collaborative Archival Workshops201 Kirsty Fife 12 Enduring  Attachments: On the Temporalities of Punk225 George C. Grinnell 13 Generation  Lost: Resignation, Rupture, and the Infinite Realities of Post-Future Punk243 Owen Morawitz Index259

Notes on Contributors

Ellen  Bernhard  is an assistant professor of Digital Communication at Georgian Court University, New Jersey. Her book Contemporary Punk Rock Communities: Scenes of Inclusion and Dedication was published in 2019. She is US East Coast representative of the Punk Scholars Network since 2019. Ondrˇej  Daniel  is an assistant professor in the Department of World History at Charles University. His current work examines intersections of class and xenophobia in contemporary Czech society, and he has published on the role of subcultures and violence in the development of postsocialist mainstream Czech culture and DIY subcultural practices. Kirsty Fife  is a lecturer in Digital Information and Curation at Manchester Metropolitan University, UK. Lecturer, archivist, zine maker and cultural organizer in DIY music communities. Their PhD research explores documenting and archiving UK DIY music spaces. Matt  Grimes is a senior lecturer in music industries and radio at Birmingham City University. He was awarded his PhD in 2020, researching British anarcho-­punk and its ideological significance in the life courses of ageing anarcho-punks. His other research interests include music cultures/subcultures; music entrepreneurship and innovation; DIY music scenes and music activism. He has published on the subjects of anarchopunk, anarcho-punk ‘zines, punk pedagogy, popular music and spirituality, DIY/Underground music cultures/subcultures, counter-­ cultural movements, and radio for social change. He is the general secretary of the xiii

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NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Punk Scholars Network and associate editor for the journal Punk & PostPunk. Matt is also a lifelong supporter of Millwall FC. George  C.  Grinnell  is an associate professor in English and Cultural Studies, UBC Okanagan Campus, British Colombia. Author of The Social Life of Biometrics and The Age of Hypochondria and is the recipient of the Gustave O. Arlt Award in the Humanities in 2011 from the Council of Graduate Schools. SSHRC-funded research on culture and theory. Paula  Guerra  is Professor of Sociology, University of Porto, Portugal, and researcher at the university’s Institute of Sociology. Also part of other international research centres: Centre for Geography and Spatial Planning Studies; Transdisciplinary Research Centre; Adjunct Associate Professor of the Griffith Centre for Social and Cultural Research, Australia. Chris Inglis  is a Learning Support Coordinator, BIMM Bristol. Received his PhD in Musicology from the University of South Wales in 2019 with a thesis entitled ‘Engaging with Electro Swing: Resurrection, Recontextualisation, and Remix’. Philip Miles  is Senior Lecturer in Sociology, University of Bedfordshire, UK. Cultural sociologist with specific interests in the sociology of literature and the study of creativity. He is the author of an ethnographic account of the creative practices of musicians, fine artists and literature authors. Owen  Morawitz is an independent scholar based in Australia. His research focuses on violence in narrative fiction and media, alongside issues in continental philosophy, ontology, representation, aesthetics, anthropocentrism, and posthumanism. Also a freelance writer with a focus on music, film, media, and alternative culture. Ashley Morgan  is a masculinities scholar, Cardiff Metropolitan University (UK). Researches into masculine identity, clothing, geeks, sex, toxic masculinity, and hybrid masculinity. Recently published on hybrid masculinity and clothing amongst rock stars. Award-Winning Running Punk. Matthew  Newsom  is a visiting assistant professor of Anthropology, Department of History, Sociology and Anthropology, Southern Utah University. Cultural and psychological anthropologist interested in the mutually constitutive relationship between collective memories and the myriad social identities people fashion for themselves.

  NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS 

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Laura Way  is currently senior lecturer in Sociology at the University of Roehampton, UK. A feminist sociologist, Laura specialises in qualitative research which employs creative and/or participatory methods, and she researches predominantly in areas concerning ageing and gender, marginalised identities and communities, subcultures, and punk pedagogies. Laura’s PhD research with older punk women led to the publication of the monograph Punk, Gender and Ageing. Just Typical Girls? (Emerald, 2020), and she has co-edited several academic collections (Postgraduate Voices in Punk Studies; Men and their Welfare; Punk Pedagogies in Practice). Laura is currently a co-editor of Sociological Research Online and sits on the advisory board of Punk & Post-Punk. Alison  Willmott  Independent Scholar, UK.  Holds a PhD from the Centre for Women, Ageing and Media, University of Gloucestershire, for research concerning ageing punk women.

List of Figures

Fig. 5.1 Fig. 10.1 Fig. 10.2 Fig. 10.3 Fig. 10.4 Fig. 10.5 Fig. 10.6 Fig. 10.7

A group of Running Punks Zine page by Nina N Zine page by REM Zine page by Anon 2 Zine page from Anon 3 Zine page by Anon 1  Zine page by Nat Zine page by Suzyska

87 185 187 188 189 191 192 194

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction Laura Way and Matt Grimes

The social study of time has been valuable in demonstrating how time “is socially produced, represented and organized” (Lahad, 2012, p. 164). To date there has been no plotting, so to speak, of punk scholarship which speaks to ‘time’ yet there are some clear bodies of work pertaining to particular issues relevant to it including, ageing and/or the life course and punk (e.g. Andes, 1998; Bennett, 2006, 2013; Grimes, 2020; Way, 2019, 2020, 2021); memory and/or nostalgia and punk (e.g. Adams, 2008; Arnold, 2022; McLoone, 2004); ‘punk history’ (e.g. Glasper, 2014, 2020; Reddington, 2007; Worley, 2012, 2017); and archiving and punk (e.g. Fraser & Haley, 2018; Liew & Williams, 2012; Bérubé-Sasseville, 2022; Nguyen, 2015; Fife, 2019). Punk, Ageing and Time is therefore a timely (pun intended) collection covering areas such as punk and ageing; the relationship between temporality and particular concepts relevant to

L. Way (*) University of Roehampton, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] M. Grimes Birmingham City University, Birmingham, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9_1

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punk (such as authenticity, DIY, identity, resistance, spatiality and style); and punk memory, remembering and/or forgetting. In this introductory chapter, we will contextualise this publication— looking at how punk scholarship has thus far engaged with time, memory and ageing, respectively—before introducing the aims of this collection, which very much emerge from such existing discussions and debates. Lastly, we provide an overview of the chapters contained within, highlighting some of the threads which run across these.

Punk and Time Since the emergence, and subsequent ‘explosion’, of punk in the UK in the 1970s Britain, it has continued to hold a public presence as well as gaining academic interest and attention. The celebration of 40 years of punk across London in 2016 (Fox, 2016), for example, serves to demonstrate this as do the many, academic or otherwise, published books pertaining to punk. The public’s view of punk, however, is usually quite a narrow one, revolving around the ideas of punk being at its height in the late 1970s, bands such as the Sex Pistols representing the punk movement musically, and a particular iconic punk ‘look’. Punk, in such a view, then, is being understood as located in, or aligned with, a particular era. And such sentiments can also be found in some academic framing of punk (particularly those which trace the history of punk as a musical movement, talk about the emergence of ‘post-punk’, and so forth). From this we can already see how and why we might talk about punk in relation to time. But it is also important to consider how such historical commentary on punk, such as above, is constructed. There are problems concerning how punk is remembered and represented, particularly when the historicising of punk entails the ‘writing out’ or the minimising of particular participants’ involvement (Reddington, 2007; Stewart, 2019; Wiedlack, 2015). Davila (2019) raises the point too about the way punk historiography assumes whiteness as the taken-for-granted subject position in punk. Archiving and archival practices are very much related to this question of how punk is remembered and represented. Punk and (Re)presentation, Punk and Remembering The ‘40th anniversary of punk’ referred to above, is something which Francis Stewart’s (2019) research takes up in terms of problematising the

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memorialisation of punk. Stewart (2019) focuses on the British Library’s exhibition which was a part of the anniversary celebrations across London, evidencing how this exhibition sidelined the voices and experiences of marginalised punks (non-cis-men, disabled people, people of colour and LGBTQIA individuals) through an analysis of the exhibition itself as well as through interviews with punk women from Northern Ireland who travelled over to London specifically to attend it. As one of Stewart’s (2019) interviewees, Emma, commented on the representation of punk women in the exhibition: “You’re either Debbie or Nancy—sex siren or whore”. Robinson (2018) deftly summarises the various issues pertaining to (re) presentation and remembering too with the 40th anniversary: Punk London raised a lot of questions about who gets to remember what, and how. It also posed anew some traditional subcultural hang-ups: the currency of ‘authenticity’, contempt for ‘the sell-out’, ambivalence over the role of the market, and the marginalization of experiences beyond a few key players.

As noted in the introduction to this section, such issues do not merely reside in punk anniversary events. Ward (2019), for example, notes how oral histories of punk and post-punk have been predominantly written by men, and Reddington (2007) argues that accounts of punk are often male focused. Research has highlighted too how punk history has undervalued or deleted ‘African American punk cultural productions’ (Ensminger, 2010) and how marginalised groups, especially punks of colour, have had to engage in the localised reconstructing of punk history in order to reincorporate that which was before obscured (Lopez & Mills, 2017). Punk and Archiving Scholarship pertaining to punk and archiving has explored epistemological and methodological, including ethical, issues concerning the building and use of archives. This includes work considering the building of punk rock collections at UCLA Library Special collections (Fraser & Haley, 2018), curating and archiving through subcultural events by punks in Singapore (Liew & Williams, 2012) and archiving of the Montreal hardcore scene Bérubé-Sasseville (2022). In the latter, Bérubé-Sasseville (2022) considers the collection and preservation of self-produced documents (in this case, videos) and how the gathering and organising of these allowed the

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creation of (subcultural) collective memory and the development of ‘scene identity’. Work has also problematised, more so, the process of punk archiving. Mimi Thi Nguyen (2015), for example, speaks on the entry of ‘minor objects’, including some of her own zines, into institutionalised punk archive, asking questions such as, “How do the politics surrounding institutional discourses of a minor threat, especially at the crash with race or gender, displace or defuse that threat through its integration into a politics, history, or archive?” Kirsty Fife (2019) too raises the ethical implications of archiving zines, highlighting how archive workers need to critically think about and incorporate the originating politics of zine culture into archiving processes and subsequent use, particularly when these zines are created by marginalised markers/communities.

Punk and Age, Punk as Youth When punk rock emerged in the 1970s, the popular media went into a frenzy, branding the subculture as a deviant youth culture, whose sole purpose was to shock, offend, antagonise and evoke disapproval from parents and authority, and challenge the hegemonic order. The moral panics created around the punk subculture by the fervent media coverage only served to popularise it in the eyes of many young people, who were also emerging from a period of industrial and economic gloom. No doubt feeling in some ways let down by the very people that were supposed to support them, it came as no surprise that for some of Britain’s youth, punk presented an opportunity to reject their parent’s values and morals. That said, the garnering of such a rebellious reputation was not unique to punk, as other previous youth subcultures such as Teddy Boys, Mods and Rockers and Hippies all had previously had their fair share of media demonisation. What links these various, and often polarised and conflicting subcultural groupings, is that they all were soundtracked by popular musical forms and that they were almost all uniquely linked to notions of youth. When Simon Frith claimed that “the sociology of rock is inseparable from the sociology of youth” (1983, p. 9), he not only amplified the youth-centric master narrative of popular music subcultures, but seemingly dismissed the potential that subculturalists have for utilising those youthful experiences as a component of post-youth forms of identity. Frith’s problematic comment also feeds into the popular assumption that subcultural membership and belonging is a temporary youthful phase on a path to the more serious responsibilities associated with adulthood

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(Haenfler, 2012, p.  11). However, evidence has shown that in Western society these stages are often delayed, leading to a redefinition of youth that has less in common with notions of youth as a transitional period (Buchmann, 1989; Wyn & Woodman, 2006). Weinstein (1995, 1999) has suggested that youth and notions of youth have become less connected to age or a period of one’s life, but rather youth has been co-opted into leisure cultures as a lifestyle device or signifier. Strong (2011) argues that the lifestyles and leisure activities that have widely been associated with youth have become more widely accepted in society, with the pursuance of youthful passions continuing into middle age and beyond. Growing Up Punk, or Growing Old Punk Increasingly, then, comes an understanding that involvement in such ‘youth’ cultures, like punk, can extend ‘post-youth’, and a growing body of research has developed concerning ageing and subcultures. Time has also afforded us, as scholars, the opportunity to investigate and document the trajectory of post-youth subcultural and scene affiliation, with many of the subculturalists who were active participants in youth subcultures from the 1970s to 1990s now having moved into adulthood and, for some, reaching late adulthood. Early studies around popular music, subcultures and ageing were being documented in the late 1990s and early to mid-­2000s (e.g. Andes, 1998; Kortaba, 2002; Vroomen, 2004; Davis, 2006; Bennett, 2006) with an edited collection on ageing and youth cultures published by Andy Bennett and Paul Hodkinson (2012), featuring work on ageing Goths (Hodkinson, 2012), B-Boys and ageing (Fogarty, 2012), and slam-dancing and ageing (Tsitsos, 2012) among many others. Such studies have all challenged the master narrative of youth-driven music cultures and subcultures whilst also recognising things such as physicality, parenting, employment and other adult responsibilities, which need to be at times negotiated or which can impact on participants’ continuing engagement. With regards to music, Schulkind et al. (1999) speak of how nostalgic feeling can be prompted by engagement with music during one’s youth, and, more broadly, music can be a stimulus for accessing nostalgic feelings (Pickering, 2018). Nostalgia has been a way in which to frame ageing within popular music cultures and subcultures, and whilst it would be remiss to ignore the importance that nostalgia has in rationalising ones continuing engagement and its ability to connect one to their youthful

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past, there is a sense of a lack of conviction that many ageing subculturalists would want to be young again. Bennett (2013) argues that this goes beyond mere nostalgic longing of wanting to return to one’s youth but often manifests itself in a dynamic relationship to music, its relevance to their everyday lives and its broader sociocultural significance. In some ways, this is confirmed by Andy Bennett’s (2006) study of ageing punks (discussed in more length below). Grimes’ (2020) work is particularly relevant here, focusing on identity and memory through research with those who once identified as anarcho-punks. Grimes’ (2020) participants, for example, used nostalgic narrative to construct their continued connection to ideologies, beliefs and values that they had acquired during their affiliation with anarcho-punk during their adolescence. These nostalgic narratives showed how their memories represented, in some ways, an idealised past as well as how they drew upon nostalgia as a resource for continuation (Grimes, 2020). In terms of ageing and punk, then, there have been a number of studies that have either been published as individual/stand-alone pieces or appeared within edited collections that investigate ageing within a broader range of popular music cultures and subcultures. One of the earliest studies around ageing punks was conducted by Linda Andes (1998), which proposed a developmental model for understanding ‘growing up punk’. This reflected the ‘punk career’, consisting of four stages, each involving a consideration of how the individual defines themselves/punk, who the reference group are, associated behaviour and the core values held. This was followed by research on older punks by Davis (2006) and Bennett (2006). Like Andes, Davis (2006) argued that punk identity ceased as one aged unless they retained subcultural involvement through a creative or organisation role—Davis (2006) examines the reasons for this taking place through four typologies of ageing punks, arguing that this needs to take place so ageing punks do not ‘stagnate’. Bennett’s (2006) work on older punk fans considered how older punks can maintain a punk identity through adulthood by modifying aesthetic/discursive practice, engaging in a level of accommodation when it comes to the punk style and internalising ‘punkness’. Research has also been carried out by Haenfler (2012) with older straight edgers which found that for most, straight edge (sXe) had become “less of an embodied stylistic display and more of a personal philosophy or expression of lifestyle politics” (Haenfler, 2012, p. 10) with ‘periodic’ and ‘strategic’ displays of straight edge affiliation to communicate their longevity in the scene, to set an example for younger members

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or to symbolise their continuing resistance to conventional norms (Haenfler 2012). Other examples of research concerning ageing and punk include the following: work on straightedgers and transitions to adulthood by Torkelson (2010); Tsitsos (2012), who looked at slamdancing and ageing; Davis’ (2012) consideration of punk and expectations of adulthood; and research with anarcho-punks by Grimes (2020). There has been critique aimed at ‘post-subcultural’ work, however, for its marginalisation of older, or ageing, punk women, and this has prompted research focused on the experiences of older punk women as well as more explicit gender analyses of ageing and punk (see, Way, 2019, 2020; Willmott, 2020). Despite such moves, there still remains a notable absence of academic attention being given to other marginalised identities in the context of punk and ageing.

The Aims of This Collection What this edited collection does for the first time is bring together contemporary investigations and discussions specifically around punk and ageing and/or time. It covers areas such as punk and ageing; the relationship between temporality and particular concepts relevant to punk (such as authenticity, DIY, identity, resistance, spatiality and style); and punk memory, remembering and/or forgetting. It will offer consideration of areas which have received very little to no academic attention. It is of a multidisciplinary nature and offers diversity in scholarship.

Overview of Chapters The book begins with Alison Willmot’s chapter, entitled Rejecting and Resisting Ageism: Female Perspectives of Ageing with Punk. In her chapter, Alison ably sets the context and tone of this edited collection by exploring the experiences of older women who identify with punk across the life course. Ageism and expectations of age are powerful in society and culture, and she asks, if punk is characterised by an anti-authority attitude and a resistance to conformity, surely women who identified with punk may be better equipped to resist conforming to wider cultural expectations of ageing? Ondřej Daniel’s chapter, Lifestyle and Memory: Profiling Two Generations of Ageing Czech Male Punks, considers the ageing of two generations of Czech male punks by analysing the different life experiences connected with ageing punks who were still active in 2010. His research

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suggests that lifestyle and memory differences between these two generations of punks are mutually reinforcing, despite their different generational experiences and politicised lifestyles. The next chapter, Ellen Bernhard’s ‘…And Out Come the Comps’: Punk-O-Rama, Pro Skater, and Their Roles as Peak Music Experiences in a Current Punk Identity, investigates the ways the punk compilation CD Punk-O-Rama and skateboarder Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater video game proved to be peak music experiences in terms of introducing people to punk rock in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Her chapter shows how exposure to these two music media formats prevailed as a gateway into deeper exploration of the punk genre and the role punk rock compilations and video game soundtracks played in establishing a continued punk rock identity in adulthood. Following on from Bernhard, the next chapter, Young Punk, Old Punk, Running Punk: Keeping the Old Ones Cool and the Young Ones Fresh, is co-authored by Ashley Morgan and Chris Inglis. Here the authors conduct an auto-ethnographic approach to examine their own relationship with punk and ageing, explorating a sense of shared identity through their engagement with a running club called Running Punks, a group of individuals who have gravitated together because of the punk ethos of the founders of the club and their love of music. In Chap. 6, Paula Guerra broadens out the discussions around ageing by focusing on the ageing experiences of DIY music scene producers from the late 1970s to the present. In her chapter, Live Fast, Die Old: Experiences of Ageing in Portuguese Punk DIY Scenes since the Late 1970s, Paula argues that these cultural/creative producers aged 50 or more, through their participation in DIY music scenes (punk, indie-rock, rap, EDM), have contributed decisively to the reconfiguration of Portuguese contemporaneity through their cultural, artistic and creative experiences. Matt Grimes’ chapter, “I’m Not Someone Who Calls Himself an Anarchist, I am an Anarchist”: The Continuing Significance of Anarchism in the Later Lives of Ex-Adherents of British Anarcho-Punk, examines ageing ex-British anarcho-­ punks’ relationship with the anarchist ideologies that they engaged with in their adolescence, as participants in the British anarcho-­ punk subcultural scene of the 1980s. Through a set of in-depth, semi-­ structured interviews, Grimes seeks to reveal whether those anarchist ideologies have remained with those ex-adherents of British anarcho-­ punk, into late middle age, and if those anarchist ideologies have impacted on the reflexive framework through which their subsequent life courses are experienced, presented and understood.

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In his chapter Memories of the Past, Inequalities of the Present: The Temporality of Subcultural Violence, Gender, and Authenticity, Matthew Newsom argues that mnemonic discourses about Berlin’s psychobilly past are structured hegemonically, and serve to reproduce gender inequality in the subcultural present. Through ethnographic participant observation, and semi-structured and unstructured interviews with scene participants, Matthew concluded that Berlin psychobillies present as heteronormative and otherwise reproduce binary expectations in several ways. Following on from Newsom, Philip Miles takes an interesting and creative approach to examining punk’s ideological and aesthetic legacy as it assimilates with midlife cultural and creative labour. In his chapter Punk, Literature and Midlife Creativity: Ordinary Stories, Ordinary Men, Philip draws on data from a broader diverse and intersectional ethnographic study to focus in on four middle-aged male writers, and the personal meaning of creativity in terms of quasi-Bergsonian experiences of time, action and meaning. In doing so, Philip argues that ‘punk’ translates into middle age not as a retained ideology as such, but more like a trace that is left by association. In her chapter Exploring Older Punk Women’s Conceptualisation of ‘Punk’ through Participant-Created Zine Pages, Laura Way considers the process of creating zines and utilises the participation of a group of older punk women creating zines to explore how punk is conceptualised within the participant-created zine pages. Locating her analysis through core punk values such as DIY, community, subversion and political consciousness, she reflexively explores the methodological advantages and challenges of the use of creating zine pages as a research method. In Chap. 11, Working With/In: An Exploration of Queer Punk Time and Space in Collaborative Archival Workshops, Kirsty Fife takes a broadly similar approach to Laura Way, in-so-much as she also examines how method and participatory research practices can address a number of incumbent issues around lack of representation of marginalised groups in the practices of archiving and historicisation by ‘outsider’ professionals and institutions. The chapter explores the facilitation of a documentation workshop in 2019 at Bent Fest, a queer punk festival based in London. Drawing on data from that workshop, Fife suggests that grassroots forms of archival work can create more dialogic and representative archival sources which are in tune with, rather than opposed to, the politics of queer punk communities. This collection’s penultimate chapter, by George C. Grinnell, which is titled Enduring Attachments: On the Temporalities of Punk, explores how

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three authors—Alice Bag, Michelle Cruz Gonzales and Shawna Potter— interrogate a punk temporality that involves personal experiences of ageing, recollection and enduring attachment. Their memoirs document their personal ongoing desires to remodel punk with new stories that remake its past and future. These works also explore the temporalities of punk and its ever-shifting relations of power, particularly those that intersect with race, gender and age. The final chapter, by Owen Morawitz, titled Generation Lost: Resignation, Rupture, and the Infinite Realities of Post-Future Punk, also explores notions of temporality and the perception of ‘lost futures’ in punk, through the lens of three musical punk bands: Code Orange, Spanish Love Songs and Enter Shikari. Within the ‘futureless’ projections of neoliberal society, Owen argues that these artists seek to reclaim punk as a multi-valent movement for the youth subculture of the present, of and for the collective subjects of our ephemeral ‘now’; a movement with vast potential and an unknown future trajectory; a movement that must embrace communal solidarity and the infinite realities of lost futures.

References Adams, R. (2008). The Englishness of English Punk: Sex Pistols, Subcultures, and Nostalgia. Popular Music and Society, 31(4), 469–488. Andes, L. (1998). Growing up Punk: Meaning and Commitment Careers in a Contemporary Youth Subculture. In J. S. Epstein (Ed.), Youth Culture. Identity in a Postmodern World. Blackwell Publishers Ltd.. Arnold, G. (2022). Death in Vegas: Punk Rock and Nostalgia. In G. McKay & G. Arnold (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Punk Rock. University Press. Bennett, A. (2006). Punk’s Not Dead: The Continuing Significance of Punk Rock for an Older Generation of Fans. Sociology, 40(2), 219–235. Bennett, A. (2013). Music, Style and Aging: Growing Old Disgracefully? Temple University Press. Bennett, A., & Hodkinson, P. (2012). Ageing and Youth Cultures. Music, Style and Identity. Berg. Bérubé-Sasseville, O. (2022). Bone in the Throat. Video Archiving and Identity Building within the Montreal Hardcore Scene. Punk & Post-Punk, 11(1), 71–85. Buchmann, M. (1989). The Script of Life in Modern Societies: Entry into Adulthood in a Changing World. University of Chicago Press. Davila, R.  C. (2019). See No Colour, Hear No Colour, Speak No Colour: Problematizing Colourblindness in Los Angeles Punk Historiography. Punk & Post-Punk, 8(1), 89–104.

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Davis, J. (2006). Growing Up Punk: Negotiating Aging Identity in a Local Music Scene. Symbolic Interaction, 29(1), 63–69. Davis, J. R. (2012). Punk, Ageing and the Expectations of Adult Life. In A. Bennett & P.  Hodkinson (Eds.), Ageing and Youth Cultures. Music, Style and Identity. Berg. Ensminger, D. (2010). Coloring Between the Lines of Punk and Hardcore: From Absence to Black Punk Power. Postmodern Culture, 20(2). https://doi. org/10.1353/pmc.2010.0010 Fife, K. (2019). Not for You? Ethical Implications of Archiving Zines. Punk & Post-Punk, 8(2), 227–242. Fogarty, M. (2012). Each One Teach One. In A. Bennett & P. Hodkinson (Eds.), Ageing and Youth Cultures: Music Style And Identity. Berg. Fox, K. (2016, March 13). Happy Birthday Punk: The British Library Celebrates 40 Years of Anarchy and Innovation. The Guardian. Retrieved September 13, 2018, from https://www.theguardian.com/music/2016/mar/13/ punk-­1976-­1978-­british-­library-­40th-­anniversary-­sex-­pistols-­buzzcocks Fraser, M., & Haley, M. (2018). Building Punk Rock Collections at UCLA Library Special Collections. In N. Guthrie & S. Carlson (Eds.), Music Preservation and Archiving Today. Rowman and Littlefield. Frith, S. (1983). Sound Effects: Youth, Leisure and the Politics of Rock ‘n’ Roll. Constable. Glasper, I. (2014). Burning Britain: The History of UK Punk 1980–1984. PM Press. Glasper, I. (2020). The Scene That Would Not Die: Twenty Years of Post-Millennial Punk in the UK. Earth Island Books. Grimes, M. (2020). ‘Life We Make’: Identity, Memory and British Anarcho-Punk. PhD thesis, Birmingham City University, UK. Haenfler, R. (2012). More than the Xs on My Hands: Older Straight Edgers and the Meaning of Style. In A. Bennett & P. Hodkinson (Eds.), Ageing and Youth Cultures: Music, Style and Identity. Berg. Hodkinson, P. (2012). The Collective Ageing of a Goth Festival. In A. Bennett & P. Hodkinson (Eds.), Ageing and Youth Cultures: Music, Style and Identity. Berg. Kortaba, J. (2002). Rock ‘n’ Roll Music as a Timepiece. Symbolic Interaction, 25(3), 397–440. Lahad, K. (2012). Singlehood, Waiting, and the Sociology of Time. Sociological Forum, 27, 163–186. Liew, K.  K., & Williams, J.  P. (2012). Looking Beyond Music: Curating and Narrating Punk Subculture in Singapore. In R. Bestley, M. Dines, P. Guerra, & A.  Gordon (Eds.), Trans-Global Punk Scenes. The Punk Reader Volume 2. Intellect.

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Lopez, T. M., & Mills, M. (2017). How to Forget (and Remember) ‘The Greatest Punk Rock Band in the World’: Bad Brains, Hardcore Punk and Black Popular Culture. In et  al. Youth Culture and Social Change. Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music. Palgrave Macmillan. https://doi. org/10.1057/978-­1-­137-­52911-­4_8 McLoone, M. (2004). Punk Music in Northern Ireland: The Political Power of ‘what might have been’. Irish Studies Review, 12(1), 29–38. Nguyen, M. T. (2015). Minor Threats. Radical History Review, 122, 11–24. Pickering, M. (2018). Popular Music and the Memory Spectrum. In S.  Baker, C. Strong, L. Istvandity, & Z. Cantillon (Eds.), The Routledge Companion to Popular Music History and Heritage (pp. 191–198). Routledge. Reddington, H. (2007). The Lost Women of Rock Music. Female Musicians of the Punk Era. Ashgate Publishing Limited. Robinson, L. (2018). Exhibition Review Punk’s 40th Anniversary—An Itchy Sort of Heritage. Twentieth Century British History, 29(2), 309–317. Schulkind, M. D., Hennis, L. K., & Rubin, D. C. (1999). Music, Emotion, and Autobiographical Memory: They’re Playing Your Song. Memory & Cognition, 27(6), 948–955. https://doi.org/10.3758/bf03201225 Stewart, F. (2019). ‘No More Heroes Anymore’: Marginalized Identities in Punk Memorialisation and Curation. Punk & Post Punk, 8(2), 209–226. Strong, C. (2011). Grunge: Music and Memory. Ashgate. Torkelson, J. (2010). Life after (Straightedge) Subculture. Qualitative Sociology, 33, 257–274. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11133-­010-­9153-­1 Tsitsos, B. (2012). Slamdancing, Ageing and Belonging. In A.  Bennett & P. Hodkinson (Eds.), Ageing and Youth Cultures. Music, Style and Identity. Berg. Vroomen, L. (2004). Kate Bush: Teen Pop and Older Female Fans. In A. Bennett & R.  Peterson (Eds.), Music Scenes: Local, Translocal and Virtual (p.  238). Vanderbilt University Press. Ward, J.  B. (2019). Who Remembers Post-punk Women? Punk & Post-Punk, 8(3), 379–397. Way, L. (2019). ‘I don’t go to the gigs to go to the gigs—I don’t give a shit about the gigs!’: Exploring Gig Attendance and Older Punk Women. Punk & Post-­ Punk, 8(2), 257–269. Way, L. (2020). Punk, Gender and Ageing. Just Typical Girls?. Way, L. (2021). Punk is just a state of mind: Exploring what punk means to older punk women. The Sociological Review, 69(1), 107–122. Weinstein, D. (1995). Alternative Youth: The Ironies of Recapturing Youth Culture. Young, 3(1), 61–71. Weinstein, D. (1999). Youth. In B.  Horner & T.  Swiss (Eds.), Key Terms in Popular Music and Culture. Blackwell Publishers. Wiedlack, M. K. (2015). Queer-Feminsit Punk. An Anti-Social History.

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Willmott, A. (2020). Oh Ageism Up Yours! Female Perspectives of Ageing and Punk Identities Across the Lifecourse. PhD thesis, University of Gloucestershire. https://doi.org/10.46289/QAZY7824 Worley, M. (2012). Shot by Both Sides: Punk, Politics and the End of ‘Consensus’. Contemporary British History, 26(3), 333–354. Worley, M. (2017). No Future: Punk, Politics and British Youth Culture, 1976–1984. Cambridge University Press. Wyn, J., & Woodman, D. (2006). Generation, Youth and Social Change in Australia. Journal of Youth Studies, 9(5), 495–514.

CHAPTER 2

Rejecting and Resisting Ageism: Female Perspectives of Ageing with Punk Alison Willmott

Introduction We all age. It is (if we are lucky) an inevitable part of life and a biological fact. Asked to think about ageing, many people relate it to the bodily changes that come over time, not just the visual signifiers of older age such as grey hair or wrinkled skin, but the ways bodies function or sometimes cease to function, for example aching backs or hearing loss. However, the cultural landscape of ageing encompasses far more than the body. Older people in Western societies are subject to cultural expectations that influence the way they look, act and spend their time, and this is restricting. Imagine your perfect old age: What does it look like? Aside from a decent income, it probably involves maintaining the freedom to be yourself, to retain values and interests that are important, to be yourself—just older. Perhaps there is the sense that there is extra freedom in being older, a liberation that comes from knowing yourself well and no longer caring what others think. Some people experience older age in exactly that way.

A. Willmott (*) Cheltenham, UK © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9_2

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I would qualify this—some older people initially think they do, until they examine the small ways in which expectations of age, and by this I mean ageism, permeate their daily lives. With a critical eye and an understanding of cultural gerontology, which will be explored shortly, the impact of cultural pressures on the ageing life course can be better understood. This means acknowledging that changes made across the life course may be less about individual choice than a consequence of insidious cultural pressures that are often difficult to identify and equally difficult to resist. If ageism is understood as a disciplining structure of society, functioning in the same way as patriarchy, to keep older people quite literally in their place (in the domestic sphere, rather than in social spaces), then its startling reach becomes clearer. Resistance is vital and punk values are a part of the armoury.

Cultural Expectations of Age and Why Women Are Affected More Early studies on ageing linked ageing with decline, creating a narrative that presented older age as something to be avoided and feared, and older people as somehow ‘other’. Conversely, competing theories of age have since developed and, while these initially appeared promising, have failed to address that narrative. For example, the theory of ‘successful ageing’ (Rowe & Kahn, 1987) might sound appealing, but its linking of ‘success’ with the continuation of youthful pursuits and looks nonetheless continues the binary of young = desirable versus old = undesirable. Older people who do not fit the criteria of successful ageing, including people who are disabled, are therefore positioned as unsuccessful (Chivers, 2017). Stereotypical representations of older age are typically heteronormative (Sandberg, 2016), and fail to include people of colour. The theoretical framework of cultural gerontology offers a different way of looking at age and casts an interrogative gaze on representations of older people. Cultural gerontology asserts that old age is represented by a spectrum of experiences, each equally valid. It also enables age to be examined through the lens of culture, looking at how the depiction of older people contributes to their experience of age. Women are subject to extracultural pressures that do not reduce as they age, and punk women are subject to the same ageing expectations and ageism as everyone else.

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Older women are policed by a continual flow of cultural messages, not least in relation to ‘age appropriateness’ (Blaikie, 1999; Twigg, 2007), a concept designed to stifle and limit, and applied to appearance and behaviour. It is perhaps difficult to imagine that women who have resisted convention throughout their lives would find themselves susceptible to age expectations but it is not that simple. Ageism must be recognised in order to resist it, but it is sneaky. Women may grow used to constant surveillance of their appearance and bodies, but this evolves as women become older. A woman conforming to the cultural pressure of age appropriateness may expect herself to be clad in a muted palette, not tight enough to reveal her ageing body, yet neat and tidy to reassure everyone that she maintains some control over signs of ageing—a beige and sensible cloak of invisibility. The ‘invisibility’ of older women is a familiar theme in ageing studies literature (Gullette, 2017). Given that older women are not actually invisible, what does this mean? It could be said that women are made to feel invisible when other people fail to respond to them, acknowledge their existence, or value their contributions. Twigg (2004) summarises the experience for older women as being ‘socially invisible’ (p.  62), denied power, denied male attention and no longer fully represented in media and advertisement images. Visibility is about more than appearance. It connects to age stereotypes relegating older women to the domestic sphere, at home and out of sight. It also connects to cultural messages that position older women as passive and dull. Women who do not fit this mould can expect to be castigated. Assertive older women are often constructed as being eccentric or mad, no matter the content of their speech, their opinions too strongly held, their speech ‘too’ loud. Wilson (2014) warns that media representations of the ‘mad old woman’ ‘perform a powerful regulatory purpose’ (p. 8). There may be some comfort in the notion that older age is indicative of experience and wisdom, deserving of respect. Yet this kind of aged wisdom is depicted as a time of quiet passivity and acceptance and leads to older people being silenced (Woodward, 2002) when the injustices of older age often invite rage. Other pressures result from the unequal division of household labour, and this shapes retirement. While many men in heterosexual relationships continue their social lives unimpeded, women often take a hiatus for childcare, whether through choice or not. When women withdraw from social lives to look after children, then the reintroduction of a social life in later life can be problematic. In this scenario, women must re-enter social scenes. Reclaiming social spaces often means finding

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someone to go out with, or going out alone in the knowledge that this will be judged, a lone woman often a target for unwanted sexual attention. Women who have remained child free may feel an advantageous element of continuity, but the other factors remain, gathering pace silently across the life course. In 1988, Copper recognised that ‘ageism, not aging, oppresses us’ (p. 3). Yet ageism has not retreated in the following three decades, with Gullette’s (2017) more recent proclamation of ‘fear ageism, not ageing’ (p. xi), the prelude to an anti-ageism manifesto and a declaration of grievances.

Punk Values across the Life Course While women’s experiences of punk were not always non-sexist, punk offered women and girls opportunities to resist mainstream culture and stereotypical gender roles. There are shared subcultural features in punk, and together they create its ethos, its members often integrating the following traits into their lives: (1) DIY ethos, (2) anti-authority attitude and (3) unconventional appearance. From this starting point, it can be seen that there is potential for these values to be taken across the life course, punk tactics for shaping older age. Punk’s DIY ethos embraced the idea that anyone could have a go at anything (Reddington, 2007), and this extended beyond music—a willingness to make a noise is enough—to many other aspects of life. The DIY ethos went hand in hand with what Savage (1991) referred to as a forgotten part of punk: anti-consumerism. The practice of Bricolage (Hebdige, 1991), using everyday cultural objects to make something new, such as a bin liner to make a skirt, or the use of collage in artwork, epitomised a DIY approach. This can be seen as a skill to be deployed across the life course, not only in relation to concerns about the financial landscape of older age but in relation to having a go at new things, no matter what your age. An anti-authority attitude encompasses a questioning attitude, interrogating how society works and expressing discontent through protest and dissent. In relation to age, an anti-authority attitude is unlikely to fail to find an outlet, whether this is questioning the tyranny of age expectations or campaigning for pension justice for women. The third part of the punk ethos, an unconventional appearance, might function as an outward symbol of resistance, a sign that the wearer is not going to give in to cultural expectations of age and is determined to remain visible. Appearance is not part of punk culture for everyone, although the rejection of any focus on appearance can be a

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feminist statement in itself. The ethos of punk invariably contains dichotomies, such as the emphasis of individuality versus the conformity of ‘being punk’, yet in exploration of ageing and punk it is of negligible importance. This is because mainstream culture and cultural expectations are known to impose restrictions on older women. To divert from these surely offers liberation in some form. If women who identified with punk retain a spirit of non-conformity, what shape, if any, does this take in older age? Are these women more able to resist wider social expectations of age? The following section explores the complexities.

Conflict between Punk and Ageing Equipped with the punk ethos and an understanding of what it means to resist mainstream conformity, older punk women are theoretically well placed to age in a manner that suits them, their lives limited only by pragmatic and financial constraints. With punk values securely safety pinned into place, women approach older age armed with the experience of dissent and resistance: for example, resisting conforming to stereotypical notions of femininity and rejecting ‘age appropriateness’ as irrelevant and restricting. However, competing tensions between punk values and cultural expectations of age persist. This can be partly attributed to the devious ways that age expectations seep into everyday culture, accepted as being representative of the ways that older people live, rather than an ageist pressure that influences and restricts the way older people navigate their lives. This benefits from further exploration to understand how these tensions might be negotiated. The DIY ethos is in keeping with qualities that are often admired in women, a ‘can-do’ attitude for finding solutions. Apply this to domestic challenges of managing a household budget, and this is a feminine superpower—watch her make do and mend, the thrifty domestic goddess. However, characterisations of women as passive endure throughout the life course, and similar ageist stereotypes depict older women as unproductive, dependent and timid (Rosenthal, 1990). Characterisations such as these potentially affect older women’s belief that they can try something new, or that they should make themselves visible by doing so. An anti-authority attitude can be about quietly rejecting unwanted authority and finding another way. More often it is exemplified by highly visible activities such as protest and dissent, whether this is through a large-scale demonstration or smaller acts of resistance. Cultural expectations of older age yet again come into play. Protest and dissent, for

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example, take place in social spaces, the places that older women are not expected to inhabit. They are often loud—visible and vocal, things older women are not supposed to be. These are in conflict with the seemingly positive correlations of old age and quiet wisdom. As Copper (1988, p. 8) warns, ‘the rebellious young share signals of their mutiny with other women of their own age. They have not thought about the possibility of a rebellious old woman’. Punk women are theoretically well placed to resist cultural pressures to simmer down and blend in as they age. Women in the original era of punk often experienced insults and unhidden stares, ‘as if by dressing in “a certain way”, you gave up your rights as a woman to be respected’ (O’Brien, 1999, p. 193). Maintaining a non-conformist appearance, despite censure from others, is surely a skill with which to resist ageism. However, the cumulative effect of encroaching ageism, the invisibilisation of older women and the expectation that older people should somehow ‘give way’ to younger generations as if there is only enough attention to go round— these can have a corrosive effect. This creates a dichotomy between punk values and ageing.

Outline of Research This chapter draws on the author’s doctoral research. This feminist research, which explored the experience of ageing for older women in the UK who identified with original-era punk, was undertaken from an interdisciplinary ageing studies perspective. Ageing/age studies evolved from cultural studies and includes the representation of age in culture. In my case, this included subculture, using punk as a tool to examine age, rather than solely looking at ageing within subculture. The research addressed a research gap, where punk and ageing have been explored, but the experiences of women neglected. Nineteen women aged 50 to 65 were interviewed for the research between 2017 and 2018, the qualifying criteria being (a) aged 50+, (b) identified with original  era/1970s punk in the UK, the latter being self-defined. The women in the study were from England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland, and interviews lasted an average of one hour each. Following thematic analysis, five themes were identified, two of which are explored in this chapter: the ‘Punk Toolkit’, the ‘Feminist Toolkit’ alongside a smaller element, ‘Moments of Conformity’ to illuminate the female experience of ageing with punk. Findings suggested that ageist cultural pressures are powerful, and this

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often results in a time-consuming inner narrative, whereby exhortations to be ‘age-appropriate’ and those to ‘resist conformity’ or ‘be individual’ are pitted against each other. The punk side often wins, but it is a tiresome process, indicative of the tyranny of ageism.

The Punk Toolkit In the fight against ageism, the punk toolkit is a necessity. The concept of the punk toolkit arose as a result of discussions about what punk means to the women in the study, the values they take from it and how these are manifested across the life course. Exploration of how punk values are embedded into everyday life gave rise to practical examples of how they impact on the way punk women live their lives: actions, decisions and strategies for negotiating life. Woven into this was a research question asked of all participants: ‘If you could take one thing from punk and pass it on, what would it be?’ Answers encouraged exploration of the aspects of punk that are meaningful to women, and their use across the life course was examined. This resulted in the characterisation of the punk ethos as a toolkit. This concept also acknowledges that while there are commonalities, people take different things from punk and interpret its ethos in an individual fashion. The toolkit offers a punk  flavoured pick n mix that women can use or ignore in a way that suits them. It is important to note that changing priorities and interests across the life course, amongst other factors, mean that individual elements of the punk toolkit may be used for a time, become less important, and then are picked up again. That is the beauty of the punk toolkit. It remains there waiting for the right moment. If the punk toolkit can be organised into broad themes, these would be: • Be yourself—Don’t conform • Question Authority • Have Attitude • Be open—minded • You can do anything—just do it The broadness of these themes suggests a freedom to interpret them in a way that suits the user. The influence of the three overarching punk values—the anti-authority attitude, DIY ethos and unconventional appearance—can clearly be seen. The punk toolkit offers strategies for life, and while the stereotypical, eye-catching nature of punk suggests that this

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means bold gestures, confrontation and conflict, a big ‘fuck you’ to anything a punk woman does not agree with, this definition is not representative of all older women’s experiences. Cultural gerontology maintains that older age encompasses a spectrum of experiences, and so it is for punk women. The punk toolkit is versatile because each element can be interpreted in a way that suits the individual. For example, at one end of the spectrum ‘Question Authority’ can be used as a basis for political protest, or the underpinning of anarchist beliefs and their expression in lifestyle choices. However, ‘question authority’ can also be integrated more subtly into everyday life. This might mean simply remembering that hierarchies, including those at work, can be questioned, or being mindful that media rhetoric should be challenged. As the media endlessly perpetuates ageist tropes, the punk toolkit is valuable to an older woman. Moving onto ‘You can do anything—just do it’, this has power in the face of ageist restrictions on how an older woman lives her life, and there is a parallel with ‘be yourself—don’t conform’. Cultural pressures mean that older women can feel that certain activities become out of bounds across the life course. Even if these pressures are resisted, they can create uncertainty. These succinct aide memoires from the punk toolkit provide something to hold onto, when ageist pressures threaten to erode a sense of identity or purpose. Putting these statements to use recalls the questioning outlook of punk culture. However, it must be noted that it is the pervasive and insidious nature of ageism that creates difficulty. When ageism is not recognised for what it is, then it is difficult to provide that counter argument of ‘well, I am going to do it’, or ‘this is what I want to do/ look like—this is me’. Have ‘attitude’ is a resistance tactic against undercover ageism. Statements made about older women are often less complimentary than they originally seem—ageist insults in disguise. For example, ‘you don’t look it!’ in response to revealing age (it is not an insult to look your age). Statements about older age and wisdom or knowledge are also underpinned with constraining tropes about older age. When older age is represented in this way, it is generally portrayed as a particular kind of quiet wisdom and passivity, a knowing that comes from age and experience, effectively outlawing anger in older people and dismissing older people’s voices (Woodward, 2002). Drawing on a sense of punk attitude is the antidote to being silenced by cultural expectations of age. If punk women refuse to be censored in the way they speak, or in speaking out, this is a

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useful tactic of resistance against ageism and a rejection of age stereotypes.

Feminist Toolkit Not all punk women are feminists, and many actively reject the label of ‘feminist’. If feminism is considered in the context of an anti-authority punk ethos, this is hardly a surprise. Reddington (2016) found that some 1970s punk women perceived feminism as ‘another set of rules’ (p. 96), and despite the integration of anti-sexist and questioning narratives, Raha (2005) noted that many women in the 1970s punk scene preferred to construct an identity of their own making, rejecting being labelled as either feminist or punk. This sentiment was echoed by a minority of the participants in my own study, but this does not necessarily mean the rejection of principles that can be considered feminist. The feminist toolkit pulls together strategies for life for punk women, and they mirror those in the punk toolkit, but with emphasis on resisting sexism, misogyny and gender stereotypes and negotiating a life course in a patriarchy. The broad themes in the feminist toolkit are as follows: • Fuck the patriarchy • Reject gender stereotypes • Refuse sexist language • Take up space • Be heard These five elements of the feminist toolkit can be used by women of any age, but when gendered expectations become embedded into the ageism that older women are subject to, they become especially relevant. Fuck the patriarchy expands on an anti-authority attitude, acknowledging that patriarchal structures and systems within the UK automatically disadvantage women. In older age, recent pension reforms that disadvantage women have given rise to female organisations such as Women Against State Pension Inequality (WASPI) (https://www.waspi.co.uk/), and this is a direction that punk women, with experience of protest and dissent, can get their teeth into. The rejection of gender stereotypes—and sexist language can be included here—finds no shortage of targets in female older age. An older woman with a younger partner can expect censure, a sense that this is not quite normal behaviour for an older woman,

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combined with disbelief that she could be found attractive by this person who, by virtue of youth, is granted an automatic allure. Older men can expect their younger partner to be far more acceptable. Punk women have form when it comes to rejecting stereotypes, and indeed this was part of the appeal for many women. For women in the 1970s who had had enough of gender conformity and the idea that women needed to ‘get ready’ to go out, punk provided an alternative and could be expressed with an appearance that reinforced punk women’s agency to do as they pleased. While there is no doubt that patriarchal norms were played out in punk culture as they were in mainstream culture, punk provided options (Reddington, 2003). This included freedom not to conform to stereotypical feminine appearance (Bayton, 1998), to reject any emphasis on appearance (get ready to go out? Just GO OUT) and to query the desirability of motherhood and a rejection of feminine socialised traits, such as subsuming one’s own ambitions for others. Restrictive gender stereotypes in older age include the notion that women welcome ‘grandmother’ as a defining role, sidelining their own late careers and interests. There are further gender and age stereotypes to resist. Older women can expect, regardless of whether they are parents or are actually child-free, to be characterised as mothers and grandmothers. The tendency to refer to older women as ‘like a grandmother’ or ‘like a mum’ imposes a caring responsibility and maternal nature. When it comes to age-related sexist language, a punk woman might find herself spoilt for choice. Crone, hag, mad cat lady or spinster would justifiably be rejected for the malicious intent behind the words. However, an older punk woman might consider reclaiming some words. One participant in my study told me that she was reclaiming ‘spinster’ for herself, taking pride in the bare facts of being a single older woman, rejecting negative associations that other people attach to it and refusing to be defined by other people. Women are socialised to consider other people’s feelings before making themselves heard and also to keep their bodies to themselves: legs together, limbs tucked in (Ahmed, 2017). The phrase ‘be ladylike’ exists to keep women in their place in a most literal way, with an awareness of how they seem to others dictating their every move. Older women are extremely likely to have been subject to these kinds of gendered restrictions as children and young women, and old habits die hard. The feminist toolkit reminds women to use their bodies and voices to reject gendered expectations. This advice comes from punk women who have found these tactics invaluable as part of the armoury against gendered restrictions and

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misogyny. Women who identify with punk have often used their voices and physicality to be heard (Reddington, 2007). Applying a DIY ethos to vocals meant rejecting the idea of a ‘nice’ singing voice and being willing to make some noise. The DIY approach has been disparaged as ‘derivative, inadequate and immature’ when displayed by women (Downes, 2012, p. 215) but making noise has a wider function for females, whose voices are softer than males, producing a sound that is not easily ignored, and the ramifications of this extend further than music-making.

Moments of Conformity Conforming to restrictive age expectations is surely something to be resisted, yet ‘conformity’ is a subjective experience. Punk women often approach older age with existing experiences of conformity, and this isn’t necessarily detrimental. Identifying with punk is not synonymous with being a punk or excluding other interests. An innate punk ethos, expressed in the values that have been explored, does not have to be matched with a punk aesthetic or activities. Punk women often experience moments of conformity throughout their lives. These often result from social and cultural pressures at certain moments in time or place, and these pressures ebb and flow throughout the life course. The pressures are not just from mainstream culture: Gregory (2009) found that other people within subcultures also project expectations that participation should cease at a certain age or stage (e.g. motherhood) in life. Appearance is the most visible manifestation of punk culture but punk women experience moments of conformity in ways that may not be obvious to others. The challenge of retaining a punk identity, whilst recognising cultural pressures of how a mother ‘should’ be, is difficult to avoid. An older punk woman might find that her conformity is viewed as a ‘natural’ part of ageing, entirely appropriate for her stage in life. Haenfler’s (2014) observation of a spectrum of participation across subculture practices suggests an ebb and flow of attachment across the life course, and so moments of conformity are hardly unexpected. This chapter has already discussed the barriers that older women encounter in re-entering social scenes, and while punk scenes are often perceived as being welcoming to older people, this does not necessarily counterbalance the ageist inner narrative that may be whispering ‘stay at home, this is not for you’. This suggests the value of the punk toolkit in establishing punk values that can be put down and picked up at

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will. As age expectations creep in, resistance to conformity can become an ongoing negotiation.

Balancing the Tension: Ageist Pressures versus Punk Values So what is it like to negotiate older age in this way? Punk women experience, observe and indeed perpetuate ageism in the same way that everyone else does. They are not immune to cultural expectations of age, which is barely surprising, given how these expectations have been permeating their consciousness for decades. Expectations of age are powerful. However, the punk ethos provides strategies—an internal set of punk values, which can be drawn on across the life course. Think of this as a ‘punk flavoured pick n mix’ (Willmott, 2020) comprising the punk and feminist toolkits that can be dipped into when the need arises. The effect of cultural expectations of older age is a constant awareness of age. The most immediate manifestation of this is in the notion of ‘age-appropriateness’. No matter how determined you are to maintain individuality, it is difficult to avoid messages about ‘age-appropriateness’. Online lists of ‘Things that women over fifty should NEVER wear!!’ are an obvious culprit, but women also absorb these messages through the marketing of clothes and cosmetics, through ‘anti-ageing’ adverts and through the more subtle disapproval of those around them. Ageism can be seen in the way that spectacular style is often construed as eccentricity or madness if the wearer is older. Compliance suggests being muted in colour and voice. Many punk women reject this version of older age, drawing on values of individuality and being yourself but they are nonetheless affected. Resistance takes effort, even when the thing being resisted is your own internal narrative about what to wear. One visibly punk woman described her rejection of external pressures. My husband said “you’re not meant to wear tight jeans at fifty”. Are you not— oh well. You know what, I don’t give a fuck…He said it, no, how did he phrase it? It was “they say” I think was the phrase. He’d read something somewhere …I’m not bothered, I don’t care. I never have cared. Well I have, I’ve told you I have cared but I’ve decided not to care if you know what I mean. (Michele, age 53)

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Michele describes how unattributed ‘they’ views are reiterated. Michele resists and rejects the idea that tight jeans should not be worn by older women, but nonetheless the thought has been imposed on her, to be remembered. It lurks, waiting to ruin every straightforward decision about getting dressed. Women drawing on punk and feminist values often encounter the paradox of deciding not to care what other people think. Ageing punk women, having ‘not cared’ more effortlessly in their youth and seeing this as part of the punk ethos, often make a more conscious effort not to care (what others think about them) as they age. Other punk women experience this differently: for example, drawing on the feminist toolkit’s ‘reject gender stereotypes’, with ‘take up space’ and ‘be heard’ being more valuable ways of maintaining visibility. Several women in the study articulated their punk ethos as giving them the freedom not to be/ do/look punk at all, noting the dichotomy of being non-conformist, while conforming to subcultural norms. I heard quite recently somebody saying you know as you get older you do have to put in a lot more attention to yourself, make sure that you’re presented, because you can’t carry off the scruffy look. I’ve always been quite scruffy, always, and being a young girl you can but I don’t think I could, you know that’s how I am and I don’t think I’m ever going to be well groomed…I don’t care. I don’t care. I am a punk still (laughs), I am going to be scruffy still. (Liz, age 51)

Liz perceives that the acceptability of being ‘scruffy’ lessens as a woman gets older. This epitomises the insidiousness of cultural messages about how an older woman should be and can be related to the increasing harshness with which ‘lapses’ of dress are judged as a person ages (Twigg, 2007), a symptom of ‘social and moral decline’ (p. 295). Twigg’s findings perhaps relate to much older age and judgements of not being able to cope or cognitive impairment, but, as Liz’s comments suggest, these fears and judgements weave their way into consciousness, with internalised ageism and misogyny combining to limit how an older woman expresses herself. Conversely, a punk appearance can disrupt expectations of age. Examples of this are someone expressing disbelief at a punk woman’s age in a way that is different to the typical ‘oh you don’t look it’ ageism. Women in the study talked about these encounters as someone’s gaze stopping at subcultural aspects of their appearance such as ear stretchers, unusual hair or even high fashion (which they might expect to see on someone younger) and somehow failing to notice wrinkles or other signs

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of age. Subcultural style can confuse the onlooker in relation to age, making ageism just that little bit trickier to enforce. Cultural expectations of age also manifest themselves in internal narratives assessing whether you are in the ‘right’ place for your age. This leads to judgements as to whether that place feels comfortable. Do you feel at home? Or welcome? This constant awareness of age can also be recognised in daily calculations of age in relation to the people around. Where do you fit on that spectrum of age? It is a rare woman that does not make these calculations, an internalisation of the ageism and age awareness that orders society. These calculations expand beyond people to include places. When I was in my thirties, going to a disco at the university and thinking mmm I’m probably pushing my luck here, probably a bit too old. That kind of thing. On the other hand, I’ve been to cinema where it’s been all old people and then I’ve thought oh I’m the youngest here. (Caroline, 53)

This is where the impact of internalised ageism can really be felt, because this particular form of ageism is rarely recognised as such. It may be instead rationalised as an individual sense of discomfort due to not going out so frequently or being unfamiliar with a place. But let’s name it for what it is—it is an ‘ageist forcefield’ (Willmott, 2020, p. 86), so named because of its intangible nature. You can’t see it, but you know it’s there! The punk and feminist toolkits offer strategies. Bennett (2013) has detailed some pragmatic changes that older male punks experience in relation to gig going in older age, and many of these are shared with women. These include changes to gig-going, such as choosing to stand towards the back of the room, away from the chaos of the moshpit as self-protective measures, underpinned by an awareness of the reality of ageing bodies. This is not about accepting an older-age/decline narrative but understanding that bodies reveal the impact of years of use, manifesting in a decreasing ability to tolerate long hours of dancing or drinking. One participant in my study noted some intergenerational antagonism on a night out, overhearing younger punk women mocking the appearance of an older punk woman. This may connect more to the ageist scrutiny of older women’s appearance, rather than questions of place. However, the punk toolkit’s internalised values and tactics can engender self confidence in older age, rendering the judgements of others less relevant, the twinning of attitude and age confidence epitomised by ‘I feel like I’ve now got the maturity to carry off, what I was trying to carry off thirty-five years ago…The not

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giving a fuck I think’ (Kat, 51). One participant noted the advantage she held in having always been non-conformist, whether this was in the way she looked, her attitude to parenting and domesticity or her views. Observing that the way she expresses herself avoids comment because being non-conformist conforms to her norms, she had the opportunity to draw comparisons with more conventional age-peers. She identified a clear element of apprehension in standing out, if this is something new in older age. Holland (2004) noted that ‘getting away with it’, subculturally speaking (p126), in older age relies on an existing subcultural appearance, rather than a sudden change. I think it’s more acceptable for me because people know me and I’ve never been any different. (Wendy, 65)

There is a strand of ageism that suggests that trying new things, especially being new and bad at something, is not quite right in older age. If older women are expected to live their lives in this way, as if older age is a ‘stage’ where the learning has already been done, then they are restricted. However, punk gave many women the impetus they needed to make themselves visible and have a go at things, without having to be good at them first. The experience for many older punk women is that being punk models a way of negotiating new things in later life, and this is significant for retirement. The prospect of retirement brings a feeling of anticipation that is not solely about having free time. Even if women have not felt especially restricted in their workplaces, the possibility of leaving brings the relationship between work and conformity into sharp focus, even if the ‘moment’ has only taken place in work hours. Retirement provides the opportunity to pick up the thread of punk values, using it to shape an individual retirement. One woman in the study contrasted her retirement plans with those of more conventional age peers, noting that they appeared to conform to expectations of a sedate older age: Do sensible things when you go on holiday and hire a car. ‘Don’t use public transport.’ I think it’s just, some of my peers that have retired, ‘well we like long country walks, oh we don’t fly anywhere, we don’t want to go abroad’…. I think some people regard it as almost like getting ready for the end of their life. (Josie, 64)

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Josie feels able to resist and reject ageist cultural pressures herself, planning a retirement that includes travel, music and a move to a city. A punk-­ influenced retirement resists expectations of what retirement should look like and rejects the ageism that informs that narrative. Ultimately, older punk women juxtapose their ageing experiences with a punk ethos which remains of significance across the ageing life course. This offers a compelling way of maintaining agency and a sense of continuity across the life course. Ageist cultural pressures are powerful, and while they can be disrupted, it isn’t straightforward. The result is often a time-consuming inner narrative, whereby exhortations to be ‘age-appropriate’ and exhortations to ‘resist conformity’ or ‘be individual’ are pitted against each other. The punk ethos is a valuable tool for resisting and rejecting the ageism that threatens an autonomous and individual older age—the punk and feminist toolkits perfectly placed for disruption.

References Ahmed, S. (2017). Living a Feminist Life. Duke University Press. Bayton, M. (1998). Frock Rock: Women Performing Popular Music. Oxford University Press. Bennett, A. (2013). Music, Style and Aging: Growing Old Disgracefully. Temple University Press. Blaikie, A. (1999) Ageing and Popular Culture, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Chivers, S. (2017). Cripping Care Advice: Austerity, Advice Literature, and the Troubled Link Between Disability and Old Age, at Aging/Disability Symposium. Ryerson University. Copper, B.  B. (1988). Over the Hill: Reflections on Ageism Between Women, California: The Crossing Press. Downes, J. (2012). The Expansion of Punk Rock: Riot Grrrl Challenges to Gender Power Relations in British Indie Music Subcultures. Women’s Studies, 41, 204–237. Gregory, J. (2009). Too Young to Drink, Too Old to Dance: The Influences of Age and Gender on (Non) Rave Participants. Dancecult: Journal of Electronic Dance Music Culture, 1(1), 65–80. Gullette, M. M. (2017). Ending Ageism: Or, How Not to Shoot Old People. Rutgers University Press. Haenfler, R. (2014). Subcultures: The Basics. Routledge. Hebdige, D. (1991). Subculture: The Meaning of Style. Routledge. Holland, S. (2004). Alternative Femininities. BERG.

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O’Brien, L. (1999). The Woman Punk Made Me. In R. Sabin (Ed.), Punk Rock: So What? (pp. 186–198). Routledge. Raha, M. (2005). Cinderella’s Big Score: Women of the Punk and Indie Underground. Seal Press. Reddington, H. (2003). ’Lady’ Punks in Bands: A Subculturette? In D. Muggleton & R. Weinzierl (Eds.), The Post-Subcultures Reader (pp. 239–252). Berg. Reddington, H. (2007). The Lost Women of Rock Music: Female Musicians of the Punk Era. Ashgate. Reddington, H. (2016). The Political Pioneers of Punk: (Just Don’t Mention the F-word). In M.  Dines & M.  Worley (Eds.), The Aesthetic of Our Anger: Anarcho-Punk, Politics and Music (pp. 91–116). Minor Compositions. Rosenthal, E. (Ed.). (1990). Women, Ageing and Ageism. Harrington Press. Rowe, J. W., & Kahn, R. L. (1987). Human Aging: Usual and Successful. Science, 237, 143–149. Sandberg, L. (2016). Towards a Happy Ending? Positive Ageing, Heteronormativity and Un/happy Intimacies. Lamda Nordica, 20(4), 19–44. Savage, J. (1991). England’s Dreaming: Sex Pistols and Punk Rock. Faber and Faber. Twigg, J. (2004) ‘The Body, Gender and Age: Feminist Insights in Social Gerontology’ in Journal of Aging Studies, 18(1), pp. 59–73 Twigg, J. (2007). Clothing, Age and the Body: A Critical Review. Ageing and Society, 27, 285–305. Willmott, A. (2020). Oh Ageism Up Yours! Female Perspectives of Ageing and Punk Identities Across the Lifecourse. Unpublished PhD thesis. https:// eprints.glos.ac.uk/9297/ Wilson, S. (2014). She’s Been Away: Ageing, Madness and Memory. In U. Kriebernegg, R. Maierhofer, & B. Ratzenböck (Eds.), Alive and Kicking at All Ages: Cultural Constructions of Health and Life Course Identity (pp. 1–19). Transcript. Woodward, K. (2002). Against Wisdom: The Social Politics of Anger and Aging. Cultural Critique, 51, 186–218. https://www.waspi.co.uk/

CHAPTER 3

Lifestyle and Memory: Profiling Two Generations of Ageing Czech Male Punks Ondrˇej Daniel

Introduction This study draws on research funded by Czech Science Foudation: GA Č R 24-12087S Negotiating the Revolt in Czech and Slovak Postsocialist Transition.  It  considers the ageing of two generations of Czech male punks, who were born respectively in the 1960s or 1970s and the 1980s or 1990s and were active in the 2010s. Its core is the analysis of different life experiences connected with ageing punks. Punk became a more-than-­ one generation commitment which resulted in specific intergenerational solidarities as well as in some tensions. Here, I consider predominantly controversies and differences between older and younger Czech punks, and I link them in particular with their ageing. Generational conflicts among Czech punks are of relatively rich variety; here, I propose to concentrate only on those layers that can be considered as illuminating due to the specific context of punk in postsocialist Europe, in particular that of different understandings of punk in relation to the Communist

O. Daniel (*) Charles University, Prague, Czechia © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9_3

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dictatorship on the one hand and neoliberal capitalism on the other. First, older punks may play roles of either legends or bad models for younger ones, with younger generations of Czechs sometimes described in the emic narratives as more prude than older ones (e.g. Dědek & Vlček, 2012). Second, the lifestyle differences were also often politicized. The first punk generation in this study has drawn its subcultural capital from its recollections of state socialism, memories that have mostly led to its fervent anti-­communism. For the second generation, state socialism was generally no longer an issue, and its members were more committed to various anti-capitalist struggles. While asking about the different meanings of punk, in this chapter I underline lifestyle and memory differences as mutually reinforcing. I examine these two layers here by focusing on specific practices connected with the idea of home and family, in particular relation to the ageing male punk body.

Generations and Punk Masculinities Studying “generations” draws back to the work of Karl Mannheim (1928). In this theory, the term is linked with a similar age group influenced by same historical references crucial for the socialization of the individual. For the first group of Czech punks, such crucial historical period was the last decade of Communist dictatorship in Czechoslovakia, its isolation from the West as the global cultural core and shared references to the life in Soviet bloc. Second group of punks shared generational references to the period of the aftermath of economic crisis in 2008 and different struggles that followed the period of austerity in the late 2000s and early 2010s and saw itself importantly tied not only to Occupy Wall Street and different European social movements but also to Jasmine revolution, Gezi protests or Kurdish autonomy in Rojava. It could be tempting to frame differences among these two punk cohorts as those between boomers and millennials, but both these labels are often depreciative, and furthermore they do not fully correspond to profiling of Czech punks. In this study, I focus on ageing of male punks and stress four issues anchored around ageing masculinity (Jackson, 2016). First, I question meanings connected with punk in the understanding of different ageing punks. Then I turn to the question of memory, heritage and exploiting the past. Further question of conceptualization of home relates in discussed material also to different understandings of rural masculinity. This was conceived as relational, contextual, intersectional and multi-scalar (Pini &

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Mayes, 2020). Finally, in relation to materiality of body and family subsistence, fatherhood is discussed. Helena Wahlström Henriksson (2020) analysed it in terms of presence and provision on the one hand and legitimacy and access on the other. When discussing masculinity in relation to music, Sam de Boise pointed to punk with reference to Matthew Worley (2017), who differentiated between stress on sonic markers associated with (white) working-class men’s leisure activities (inspired by football chants) as well as a lyrical and sub cultural stress on physical toughness, aggression and self-sufficiency (de Boise, 2020, p. 416)

and “gender-subversive aspects of punk style and ethos”. As there is more than one generation of Czech punks as well as a whole array of different sub-scenes, there is thus a whole scale of possibilities to perform punk masculinities between these two poles.

Punk between Subculture and Legacy The debate about  the analytical category of subculture seems far from being over. Here, I refer to the critique of the overuse of the concept (Hesmondhalgh, 2005), as well as to its careful renaissance, especially in the British academic environment (Gildart et al., 2020). Punk music and lifestyle can also be perfectly analysed in terms of different taste fractions, particular styles, different local or regional scenes and temporal waves. On the other hand, it remains still the first (Hebdige, 1979) and possibly also the last subculture (Clark, 2003), understood as a distinctive model for other “formations of style” that may correspond with more difficulties to this category. Here, I borrow from these endless debates the notion of subcultural capital (Thornton, 1995) pointing to the lack or abundance of prestige and resulting status differences. The notion evolves from the cultural sociology of Pierre Bourdieu (1979), and negotiation of subcultural capital in punk is also provided by emic evaluation of authenticity (Lewin & Williams, 2009). In its soon to be half-century of existence, punk also has become a cultural heritage or a legacy (Sabin, 1999), studied beyond the United Kingdom not only in the context of 1990s  US “Triumphant Empire” (Pearson, 2021) but also as a global phenomenon (Patton, 2018; Bestley

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& Dines, 2018). Particularly pertinent for the context of this study are different aims to analyse punk in the postsocialist space. Unsurprisingly, among the first works to write about punk in Eastern Europe in the international academia, we also find a British scholar (Pilkington, 2012). Important works in different national languages preceded but their reception was usually limited locally (e.g. Aksiutina, 2005; Fuchs, 2002; Perasović, 2001). Only later, different works about punk in postsocialist space were published internationally, either as large collaborations focusing on different sub-scenes in chosen urban settings (Golobov et  al., 2014) or in a strict focus to local (Muršič, 2009; Císař & Koubek, 2012) or national scenes (Marciniak, 2015; Hammer, 2017; Ventsel, 2020).

Punk and Ageing Many of these works however study different aspects of punk than those crucial for this discussion of punk ageing. The issue of intergenerational relations and ageing in Polish punk was opened by sociologist Marta Marciniak (2015), who has examined the coming of age of a legendary hardcore punk band Dezerter. Marciniak has stressed both, the formative experience of living under Communist dictatorship for the band and its uneasiness with becoming a role model for the following generation of hardcore punks. In the Hungarian case, many important questions residing from different understandings of punk in the 1980s and 2010s were covered by the documentary of Lucile Chaufour (2012) entitled East Punk Memories. These had particular to do with the relation to the anti-­ communism and resulting far-right leanings of many Hungarian punks. In the not-so-fully polarized Czech case, a pivotal work can be considered that of the geographer Michaela Pixová (2011), who pointed first to the generational differences in understanding of punk before and after the fall of Soviet-backed regime. Another important research focusing on a local scene in a rather long-term perspective of 1990s–2010s, in a small town in Eastern Moravia Rožnov pod Radhoštěm (later referred as Rožnov), was published by anthropologist Bob Kuřík (2018). An illuminating documentary, part of the Czech Television series of Kmeny (Tribes), depicted also important lifestyle differences between older and younger punks. Its director, Daniela Gébová (2015), put in juxtaposition a legendary 1980s and 1990s punk of Petr “Sid” Hošek  (1967–2023), fuelled by drugs and alcohol, and a generation younger drummer of band “Pipes and Pints” Lukáš Vincour, who

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advocated animal rights and a healthy lifestyle. Tension between their different understandings of punk lifestyles was one of direct impulses feeding into this research. The lifestyle split nevertheless does not fully copy the generational one. In the first third of the 1990s, one part of the Czech hardcore punk scene adopted the “straight edge” mode originating in the 1980s American hardcore rejecting alcohol, cigarettes and other drugs and, to a large extent also, animal products and sexual promiscuity. In a fascinating account about American “straight edge” scenes, Ross Haenfler (2006) focused also on ageing while presenting different consequences “straight edge” had for older hardcore punks. One of them was that the asceticism became for many of them eventually a social burden, while for some of them the age meant deeper reflection and commitment replacing the earlier embracing of “straight edge” as fashion. Further issues of punk and ageing have been studied since the end of 1990s (Andes, 1998), with particular commitment by Andy Bennett (2006, 2013, 2018) and collaborators (Bennett & Taylor, 2012; Woodman & Bennett, 2015). One of the important questions raised in this research was the question of appropriateness of such presumably “disgraceful” style for aged punks. More importantly for the approach in this study, Bennett and his collaborators also stressed topics of family and work as well as of ageing punk bodies. Ageing female punks were studied by Laura Way (2020, 2021), who pointed to the relevance of their DIY practices for subversion and specific political consciousness. The very topic of tensions between older punks “often seeking to differentiate themselves from the naivety, exhibitionism and competitiveness they attribute to the young” and young ones was studied by Paul Hodkinson (2013), who also called for research on “reference to the attitude and orientation of younger participants vis-a-vis their elders as well as the other way around.” In result, this study aims to answer his call, in relation to the Czech punk of the 2010s.

Methodology and Sources I am a relative outsider of Czech punk, born at the very end of the 1970s in between the two studied generations. I have listened to some punk records since the early 1990s and participated in several punk shows since, but my cultural references were broader. I remain nevertheless influenced by punk ethics and aesthetics and have reconnected to hardcore punk through my younger colleagues and students during political mobilizations of the early 2010s. One of my motivations to write this study

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departed from my caution to heroic and self-congratulating stands of punks who reproduced major ideological narratives. I tried to cope with the ethical dimension of my research approach by aiming to provide contextual understanding to their different motivations. The  basic methodological approach of this study is biographical. I relied mainly on the online research that regrettably could not be topped up by the on-site observations due to the pandemic restrictions. I have conducted an online interview with one informer in his early 30s who had left Prague during the 2010s for a village close to Liberec in Northern Bohemia. In this study, I will call him Josef. Without my own personal involvement and resulting interaction, I have also followed the Facebook account and other digital imprints of a 60-year-old punk, active since the 1980s and 1990s in Prague, living currently in a village in the south of the Czech-Moravian Highlands. I will call him Robert in this study. My colleagues of the Czech and Slovak Archive of Subculture warned me to approach him directly because of his peculiar personality and expected hostility towards the academic research of punk. I have extended this empirical material by the analysis of already-published interviews in local press, punk fanzines and anthologies stored mainly in the Czech and Slovak Archive of Subcultures as well as in the repositories of bachelor’s and diploma works of Charles University in Prague and Masaryk University in Brno. The research three bachelor’s and one master’s students presented in their final works enabled me to add further empirical material. The bachelor’s work of Vojtěch Ř ehák (2020) observed and questioned the punk rock group E!E active since 1987. Ř ehák presented a reflection on punk music practice in relation to ageing with the idea of authenticity and subcultural capital put in front. Another informative bachelor’s work was that of Eva Hrabovská (2016), who conducted interviews with different punks active in Brno and Eastern Moravia with the aim to discuss the differences between younger and older generation of punks. The bachelor’s work of Dan Beringer (2020) presented interviews with older punks discussing the changes in perception of authenticity of punk and its subcultural capital. Finally, the diploma work of Petra Kumová (2014) discussed predominantly the  processes of individualization and commodification and presented statements of several hardcore punks active in the early 2010s Prague. In result of this combined research, I draw empirical material from over 20 interviews with different punks led mainly in the second half of the 2010s.

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Meanings of Punk The tendency to describe punk dialectically as a set of controversies is far from my own. Earlier in this chapter, I have pointed to opposing understandings of punk masculinities. A dialectical understanding of punk was also presented by one of the informers of Hrabovská, 35-year-old Tomáš: [Punk is] freedom, being torn apart, equality, one’s own way, access to things, music, drugs, enjoying life, but also problems, defiance, addictions, inconveniences, dirt, disgust and negative things. (Hrabovská, 2016, pp. 38–39)

It is particularly noteworthy that this informer can also be placed rather in-between the two ideal generations sketched in this chapter. Therefore, his dialectical understanding could be understood as a result of both generational stands, of older as well as younger punks. But the positive aspects of punk were also shared intergenerationally. The younger informer Josef stated that the central idea of punk for him was not in the distinction from the society but, for him, punk was both lifestyle and a sociopolitical subculture, and its mission consisted in the protection of those who are fragile, endangered or in precarious conditions. It needs to be underlined that Josef referred particularly to hardcore punk and antifascism with hardcore punk being a myriad of punk-inspired styles and scenes aiming to bring the idea of radicalism back to the presumably depoliticized music and lifestyle (Kumová, 2014, p.  12). Such practices would refer to what was described in the Czech context as a “non-commercial hc/punk” (Kur ̌ík, 2018, p.  170), or “opinion punk” (Pixová, 2011, pp.  81–82). These were put to contradiction and negatively labelled “Czech punk”, “3P punk” (from pivo, párek, prcac ǩ a: “beer, sausage, easy fuck”) (Kur ̌ík, 2018, p.  171), or simply “musical punk” (Pixová, 2011, pp. 81–82). Similarly to younger Josef, one of the informers of Beringer, 52-year-old Ota, stated: [Punk is] against the bad in the world. At least a little, mostly you do shit, but at least you try a little bit. (Beringer, 2020, p. 53)

Such positive understanding of punk as a service to society can be put in contradiction with the stress on provocation and autonomy from the

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society at large as its key components. For 55-year-old Jan, interviewed by Hrabovská, the 1980s Czechoslovak punk were simply about people looking in disbelief, old ladies lamenting, but we were completely fucked up. We had simply our own world and felt good about it. (Hrabovská, 2016, p. 44)

The antisocial aspect was also stressed by 50-year-old Václav, interviewed by Beringer: Punk isn’t like you have to have some hair. Punk is freedom, absolute freedom, punk is the greatest freedom that you can say “fuck off” to everyone. (Beringer, 2020, p. 43)

Such understanding of punk was particularly pertinent for the 1980s Czechoslovakia as 50-year-old Jaroslav, interviewed by Beringer, put it: Because people were afraid of us, some were afraid, some mocked us, it was fun and we provoked them. And the music, it was just something else. Nobody really knew punk then, it was just great. (Beringer, 2020, p. 31)

Tensions resulting from different understandings of punk can be thus translated not only to dialectics of provocation and/or responsibility but also to lifestyle choices, as already briefly sketched above. Preference given to alcohol and drugs against veganism and other “clean” lifestyles can also create misunderstandings, as in the case of 55-year-old Jan, interviewed by Hrabovská. Asked to evaluate lifestyles and political leanings of younger punks, Jan replied: Now they say they are fighting against consumerism. Yeah, but which one? It’s like they don’t eat animals and cuddle with flowers, that’s what they call protest. (Hrabovská, 2016, p. 44)

Many older punks admit having fallen into addiction, be it drugs or alcohol. The addiction may also have then taken over punk, as in the case of 50-year-old Jaroslav, interviewed by Beringer: I was just booze then, I didn’t do anything, I was completely devastated that I didn’t even go to any concerts, nothing. […] I was no longer attracted to it. (Beringer, 2020, p. 39)

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My younger informer, Josef, stated he was a vegan but also crafted his own beer which helped him to socialize in the village where no public bar or café was in function. Sixty-year-old Rudolf is a long-term advocate of legalization of marihuana (Hubička, 1997). Judging from his Facebook posts, he is also an occasional consumer of psilocybin. Together with beer, these three substances are fairly common not only to punks but also to all the generations referring to the Czech 1990s as the peak of their subcultural activities.

Exploiting the Past Sarah Thornton (1995) introduced the category of subcultural capital as a concept coined for analysing “objectified and embodied” hipness, often drawn from distinction from what the participants consider as negation of their tastes. In the case of ageing Czech male punks, subcultural capital often draws from specific generational experience of 1980s punk in socialist ̌ Czechoslovakia. One of the musicians interviewed by Rehák evoked a specific chemistry lived due to the (real or perceived) repression in the 1980s: Those beginnings were unforgettable. When we came somewhere to the pub secretly, we slowly crept in with guitars on our backs, dude, that was incredible. And today no one will experience it and we will remember it forever and it’s a complete bombshell. (Ř ehák, 2020, p. 30)

Similarly, 55-year-old Jan, interviewed by Hrabovská, attributed his generational punk experience to the opposition to the Communist regime: You could have really screamed out what pissed you off in that fucking Communist era. You could show a little bit your anger. (Hrabovská, 2016, p. 43)

This would probably also be the position of 60-year-old Rudolf, who can be considered as an anti-Communist dissident and was persecuted by the police in 1987 for being in possession of the non-official prints. His name figures on the “List of members of the Independent Peace Association—Initiative for the Demilitarization of Society” covering the activities between April 1988 and July 1989 and also on an official “List of issued certificates of participants in the resistance against Communism” of June 2021. It is noteworthy to mention that his dissident activities and

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clashes with the police did not end with changes of 1989/1990 but continued from the 1990s onwards. In 1992, he was also detained and threatened by police violence, possibly as a vengeance for his previous anti-police stands (Maraczi, 2003). Further views on politicization of punk in late state socialist Czechoslovakia was expressed by 52-year-old Ota, interviewed by Beringer: We didn’t want to be against [the regime] originally. We just wanted to live our way and then all of a sudden, the commie and cop bitches start fucking into our lives, and that’s when they just suck and we started fighting them. They actually raised us, otherwise we wouldn’t really care. (Beringer, 2020, p. 43)

Subcultural capital of older punks could also be drawn from their long-­ term punk engagement. One of the musicians interviewed by Ř ehák stated vis-à-vis young music fans: The worst thing is when they come: “May I kindly ask you, could give me a drumstick?”. I tell them, “Piss off, if you speak to me like this, I won’t give you shit!”. And they always look… I say, “That doesn’t mean if I’m going to be almost 60 now [… that] I’m old, and you’re going to speak to me like that. […] We’re old punks, you guys.” (Ř ehák, 2020, p. 30)

Noteworthy repetition in many of the narratives with important consequences for raising of subcultural capital is a discourse of previous punk unity. It could also be given to the particular context of the resistance against state socialist apparatus, as one of the musicians interviewed by Ř ehák put it: Today, as punks have ten thousand opinions, before it was quite united against Communists and today they scold everything, the West, the Union, the Germans, the Russians and I don’t know who else. (Ř ehák, 2020, p. 33)

The perceived unity could also go back to the early 1990s and transgress punk towards other subcultures, as Valis, one of the first punks in Rožnov who was interviewed by Bob Kuřík, remembered: After the coup [of 1989] it was all connected—long-haired, punks, but also skinheads. (Kuřík, 2018, p. 172)

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Such subcultural memory and the “mnemonic community” (Jacobson, 2019) gathered around it results in transmitting of the memory to younger punks. Michaela Pixová (2011, p. 67), quoted an interview with 18-year-­ old Vidlák, who expressed similar nostalgia for the historical coherence of the scene. One of the younger hardcore punks, Štěpán, interviewed by Kumová, overstepped this post-memory to a more refined political critique: […]I’ve seen in recent years that even our subculture is terribly atomized, just like the rest of the society […] and I think it’s wrong, that the collective dimension is very important, especially in today’s Internet age, so I try to in fact, with almost everything I do, to give it that collective dimension again, or at least to integrate it into some whole that is trying to do so. (Kumová, 2014, p. 64)

Such collectivist thinking is rather rare among punks drawing their generational experience from the 1980s Czechoslovakia. It would probably be understood with suspicion, in line with dominant anti-Communist narratives. For younger punks however, this kind of past is only history, and their formative years were influenced by privatization of the public sphere and strict individualism to which they propose an antidote in collective organization.

Finding Home Giving a sense to one’s life temporarily is only one yet evidently important part of the layers of identification of Czech ageing punk males. Another one is the spatiality, and, in this context, I consider particularly fruitful to explore different understandings of notion of home. Furthermore, questioning home as a practice also reveals deep political meanings tightly related to punk memories. In most cases of the research of punk, it has been described as a predominantly urban phenomenon, with main scenes in big cities. The research of a particular punk scene in a small town with a rather traditional cultural elite (Kuřík, 2018) is rather rare, and even in the international academic works there is only a handful of mentions about punk in rural environment (e.g. McKay in Sabin, 1999, p. 65 or Bennett, 2013, pp.  73, 90–91). But some punks, such as those of English band Crass, followed earlier examples of abandoning a city life for founding communes in the rural environment. Such practices were documented as

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well in the socialist Czechoslovakia, where they derived from the “underground” milieu that also partly encompassed some early punks. Many of such geographical places corresponded to those marginal ones that Rob Shields described as “towns and regions which have been ‘left behind’ in the modern race for progress” (Shields, 1991, p. 3). Moving from the city and integration in the new environment opens further questions of in-betweenness of ageing punks in the rural community and their respective scenes, as well as change from cultural centre to the periphery and resulting feelings of isolation or changing of their life priorities. Josef, a hardcore punk in his 30s, originally from the Central Bohemian region with perfect public transport accessibility to the capital, described moving to the relatively remote location in the north of the country close to the Polish and German border as a personal and strategic choice. In our interview, he stated being attracted by the scene in the nearby regional centre of Liberec. He had chosen the village of some 880 inhabitants to move to with his partner since it was accessible, with many abandoned properties and the possibility to buy a house for a reasonable price. Besides, several like-minded people from Liberec and elsewhere had settled in the village. In response to my questioning about the experiences of moving into a property that needed to be taken care of, Josef stated that this was something he had accounted for and thus was prepared. The only challenge he found was the pitiful state of internet and cell phone coverage of the region. The Facebook account of 60-year-old punk Rudolf bears a testimony of many conflicts with his neighbours in a tiny village of some 43 houses and not much more than 50 inhabitants, whom he repeatedly accused of being collaborators of Communist secret police and voluntary border guards. Adding to the conflicts with police described earlier, Rudolf socializes elsewhere. He is well-integrated into a network of non-conformist artists and their sympathizers in the region, often visiting bars, music clubs, bookstores and art galleries of several small towns near the village. This network follows non-conformists residing in the area that is part of the larger topographical region of Czech-Moravian Highlands. The region extending to the Forest Quarter in Lower Austria can be described as an internal periphery between Prague, Vienna and Brno. The relative vicinity to the big centres but also isolation made it particularly appealing for some of the participants of the Czechoslovak “underground” who found refuge there from the late 1970s onwards. On his Facebook, Rudolf expresses his fascination of the aesthetics of seemingly empty landscapes of large and

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relatively high-elevated fields, forests and ridges through many snapshots. When dressed for work in the forest or riding one of his horses, it would be, possibly with the exception of an ironic beanie with the inscription “Policie” (Police), hard to distinguish him from other locals of the same age. The uneasiness of Rudolf finding his place in a remote rural setting can be at best illustrated by the following incident dating to a late afternoon of November 2008 when a police patrol from some 15 km far small town was called to the village because a dog, a cross between a Rhodesian Ridgeback and an American pit-bull terrier, was running around the commons. The dog had reportedly previously bitten two people, and the villagers were afraid of him. At the request of the police, then 46-year-old Rudolf came out of the house and began swearing at the patrol, threatening them with an iron rod, further provoking the dog to attack the policemen. The dog eventually bit into the buttocks of one of the intervening police officers. At the trial in April 2011, Rudolf’s advocate stressed that Rudolf was a peculiar person, who many disliked, but whose life cannot be suppressed by the power of the state, as it has happened before the political changes of 1989/1990. According to the defence, the visit of the police officers was unjustified. Testimonies of earlier attacks of the dog needed also to be questioned. The policemen were supposed to have arrived in the dark, shouted in front of the house and shone a torch at the windows; they knew Rudolf was going to be aggressive because of his bad relations and negative experiences with the police (Majer, 2011). Collections of narratives of ageing Czech punks analysed in the four student works rarely mention the experiences of homelessness, and, if so, these are assessed negatively. This may be due to the difficulties faced in approaching homeless informers as well as the predominantly middle-class profiles of interviewed ageing punks. Experiences of political squatting are mentioned more often as a part of radical stands linked with hardcore punk but these either focus on description of the 1990s squats without leaving space for personal memories or relate to the last political squat in Prague, Klinika, that was expelled in January 2019. Punk musicians interviewed by Ř ehák have expressed age-dependent difficulties of touring with the band (Ř ehák, 2020, p. 56). Study of Kur ̌ík presents narration of one ageing punk, bearing the punk name Kope, who works as a university lecturer in Ostrava and is active in local politics:

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Rožnov punk was never like those drunks I met in Ostrava. There it has never been so intellectually focused, whereas the punks here were all very well-read. In this, Rožnov is quite specific. (Kuřík, 2018, p. 167)

Political engagement of Czech ageing male punks in local politics was nevertheless not a specificity of Rožnov with its some 16 thousand inhabitants. Former singer of the punk band N.V.Ú., then 53 years old, Štěpán Málek took part in  local politics of the town of almost 100 thousand inhabitants in Eastern Bohemia, Hradec Králové. In an interview to a music webzine Frontman, he reacted to the idea of selling out of punk ideas towards the participation in the mainstream politics: It was a coalition of Pirate Party, Green Party and independents. I know many of those people personally and I trust them. I asked if they are convinced that they want me. They said yes, so I went into that. I certainly don’t feel the need to follow to higher levels, because it would eat me up, but at the local level, where I know the terrain, I didn’t have a problem with taking part in it. (Málek, 2019)

Liberal, centrist and independent politics particularly on the local level were thus contextually understood as acceptable. For many ageing punks, home was defined locally, through networks of like-minded people.

Ageing Punk Materiality Final consideration of Czech ageing punk males in this chapter concerns a set of narratives centred around ageing body, work issues and family. In linking these diverse themes, I approach the position of historical materialism pioneered by Friedrich Engels (1845), who collected evidence of predominantly negative effects of urbanization. Engels turned then his attention to individual and collective experiences of workers and their families. While the context of ageing Czech punks can hardly be compared to the suffering presented by Engels, his method remains inspiring for its humanistic focus. Issues linked with the ageing body were outlined particularly by punk musicians interviewed by Ř ehák. In these interviews, they stressed their need to relax more often, including a nap needed before the show, to cope with frequent loss of energy, including difficulties getting up in the morning, as well as obstacles resulting from the abuse of alcohol, particularly with their long hangovers (Ř ehák, 2020, pp. 43–44).

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Also Málek (2019), explaining his reason for leaving the band N.V.Ú., stressed health reasons and decreasing of energy with age. He added a  general observation of ageing punks gaining weight and being more susceptible to falling ill with viruses. Musicians interviewed by Ř ehák stressed the necessity of preserving their jobs outside of the music industry, particularly in such domains that enabled flexibility for touring with the band (Ř ehák, 2020, p. 46). For them, work would also be reason of preserving their minds and bodies in an adequate condition (Ř ehák, 2020, p. 42). Fifty-two-year- old Lukáš, interviewed by Beringer, expressed the necessity of having several side jobs: In the morning I go to school, I teach there, then I go to training and at 7 PM I come home, eat and fall asleep, and it went on like this all the time. As you have a family, you’re always trying to get some money somewhere. I’m not saying that you should have wealth or anything, but to survive at all, I had three jobs. (Beringer, 2020, p. 38)

Such a life was hardly compatible with visiting punk shows: I taught, I trained, then I had a job in one school, and then I also had a cleaning job in a block of flats. I lasted like that about five years […] so of course there wasn’t much time for [going to the concerts]. (Beringer, 2020, p. 38)

This experience influenced by low level of wages in the Czech education sector only partly contradicts that of 24-year-old Karel from Eastern Moravia, interviewed by Hrabovská online because of his heavy workload and difficulties to arrange a meeting in-person. Karel stated about his company that he did not have any problems at work, because “[T]hey are all a little bit punks there” (Hrabovská, 2016, p. 36). Such statements that could possibly also reflect a  “new spirit of capitalism” (Boltanski & Chiapello, 1999) need to be of course understood in context. As one of the musicians interviewed by Ř ehák puts it: It also depends on the fact that if you are actually single, you do not have children, you do not have to deal with some mortgages and income and all this. (Ř ehák, 2020, p. 42).

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According to them, their careers as musicians were only enabled because of the understanding and support of their partners (Ř ehák, 2020, pp. 46–47), and punk relationships seem to be particularly fragile. For a certain period, 60-year-old Rudolf put on his Facebook page many snapshots with his one-generation younger girlfriend. Posting of these snapshots eventually stopped in favour of melancholic landscape pictures discussed above. In an online interview, Josef in his early 30s, insisted on collective decisions in both, activist groups and family. Josef, who worked on the research project focusing on industrial heritage and enabling important share of the remote work, stressed on the importance of socialization in the village life through childcare. One of the most powerful Facebook posts of Rudolf also related to him visiting his grandchild and his daughter. On the contrary, one of  the hardcore punks, Honza, interviewed by Kumová, expressed his distance from children but at the same time understood that enabling punk childcare activities meant a possibility for their parents to participate in radical politics: I have personally no relationship with children, children just do not interest me and I even he wasn’t thinking about some children’s corner, but someone came and said, “It would be good, if there is a children’s corner here.” I rolled my eyes up, Jesus, again some children, I’m not in the mood for that, but at that moment I was like, why not? If anyone wants to do it and thinks it’s important, so let them just do it. (Kumová, 2014, pp. 68–69)

In general, the issues of punk fatherhoods are often framed on the scale between responsibility and neglect and are a particularly sensitive topic for not only many ageing punks but also their children. One of the  young second-generation punks interviewed by Hrabovská stated that there were rumours at school about her taking drugs and her parents neglecting her (Hrabovská, 2016, p. 41). Geographer Michaela Pixová, who is also the daughter of a relatively known Czech punk musician, confessed she was bored by the music of the band of her father and had embraced punk only when having later discovered The Exploited (Pixová, 2011, p. 49). The musician, interviewed by Ř ehák, mentioned his “8 years old daughter enjoying performance” (Ř ehák, 2020, pp. 47–48). Such a difficult, verifiable observation was however at least partly confirmed by the previous childhood experience of 21-year-old Šimon from Eastern Moravia, interviewed by Hrabovská, who remembered visiting punk festivals with his dad: “It was fun. Music and people were cool” (Hrabovská, 2016, p. 37).

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Conclusion The first generation of Czech male punks analysed in this chapter draws its subcultural capital from its recollections of state socialism, memories that have mostly led to their fervent anti-Communism. For the second generation, state socialism was generally no longer an issue, and its members were more committed to various anti-capitalist struggles. Mutual incomprehension of these two groups, who are now heading towards middle or silver age, results from the political divide around their different collective memories and experiences. Their opposing preferences include individualism versus collective action; rebellion and provocation versus more socially responsible choices; and alcohol and drug misuse versus a “clean” lifestyle of veganism; and different understandings of home, health, work and family. Further research possibilities could include generational conflicts around commodification, commercialization and the cohesion of the punk scene that have created further age-based oppositions between self-labelled real punks on the one hand and “posers” and “parasites” on the other. Curiously and even more so because the resulting practice differed substantially, the very motive of leaving the city for the countryside remained almost unchanged for representatives of both punk generations. It coincided with the aim for searching alternatives vis-à-vis urban lifestyle based on the hectic rhythm of capital, be it in the entertainment sector or in academia.

References Aksiutina, O. (2005). DIY pank-kul’tura kak fenomen molodezhnoi kontrkul’tury v postsovetskom postranstve. In I. V. Kondakov (Ed.), Sovremennie transformatsii rossiiskoi kul’tury (pp. 564–603). Nauka. Andes, L. (1998). Growing Up Punk: Meaning and Commitment Careers in a Contemporary Youth Subculture. In J. S. Epstein (Ed.), Youth Culture: Identity in a Postmodern World (pp. 213–231). Blackwell. Bennett, A. (2006). Punk’s Not Dead: The Continuing Significance of Punk Rock for an Older Generation of Fans. Sociology, 40(2), 219–235. https://doi. org/10.1177/00380385060620306 Bennett, A. (2013). Music, Style, and Aging: Growing Old Disgracefully? Temple University. Bennett, A. (2018). Popular Music Scenes and Aging Bodies. Journal of Aging Studies, 45, 49–53. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0261143012000013

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Bennett, A., & Taylor, J. (2012). As Time Goes By: Music, Dance and Ageing. Popular Music, 31(2), 231–243. Bestley, R., & Dines, D. (2018). Punk Sans Frontières: Mapping the Trajectory of Global Punk. In S.  Krüger Bridge (Ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Global Popular Music. Oxford University Press. Boltanski, L., & Chiapello, E. (1999). Le nouvel esprit du capitalisme. Gallimard. Bourdieu, P. (1979). Distinction. Critique sociale du jugement. . Císař, O., & Koubek, M. (2012). Include ‘em all: Culture, Politics and a Local Hardcore/Punk Scene in the Czech Republic. Poetics, 40(1), 1–21. Clark, D. (2003). The Death and Life of Punk, The Last Subculture. In D.  Muggleton & R.  Weinzierl (Eds.), The Post-Subcultures Reader (pp. 223–236). Berg. de Boise, S. (2020). Men, Masculinities and Music. In L. Gottzén, U. Mellström, & T. Shefer (Eds.), Routledge International Handbook of Masculinity Studies (pp. 414–424). Routledge. Dědek, H., & Vlček, J. (2012). Zub c ǎ su. Rozhovor. Galén. Engels, F. (1845). Die Lage der arbeitenden Klasse in England. Otto Wigand. Fuchs, F. (2002). Kytary a rě v aneb Co bylo za zdí. Punk rock a hardcore v Č eskoslovensku před rokem 1989. Papagájův Hlasatel. Gildart, K., Gough-Yates, A., Lincoln, S., Osgerby, B., Robinson, L., Street, J., Webb, P., Worley, M., & (eds.). (2020). Hebdige and Subculture in the Twenty-­ First Century: Through the Subcultural Lens. Palgrave. Golobov, I., Pilkington, H., & Steinholt, Y. B. (2014). Punk in Russia: Cultural Mutation from the ‘Useless’ to the ‘Moronic’. Routledge. Haenfler, R. (2006). Straight Edge: Hardcore Punk, Clean Living Youth, and Social Change. Rutgers University Press. Hammer, F. (2017). Punk in Hungary. In D.  Horn & J.  Shepherd (Eds.), Bloomsbury Encyclopedia of Popular Music of the World (Vol. 11, pp. 600–602). Bloomsbury. Hebdige, D. (1979). Subculture: The Meaning of Style. Routledge. Hesmondhalgh, D. (2005). Subcultures, Scenes or Tribes: None of the Above. Journal of Youth Studies, 8(1), 21–40. https://doi.org/10.1080/1367626 0500063652 Hodkinson, P. (2013). Spectacular Youth Cultures and Ageing: Beyond Refusing to Grow Up. Sociology Compass, 7(1), 13–22. Hubička, F. (1997). Konopí místo umělé hmoty. Lidové noviny, 19. 5. , 16. Jackson, D. (2016). Exploring Aging Masculinities. The Body, Sexuality and Social Lives. Palgrave Macmillan. Jacobson, M. (2019). Graffiti, Aging and Subcultural Memory—A Struggle for Recognition through Podcast Narratives. Societies, 10(1), 1–17. Kuřík, B. (2018). Č lověk-chyba z Vraha: existenciální revolta punkem v čase “mrtvých havlů”. In B. Kuřík & J. Charvát (Eds.), Mikrofon je naše bomba: politika a hudební subkultury mládeže v postsocialistickém Č esku (pp. 161–209). Togga.

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Lewin, P., & Williams, P. J. (2009). The Ideology and Practice of Authenticity in Punk Subculture. In J. P. Williams & P. Vannini (Eds.), Authenticity in Culture, Self, and Society (pp. 65–83). Routledge. Majer, V. (2011, April 24). Podmínka za psí zuby v hýždi policisty. Jindřichohradecký deník. https://www.denik.cz/regiony/podminka-­za-­psi-­zuby-­v-­hyzdi-­ policisty20110421.html Málek, Š. (2019, October 28). Mladí revolucionáři, staří hófráti. Interview with Jan Hamerský. Frontman. https://www.frontman.cz/stepan-­malek-­nvu-­ mladi-­revolucionari-­stari-­hofrati Mannheim, K. (1928). Das Problem der Generationen. Kölner Vierteljahrshefte für Soziologie: Zeitschrift des Forschungsinstituts für Sozialwissenschaften in Köln, 9(1/2), 157–185. Maraczi, P. (2003, June 23). O absurditě paragrafu Útok na ver ̌ejného činitele. Neviditelný pes. www.archiv.neviditelnypes.zpravy.cz/clanky/2003/06/ 31168_11_14_0.html Marciniak, M. (2015). Transnational Punk Communities in Poland: From Nihilism to Nothing Outside Punk. . Muršič, R. (2009). Punk Anthropology: From a Study of a Local Slovene Alternative Rock Scene Towards Partisan Scholarship. In L. Kürti & P. Skalník (Eds.), Post-socialist Europe: Anthropological Perspectives from Home (pp. 188–205). Berghahn Books. Patton, R.  A. (2018). Punk Crisis: The Global Punk Rock Revolution. Oxford University Press. Pearson, D. (2021). Rebel Music in the Triumphant Empire Punk Rock in the 1990s United States. Oxford University Press. Perasović, B. (2001). Urbana plemena. Sociologija subkultura u Hrvatskoj. Hrvatska sveučilišna naklada. Pilkington, H. (2012). Punk—But Not as We Know It: Punk in Post-Socialist Space. Punk & Post-Punk, 3(1), 253–266. Pini, B., & Mayes, R. (2020). Rural Masculinity. In L. Gottzén, U. Mellström, & T.  Shefer (Eds.), Routledge International Handbook of Masculinity Studies (pp. 302–310). Routledge. Pixová, M. (2011). Č eský punk za oponou i pr ̌ed oponou. In M. Kolárǒ vá (Ed.), Revolta stylem: hudební subkultury mládeže v Č eské republice (pp.  45–82). Sociologické nakladatelství. Sabin, R. (Ed.). (1999). Punk Rock: So What? The Cultural Legacy of Punk. Routledge. Shields, R. (1991). Places on the Margin: Alternative Geographies of Modernity. Routledge. Thornton, S. (1995). Club Cultures. Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Polity. Ventsel, A. (2020). Identity, Class and the Economics of an Eastern German Subculture. Berghahn.

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Wahlström Henriksson, H. (2020). Exploring fatherhood in critical gender research. In L.  Gottzén, U.  Mellström and T.  Shefer (Eds.) Routledge International Handbook of Masculinity Studies (pp. 320–330). Routledge. Way, L. (2020). Punk, Gender and Ageing: Just Typical Girls? Emerald Books. Way, L. (2021). Punk Is Just a State of Mind: Exploring What Punk Means to Older Punk Women. The Sociological Review, 69(1), 107–122. Woodman, D., & Bennett, A. (Eds.). (2015). Youth Cultures, Transitions, and Generations. Bridging the Gap in Youth Research. Palgrave Macmillan. Worley, M. (2017). No Future: Punk, Politics and British Youth Culture, 1976–1984. Cambridge University Press.

Bachelor Works Beringer, D. (2020). Punkerem v padesáti? Reflexe proměn punkové subkulturní identity. Charles University. Hrabovská, E. (2016). Generac n ̌ í rozdíly v subkultuře punk v Č R. Masaryk University. Ř ehák, V. (2020). “My jsme staří punkeři”: Autoreflexe starší generace aktivních hudebníků v c ě ské subkultuře punku. Charles University.

Diploma Work Kumová, P. (2014). Malé kousky svobody. Individualizace a komodifikace v hardcore-­ punk subkultuře. Charles University.

Documentaries Chaufour, L. (2012). East Punk Memories. Supersonicglide. Gébová, D. (2015). Punk. Kmeny Series. Czech Television.

Other Czech and Slovak Archive of Subcultures, ziny.info. Facebook page of Rudolf. List of members of the Independent Peace Association—Initiative for the Demilitarization of Society, https://www.vons.cz/data/pdf/bulletiny_NMS/ Seznam%20%C4%8Dlen%C5%AF%20NMS%201988-­1989.pdf List of issued certificates of participants in the resistance against Communism, https://3odboj.army.cz/ Online interview with Josef, June 2020.

CHAPTER 4

‘… And Out Come the Comps’: Punk-O-­ Rama, Pro Skater, and Their Roles as Peak Music Experiences in a Current Punk Identity Ellen Bernhard

Introduction For many music listeners, specific albums and songs reignite a nostalgic recollection of youth. Music fans of all genres can remember the first time they heard a particular song or a memorable album. As such, it is important to consider the ways that these memories and the music itself influence and impact our own understandings of identity. While music is integral to the formation of self, it is also used to establish connections with others (Hancock & Lorr, 2013). The moment of exposure to this music influences its continued significance for the listener moving forward, especially so when considering music preferences that emerge during adolescence (Schubert, 2016). Research shows that there is often a

E. Bernhard (*) Georgian Court University, Lakewood, NJ, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9_4

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nostalgic connection between media content and the consumption of it during one’s youth (Bolin, 2016). The purpose of this research is to consider the nostalgic impact of Epitaph’s Punk-O-Rama compilations and Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater soundtracks for participants, and to understand how this music acted as a “peak music experience” (Green, 2016) for those who were introduced to punk rock through these means.

The Rise of Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater By the mid-1990s, punk rock prevailed as the next rising alternative music genre, one squarely on the radar of a music industry which sought to capitalize on yet another style of music with an unconventional sound and defiant ethos. Pop punk entered the public consciousness in 1994 with Green Day’s major label debut of Dookie and the Offspring’s release of Smash. The pop punk genre was introduced to the mainstream with resounding acclaim. Dookie and Smash climbed the Billboard charts and have sold millions of copies since their initial releases (Bienstock, 2014; Chandler, 2014; Pack, 2018). Green Day and the Offspring, along with other pop punk bands that followed, helped to usher in a new generation of fans who were introduced to punk rock through commercial outlets such as MTV, music magazines, and Top-40 radio stations, which circulated punk rock to the masses. As MTV capitalized on the heightened interest in a new wave of alternative music, CD compilations and video games prevailed as two successful mediums for punk rock to thrive. In 1994, Epitaph Records released its first Punk-O-Rama compilation album, featuring 16 songs from several bands on the record label. The punk rock compilation business model was simple: feature 15–25 bands on one CD and sell it for half (or even a third of) the price of a full-length album. At a time when CD prices averaged $13.42 in 1999 (Hogan, 2015), Epitaph’s low price point allowed curious listeners to explore the genre in a low-stakes fashion—compilations ranged in price from US $6 to 8, and were priced more cheaply if purchased used. Appealing to both casual and dedicated listeners of punk rock during the mid- to late 1990s, the Punk-O-Rama series included recognizable bands such as Bad Religion and the Offspring, but also introduced fans to smaller, lesser-known bands on the Epitaph roster. Ozzi (2017) writes: “Not only did comps help punk rock infiltrate the malls and chain stores of America, it carved out a self-contained industry for bands whose songs wouldn’t have otherwise landed on Billboard charts.” With their low price

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point and extensive track listing, the albums—which were sold at mass retailers such as Best Buy, Walmart, and Blockbuster Video—were released annually until 2005. While Punk-O-Rama was one of the first punk compilations to reach commercial popularity in the mid-1990s, other punk labels saw the benefits in releasing similar compilations of their own rosters, quickly adopting this business model to sell compilation albums featuring bands on their labels. Other independent labels such as Fat Wreck Chords, Hellcat Records, Hopeless Records, Go-Kart Records, and Kung Fu Records released their own compilation series in the same format, with many labels also releasing shorter compilations and samplers which were often handed out for free at concerts and festivals or were used promotionally in conjunction with the sale of other full-length albums and band merchandise. During its 11-year run, the Punk-O-Rama compilation series sold over 1.7 million copies worldwide (“The Seventh Edition,” 2002). The compilation album, a practice conjured in a pre-digital era, offered fans an inexpensive entry into the genre at a time when the price of a CD was often a prohibitive barrier for those looking to experiment with new music. Bray (2014) writes: “[Punk comps] gave you a road map to what bands you had to check out and which ones were worth skipping. Rather than rolling the dice and paying $12 for a full album that may or may not be any good, you could get a taster’s choice of 20 or 25 bands in one sitting.” With the extensive variety offered, fans could purchase several compilations from various record labels and be exposed to a significant number of songs and artists for the price of one traditional CD. Like Epitaph’s Punk-O-Rama compilations and those that followed, Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater video game series proved to be another accessible and low-stakes way for listeners to explore punk rock. Pro Skater first became available in 1999 to consumers on the PlayStation console. In the game, players assume the avatar of a famous skateboarder and complete tricks and objectives of varying difficulty as the levels progress. Each Pro Skater game included its own curated soundtrack, which was comprised of songs from punk bands such as Dead Kennedys, Adolescents, the Vandals, and the Suicide Machines. In a 2019 interview, Hawk said of the musical choices on the early Pro Skater soundtracks: Skateboarding was counter-culture, so [skaters] were interested in a different kind of soundtrack; the kind of do-it-yourself, against-the-establishment thing … I was excited to dig deep into the culture and lifestyle of skating

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and the music that went along with that that I grew up listening to at the skatepark. (Leak, 2019)

The series, described as “a porthole to a world of alternative music” (Longbottom, 2020), is often cited alongside the Punk-O-Rama compilations as having provided fans and new listeners exposure to a wide range of artists within the punk genre. Pro Skater was one of the first video games to include convincing sound effects and a soundtrack featuring music from alternative artists (Bertoli, 2019). While often closely associated with the punk rock explosion of the mid- to late 1990s, the Pro Skater video game score was not exclusively composed of bands from the punk rock genre—the soundtrack included tracks from metal, hip-hop, ska, and alternative rock artists as well. Since its 1999 release, the Pro Skater series, with 20 different releases in the original franchise, has sold over 1.4 billion copies worldwide (Perez, 2020). In 2020, Pro Skater 1 + 2 was released as a remastered edition of the two original games in the series. The game became the fastest-selling edition of the Pro Skater series, selling more than one million copies in its first two weeks (Singh, 2020).

Peak Music Experiences and Nostalgia The current connections listeners have to their favorite music genres can provide insight into the reasons why music enjoyed in adolescence prevails as significant later in life. Schubert (2016) describes a “reminiscence bump” as “a psychological phenomenon that favours autobiographical recall of events that took place or were ‘encoded’ within the second and third decade of life” (p. 1007). Music-specific reminiscence bumps, which form in adulthood, can be understood as the result of music’s impact and the continued preference for that genre as listeners age. A prolonged fondness toward this music in adulthood is linked to feelings of nostalgia for adolescent years (Jakubowski et al., 2020). Defined by Green (2016) as “specific experiences involving music that are especially memorable, influential and even pivotal for the individuals involved” (p. 333), peak music experiences are the moments in a music listener’s life that are deemed extraordinary. An extension of Maslow’s (1971) discussion of “peak experiences,” which are described by Lowis (2002) as “profound experiences variously described as moments of great awe” (p. 351), and Denzin’s (1989) “epiphanies,” which are described by Kien (2013) as experiences “that one can identify as a turning point in

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one’s understanding of oneself and one’s relationship to the world” (p.  578), peak music experiences are music-related events that resonate more powerfully than others, often resulting in a lasting impact on the listener. Examples of peak music experiences might include vivid memories of listening to a favorite album for the first time or attending a concert of a beloved artist. What is important to note is that peak music experiences “stand out” in the recollections of music habits and preferences (Green, 2016, p.  334). Meaning is assigned to peak music experiences, and they ultimately become “narrative resources” which listeners use to establish personal and group identities (Green, 2016, p. 337). As such, the stories shared by participants serve as evidence of peak music experiences for those who vividly recalled elements of an introduction to punk rock that began with these recordings.

Punk Rock and Age Addressing the impact of these recordings on participants’ understanding of a current punk identity suggests the importance of this music as the listener moves into adulthood. For early subcultural researchers, youth cultures were viewed as the reaction of working-class youth to “structural changes” in the UK following World War II (Bennett, 1999, p. 600), and thus involvement in a subculture served as a “temporary transitional phase” before responsibilities such as a career and family obligations became a priority (Hodkinson, 2013, p. 1072). Later scholarship viewed youth involvement in subcultures not as a reaction to class struggles or dominant culture, but as a lifestyle marked by fluid indicators such as consumption habits and insider knowledge (Force, 2009). Research also suggests individualized participation in these so-called youth movements, with involvement fluctuating over time (Andes, 1998). While early subcultural research considered mass media a detriment to the existence of a subculture, post-subcultural theory identified an “osmotic” relationship between subcultural elements and mainstream popular culture and media (Weinzierl & Muggleton, 2003, p. 7). In addition, Thornton (1996) suggests that the relationship between youth cultures and mass media is not only inevitable but “central to the process of subcultural formation” (p. 117). As such, insight into the impact of Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater will further support the claim that the pervasiveness of commercial and widely distributed media played an important role in introducing new fans to punk rock.

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Further contemporary research on subcultures and music scenes suggests that participation within a punk scene often extends into adult years (Bennett, 2006). While markers of involvement may evolve due to professional and career obligations (Sklar & Delong, 2012), many scene participants continue to identify with chosen elements of a subcultural ideology (Haenfler, 2018), or participate in subculture-specific activities and consumption habits as they age (Bernhard, 2019). As it will be explored here, participants identify themselves as members of their respective punk scenes, and while this commitment may be varied, participants often cited their continued affiliation with punk rock (however it is defined) to an exposure to Punk-O-Rama and/or Pro Skater during adolescence.

Methods To complete this study, 44 semi-structured in-depth interviews with participants from seven countries (the United States, the United Kingdom, Indonesia, Canada, Australia, Brazil, and Italy) were conducted in May and June 2021. Participants were recruited via social media posts on Facebook and Twitter and through snowball sampling. Experiences with the Punk-O-Rama compilations and the Pro Skater soundtracks were sought in the recruitment posts, as an early pilot study focusing solely on the Punk-O-Rama compilations yielded only a handful of responses. The inclusion of both recordings produced a larger population of responses to the recruitment flyer. Interviews were conducted virtually, and participants were asked about their initial introduction to either the Punk-O-­ Rama compilations or Pro Skater soundtracks. Interviews lasted between 20 and 90  minutes. Questions addressed participants’ perceived significance of these recordings, how their continued interest in punk rock manifests itself today, and how their current interest in punk rock can be credited to exposure to these recordings. Interviews were transcribed and analyzed using thematic analysis (Terry & Hayfield, 2021). Relevant themes were determined and supportive evidence from the interviews are identified below. Using interviewing as a methodology for this study was useful in considering the narrative retelling of participants’ introductions and their current connections to their own punk scenes today.

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Findings This study considers participants’ introductions to punk rock through Punk-O-Rama and Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater as peak music experiences that contributed to a long-term interest in punk rock. Themes identified in this data provide insights into such introductions, a consideration of these recordings as gateways to further exploration of punk rock, and the lasting impact of Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater on a current punk identity some 20 years later. The Mall, the Wall, and Pizza Hut: Commercial Introductions And then there was also a place called The Wall, they had a whole section of just compilations, and not having a lot of money back then, it was either you could spend seven to ten dollars on a [compilation] CD and you’d get like 20 to 30 songs of various artists, or you spend $20 for one CD and you hope you like it all. (Ari)

Prior research shows that many listeners of contemporary punk rock were exposed to the genre through highly commercial means during the late 1990s and early 2000s. Commercial sources include outlets such as MTV or local radio stations (Bernhard, 2019). With punk rock’s continued presence on these mediums, exposure to the genre often began as the listener learned about more popular bands, such as Green Day or the Offspring, through music videos or frequent radio plays. While many of the bands featured on Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater were not always given similar airtime as bands such as Green Day, the ubiquity of the compilations and video games in chain stores such as Best Buy and Walmart meant that listeners had access to bands that were easy to locate but were not necessarily featured on the commercial airwaves to the extent of more popular bands in the genre. When asked about their introduction to either Punk-O-Rama or Pro Skater, several participants described their introduction to these recordings, which often came by way of promotional materials, mass media, and trips to the mall. Versions of Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater were used promotionally in partnerships with other brands. In 1999, Pizza Hut announced a partnership with PlayStation to release game demo disks to promote upcoming video games for the platform (Silva, 2020). The promotional disks offered a basic preview of the Pro Skater video game along

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with one song that accompanied the level. Below, JB describes receiving the demo for Pro Skater, and how the demo led to an interest in punk rock and skateboarding: I believe it was seventh, or sixth grade for me. So sixth grade, that had to have been 99, maybe 2000, before the game came out, because I received a demo from Pizza Hut. It was a demo from Pizza Hut where you can only play as Bob Burnquist or Tony Hawk. And you only have the first level, and the only song was Goldfinger’s ‘Superman.’ And I would play it nonstop …. That basically filled up my days, it was just the same level over and over and over again.

Like JB, Austin found the music through a Pro Skater demo disk that came with a subscription to Official Dreamcast Magazine, a magazine distributed by Sega from 1999 to 2001, which promoted the video game console and corresponding video games: In 2000, when I was 13, I got a Sega Dreamcast of all things. And I had a subscription to the Dreamcast magazine. And every month it had a demo disk, and one month the demo disk had the Tony Hawk Pro Skater demo on it. And it had three things: you had the warehouse level, you had Tony Hawk, and you had ‘New Girl’ by the Suicide Machines. And I played that demo, just that one two-minute loop so many times … I’ve listened to [‘New Girl’] literally thousands of times.

For others, the process of exploration began at the local mall. While some participants shared experiences of learning about the music from small independent record stores or through siblings and friends, several participants cited the mall as the locus of their introductions. Low price points for the Punk-O-Rama compilations meant that they were attractive to younger listeners, who may have lacked the disposable income to purchase full-price, single-artist CDs. José recalled the appeal of this price point, along with the communal practice of trading and sharing the Punk-­ O-­Rama albums with friends: This was definitely during the era when, you know, most of my friends and I were too young to drive. So we’d be spending a lot of time mall rattin’, you know, nothing better to do. So those things were usually impulse buys on the counter at Hot Topic, like the various Punk-O-Ramas and Fat Wreck comps and some other ones. And it was just like, ‘hey, here’s a CD with like,

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15 or 20 bands for like, five bucks, I could actually afford this and still get some food at the food court afterwards because none of us are old enough to work yet.’ And then you kind of worked out a system with your friends where it’s like, ‘alright, you buy that one, I’ll buy this one for five bucks each, and then we’ll copy them off each other.’

Throughout the interviews, many participants cited cost and quantity as attractive features of these recordings. When asked about his interest in the Punk-O-Rama compilations, Devan explained the appeal of the series, and how the variety on the compilations led to further exploration of the genre: [The compilations] were cheap. And if you spent five bucks on one, and there was like two or three songs on it that you really liked, that seemed worth five bucks, especially if that turns you on to another band that you’d be willing to explore further. We didn’t have filesharing, we didn’t have YouTube, there wasn’t even really a huge internet presence, not like we have now. Basically, if you wanted to discover a band, you really had to work hard at discovering a band and getting into it. So I think that you could call the comps a gateway drug for a lot of that because it helped facilitate your discovery of a lot of different bands that maybe you wouldn’t have had a chance to check out.

With this low-price, high-quantity model and the availability of these recordings in locations such as the mall, participants did not need to have significant insider knowledge of punk rock to locate this music. The music was delivered (literally, in the case of the Pizza Hut promotional discs) to their doorsteps. In some cases, the introduction involved only one or two songs, whereas other participants described the compilation-sharing process that would result in exposure to dozens of songs, bands, and record labels. Through connected networks of friends, participants viewed their purchases as a low-risk means for exploratory investigation into the genre, and these recordings helped to establish the groundwork for more in-­ depth research into lesser-known bands and record labels. The Enduring Impact of Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater As we get older, no matter what you’re into, I think you always want to kind of hold on to your youth … music always brings you back to some type of,

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part of your life, whether you got into it in your 20s or your teens or whatever … as much as we may not want to admit to it. (Toby)

The enduring impact of Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater proved significant in the interview data. Many participants viewed their exposure to either recording as a gateway to punk rock, which grew from an awareness of a few songs in the genre to a quest to fill the missing gaps in their punk discographies. Like the Punk-O-Rama compilations, the diverse soundtrack featured on Pro Skater offered a starting point for those interested in alternative music. For Andy, the soundtrack became an opportunity to learn more not just about punk rock but also about other alternative genres featured on the soundtrack: I definitely think it was a gateway into that kind of culture, that kind of scene … if you like it, I think you’re going to naturally want to explore more, because it kind of exposed me to what else is out there in terms of music … like once you hear [punk rock] on [Pro Skater] and you’re like ‘oh, there’s a whole area of music that I’m completely not being exposed to, like what else is out there that I probably will like?’

Sam described their introduction, and recalled the importance of Punk-­ O-­Rama in providing a gateway to both punk rock and the coinciding punk ethos, while acknowledging the lack of women represented across the Punk-O-Rama series: Like any time that anyone ever talks about how I got into punk, I remember specifically Punk-O-Rama 3. So that was definitely a gateway because it was such a variety of bands. Looking back at it the only thing that sucks is women weren’t really represented very well in a lot of these compilations, but it definitely set me on that path of just being interested in music, being interested in subversive music communities.

For Max, the shared network of friends with similar music tastes, paired with research on the internet, became the logical next step in further pursuit of the genre. At a time prior to social media, streaming services, or algorithms, exploration of new music often meant relying on various resources to piece together a cohesive discography: And so much of what I was doing was reading and listening to music, and using the early dial-up internet to find stuff to do and stuff that was

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i­nteresting. And so, if somebody at school would give me a tape or CD … I just wanted to devour every second of it. I wanted to understand every note if they gave me the booklet with it, I was digging through the liner notes and looking for like any reference to something else that could be cool. And then, when we got access to the internet, it was like, looking for websites or interviews that were published online, printing them, which now seems ridiculous. But at the time that was like how to get them because I could go somewhere and buy a Rolling Stone or whatever. And sort of just poring over them and digging into them.

As the soundtrack of Pro Skater included a track listing of songs and artists, users could immediately identify the songs on the soundtrack, rather than having to locate this information elsewhere. Having this track listing allowed Caleb to search for these featured artists online and make connections with others interested in punk rock: The soundtrack was in, it was in the credits of the game. So immediately, you could search for the band. And like I said, they’d mention other bands and there wasn’t an ‘associated artists’ at that time on Google, or anything. But that was the first game for like, the hard online kids that would come to be, and I think it was so important in building a shared experience with people that you didn’t know.

Participants also described Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater as evidence of being in the right place at the right time—a perfect storm facilitated by popular culture and technological advancements—and being the target demographic for these products. With pop punk on the radar of the masses, Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater took advantage of the public’s interest in the genre during the mid and late-1990s. Below, Francisco describes the enduring legacy of Punk-O-Rama, and Epitaph’s role in bringing punk rock to mass audiences: It seems like it was just a perfect moment in time for a lot of people. And it seemed like a really good, I guess, gateway drug. And they’re pretty timeless. Every time I listen to [Punk-O-Rama] it’s like the first time I’ve heard it. And I think they’ll stand the test of time. I haven’t really found many other comps that have really topped that as far as impact goes. But I think it was really just because of the age I was at [and] hearing it.

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Jared understood the Punk-O-Rama compilations to be evidence of Epitaph’s savvy marketing and their capitalizing on the public’s awareness of punk, which was brought on by more commercial bands receiving airplay at the time: Before the idea of filesharing, before this 21st century idea that music should be free, music was the thing you needed to purchase if you wanted to listen to it. And Epitaph was very, very smart, considering the bump they got from the Offspring, and then Rancid … it was this really sort of unique moment where the 80s underground was sort of splashing into the mainstream in this way that we, at the time, are still trying to grasp … and I think that the Punk-O-Rama series was Epitaph’s ‘we gotta strike while the iron’s hot.’

Many factors contributed to the success of Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater and their prolonged impact on audiences. As evidenced here, these soundtracks were readily available in a time before filesharing—they were often the first step for many participants to a more detailed exploration of alternative music. Participants described these experiences as gateways to further exploration, which was often facilitated by research conducted prior to a time when music was catalogued and readily available on the internet. In their discussion of seeking out this music, participants demonstrated the ways that this process contributed to a peak music experience during adolescence. With music immediately available on smartphones and tablets today, the details of locating this music in a time when technology was less intuitive, highlight the impact of both the music itself and the steps taken to complete a punk discography in the mid- to late 1990s. Lasting Impression of Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater on the Current Punk Identity In considering the long-term impact of Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater and the influence on a current punk identity, participants identified many reasons their exposure to the genre continued to be significant today. Political ideology often surfaced as a motivation for continued participation in a punk scene (however that participation is defined). For Vanessa, exposure to punk rock meant an introduction to relevant political ideologies that have stayed with her into adulthood:

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[Punk rock] taught me that it was okay to be different. And I encourage myself and people in my life to do what they want, like not to worry about what people are going to say. I’m also, politically, I’m pretty strongly like left, socialist, and that kind of stuff. So I feel like it’s really shaped that aspect, like politically. I didn’t care about politics at all when I was younger, and as I’ve gotten older, it’s like all of these things are connected. Like my ideals that came along with being interested in this type of music go along with my ideals for what I think everybody should be allowed to access.

Like Vanessa, Frank and Isaac credited Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater as facilitating their introductions to leftist politics, citing bands like Rage Against the Machine and Anti-Flag as integral to a current political mindset: Frank: “I don’t know that I would have discovered Rage Against the Machine apart from Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater soundtrack. More than that I don’t think I would have gotten involved in more leftist thought or radical thinking.” Isaac: “I think with the [George W.] Bush stuff in 2000–2001, or maybe a little after, I guess when the reelection was coming up and everyone was releasing like Punk Voter, and Anti-Flag was doing those albums, I think that was when I finally got somewhat political. I don’t think I listened to any of those bands … so it definitely helped shape me politically.” In considering the legacy of either Punk-O-Rama or Pro Skater, participants shared their views on the music’s impact and the ways this introduction shaped an identity or current participation in a punk scene. For Alex, punk rock allowed for exploration into an identity during adolescence, and a sense of camaraderie with other like-minded individuals: I think playing Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater and listening to that music led me to begin to craft I guess one of my earliest senses of identity. And it was an identity that was cool, that was mine … And I think as I grew up and I went to college, the identity part of punk has always been a really big part of it, like this is a place with like-minded people. For once I feel like I sort of belong. I think that goes for a lot of punk … it’s like a feeling of community and camaraderie. Sort of shared commiseration.

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For Francisco, a love of punk rock—which began in adolescence— transpired into a long-term participation in punk bands and punk-adjacent genres. Like Frank, Francisco credited the Punk-O-Rama compilations as providing an introduction to other, similar music styles: Well, I started playing bass pretty shortly after getting those comps. We formed a band, I think in like early 2001. And I still play in bands now. So I guess I’ve been playing music—I’ve been playing punk and hardcore now for 20 years, which is pretty wild … But those comps were an introduction to more hardcore as well, because there were some other bands on there. Like Epitaph was kind of getting into the New York hardcore stuff. So, I heard Agnostic Front and H2O and Madball, and all those people. So today, I’m very involved, I play in a hardcore punk band. And also I play in a power violence band. I think I kind of started out in silly pop punk and made the evolution all the way up.

From the interviews conducted, it is evident that participants had strong nostalgic memories of both the music and the technology of the era—in this case, CDs and video games on long-obsolete consoles. Bolin (2016) describes this form of nostalgia as “technostalgia,” or a longing for media that is no longer cutting edge. This nostalgia is marked by the “shared media experience of people who have similar experiences” with this technology (p. 261). Jared described the process of collecting compilations as a badge of honor—a practice that, due to streaming services and the decline of physical CD sales, manifests itself differently today: I can only speak for myself here, but I think part of the attachment to the Punk-O-Rama series is that it is a bit of a secret handshake for people of a certain age. Because this is something that is definitely something that you can brag about, like remembering a time when, you know, it’s like our generation’s version of ‘you had to walk uphill to school in the snow both ways’. You actually had to go to the CD shop and pay an exorbitant price for a piece of plastic that you would then put on your little boombox in your bedroom. Not too loud so your parents wouldn’t complain downstairs.

While Bolin (2016) argues that it is not the content that listeners miss, but, rather, the technologies themselves, this study is evidence that a longingness for both can exist. Throughout the interviews, it was apparent that participants felt nostalgic for not only the music but also the music-finding process. For participants, the act of finding compilation CDs or playing

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video games was as important as the music itself. In thinking about this introduction and experience today, participants described their early exposure to Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater as integral to their continued appreciation of the music and many of the ideologies found within, citing elements such as an aligned political ideology and the timing of their introductions as relevant.

Conclusion: Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater as Peak Music Experiences That idea, that era, was super special. Getting comps was almost like a rite of passage. One, there’s a very real factor that they were cheap. But like, especially that time in that place, and at the age that I was, and realm of it being like, 2000, 2001, it really did feel like a rite of passage. (Austin)

As evidenced in this study, participants’ memories of the Punk-O-Rama compilations and Pro Skater soundtracks are examples of peak music experiences—such stories demonstrate that these specific introductions were integral to a long-term interest in punk rock. An interest in punk rock was ignited by the compilation albums and soundtracks that were made accessible due to their ubiquity in big box outlets, malls, and chain CD stores. Thus, the enduring success of these recordings demonstrates the inevitable link between alternative cultures and popular culture. Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater provided low-cost, low-stakes introductions to punk rock, and because of the variety of these recordings, fans were exposed to a range of sounds they might not otherwise be exposed to from purchasing a $15 CD from one artist. While the reminiscence bump may provide some insight into the significance of these albums for participants some 20 years later, this study demonstrates the ways these recordings provided a shared experience, connecting listeners to other likeminded individuals and spaces. According to Hancock and Lorr (2013), “musical practices, whether intentionally or unintentionally, are part of the constitution of self, social interaction, social settings, and social worlds” (p.  323). In their interviews, participants often described vivid recollections of their shared experiences—the time spent at the mall with friends looking for CDs or playing the video games in a bedroom after school with a sibling. Other participants mentioned the process of gathering “clues” in their investigations—tracking down similar artists or albums from the liner notes of CDs or studying

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catalogs and mail-order flyers for new bands. While the music remained paramount, these peak music experiences manifested through both the music and the shared experience of exploring punk rock. While nostalgia for these times may be an important factor in the positive recollections participants had of these recordings, it is evident that this nostalgia is embedded in a current appreciation for both past and present music within the genre. Participants described their current perspectives on punk rock, noting their own involvement in bands, current appreciation for these recordings, and continued pursuit of new music as indicators of this impact. The recordings’ releases at the turn of the millennium, coupled with the rise of at-home internet access and popular culture’s promotion of the genre meant that Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater provided a gateway to punk rock for an entirely new generation of young fans through convenient means. While technological advancements may keep another compilation series or video game soundtrack from having such a lasting impact on fans, there is evidence to suggest that the peak music experiences shared in the interviews for this study demonstrate the nostalgic power of Punk-­ O-­Rama and Pro Skater and their contributions to an enduring interest in punk rock today.

References Andes, L. (1998). Growing up Punk: Meaning and Commitment Careers in a Contemporary Youth Subculture. In J. S. Epstein (Ed.), Youth Culture: Identity in a Postmodern World (pp. 212–231). Wiley-Blackwell. Bennett, A. (1999). Subcultures or Neo-Tribes? Rethinking the Relationship Between Youth, Style, and Musical Taste. Sociology, 33(3), 599–617. https:// doi.org/10.1177/S0038038599000371 Bennett, A. (2006). Punk’s Not Dead: The Continuing Significance of Punk Rock for An Older Generation of Fans. Sociology, 40(2), 219–235. Bernhard, E. (2019). Contemporary Punk Rock Communities: Scenes of Inclusion and Dedication. Lexington. Bertoli, B. (2019, August 25). The original Tony Hawk’s. Pro Skater Soundtrack is Still a Blast. Kotaku. https://kotaku.com/the-­original-­tony-­hawkspro-­skater-­soundtrack-­is-­still-­1836549933 Bienstock, R. (2014, April 8). How The Offspring’s Smash Defeated the Majors. Rolling Stone. https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-­news/theoffsprings-­smash-­the-­little-­punk-­lp-­that-­defeated-­the-­majors-­189742/

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Bolin, G. (2016). Passion and Nostalgia in Generational Media Experiences. European Journal of Cultural Studies, 19(3), 250–264. https://doi. org/10.1177/1367549415609327 Bray, R. (2014, July 21). Punk Compilations Have Everything You Need. Consequence. https://consequence.net/2014/07/punk-­compilations-­haveeverything-­you-­need/ Chandler, A. (2014, February 1). Green Day’s Album Dookie is 20 Years Old Today. The Atlantic. https://www.theatlantic.com/culture/archive/ 2014/02/green-­days-­album-­dookie-­20-­years-­old-­today/357625/ Denzin, N. (1989). Interpretive Biography. SAGE. Force, W.  R. (2009). Consumption Styles and the Fluid Complexity of Punk Authenticity. Symbolic Interaction, 32(4), 289–309. https://doi.org/10.1525/ si.2009.32.4.289 Green, B. (2016). ‘I Always Remember That Moment’: Peak Music Experiences as Epiphanies. Sociology, 50(2), 333–348. https://doi.org/10.1177/ 0038038514565835 Haenfler, R. (2018). The Entrepreneurial (Straight) Edge: How Participation in DIY Music Cultures Translates to Work and Careers. Cultural Sociology, 12(2), 174–192. https://doi.org/10.1177/1749975517700774 Hancock, B. H., & Lorr, M. J. (2013). More Than Just a Soundtrack: Toward a Technology of the Collective in Hardcore Punk. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 42(3), 320–346. https://doi.org/10.1177/0891241612465652 Hodkinson, P. (2013). Family and Parenthood in an Ageing “Youth” Culture: A Collective Embrace of Dominant Adulthood? Sociology, 47(6), 1072–1087. https://doi.org/10.1177/0038038512454351 Hogan, M. (2015, April 16). How Much Is Music Really Worth? Pitchfork. https://pitchfork.com/features/ar ticle/9628-­h ow-­m uch-­i s-musicreally-­worth/ Jakubowski, K., Eerola, T., Tillmann, B., Perrin, F., & Heine, L. (2020). A Cross-­ Sectional Study of Reminiscence Bumps for Music-Related Memories in Adulthood. Music & Science, 3, 1–13. https://doi.org/10.1177/ 2059204320965058 Kien, G. (2013). The nature of epiphany. International Review of Qualitative Research, 6(4), 578–584. https://doi.org/10.1525/irqr.2013.6.4.578 Leak, B. (2019, August 30). “Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater,” Hugely Influential in Both Music & Video Games, Turns 20. Loudwire. https://loudwire.com/ tony-­hawk-­pro-­skater-­20-­anniversary-­music-­soundtrack-­interview/ Longbottom, J. (2020, May 13). An Oral History of the Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater Soundtrack, with Tony Hawk and Goldfinger’s John Feldman. Kerrang! https://www.ker rang.com/features/20-­y ears-­o f-­t ony-­h awks-­p roskater-­a n-­o ral-­h istor y-­o f-­t he-­s oundtrack-­w ith-­t ony-­h awk-­g oldfingers-­ john-­feldmann/

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Lowis, M. J. (2002). Music as a Trigger for Peak Experiences Among a College Staff Population. Creativity Research Journal, 14(3-4), 351–359. https://doi. org/10.1207/S15326934CRJ1434_6 Maslow, A.  H. (1971). Peak Experiences in Education and Art. Theory Into Practice, 10(3), 149–153. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1475907 Ozzi, D. (2017, November 17). The Shape of Punk to Comp: How Cheap Compilation CDs Helped Revive a Genre. Vice. https://www.vice.com/en/ article/a37dzz/the-­shape-­of-­punk-­to-­comp-­v24n8 Pack, B. (2018, February 12). The Year Punk Went Pop: The Making of Green Day’s Dookie. https://vintageking.com/blog/2018/02/green-­day-­dookie/ Perez, M. (2020, September 14). ‘Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 1 & 2’ Becomes Fastest-Selling Game in Series with 1 Million Copies Sold-Through. Forbes. https://www.forbes.com/sites/mattperez/2020/09/14/tony-­hawks-­pro-­skater1%2D%2D2-­becomes-­fastest-­selling-­game-­in-­series-­with-­1-­million-­copies-­ sold-­through/?sh=75626f757059 Schubert, E. (2016). Does Recall of a Past Music Event Invoke a Reminiscence Bump in Young Adults? Memory, 24(7), 1007–1014. https://doi.org/10.1080/ 09658211.2015.1061014 Silva, M. (2020, April 14). Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater, Pizza Hut, and the Greatest Video Game Demo Ever. Escapist Magazine. https://www.escapistmagazine. com/tony-­hawks-­pro-­skater-­demo-­disc-­pizza-­hut/ Singh, S. (2020, September 15). ‘Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 1 + 2’ Sells 1 Million Copies, Makes Franchise History. NME. https://www.nme.com/news/ g a m i n g -­n e w s / t o n y -­h a w k s -­p r o -­s k a t e r -­1 -­2 -­s e l l s -­o n e -­m i l l i o n copies-­makes-­franchise-­history-­2753100 Sklar, M., & DeLong, M. (2012). Punk Dress in the Workplace: Aesthetic Expression and Accommodation. Clothing and Textiles Research Journal, 30(4), 285–299. https://doi.org/10.1177/0887302X12467848 Terry, G., & Hayfield, N. (2021). Essentials of thematic analysis. American Psychological Association. “The Seventh Edition of Epitaph Records’ Punk-O-Rama Compilation Series Will be Released June 25 and Feature 19 Tracks from the Likes of Rancid, Bad Religion, NOFX, Pennywise, the Hives, and Bouncing Souls.” (2002, April 8). https://www.billboard.com/articles/news/76192/epitaph-­a cts-­c rowdpunk-­o-­rama Thornton, S. (1996). Club Cultures: Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Wesleyan University Press. Weinzierl, R., & Muggleton, D. (2003). What is “Post-subcultural Studies” Anyway? In D. Muggleton & R. Weinzierl (Eds.), The Post-Subcultures Reader (pp. 3–23). Berg.

CHAPTER 5

Young Punk, Old Punk, Running Punk: Keeping the Old Ones Cool and the Young Ones Fresh Ashley Morgan and Chris Inglis

Introduction This chapter explores ageing from the perspective of two individuals who met through a running club, Running Punks. Ashley Morgan is 55 and has been running for 34 years; Chris Inglis is 28 and has been running for much of his life. The main perspective of this work is the way in which they have established a friendship, despite their age difference, through a mutual love of punk music and the way in which they have developed a sense of shared identity as Running Punks. Running Punks is a weekly running group with a large social media presence founded in South Wales in 2020. The group was formed by two

A. Morgan (*) Cardiff Metropolitan University, Cardiff, UK e-mail: [email protected] C. Inglis BIMM Bristol, Bristol, UK © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9_5

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ex-musicians: Jimmy Watkins—guitarist and award-winning athlete (having represented Wales in the 2006 Commonwealth Games)—and drummer and teacher Rhodri Morgan (Lloyd, 2021). The group was set up in the pandemic to provide a space for people who wanted to run but were alienated by the ‘sportiness’ of traditional running groups (Morgan, forthcoming). Running Punks have developed merchandise with a distinctive logo comprising of two safety pins (to reflect punk attitude) in tie-dye fabric, pink and leopard print, which have traditionally been outside the norm of the standard running kit. Since the launch, the group has expanded significantly, with online followers and participants joining in from all over the globe with so-called virtual runs in their own local areas. These runs are also supplemented by a series of videos, in which Watkins regularly uploads recordings of himself reviewing brand new and classic albums whilst running. Despite very few of the group being old enough to have been present during the original punk scene of the 1970s, they share a mutual sense of appreciation for the music of this era, and for the various subgenres and scenes that were to grow out of this movement. Transcending various ages, the group is united by their shared punk identity and by a recognition of the social and physical benefits of collective exercise. The term ‘punk’ is used here to mean a DIY attitude to running, based on rebellion against the usual confines of running clubs (Lloyd, 2021). For example, there are no coaches, membership is not contingent on going at a specific pace, and there is no focus on Personal Bests (PBs) in the group. Moreover, there is an anarchistic approach to membership, there are no subscription fees to pay, and the group consciously rejects the customary ‘sportiness’ commonly associated with running clubs, groups, and runners (Morgan, forthcoming). In this way, Running Punks espouses DIY as a ‘core punk value’ (Way, 2021, p. 107) and punk here as a ‘state of mind’ (Way, 2021). While much research exists on ageing runners and ageing punks, until now they have been exclusive of each other. Research about punk and ageing has focused primarily on music (Davis, 2012; Bennett, 2006; Hodkinson, 2013; Way, 2020), some of which discusses the intergenerational aspects of ageing (Bennett & Hodkinson, 2012). Research on ageing and running tends to focus on ageing bodies of athletes rather than on people who run for recreational purposes (Tulle, 2008a, 2008b). Therefore, this chapter aims to examine ageing and punk as a sense of shared identity. Employing an auto-ethnographic method, we explore the

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ways in which shared discourse of music through friendships formed in Running Punks affords a sense of ‘age-convergence’ and shared identity amongst a group of individuals aged between 21 and over 60. We have adopted the term ‘age-convergence’ to demonstrate that, despite coming from different generations, members of the group share more commonalities than differences in terms of who they are. The chapter is split into three distinct areas. Beginning with a brief section on our methods to provide a rationale for our auto-ethnographic approach, we will then give insight into the existing literature surrounding the topics of punk and ageing, and ageing and running, before turning to our own experiences of punk and running. We will locate our memories of growing up and the ways in which we accessed music; question how we became people who run and our relationship with running; and explore why we joined the Running Punks. Through these accounts, we aim to give insight into the cultures of punk, running, and ageing that have previously been absent.

Method Initially, we intended to conduct qualitative research across the legion of Running Punks, who have a healthy global following; for instance—at the time of writing—Twitter shows 10,400 followers, Instagram 11,300, and Facebook 4691. Obviously, there will be some crossover between these followers, and not all of them will necessarily identify as punk, or indeed as runners. We aimed to find a sample of participants from a wide range of ages and backgrounds and to conduct one-to-one interviews to gain insight into a range of perspectives. However, time, space, pandemic conditions, and ill health all impacted on our ability to do this to the degree we wanted. Therefore, we shifted our approach to employ an auto-ethnographic method instead, to explore our own experiences of music, running, and ageing. While intergenerational friendships are not uncommon, aside from meeting in a workplace, it is unlikely that Ashley and Chris would know each other socially in a domain other than through Running Punks. Therefore, we see this as an opportunity to discuss the ways in which music and running impacted our lives when growing up, shaping who we are today, and which has brought us together as friends with a shared identity. By valuing hindsight and ‘epiphanies’ (Ellis et al., 2011; Cotter, 2017), the auto-ethnographic method aims to contribute first-hand ‘experiences

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of the cultural freedoms and constraints one encounters’ (Ettore, 2017, p. 257). By focusing on music and running, we have tried to ‘help one another relive and describe [our] recollection of emotional experiences’ (Rodriguez & Ryave, 2002, p. 7). Through examining the ways in which we see our own identities through punk in terms of being outside of the norm (Crossley, 2015) and the impact of the shared experiences of music on our ageing, we argue that our shared love of music considered to be ‘alternative’ and running in a group where the usual constraints of competition are absent breaks down the usual barriers of age which would normally be more prevalent in a running group. Therefore, we have both been able to lay claim to a shared identity, and a convergence of age as Running Punks, despite our generational and other experiential differences.

Ageing: Punk and Running Ideas about what it means to age and to get ‘older’ have shifted considerably in the past 25 years. Many late twentieth-century academic studies have focused on the cultural construction of ageing through a prism of negativity: fears around loss of identity, social and cultural depreciation, and conflation of ageing with illness (Featherstone & Hepworth, 1991; Blaikie, 1999; Turner, 2008; Gilleard & Higgs, 2000), in parallel with the conflicting political and economic desire to ‘age well’ (Dupuis & Alzheimer, 2011). Yet the tide inexorably turned. In the West, people raised after the Second World War, known as baby boomers (those born between 1946 and 1964) (Singh & Weimar, 2017), changed ideas about ageing from that of deterioration, to success. This has largely been defined through economic prosperity and longevity, along with positive attitudes (Bowling, 2005). Music championed and enjoyed by baby boomers such as rock and punk has also endured. Much has been written about punk as a musical and anarchic attitude, with young people seeking to challenge existing established tropes of being and creativity (Hebdige, 1979). At first, punk was seen as a particularly youthful subculture, and even those who might be described as older punks were usually only just beyond adolescence (Crossley, 2015). Yet, now, baby boomer punks are as likely to engage with the punk subculture as younger fans, to the point that punk gigs have been referred to as ‘increasingly multigenerational’ (Bennett & Hodkinson, 2012, p. 2).

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Punk Music and Ageing When I’m lying in my bed at night; I don’t want to grow up; Nothing ever seems to turn out right; I don’t want to grow up …. (Ramones, 1995)

A great deal of research exists about punk. For instance, it has been argued that punk ‘is symbolic of Britain’ (Crossley, 2015, p. 2); that the ethos of punk is based on the precepts of anarchy and radicalism (Cogan, 2007); and that it is a means through which one can resist standard gender norms (Leblanc, 1999). Indeed, since 2012, the journal Punk & Post-­Punk (Intellect.com) has devoted itself to various discussions around the genre. The topic of punk and ageing has gained significant traction amongst academics, as people who were probably too young to be in the thick of punk in the early 1970s have kept it alive, maintaining a punk identity despite their increasing years (Davis, 2012; Way, 2020). However, much of the present explorations into punk and ageing have been somewhat limited in scope, as most of this research has been done specifically in the context of people who engage with each other through the music alone. As Way confirms (2020), there are very few academic examinations to date which address the ways in which older people engage with punk in areas outside of the music. There are therefore gaps in the current literature. Morgan (forthcoming) notes that while much has been written about punk and activities such as cycling, football, skateboarding, and surfing, there has been very little written about the relationship between punk and running, other than the much-quoted (and possibly apocryphal) stories about marathon running from the lead singer of punk rock band The Clash, Joe Strummer (Morgan, forthcoming). This would suggest that few have considered there to be an established link between the two, and that the Running Punks group has managed to tap into a unique alliance that was previously unexplored. In the mid-twentieth century, due to the rise of burgeoning youth culture (Hebdige, 1979), ageing and the signs of ageing became problematic. Youth was considered to have more cultural capital than older people,

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and anyone over the age of fifty was ‘past it’, out of touch with important issues of youth and part of the much-hated establishment (Gilleard & Higgs, 2000). Life as an older person meant that you were sequestered from regular society (Blaikie, 1999; Gilleard & Higgs, 2000) perhaps in poverty and deteriorating: ‘a period of decline which is at best laughable, and at worst, disgusting’ (Featherstone & Hepworth, 1991, p. 380). Accordingly, fear of ageing was reproduced through music. Many songs from the late 1960s onwards such as ‘Turn! Turn! Turn!’ by the Byrds (1965), ‘When I’m Sixty-Four’ by The Beatles (1967), and ‘Those Were the Days’ by Mary Hopkin (1969) either reflected on better, more youthfully pleasant times or jokingly feared what happened when ageing took hold. Each generation turned its back on the previous decade, and, for some, death sounded preferable to a life of old age, as The Who infamously pointed out in the song ‘My Generation’ (1965), through the lyric ‘hope I die before I get old’. Several decades later, these themes would crop up most notably for the punk movement in the Ramones’ cover of Tom Waits’ ‘I Don’t Want to Grow Up’ (1995)—the lyrics of which introduced this section—which speaks of fear of responsibility, financial hardship, and physical decline: ‘I don’t want to be filled with doubt, I don’t want my hair to fall out’. This would symbolise what many would consider to be the emblematic punk attitude: that youthful spirit of rebellion that refuses to acknowledge one’s inevitable ageing, instead focusing solely on the now. (There is some level of irony in the fact the Joey Ramone was already 43 when the song was released in 1995, although his imminent death only six years later meant than his words would remain somewhat more truthful than Roger Daltrey’s—who is still singing ‘My Generation’ into his late 70 s). As the 1960s gave way to the 1970s, punk as a movement and then a subculture aimed to challenge the mediocrity of 1970s music and establishment through DIY processes of music, clothing, and attitude (Crossley, 2015). Once responsibility kicked in, through work or family, life was boring, and, moreover, ageing equalled ugliness, especially for women (Ross, 2021). Punk music of the late 1970s and 1980s also reflected this fear of ageing and the economic recessions of the 1970s and 1980s in the UK (Crossley, 2015). The Clash 1977 track ‘Janie Jones’, starkly outlines life for many young people in Britain at the time, when work might often be boring, and people looked for ways to alleviate that boredom. Indeed, Joe Strummer worked as a grave digger in South Wales in the early 1970s (Barnes, 2021).

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He’s in love with rock ’n’ roll, whoa He’s in love with gettin’ stoned, whoa He’s in love with Janie Jones, whoa He don’t like his boring job, no.

Ageing, and the ways in which people expressed their ageing bodies or spoke about the absence of ageing also became subject to much sociological scrutiny in the late 1980s and 1990s. This saw a shift in traditionally gerontological scientific approaches to ageing which had been the standard approach to examining how people felt about their ageing bodies, and bodies became much more central to discussions of ageing and ageing ‘well’ (Öberg, 1996). Ageing was linked to decline in the body from a cultural perspective (Hepworth, 2003) and feminist perspectives (Paulson & Willig, 2008), amongst others. Ageing was often absent in popular culture (Featherstone & Hepworth, 1991; Blaikie, 1999), TV series such as The Golden Girls (1985–1992) notwithstanding. Blaikie refers to ageing as an ‘organising principle’ of society which impacts on the structure of society and the way that individuals see themselves, and are seen by others, within that structure (1999, p. 15); as Twigg argues, signs of ageing are a ‘key indicator of identity of difference’ (2006, p. 2). Consequently, since the early twentieth century, age has created distinctions between people. These distinctions have resulted in a binary opposition of ‘us and them’, that Davis suggests is embodied by the punk ethos (2012). This theory is supported by Tsitsos (2012), who analyses the proximity between the stage and the mosh pit in terms of ageing, and suggests that the older fans get, they move away from the front ‘zone’, which they then look back on nostalgically. However, Marciniak (2015) refers to the ‘continuous involvement’ of people of all ages in the punk subculture in Poland, challenging the notion of punk being the subcultural domain of young people.

Auto-ethnographic Accounts Punk Across Generations The research is split into three distinct sections. Using auto-ethnographic accounts from memory, we explore the differences and similarities between our experiences of punk music, of running, and of the Running Punks. We discuss the ways in which we accessed music in a time before digital streaming, the desire to appear ‘alternative’ to the mainstream, and authenticity.

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When You Were Growing Up, What Music Did You Listen To? Ashley: I became a teenager in the 1980s. I honestly can’t remember how I came to like the music that I do, or indeed how I accessed it. I remember listening to John Peel, and hearing ‘Omega Amigo’ by The Shamen, his criticism of The Cocteau Twins Victorialand LP as being ‘all New Agey’ and playing very early Pulp. When I was in school, I was listening to Bauhaus and Gene Loves Jezebel, as well as Billy Joel and Ann Peebles, so it was weird. I also remember that music was much less democratic then. You had to pick a side. I chose punk. The Fall, Sonic Youth, Magazine and Johnny Thunders, The Only Ones, as well as a bit of Crass on the side. My friend had a video recorder. In the 1980s as a teenager, I remember going around to hers after school to see the Bill Grundy Interview of the Sex Pistols from 1976, and she recorded Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’. We kept rewinding it and watching it; it was one of the most amazing things we’d ever seen. I also remember seeing Blondie sing ‘Atomic’ on Top of the Pops, and it stayed with me. Debbie Harry in a bin bag with a telephone wire around her neck was one of the first times I released that I found women attractive. Where I was from, you either liked chart music such as Wham! or punk or metal. At the time, Top of the Pops was one of the few places one could access music, and you had to wait to hear the song you liked by someone like, The Cure, for example. I always was an outsider from where I am from. I had a funny name and people often didn’t like me as I seemed outside of the norms for the area. While I got bullied a great deal, and I sought to ‘fit in’, I was conflicted as I didn’t like mainstream music very much. My friends and I followed a punk group from Warminster; was it the Subhumans?1 I remember travelling in the back of a van to Swansea to see them. I remember seeing The Damned several times. I went to Art College when I was 19, and one of the other students was Roman Jugg’s brother. My friends and I would go to Cardiff to see bands such as Siouxsie and the Banshees, Billy Bragg, and New Model Army, then catch the ‘milk train’ in the middle of the night to get home. But I wasn’t always allowed out to gigs especially in different towns. By the time I was 20, I had moved to London and my love affair with John Peel continued. I was able to see more bands, The Sugarcubes, That Petrol Emotion, Sonic Youth supported by Mudhoney, the Wedding Present, and Shelleyan Orphan. I guess it was a bit more post-punk late

1  It was actually Shrapnel, a punk band from Briton Ferry, South Wales, who supported Subhumans on tour.

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1980s music then. Its latterly that I have seen a band with punk credentials such as Public Image. Chris:I think that there’s an extent to which I’ve always had a bit of an outsider approach to music. Growing up as a teenager, I would take a certain amount of naïve pride in deliberately rejecting that which a lot of my peers were listening to, and would pay very little attention to whatever was happening in the mainstream charts, choosing instead to listen to classic rock from long before my time (in fact, it was only really once I reached my 20s that I realised just how fantastic some pop music can actually be). Of course, I didn’t realise the irony in that much of what I was listening to was just as mainstream as the pop music I chose to reject, and I didn’t yet realise that one really had to dig to find the most interesting stuff. I can recall vividly my first discovery of punk, having somehow gotten my hands on a compilation CD that came free with a copy of Mojo magazine in March 2003—when I would have been nine—entitled Up Yours! I still have the CD. Featuring 1970s acts such as the Sex Pistols and the Clash alongside more contemporary bands like the Libertines and Sleater-Kinney, this record thoroughly changed my outlook on music. I had never before experienced anything so expressive, demonstrating such visceral passion as the songs on this release; and I realised that you didn’t have to be as polished or refined as the artists I was already familiar with to create truly great art. I also quickly fell in love with the bands coming out of the 1990s California scene around this time, such as Goldfinger, NoFX, Rancid, and The Offspring. Although I was perhaps a little late to the scene, it was so exciting to have these artists continue to both tour and release new music, and I would eagerly follow all exciting new developments in their careers. On top of this, I was continually discovering more and more of the ‘classic’ punk groups, and acts such as X-Ray Spex, the Ramones, and Talking Heads remain some of my favoured go-to acts to this day. Like countless other teenagers throughout time, I also founded and played in several bands, combining a mixture of three-chord originals with crowd-pleasing (or sometimes not so crowd-pleasing) covers. Across my various outfits, we regularly gigged in and around Newcastle upon Tyne, and for a few innocent years I was seriously trying to pursue an eventual career as a professional punk rocker. The thrill of being on stage is a memory that has not left me, and those early experiences were undoubtedly educational and formative with regard to creating the person I am today.

A key theme which emerged in both our narrative accounts is ‘outsiderism’, and the feeling that we both have tastes that fall somewhere beyond the status quo. For example, for Ashley it was the realisation that through female-fronted bands such as Blondie, she found women attractive, an

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idea which was unconventional in the 1980s. Although Blondie were post-punk, Debbie Harry in a binbag in the video for Atomic clearly espoused the punk aesthetic of the 1970s, through both her subversion and reappraisal of the traditional gender norms of the time. For Chris it was a matter of feeling authenticity and pride in his interest in punk music. As individuals who may have struggled to identify with some of the more mainstream cultures or subcultures, punk has presented an outlet by which individuals may identify with others who were unable to identify anywhere else. Arguably, this is the core of the punk mentality and the ideology that punk gave rise to has its roots in this state of mind. This has been explored at length by Anderson, who speaks of ‘the experience of alienation as a common ground that leads to bonding’ within the punk subculture (Anderson, 2012, p. 57). Bennett’s 2006 study into ageing fans who would have been adolescents when punk first emerged found that they still placed a significant value on the music and scene. Although some participants had modified their appearance to fit in with ageing and the responsibilities that it brings, they still considered punk to be a major influence in their lives. Bennett notes: the older punk fans I interviewed celebrated punk’s longevity as a ‘living culture’, punctuated both by the musical and stylistic innovations of new punk generations and by a reverence among old and young members of the punk scene for the ‘subcultural moments’ of the past’. (2006, p. 230)

He describes this shared understanding of what punk is and means through a lens of ‘collective nostalgia’, in which the older fans help to educate the younger fans about the lessons of the past, whilst the younger fans in turn help to keep the scene alive. Echoing this, in describing his own experiences as an ageing punk, Hermann believes that ‘I did not just tell my story, I told our story. I became a bridge from our past into our present’ (2014, p. 167). This notion is something that we have then seen repeated within our own accounts. As a participant in the scene from the comparatively younger generation, Chris’ discovery of punk was defined by the presentation of this music to him by older participants, situated alongside the more contemporary examples of the genre from his generation. It is Ashley’s generation who are responsible for disseminating this information. Through each generation’s passing of the culture onto the next, the music of punk has been given the opportunity to endure.

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Running Across Generations Having explored our respective relationships with music, the next part of the research will address our relationships with running. Again, we intend to give insight into the different ways one can engage with this activity. When Did You Start Running and What Have Been Your Experiences? Ashley: I have never been a ‘sporty’ person. At school I was the person picked last for netball, and the other girls would collectively groan, and then shout at me as I dropped the ball. I started running when I left home at 20. I had moved to London and was living with a boyfriend who ran. I remember buying my first pair of running shoes from Run and Become in Covent Garden in 1988. They were Brookes. I don’t know what shorts or top I wore. There might have been a bra, but it wasn’t a special running bra. I used to run around the housing estate I lived on. I ran in the evenings, in the dark, and I really, really loved it, despite once being chased by a gang of teenage boys. I moved back to Wales and carried on running. I tried to join a running group. Everyone wanted to run and then drink pints of beer after it. There was much talk of ‘PBs’ (personal bests)—I realised then that I was a solitary runner, and I enjoyed running for its own sake. Moreover, when I began running, it was mainly men who you saw out running the streets. I went to university, and I carried on running. Eventually, it became who I am rather than something that I did. If I go on holiday, I go for a run. If I go to academic conferences, I go for a run. I find it a really interesting way to discover cities I might not already know and being alone is always positive. Having joined the Running Punks and listening to what other people think and feel about running, I realise that I am a compulsive runner—it never occurs to me that I might not ‘want’ to go for a run. I just run. I don’t like competition unless it’s being competitive with myself. I did one of the first Cardiff Half Marathons in the late 1980s, and I have run it numerous times, but, fundamentally, I don’t like races. It’s clearly not why I run. Chris:Running is the only sport I’ve ever really excelled at. We covered various sports when I was at school. I hated football and cricket. Rugby was okay but growing up in England there was never too much attention focused on it. But a few weeks in the winter meant cross-country, and a few more in the summer meant athletics—and this was the only time I’d ever be able to exhibit any sort of prowess in PE. I carried on running after I left school. The sport is thought of very highly in Newcastle, with several world-class athletes hailing from the

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Northeast—Steve Cram, Brendan Foster, etc.—as well as being the home of two significant races: the Great North Run, the world’s biggest half marathon; and the Blaydon Race, which forms a crucial part of the city’s cultural history. Most Geordies will therefore feel some sort of affinity with the sport then, and I was certainly no exception. I competed in the Great North Run for the first time in 2010, at the age of 17. After I left Newcastle, I carried on running, though it was fairly infrequent. I would probably average around one or two races per year, but always tried to compete in the official half marathon of whichever city I was living in at the time—the half marathon being the distance I was keenest on. It wasn’t until around 2018, a couple of years after moving to Cardiff, that I decided to take running a little more seriously. I joined a club—CDF Runners; started taking part in Saturday morning Parkruns on a weekly basis; and began entering a lot more races. It felt good to have something to dedicate myself to, and it was something that I genuinely enjoyed. This has remained the number one priority for me—and I have always placed my enjoyment above any race times or other achievements.

Running, like punk, can be viewed as a culture of its own. As with many sports, it can be based on uniformity and exclusivity (Morgan, forthcoming), with a greater focus on competition, athletes, and athleticism than recreation and enjoyment—even at a non-competitive level. It has also been argued that competitive running is essentially ageist, with the age of veterans starting at 35 (Fish, 2018); this is despite evidence to suggest that decline in competence of running with age happens very slowly (Middlebrook, 2020). Tulle’s seminal work on ageing runners focuses on the philosophy of embodiment and effects of ageing amongst elite runners in athletic circles (2008a). However, running as a recreational activity has flourished in recent times, with record numbers of people of all ages running outside (Smith, 2020). One aspect of running that has been explored extensively is the sense of identity it can afford. For instance, in their study into another group of distance runners, Chalmers and Arthur discuss the process of ‘leisure activities taking on extreme levels of importance for an individual and becoming the dominant aspect of the individual’s lifestyle and social identity’ (2008, p. 570). as individuals become more embedded in a collective, their perception of self changes from that of an individual person to being an exemplar of the group. This occurs as an individual increases their level of identification with

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the group though increased involvement, knowledge, possessions related to the identity, esteem related to the identity, and social connections related to the identity (Chalmers & Arthur, 2008, p. 571)

Arguably, what emerges for many in groups is the ‘social world which has flourished over time as a consequence of sustained participation by enthusiasts in that activity’ (Shipway et al., 2013, p. 260). Moreover, the sense of collective identity as a runner can be so strong that some may make an effort to maintain it even during times of injury: Not only did we signify to ourselves the continuity of our running selves, but also to other members of the running community, despite our current injured state. We sought to claim social identities as runners. (Allen-­ Collinson & Hockey, 2007, p. 15)

This also explains Tulle’s description of ‘the self as the true site of social value [in which] agers seek social and cultural rehabilitation by distancing the self from its physical shell’ (2008b, p. 4). The ageing runner may continue to run, even if they are potentially inflicting damage upon their body, as by this point it is simply a part of who they are. Consequently, we find a distinction between this identity and that of someone who is just an occasional runner—with Hitching and Latham making distinct reference to a participant in their study, who ‘is not merely someone who runs, she is a runner’ [original emphasis] (2017, p. 4). Runners tend to be people who want to push themselves hard, and not just run (or engage in any other activities) for recreational purposes alone. Moreover, the relationship between running and mental health wouldn’t have been so overtly discussed in the past as it is now (Oswald et al., 2020). In both of our responses, this sense of identity seems profound. Both of us indicated that running is congruent with who we are. We also both placed great value upon our reasons for running being that of recreation and enjoyment. As with our love of music, we can see that the gratification we receive from participating in this activity remains our key reason for doing so. This sense of enjoyment that has led to the ‘runner’ identity that we have both adopted seems to be present regardless of age. While Chris began running throughout his teens, for Ashley, it helped her transition into independent adulthood, and the consideration of age is not something that has factored into this outcome.

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Generations Across Running Punks The third, final section of our research explores the Running Punks directly and examines our respective reasons for identifying with and joining the group. When Did You Join Running Punks and Why Did You Join Them? Ashley: In the summer of 2020 when the lockdown was in full swing, I was giving a presentation through Twitter for a conference, and I was nervous. I used Twitter to message Lauren Laverne the breakfast DJ on BBCRadio6 music and asked her to play my request. Which she did. Later in the week, I heard her talking about a Welsh man called Jimmy Watkins who was a runner, but also did music reviews as he ran. I found and friended him on Twitter, and he made me laugh. One day I saw a video that he posted in which he was wearing a silly hat and child’s sunglasses and said that there would be a run in Cardiff that Sunday, at 8.30. Given my lack of interest in running in groups, I was extremely tentative. I turned up, and Jimmy and I recognised each other. I looked at the other people. It was a sea of men with beards, one of whom had a pink mohawk, and two women. I remember thinking, ‘oh no, I don’t like this at all’. I am wary of men in general. Having run for over 30 years before joining Running Punks, I had received considerable abuse from men, from the general ‘get your tits out, keep your legs up’ variety, to having things thrown at me, and men trying to corner me. So, I was very, very put off when I turned up. Many of the men seemed to know each other and stood around chatting. Some of them looked like actual athletes. Chris was there, and it was his birthday. Jimmy was friendly and recognised me from social media, and gave me this amazing pink top with a Running Punks logo on it to run in. The idea was that we would run together with music. So, Jimmy had a little speaker system. His catchphrase for the running music reviews was, ‘the watch is on, the music’s on’, which he shouted as we set off. Something weird happened inside me when we set off, I felt positive and free within a in a group of people, which I never usually do—I normally feel very self-­ conscious. So, I let out a four-syllable cry, which is from the song ‘Lucky Number’ by Lene Lovich. And Jimmy responded with ‘exactly’. Since then, it’s become my ‘thing’, which I do when I am happy and/or running under bridges. As it was the first run, and the Punks wanted to be as encouraging and inclusive as possible, we had the option of turning back after 5k, but I think most people stuck with it. A quiet chap called Rhod came to chat to me.

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Started asking me questions about myself, ‘Had long had I been running long etc?’ I told him how much I liked the Running Punks logo and the T-shirts. He said that it had been designed to mirror band merchandise. Chris:My first priority in running has always been pleasure and enjoyment—one thing I quickly noticed after I began to take running more seriously is that this is a philosophy not necessarily shared by all runners. I have encountered runners all too often who approach the sport with such seriousness as to suck a large part of the joy out of it. My perspective, rather, is to approach running the same way that I approach music: in that it’s a means for various different people to come together under a shared passion and appreciation, and that—like with punk—any assumed level of expertise is not considered a condition for one’s participation. I’ve never followed any strictly regimented training plan; I’ve never felt the need to manage my diet. I don’t run with a watch; and I don’t spend a fortune on the most high-end shoes—and I only buy a new pair about twice a year. These are all the things that could of course make one’s running better, but for me they are not what running is about. And it was this way of thinking that led me to the Running Punks. I attended the Running Punks’ inaugural event in Cardiff in July 2020. I recall that I had seen someone in a Running Punks shirt several months earlier, and was significantly intrigued, but had initially been unable to find anything about them online. But something must have piqued my curiosity later on—evidently at the right time—as a subsequent search revealed the first in-person event, to be held as the first wave of Covid lockdowns were easing up. Finding a group of like-minded people—with a strong passion for both music and running, and who don’t take either too seriously (for this can be found in music too, through purists of any genre)—was a delightful moment. I’ve continued attending Running Punks sessions on regular Sundays— not every week, but as often as I can make it. Whilst it hasn’t replaced my formal club that I’m affiliated with as an athlete, I find that the mix of the two provides the perfect combination for someone who views running in the way that I do. Through Running Punks, I have also discovered lots of new music, and have been to several gigs with others from the group. Thus, it has not only had a positive impact upon my athleticism, but upon my social life as well.

In their study into punk and ageing, Bennett and Taylor found that ‘the majority of [their] interviewees all referred to the scene ageing with them’ (2012, p. 238). This highlights the importance of the journey to adulthood, and that ‘ageing punks commonly suggested that punk had played

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an important part in their transition from youth to adulthood, providing them with a streetwise outlook and a sense of realism’ (2012, p.  239). Indeed, this echoes Bennett’s earlier suggestion that punk’s ‘visual image, although it had initially been regarded as important, has been superseded over the years by a general punk ethos’ (2006, pp. 226–7). This same point is echoed by Way: Whilst the majority of participants’ initial interest in punk had been grounded in the associated music (and some had initially adopted what they perceived as a punk style), there was this sense then of their punk identity having moved beyond that—punk had become an attitude, a way of thinking. (2021, p. 112)

Referring to inclusion within the punk subculture, Way made the deliberate decision within her study that ‘participants could decide for themselves whether they fitted this description to avoid any imposition of what was considered “punk”’ (2021, p. 109). What this suggests is that with age punk may be considered more of a personal thing, and thus it can mean whatever the individual wants it to mean. In the case of the Running Punks, what this has come to mean is running: ‘Running is the chance to do something new … Running is punk’ (Watkins, 2020). Across the broad range of ages already identified, what links the various Running Punks members is this attitude. This joining together of participants who share a mutual perspective on how one should approach their membership of such a group has provided a catalyst for different individuals of different ages to interact, who may not in day-­ to-­day life. This approach to intergenerational mixing even comes through in Jimmy Watkins’ online ‘running review’ series—videos of which are created for both brand new and long-established records. We can see in both of our responses that we found something within Running Punks that encompassed our approach to both music and running. Neither of us fit the mould of a traditional athlete, and both have a similar outlook upon music as well. Whilst both of us are passionate about these two areas, there is an extent to which we could be considered ‘outsiders’ in both. Yet this shared ‘outsiderism’ has contributed to this new identity, one which many other members of the group would presumably fall into as well. What Running Punks ultimately does for its members is the facilitation of this shared identity: one which draws from both the constituent

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elements that make up this group, and one that transcends generations. It is not uncommon, for instance, to see members of the group include the phrase ‘running punk’ within their Twitter biographies, suggesting that the membership of this group is an essential part of the image they choose to put forward to the world. In a similar vein, the proliferation of official Running Punks merchandise bought and proudly displayed by members is another way of publicly demonstrating their belonging to this group. Punk has always encompassed both an outsider aesthetic and a lifestyle. In Running Punks, we identify with each other through the distinctive logo, and designs of the clothing. Through recognition of clothing, people who have never previously met might notice another person running in a Running Punks top and discover a new member of the group, or, as what usually happens, discover they are friends on social media, but have never met in real life (Fig. 5.1).

Fig. 5.1  A group of Running Punks

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Conclusion One of the things that we set out to explore in this research is the degree to which membership of Running Punks facilitates cross-generational love of established music, in concert with the discovery of new music, and the ways in which these impacts on identity. Through engaging with music, and the punk ethos of ‘outsiderism’ in Running Punks, we suggest that music allows for ‘age convergence’. What is meant by this is that age, signs of ageing, and youthfulness are not prerequisites for being a Running Punk. The only thing that is required is that one wishes, and is able, to run. Moreover, by sharing musical and running experiences discursively through social media platforms, and in the real-life running groups, age is transcended. On top of this, as people of all ages now have access to digital music, this allows for many of us to revisit music of our youth and access the affects that may have been present at the time. And sharing these experiences with people of all ages reminds us of the similarities between us, rather than the differences which might normally be present between people from such a diverse range of age groups.

References Allen-Collinson, J., & Hockey, J. (2007). Working Out’ Identity: Distance Runners and the Management of Disrupted Identity. Leisure Studies, 26(4), 381–398. Retrieved January 25, 2022, from https://doi.org/ 10.1080/02614360601053384 Anderson, T. (2012). The Experience of Punk Subcultural Identity. PsyD Dissertation, John F. Kennedy University. Barnes, J. (2021). Remembering when The Clash’s Joe Strummer lived in Newport. In South Wales Argus, 9th May 2021. Bennett, A. (2006). Punk’s Not Dead: The Continuing Significance of Punk Rock for an Older Generation of Fans. Sociology, 40(2), 219–235. Retrieved March 25, 2022, from https://doi.org/10.1177/0038038506062030 Bennett, A., & Hodkinson, P. (2012). Ageing & Youth Culture: Music, Style and Identity. Routledge. Bennett, A., & Taylor, J. (2012). Popular Music and the Aesthetics of Ageing. Popular Music, 31(2), 231–243. Retrieved January 25, 2022, from https:// doi.org/10.1017/S0261143012000013 Blaikie, A. (1999). Ageing and Popular Culture. Cambridge University Press. Bowling, A. (2005). Ageing Well: Quality of Life in Old Age. McGraw-Hill.

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Chalmers, T. D., & Arthur, D. (2008). Hard-Core Members’ of Consumption-­ Oriented Subcultures Enactment of Identity: The Sacred Consumption of Two Subcultures. Association in Consumer Research, 35, 570–575. Cogan, B. (2007) “Do They Owe Us a Living? Of Course They Do!” Crass, Throbbing Gristle, and Anarchy and Radicalism in Early English Punk Rock. In Journal for the Study of Radicalism, 1(2), (Summer 2007), 77–90 (14 pages). Cotter, A. (2017). ‘Moving and Being Moved Through Time: Autoethnographic Reflections on First-Person Research and Its Development Over 30 Years. Counselling and Psychotherapy Research, 17(2), 104–112. Retrieved April 29, 2022, from https://doi.org/10.1002/capr.12098 Crossley, N. (2015). Networks of Sound Style and Subversion. The Punk and Post-­ punk Worlds of Manchester, London, Liverpool and Sheffield. Manchester University Press. Davis, J. R. (2012). Punk, Ageing and the Expectations of Adult Life. In A. Bennett & P.  Hodkinson (Eds.), Ageing & Youth Culture: Music, Style and Identity (pp. 105–118). Routledge. Dupuis, S. L., & Alzheimer, M. (2011). Leisure and Ageing Well. World Leisure Journal, 50(2), 91–107. Retrieved March 23, 2022, from https://doi.org/ 10.1080/04419057.2008.9674538 Ellis, C., Adams, T. E., & Bochner, A. P. (2011). Autoethnography: An Overview. Forum Qualitative Social Research, 12(1), 273–290. Ettore, E. (2017). Autoethnography as Feminist Method: Sensitising the feminist ‘I’. Routledge. Featherstone, M., & Hepworth, M. (1991). The Mask of Ageing and the Post-­ Modern Life-Course. In M.  Featherstone, M.  Hepworth, & B.  S. Turner (Eds.), The Body: Social Process and Cultural Theory. SAGE Publishing. Fish, B. (2018, September 5). When Should Life as a Veteran Runner Begin? Fast Running. Retrieved May 1, 2022, from https://www.fastrunning.com/ fast-­10/2018/ben-­fish/when-­should-­the-­veteran-­ranks-­start/19189 Gilleard, C., & Higgs, P. (2000). Cultures of Ageing: Self, Citizen and the Body. Routledge. Hebdige, D. (1979). Subculture: The Meaning of Style. Routledge. Hepworth, M. (2003). Ageing Bodies: Aged by Culture. In J.  Coupland & R.  Gwyn (Eds.), Discourse, the Body, and Identity (pp.  89–106). Palgrave Macmillan. Herrmann, A. F. (2014). Never Mind the Scholar, Here’s the Old Punk: Identity, Community, and the Aging Music Fan. Studies in Symbolic Interaction, 39, 153–170. Retrieved January 15, 2022, from https://doi.org/10.1108/ S0163-­2396(2012)0000039007/full/html Hitchings R., & Latham, A. (2017). How ‘Social is Recreational Running? Findings from a Qualitative Study in London and Implications for Public

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Tsitsos, B. (2012). Slamdancing, Ageing and Belonging. In A.  Bennett & P.  Hodkinson (Eds.), Ageing & Youth Culture: Music, Style and Identity. Routledge. Tulle, E. (2008a). Ageing, The Body, and Social Change: Running in Later Life. Palgrave Macmillan. Tulle, E. (2008b). The Ageing Body and the Ontology of Ageing: Athletic Competence in Later Life. Body & Society, 14(3), 1–19. Retrieved February 25, 2022, from https://doi.org/10.1177/1357034X08093570 Turner, B. (2008). The Body and Society. Sage. Twigg, J. (2006). The Body in Health and Social Care. Macmillan. Watkins, J. (2020) Running Punks. Retrieved January 26, 2023, from https:// www.runningpunks.com/ Way, L. (2020). Punk, Gender and Ageing: Just Typical Girls? Emerald Publishing Limited. Way, L. (2021). Punk is Just a State of Mind: Exploring What Punk Means to Older Punk Women. The Sociological Review, 69(1). 107–122. Retrieved March 24, 2022, from https://doi.org/10.1177/0038026120946666

Discography Hopkin, M. (1969). Post Card. Apple Records. Ramones. (1995). ¡Adios Amigos! Radioactive Records. The Beatles. (1967). Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Parlophone. The Byrds. (1965). Turn! Turn! Turn! Columbia Records. The Clash. (1977). The Clash. Columbia Records.

CHAPTER 6

Live Fast, Die Old. Experiences of Ageing in Portuguese Punk DIY Scenes since the Late 1970s Paula Guerra

To Everything There Is a Season … We have all heard it said that, as we age, some clothes or styles of music are no longer appropriate.1 Many stereotypes exist about age in late modernity (Higgs & Gilleard, 2020; Bytheway, 2005), including the view that some lifestyles are only suitable for certain age groups. This is particularly visible when talking about popular music, and particularly musical genres such as punk. As we will see, journalistic and even academic works are full of prejudices and stereotypes about older fans of subcultures such as punk, who are derogatively labelled ‘weekend punks’. However, in recent years a body of academic work has examined the relationship between ageing 1  This chapter was supported by FCT—Foundation for Science and Technology, within the scope of UIDB/00727/2020.

P. Guerra (*) University of Porto, Porto, Portugal e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9_6

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and popular music (Bennett, 2013; Davis, 2006; Hodkinson, 2011; Way, 2020). This research approaches music cultures as multigenerational, comprising fans who, rather than ‘calming down’, have critically reflected on their subcultural participation. If it is incorrect to say that all actors ‘calm down’ after a certain age, then it is also wrong to say the concept of youth has lost its value and that everyone needs to have the same level of participation in the various music scenes (Guerra, 2023a). Older people have to deal with other social dimensions, such as employment and family, with all the pressures these entail, so they look at punk differently. To account for the multitude of positions that older members of the Portuguese punk scene have regarding their subcultural participation, we will structure this chapter2 as follows: first, we will analyse the state of the art of youth studies and how its scholars position themselves on ageing; second, we will analyse how these older punks position themselves regarding those from younger generations—in essence, how they look at the younger generation and their ability to maintain and enlarge the Portuguese punk scene; and finally, we will address the relationship between punk ageing and employment, namely the concept of the do-it-yourself (DIY) career—how the punk ethos was incorporated into the lives of members of the Portuguese punk scene and how this influenced (and influences) them in several social dimensions.

2  This chapter follows on from the development of the project Keep It Simple, Make It Fast! Prolegomenons and Punk Scenes, A Road to Portuguese Contemporaneity (1977–2012) (PTDC/CS-SOC/118830/2010), known as KISMIF, was funded by FEDER through the COMPETE Operational Program from the Foundation for Science and Technology (FCT). The information with which we work here is the result of semi-­structured interviews with 214 individuals who have/had strong links to the Portuguese punk scene in a variety of different ways. The development of this chapter is part of the project Lost and Found Sounds: Cultural, Artistic and Creative Scenes in Pandemic Times, which is being developed at the Institute of Sociology of the University of Porto and the Griffith Centre for Social and Cultural Research, Queensland, Australia. Additionally, it is part of the progress of a research network led by Paula Guerra and Andy Bennett around DIY cultures and underground creative-music scenes. Project details can be found at www.kismifcommunity.com

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‘I Don’t Want to Grow Up’: Ageing Studies and the Elasticity of Youth The concept of youth has been called into question in recent years. It ceased to be a category that clearly defined an age group up to their mid-­ twenties and came to encompass individuals beyond that age group as well (Baker et  al., 2016; Furlong, 2017). The new body of work in ageing studies has shown that, despite being inevitable from a biological perspective, ageing is in fact a socio-historical construction. If we look at Western society in the twentieth century, we have proof of such a change. Until the emergence of the consumer society, there were social conventions about behaviour, clothing, cultural practices and so on, to which people had to conform when they reached a certain age. Giddens (1991) rightly notes that this was not a real change of self, but merely the emergence of a mask that denied people’s identity. Featherstone and Hepworth (1991) address how, in late modernity, older individuals maintain their leisure tastes and activities throughout their lives, with an emphasis on maintaining a youthful identity. Like identity, age is open to (self-)negotiations and reflections (Mansson et al., 2022). Yet the idea of youth being an elastic concept has its problems. Despite the changes that have occurred in late modernity, some aspects continue to separate the age groups. The market takes this into account, which is why certain musical genres are aimed at younger people. When talking about musical genres with a multigenerational audience, differences can be found in the practices and meanings attributed to them by each age group. Older social actors are often analysed in a distorted way, and the media play an important role in the dissemination of such stereotypes. Older music fans are usually seen as adults with a kind of Peter Pan syndrome who have refused to grow up and take responsibility of their lives. According to this argument, being middle aged is incompatible with punk. Adults with money are the antithesis of the youthful angst that defines punk, so these older fans are mere ‘tourists’ (Bennett, 2013). Taking a different approach, Gregory (2009) analyses the incompatibilities between the core elements of rave culture and the demands of adult life. Another issue relates to the emergence of studies on nostalgia (Reynolds, 2012). One part of the argument refers to the ageing of the baby boomers and their memories of their youth. This seemingly essentialist approach associates music with youth, viewing the continuation of a subcultural belonging throughout life as impossible. One either appreciates it when younger

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or remembers it wistfully when one reaches old age. The work of Holland (2004) and Bennett (2006, 2013) has attracted greater attention to this issue. Bennett (2006) analyses the existing negotiation between involvement and demands inherent to adult life: what exists is a decrease in participation, such as going out less often, and not being involved in mosh pits with younger people, for example. Holland (2004) addresses the balance between the idea of personal authenticity and what is considered age-appropriate. These studies emphasise an increasing individualisation and privatisation of subcultural participation with ageing. Notwithstanding the fact that these works highlight a certain tendency towards individualisation and the privatisation of subcultural participation with age, we want to emphasise that nostalgic attachment and its modalities tend to be experienced—by Portuguese punks—as positive experiences of empowerment, dynamism and community involvement. Thus, among the modalities of nostalgic attachment most enunciated by the interviewees, we can highlight the following: the participation in Facebook groups of discussion and historical reconstruction of punk; the collection, cataloguing and archiving of photographs, posters, fanzines and concert tickets; the participation in the collection and identification of cassettes, demos and videos; the organisation of social moments (lunches, dinners or picnics); the organisation of campaigns to support colleagues and/or friends who are in a difficult economic or health situation; the organisation and assembly of local exhibitions; or even the participation in bands as musicians or the organisation of gigs (Keightley & Pickering, 2006, 2012). All these forms of nostalgia are positively represented by the patients themselves, their families and friends (Baars, 2012; Boym, 2001). They are, above all, a way of reconnecting with the self, promoting self-­ esteem and strengthening identity even in the face of ascending generations (Gardner, 2020). Also in their analysis of the Gothic subculture, Hodkinson (2002, 2011) considers that instead of finding an individualistic ethos, the idea of what it is to be Gothic has remained in the collective sphere, especially as a community based on sharing common tastes and practices. However, if such a feeling is maintained, the intensity of participation is not, and there is a need for adjustments to the link between subcultural participation and adult life. There is a quantitative reduction, for example, regarding going out, which is at the heart of participation in Gothic subculture. There has also been a qualitative change in where older people go: they prefer bars where it is possible to talk.

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Aesthetics are essential in subcultures such as punk or Goth, and the greater the enthusiasm, the greater the concern for subcultural presentation. For older participants who do not go out regularly, the collective rewards of this subcultural presentation are reduced. In her analysis of older punks, Davis (2006) addresses discourses on age-appropriate forms of participation and the sarcasm directed at those who do not conform to the norms. This author postulates several ideal types of the older punk and their relationship with the music scene, both successful and unsuccessful. Davis has two ideal types of failures: the first, ‘scene rejecters’, comprises all those who, when entering adulthood, break their relationship with punk. The second, ‘stagnant punks’, refers to those punks who maintain their participation in the scene without taking their age into account. This stagnation is met with criticism, such as of the inability to move forward with one’s life. Regarding the ideal types of successful negotiations, the first ideal type, ‘legends’, refers to a very small group of social actors: the well-known figures who have achieved commercial success and thereby manage to make a living from punk. The second ideal type, ‘corporate incorporators’, includes those who have found a career outside the punk scene but who nevertheless continue to have an involvement in the scene. The third ideal type, ‘career punks’, includes those who find a way to find a job within the scene, as musicians, editors, promoters and so on. We can associate this with the concept of DIY careers (Bennett & Guerra, 2019), given that punk influences the choice of such careers. First, though, it is necessary to make some adjustments to the more conventional definition of DIY, roughly associated with music and youth cultures. DIY is something that stays with individuals, often influencing them throughout life. Far from being static, this vision is subject to deep reflections and adjustments, a consequence of the various events that mark people’s lives. Punk, as well as other subcultures, gives individuals a specific perspective, an ethos that influences not only their musical experiences but also their social experiences. Such a sense of individual autonomy shapes attitudes towards work and leisure and is reflected in career choices that oppose traditional ‘nine-to-five’ employment. The DIY career is a reflexive strategy to deal with existing precariousness, as well as with a specific subcultural ethos. It is the choice of ontological security over economic security. The idea of success is not measured in economic terms but, rather, in the possibility of having free time and space to continue investing in oneself.

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These approaches are relevant to demonstrate how dynamic the process of negotiation between subcultural participation and ageing can be. They also simultaneously demonstrate processes of subcultural individuation and the stability of a sense of group belonging (Bennett, 2006; Davis, 2006; Haenfler, 2009). Due to many older participants remaining involved, this ageing becomes an integral part of subcultures. The subcultures themselves, as well as their collective norms, values and criteria, are ultimately influenced.

Losing My Edge3: Difficult Relations with the Younger Generations James Murphy sang in 2002: I’m losing my edge. The kids are coming up from behind. (…) I’m losing my edge to the Internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1962 to 1978.

And nothing seems more appropriate. As the members of the first waves aged, punk became a multigenerational genre (Bennett, 2012). However, there are many differences between subcultural generations. Our research revealed many differences in the way punk is perceived. There is a valorisation of each era by its members. Take the representation of some members of the Portuguese punk scene in the decades between 1970 and 1990. The hardships of that time, the absence of cultural products such as albums or venues, and the stigma they suffered from society all now form a narrative not of a ‘golden age’ of punk, but rather a golden age in terms of authenticity—of what is truly punk (Guerra, 2016, 2020). The hardships undergo a transmutation and are now seen as trials that had to be overcome. If there were no records, they had to wait for the radio show and be ready to record it on cassettes; or when someone had an album, it was collectively listened to over and over. All this is understood as part of the trials and set against the current opportunities experienced by younger punks. Estevão and Fernando explain this:

3  ‘Losing My Edge’ is the debut single by LCD Soundsystem. It was released as a 12-inch single in July 2002 through DFA Records. It was listed at number 13 on Pitchfork’s Top 500 Songs of the 2000s list.

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Nowadays, kids don’t even have time to know anything in-depth. It’s all so superficial. There are always new things coming out, new styles, new music, artists … a lot of things. I think they are rare. That’s the idea I have. It’s not that I know many kids like that, teenagers. I don’t think they have the time or the inclination to know the past and try to understand why things are the way they are today. (Estevão, 46 years, master’s or equivalent, scientific researcher, Lisbon)4 It was really the movement changing … losing its genuineness. It was no longer a question of music, you had to have a good guitar, a good amplifier, and what you were saying lost a little of its meaning. Moreover, in the old days it was always what was important, what you said, what you transferred to the people. (Fernando, 45 years, master’s or equivalent, teacher, Lisbon)

There are countless examples of this type of discourse. There is a correlation between difficulties and authenticity versus abundance and ideological and praxeological fragility. Almost all criticism is directed towards the negative effects of the internet. According to our interviewees, this has levelled the knowledge, dematerialised music and, above all, resulted in anomie, which would be seen in the dissolution of the Portuguese punk scene or in its decline. There is also an association between the internet, and consequently young punks, and subcultural instability. Verónica, one of our interviews, demonstrates her perplexity with the fact that ‘a person can be punk one day, do the whole reactive process, and the next day already be glam and the day after hip-hop’. The possibilities offered by the internet create a misunderstanding among older punks, who associate this omnivorous form of cultural consumption with a lesser involvement with punk. However, what troubles older punks the most is what Eduardo calls ‘cheeky ignorance’, a consequence of the democratisation of information, which creates experts about everything. Fernando demonstrates this well: The internet levels everything, for better or worse, and ends up making everything very equal. It’s a standardization with all the good and bad things that it entails. And the internet, in fact, was a damn revolution, because the ‘kids’ today have access to everything: suddenly they become hardcore punk experts in three weeks. They download all the files, they read

4  Throughout the chapter, I will make use of excerpts from the discourse of the interviewees as a form of illustration. All participants are assigned a fictitious name in keeping with the guidelines of the Code of Ethics of the American Sociological Association.

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all the stuff, it’s all available, it’s all online. (Fernando, 45 years, master’s or equivalent, teacher, Lisbon)

This contrasts with a long and costly apprenticeship, based on pirate recordings, reading and going to concerts, which gave the older punks a subcultural capital, a legitimacy to discuss and argue about punk, bands and albums. Yet the constant comparisons between the experience they had and that of younger people today, with a clear advantage for the former, don’t take the socio-economic changes that occurred in Portugal into consideration. We can also point to an unwillingness to understand the new experiences and priorities of younger punks, who also show a dissatisfaction with and repulsion towards society and the capitalist system of work, with their poorly paid or precarious jobs—something that can be seen in the lyrics of many contemporary punk songs (Guerra, 2019). In essence, there is a system of codified rituals today as there was one in previous decades, a system closely linked to the state of socio-economic change in the country (Guerra, 2016, 2018, 2020). This misunderstanding is visible in the persistent accusations that younger punks don’t have the necessary knowledge and that the democratisation of the internet has led to a loss of punk authenticity. It is also evident in criticism that contemporary punk is either just a fashion or a place to vent violent impulses. Eduardo says: Nowadays, it’s like ‘Yeah, I’m going to a concert, but it’s just another concert’, like people who go to concerts without any ideas, just to fight, to make trouble or to criticise. (Eduardo, 25 years, lower secondary education, student, São João da Madeira, metropolitan area of Porto)

According to Martim: The evolution, especially of hardcore punk … and especially the new generations, this cannot go on only with the older generations, they don’t know, and they will never know the level of authenticity that we lived. They live it in a more superficial way, in the sense that they don’t value it, or don’t feel things the way we did. It is a generation of Facebook, YouTube, whatever, and they live that more than the values. (Martim, 55 years, upper secondary education, transport salesman, Loures, metropolitan area of Lisbon)

We cannot dissociate these narratives from the phenomenon of nostalgia (Reynolds, 2012), of linking personal moments of their lives with key

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moments in the history of punk, of looking at the past—even with all its difficulties—with positive eyes. Nostalgia operates on three levels: nostalgia, biographical nostalgia and format nostalgia, as noted by Thurnell-­ Read (2022). This nostalgic discourse, propagated by older people, the media, TV series and documentaries, in part influences younger people who look to the past as a pure and authentic era: Sometimes it’s the younger people who notice. They’re in a small group with older people and they say, ‘Hey, I wish I’d lived 20 years ago!’ So, they have a very idealized image of things—the flea markets, the Gingão.5 Everything was very pure, very naïve, the people, I don’t know … (André, 49 years, bachelor’s or equivalent, computer technician, Lisbon)

What we can take away is a sense of recognition and cultural authority grounded in a subcultural memory (Jacobson, 2020). This feeling goes hand in hand with a devaluation of the current state of punk. One reason for this situation is the estrangement of some figures, due to issues such as employment, parenting and emigration. Two problems remain: first, the inability of younger people to be authentically involved due to the choice offered by the internet; and second, the departure of several ageing members central to the perpetuation of the scene. This means the few key actors who remain possess a hugely important role in terms of subcultural legitimacy, as well as exemplifying what a true punk should look like: Then people switch off a bit. Most are either no longer there, they’ve left the scene, or they’ve got into shit. There are few people that can say I’m still there. Frágil is one of the few that continues to be there, to receive people, he’s an entity; the guy, without wanting to, is a landmark that passed through generations and is still there. Even though he enjoys other things, he is now all about African music, he went on a trip to treat children with malaria. That’s what attitude is, it’s not coming to Porto at the weekend with a crest made the previous Friday. (Gustavo, 35 years, incomplete upper secondary, auxiliary teaching, Maia, metropolitan area of Porto)

Gustavo’s perspective serves to highlight that the criticism of punks who continue to participate in the scene without taking their age into 5  One of the most emblematic Portuguese bars of the 1980s, situated in Bairro Alto, the trendiest neighbourhood in Lisbon. It rapidly became a meeting point for the burgeoning Portuguese subcultures.

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account does not apply to the central figures in the scene—who Davis (2006) calls ‘legends’. On the Portuguese scene, Frágil6 possesses this centrality. He may have gone through ebb and flow, but no one would think of accusing him of Peter Pan syndrome. There is a relationship between the subcultural capital on the scene and the way people look at their trajectory and ageing on the scene. Similarly, Frágil’s maturing contributes to this, as Gustavo explains that the most important thing is not a style to shock, but rather a punk way of being, in this case materialised in a volunteer trip to fight malaria in Africa. Because of their rarity, actors such as Frágil are essential for the transmission of subcultural knowledge to the various generations of punk neophytes. And if the criticism is a combination of nostalgia and paternalism, there is a sincere concern with sharing information and subcultural knowledge, as well as a need to feel appreciated by the younger punks for doing so—in essence, to follow the paths they followed in the 1970s and 1980s. Take the opinion of Emanuel, another central figure in the Portuguese punk scene. He states that he learned a lot listening to older punks, and now it is his turn to pass on this knowledge to the younger members of his current band: I’m telling you this because this has a lot to do with the vehicle of information, with the way things arrived and influenced and I’ve followed punk since I was a kid, with guys who had access to the whole thing, because they were passionate for new things and transmitted it to kids like me at the time, who in turn transmitted it to kids who came after me and so on until we had a bass player aged twenty, a guitar player aged 29, a drummer aged 38 and me the vocalist aged 41. (Emanuel, 41 years, incomplete upper secondary, driver, Lisbon)

According to Bennett (2013), one strategy adopted by older punks was positioning themselves as critical overseers of the scene. This was seen as a way of celebrating their subcultural trajectory and maintaining a form of collective authority. However, one major difference was an attitude of hypercriticism on the part of the Portuguese older punks—a real pessimism about the state of punk and a devaluation of younger people’s ways of being punk. One way to explain this position is as a rupture of what had 6  Frágil Lapa is a Portuguese punk vocalist, played in several bands such as Senisga, Renegados de Boliqueime, Speedtrack, Motornoise and Religião and Moral. He has been a legendary figure in Portuguese punk since the 1980s.

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been happening until then: one entered the scene and followed the influence and knowledge of older punks in a slow process of acquiring subcultural capital. Social media and the internet opened different ways of acquiring this knowledge, causing a feeling of disenchantment among many of our interviewees. It is like going through the whole process and being deprived of the last part: becoming a kind of informal educator of younger punks (Hodkinson, 2016).

Career Opportunities: The Art of Transforming Subcultural Capital A good proportion of studies on careers in music either focus specifically on the music world, such as bands or solo careers, or reflect the idea that youthful dreams of a music career dissipate with age and everyone ends up with a typical nine-to-five career. In other work (Bennett & Guerra, 2019; Guerra, 2017, 2018), we have demonstrated that this is not always the case and that music—notably the DIY ethos—influences actors’ life choices. The professional career is no exception. The question of employment is addressed in our interviews, where we find dichotomic positions. Most participants emphasised the importance of getting a job, especially when children or family are involved, not giving much credence to the idea of staying out of society. There is a concern to separate their jobs and their way of being punk. For these interviewees, being punk is much more than a position of complete intransigence. In fact, for many of them, retirement is a time to return to the world of possibilities of the DIY punk activities they used to do before entering formal employment—a far cry from their previous DIY collaborative activities. However, there are hardliners who consider that a punk life implies the rejection of any hierarchical relationship, so one cannot both be a punk and have a boss: So, here in Portugal you keep saying that they’re punks and I disagree, because from the moment you accept to work and accept the conditions of the boss, you’ve already lost 95 per cent of what you think is your identity, your way of being and thinking—it’s gone. You will be what the boss wants you to be. So, from then on, don’t give me any bullshit, that’s why I often say that for me punks are those who continue there, even though most of them are a bit snotty. (Telmo, 59 years, upper secondary, account manager at a bank, Porto)

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It is not easy to follow this path, as we saw from many of our interviewees. However, one way is through DIY careers, which allow actors to get away from some constraints of the job market. When we asked Anselmo about the importance of music in his life, he was clear that music was only half the story. Punk music was important to his life, but what had really changed his life was his contact with DIY, defined as a toolbox, and the ability to make things independently, allowing him to pursue a DIY career: Punk for me gets really interesting when you don’t take the ideals as a bible, as some rules, but when you take from there some tools to make things. For me one of the best things that punk has is DIY, because through doing things yourself, you can make the things you want. Through DIY I completely changed my life, I started organizing gigs. It’s not just a soundtrack for the rest of your life—no, you get very positive things out of it. (Anselmo, 20 years, incomplete bachelor’s or equivalent, musician/computer engineering student, Lisbon)

Here we have the combination of a DIY ethos and love of music as reasons for the career choice. Some of our interviewees admitted they would like the possibility of working with music, even if it implied a somewhat precarious life. One possibility we discovered on the Portuguese scene was employment in independent record shops (Guerra, 2022). This is explained by the ability to translate subcultural capital into DIY careers (Guerra, 2016, 2018). When choosing a job, several members of subcultures opted for a position that allowed them more time and space (Guerra, 2023b) for their creative passions at the expense of greater economic security. We can see here the combination of a bohemian lifestyle, a job chosen for love and a reflexive strategy to deal with the precariousness of the labour market (Bennett, 2013). This provides an advantage for record shops, as employing members of the music scene brings them greater legitimacy (Thornton, 1995). This can be seen in the quote from Martinho, who was faced with a job offer from the owners of a record shop—also his friends—through which he could make a living from music: I was a long-standing client. By the time Pedro left, they spoke to me, and I said I’d really like to work with them. We already knew each other quite well, and I thought it would be a valuable asset for the shop because I would be able to keep the customers. And I managed to keep the customers. (Martinho, 42 years, non-university educated, record shop clerk, metropolitan area of Lisbon, London)

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On the other hand, Jesualdo—also employed in an independent record shop—admits that, due to his desire to continue dressing as he always did—crest and all—his employment options are reduced: he either works in record shops or in a tattoo studio. Jesualdo’s case is very much linked to the challenges of maintaining a punk style and to more extreme positions about the punk perspective in the job market. But it is different from Telmo’s opinion, which we saw earlier. If for the former it was inconceivable to have a boss, Jesualdo only chooses to employ himself in underground environments, closer to his punk attitudes. Basically, if this position is maintained, we see a narrowing down of job options; even with informalisation (Wouters, 2007), there are still certain styles that only seem acceptable in contexts linked to the underground: With age, people change and they will fit in with the so-called normal society. You can’t go to work with a crest unless you work in a record shop, like me, or a tattoo studio. So society itself tells you the way you should go. But mainly if a person continues to like listening to punk, as is my case, it is very difficult to forget punk and the punk attitude. (Jesualdo, 42 years, bachelor’s or equivalent, electrotechnical engineer, Braga)

Caetano,7 owner of one of the main DIY labels and independent record shops in Lisbon, admits that there is a constant moving from publishers to publishers and to record shops and other similar jobs—demonstrating the difficulty of getting and keeping a stable job in the underground cultural and music scene in Portugal. As we have shown elsewhere (Guerra, 2016, 2017), the Portuguese reality is difficult for actors who want to make a living from music, directly or indirectly: precariousness, under-­employment and sometimes the need to have more than one job—yet, continuing with Caetano, always with the ‘rope in the throat’. The examples in our interviews are varied. Besides the cases of participants with jobs in record shops or record labels, such as Martinho or Jesualdo, we also found cases of former musicians who at a certain point moved on to other jobs within the music scene. For example, after performing in a historic Portuguese straight edge band, X-Acto, Ângelo came into contact with DIY merchandising during a stay in New York. He saw how the members of an American hardcore band made T-shirts and other accessories at home, and when he arrived in Portugal, he asked his band 7

 Caetano, 45 years, bachelor’s or equivalent, record dealer, Aljustrel, Alentejo.

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mates to help him financially to do the same. He made a profit and was soon overwhelmed with requests from other bands. He soon had a merchandising company: They, being a hardcore band, and having that punk ‘do it yourself’ spirit, they used to make their t-shirts at home … And we looked at that, me and a friend, and we found it very curious! … I know that, at a certain point, after I came from the United States, I remember talking to the band and saying, ‘Look, why don’t you lend me some money, a little bit? I have someone there who lends me some material and someone else who lends me other material, and I’ll buy some material and try to make some t-shirts for us.’ From the moment I started making t-shirts for our band, as there were many concerts at the time, people started asking and I—I’m a person who likes to move a lot and I’m very active—I started doing that. (Ângelo, 42 years, short-cycle tertiary education (Level 5), merchandising, Lisbon)

We found that reaching a certain age means one must choose. One option is ‘choosing poverty’ (Threadgold, 2017)—that is, not reaching the level of income one could reach otherwise and maintaining a lifestyle that we can call bohemian. On the other hand, we have Violeta’s opinion about the consequences of the punk ethos. It is common to hear interviewees highlighting what they learned from punk and how this has continued throughout their lives—always with a positive perspective. Violeta has an opposite perspective: after a certain age and with two children, she concluded that the punk ethos was holding her back. Punk conditioned her possibilities of choice, as she rejected anything connected to the mainstream. As we can see from the excerpt, such a position was untenable with two children, and she needed to ‘unpick myself from this punk question’: What happens is that then you grow, you evolve, and money also speaks louder, and people also have to survive, they have to subsist. And I am aware of one thing: punk conditioned me, not in a bad way, but during this time of career that I have been making … When I was invited to do certain things, I always had that question, still the punk chip, ‘Oh, this is mainstream, and I am not that mainstream.’ And there comes a time when you think, ‘Calm down, you should do things with seriousness, with class, but I’m a mother of two children. I’m a single mother, I have two children to take care of, I have to work, I have to succeed, I have to be able to unfold, to use my voice to get things done!’ and get rid of that punk question. (Violeta, 43 years, bachelor’s or equivalent, visual artist, musician, Cascais, metropolitan area of Lisbon)

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Valentino had a rather different perspective: You can’t live off your own work [in music], it’s a bit frustrating and it always makes you go back, go ahead, give up from time to time. But I don’t know—I don’t have children, we’re never going to have any, it doesn’t interest us and so maybe we can always move forward. At the weekend, instead of going to the mall, we go to Badajoz or Valencia, to Helsinki or Rome. Be there selling books, having drinks, meeting people, inviting new people, new generations to work with you, discovering refreshing things and all that, right? Okay, that would be the most optimistic and positive way of looking at it. (Valentino, 45 years, lower secondary education, translator, Lisbon)

These two excerpts revolve around an old dilemma in the Portuguese music scene. It is practically impossible to make a living from music. Either one chooses a DIY career, which implies a trajectory based on precariousness, moving or accumulating several jobs, from editor to musician, record shop employee, DJ and so on (Threadgold, 2017), or one reflects on priorities, as Valentino postulates: giving up a secure career and betting on a bohemian lifestyle with music at its heart. This is a way of proving how the punk ethos remains far beyond youth (Guerra, 2020). Finally, we have those who feel the need to break away. Violet perhaps demonstrates the potent strength of the punk ethos most effectively. The breaking away occurred because her punk ethos was so strong that it prevented a career that was not in opposition to the mainstream. For a single mother with two children, that option became unviable and eventually meant she needed to break away. Here we can reflect on the gender inequalities that permeate punk and the social demands that affect women more, especially those without family support (Way, 2020). For Violeta, unlike Valentino, it was impossible to choose a bohemian lifestyle. Few of the interviews reflect the position of a total rejection towards societal norms. More widespread is the incorporation of values that reject the uncritical acceptance of the norms of the job market. There is a critical reflection on the world of work and the pursuit of DIY careers, from selling merchandising to opening independent record shops. As Anselmo told us, punk ‘is not just a soundtrack’; it is something that is embodied in the agents and reflected in their lifestyles and social practices.

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What’s My Age Again?8 Final Remarks Despite the academic and journalistic emphasis on the youthful aspect of subcultures, subcultural participation is far from over as one enters adulthood. Our empirical material supports the idea that participation undergoes a quantitative and qualitative change. Not so much time is spent on the punk scene, as there are competing social factors, such as family and work, but a qualitative change takes place—an individual reflection on what it is to be punk. In almost all the interviews, we noticed a concern to explain how punk is still relevant in the participants’ lives. They leave aside the spectacular aspect of the subculture and focus instead on applying a punk perspective in the various dimensions of social life—what we call a DIY ethos. One of the most surprising issues we found in our research was the position of older Portuguese punks in relation to younger punks. Their devaluation of the knowledge and practices of the younger generations was almost unanimous. These younger punks were disparagingly called the YouTube or Facebook generation. The older punks look at this effortlessness, as they see it, and devalue it—especially when they compare it with the hardships they had to face, whether recording pirate tapes or having to make their own clothes. A long time ago, Socrates criticised the frivolous youth who did not want to learn. And perhaps that is the crux of the matter. Let’s remember Gustavo’s quote: the big problem lies in the abrupt cut in the process of subcultural transmission. Gustavo learned much of what he knows about the punk scene by listening to punks of the previous generation; however, with the emergence of information mediums such as social networks and the internet, the importance of these actors has lost some of its importance. And from what we have seen, this causes a resentment that is hard to hide in older punks. There is a complex relationship both between generations and between punks and ageing. We have seen positions ranging from rejecting ageing and continuing to live the punk life as if they were young. Yet the vast majority, in line with Bennett’s (2013) findings, rework their punk perspective. Over the years—especially when joining the labour market and having a family—what they understood as punk begins to change to a 8  Title derived from  the  Blink-182 song from  1999, included on  the  album Enema of the State.

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more nuanced position of what being punk entails, far from the shock and the spectacle to a more lasting effect—the constitution of a punk perspective applied to all dimensions of social life. In another few decades, all older people will have lived in an age marked by the importance of music and popular culture. This will revolutionise research in this area and the way we think about ageing. As Andy Bennett (2013) states, analysing these issues solely as a reflection of youthful behaviour is no longer feasible. Social expectations and stereotypes regarding age, which are promoted by the media and reinforced by commonsense views that with age people will calm down and become more conservative, will also be challenged. However, despite being able to see this social change, academic research is currently failing to keep up with it, with few studies on the relationship between popular music and ageing (Bennett, 2013; Hodkinson, 2011, 2013). This situation will have to change for us to do justice to these older punks, who remain as punk as their younger counterparts and their younger selves.

References Baars, J. (2012). Critical Turns of Aging, Narrative and Time. International Journal of Ageing and Later Life, 7(2), 143–165. Baker, S., Robards, B., & Buttigieg, R. (Eds.). (2016). Youth Cultures and Subcultures. Australian Perspectives. Routledge. Bennett, A. (2006). Punk’s Not Dead: The Significance of Punk Rock for an Older Generation of Fans. Sociology, 40(1), 219–235. Bennett, A. (2012). Dance Parties, Lifestyle and Strategies for Ageing. In A.  Bennett & P.  Hodkinson (Eds.), Ageing and Youth Cultures: Music, Style and Identity (pp. 95–104). Berg. Bennett, A. (2013). Music, Style, and Aging. Growing Old Disgracefully? Temple University Press. Bennett, A., & Guerra, P. (Eds.). (2019). DIY Cultures and Underground Music Scenes. Routledge. Boym, S. (2001). The Future of Nostalgia. Basic Books. Bytheway, B. (2005). Ageism and Age Categorization. Journal of Social Issues, 61(2), 361–374. Davis, J. (2006). Growing Up Punk: Negotiating Aging Identity in a Local Music Scene. Symbolic Interaction, 29(1), 63–69. Featherstone, M., & Hepworth, M. (1991). The Mask of Ageing and the Postmodern Life Course. In M. Featherstone, M. Hepworth, & B. S. Turner (Eds.), The Body: Social Process and Cultural Theory (pp. 371–389). Sage.

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Furlong, A. (Ed.). (2017). Handbook of Youth and Young Adulthood (2nd ed.). Routledge. Gardner, A. (2020). Ageing and Contemporary Female Musicians. Routledge. Giddens, A. (1991). Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age. Polity Press. Gregory, J. (2009). Too Young to Drink, Too Old to Dance: The Influences of Age and Gender on (Non-)rave Participation. Dancecult: Journal of Electronic Dance Music Culture, 1(1), 65–80. Guerra, P. (2016). Keep It Rocking: The Social Space of Portuguese Alternative Rock (1980–2010). Journal of Sociology, 52(4), 615–630. Guerra, P. (2017). Just Can’t Go to Sleep: DIY Cultures and Alternative Economies from the Perspective of Social Theory. Portuguese Journal of Social Science, 16(3), 283–303. Guerra, P. (2018). Raw Power: Punk, DIY and Underground Cultures as Spaces of Resistance in Contemporary Portugal. Cultural Sociology, 12(2), 241–259. Guerra, P. (2019). The Song Is Still a ‘Weapon’: The Portuguese Identity in Times of Crisis. YOUNG, 28(1), 14–31. Guerra, P. (2020). Iberian Punk, Cultural Metamorphoses, and Artistic Differences in the Post-Salazar and Post-Franco Eras. In G. McKay & G. Arnold (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Punk Rock. Oxford University Press. Guerra, P. (2022). House of Golden Records: Portugal’s Independent Record Stores (1998–2020). Societies, 12(6), 188. https://doi.org/10.3390/ soc12060188.; https://www.mdpi.com/2075-­4698/12/6/188 Guerra, P. (2023a). Underground artistic-creative scenes between utopias and artivisms. Journal of Cultural Analysis and Social Change, 8(2), 10. https:// doi.org/10.20897/jcasc/14063 Guerra, P. (2023b). Living popular music in “high fidelity.” Portugal’s independent record stores, 1998–2020. In G. Arnold, J. Dougan, C., Feldman-Barrett, & M. Worley (Eds.), The Life, Death, and Afterlife of the Record Store. A Global History (pp. 109–119). New York: Bloomsbury Academic. https://doi. org/10.5040/9781501384547 Haenfler, R. (2009). Straight Edge: Clean-Living Youth, Hardcore Punk and Social Change. Rutgers University Press. Higgs, P., & Gilleard, C. (2020). The Ideology of Ageism Versus the Social Imaginary of the Fourth Age: Two Differing Approaches to the Negative Contexts of Old Age. Ageing and Society, 40(8), 1617–1630. Hodkinson, P. (2002). Goth: Identity, Style and Subculture. Berg. Hodkinson, P. (2011). Ageing in a Spectacular ‘Youth Culture’: Continuity, Change and Community Amongst Older Goths. The British Journal of Sociology, 62(2), 262–282. Hodkinson, P. (2013). Family and Parenthood in an Ageing ‘Youth’ Culture: A Collective Embrace of Dominant Adulthood? Sociology, 47(6), 1072–1087.

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Hodkinson, P. (2016). Youth Cultures and the Rest of Life: Subcultures, Post-­ subcultures and Beyond. Journal of Youth Studies, 19(5), 629–645. Holland, S. (2004). Alternative Femininities: Body, Age and Identity. Berg. Jacobson, M. (2020). Graffiti, Aging and Subcultural Memory: A Struggle for Recognition Through Podcast Narratives. Societies, 10(1). https://doi. org/10.3390/soc10010001 Keightley, E., & Pickering, M. (2006). The Modalities of Nostalgia. Current Sociology, 54(6), 919–941. Keightley, E., & Pickering, M. (2012). The Mnemonic Imagination: Remembering as Creative Practice. Palgrave Macmillan. Mansson, J., Samuelsson, E., & Torronen, J. (2022). Doing Adulthood—Doing Alcohol: What Happens When the ‘Sober Generation’ Grows Up? Journal of Youth Studies, 25(1), 84–99. Reynolds, S. (2012). Retromania: Pop Culture’s Addiction to Its Own Past. Faber & Faber. Thornton, S. (1995). Club Cultures: Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Polity Press. Threadgold, S. (2017). Youth, Class and Everyday Struggles. Routledge. Thurnell-Read, T. (2022). ‘A Couple of These Videos Is All You Really Needed to Get Pumped to Skate’: Subcultural Media, Nostalgia and Re-viewing 1990s Skate Media on YouTube. YOUNG, 30(2), 165–182. Way, L. (2020). Punk, Gender and Ageing: Just Typical Girls? Bingley. Wouters, C. (2007). Informalization: Manners and Emotions Since 1890. Sage.

CHAPTER 7

“I’m Not Someone Who Calls Himself an Anarchist, I am an Anarchist”: The Continuing Significance of Anarchism in the Later Lives of Ex-Adherents of British Anarcho-Punk Matt Grimes

Introduction British anarcho-punk was a unique subset of the 1970s and 1980s punk rock subculture, wherein notions of anarchism were explored and enacted, beyond the attention-grabbing anarchist sloganeering of many punk bands of that era. Through a series of interviews with ageing ex-adherents of British anarcho-­punk and drawing on their memories of their engagement with British anarcho-punk, in their adolescence and late adolescence, this chapter examines the continuing significance that their relationship with anarchist ideologies has impacted on the reflexive framework through

M. Grimes (*) Birmingham City University, Birmingham, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9_7

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which their subsequent life courses are experienced, presented and understood. Through their reflexive narratives, my interviewees show how they constructed, developed, manifested and maintained their relationship with anarchism and their anarcho-punk identities. Firstly, this chapter will briefly outline the emergence of British anarcho-punk as a distinctive subset of the 1970s and 1980s punk rock subculture. Secondly, I will discuss anarcho-punks relationship with anarchism, and the 1960s and 1970s countercultural manifestation of anarchist principles and ideologies. I will then briefly outline the methodological approach deployed in the primary research, followed by a discussion encompassing identity, memory and nostalgia as conceptual frameworks that situate my research. The penultimate section of this chapter documents and analyses the primary data gathered through in-depth semi-structured interviews with my research respondents. Lastly, I will show that, although my respondents’ identities have developed and changed over time, and been impacted on by various life course events, elements of their relationship with anarchist ideologies and principles have remained and impacted on the reflexive framework through which their subsequent life course is experienced, presented and understood.

British Anarcho-Punk “Yes that’s right, punk is dead, it’s just another cheap product for the consumer’s head. Bubblegum rock on plastic transistors, schoolboy sedition backed by big time promoters. CBS promote the Clash, but it ain’t for revolution, it’s just for cash. Punk became a fashion just like hippy used to be and it ain’t got a thing to do with you or me” ‘Punk Is Dead’ (Crass (1978))

Seminal anarcho-punk band Crass released their first record ‘The Feeding of the 5000’ in 1978. The EP’s fifth track, ‘Punk Is Dead’, was penned as a searing critique of the process by which punk had become commodified by the music and culture industries, and the failures of the first wave of punk rock to harness and propagate the energy of punk into something that had the potential to challenge the hegemonic order (Bestley, 2016; Cross, 2010; Dines, 2004; Gordon, 2016; Grimes, 2019). Along with Crass’s declaration of the death of punk and in the wake of what has become termed as the ‘first wave of punk’, which ‘existed’ between 1975

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and 1979 and any points in-between, depending on whose chronology one goes by, a slew of post-punk (sub)cultures emerged in its wake, each carving out its own identity and ideology within the fragmenting punk milieu (Colegrave & Sullivan, 2001; Liptrot, 2012). One such punk (sub) culture that emerged in the wake of the ‘first wave’ of punk was British anarcho-punk which Dines (2004), Grimes (2019) and Worley (2017) successfully document as a reappropriation and transformation of certain features of first wave of punk in the early 1980s, combined with notions of anarchist and libertarian thought and action, which provided a space where people could nurture a more informed identity and lifestyle in articulating a resistance and aversion towards the hegemonic culture and the political and corporate structures of society. At the forefront of this emerging subcultural scene were seminal anarcho-­punk band Crass, who were formed at the tail end of the first wave of punk rock and set about challenging what they saw as the ideological and political failings of first wave punk (Cross, 2010). Crass have come to be defined by many1 as the originators and ‘reluctant leaders of a British anarcho-punk movement that essentially eschewed all leadership’ (Glasper, 2006, p. 8). This reluctance comes despite them claiming that they were responsible for bringing the globally recognised circled ‘A’ for anarchy symbol back into cultural and subcultural circulation through their musical and artistic DiY productions (Crass, 1982a). As Crass began to get recognition and gain a wider punk audience, many punk bands took influence from Crass and aligned their music and politics with the then emerging and developing anarcho-punk subcultural scene, or some formed a band as a direct response to Crass’s influence.2

British Anarcho-Punk and Its Relationship with Anarchism The trajectory of the emergence of British anarcho-punk, and its interpretation of anarchism, is important in defining the difference and distinctiveness between a number of subsets that came out of the first wave of punk. 1  See (Berger, 2006; Bestley, 2016; Cross, 2004, 2010; Dale, 2012: Dines, 2004; Gibbs, 1996; Glasper, 2005, 2006; Gordon, 2016; Gosling, 2004; Laing, 1985; Liptrot, 2012; McKay, 1996; O’Hara, 1999; Robb, 2006; Sabin, 1999; Savage, 1991; Worley, 2017). 2  See Ian Glasper’s historiography The Day the Country Died: A History of Anarcho Punk 1980–1984 (2006), for an insight into the British anarcho-punk bands from that period.

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The inclusion of the prefix anarcho, which is rooted in anarchism, with the existing subcultural term punk, suggests that there was a combinational development of a more politically and ideologically focused form of punk emerging as a distinctive subset of punk (Avery-Natale, 2012). Therefore, the very term ‘anarcho-punk’ would suggest that there was a link between punk and the ideologies of anarchism. Whilst this chapter does not seek to provide a historiography of anarchism (see Christie & Meltzer, 1970; Woodcock, 1975; Marshall, 1993), it is worth noting that the first wave of punk, adopted the sloganeering of anarchism mostly for shock value or as a rhetorical device “rather than a clear form of ideological positioning or political allegiance” (Bestley, 2016, p.  46). Savage (1991) suggests that when the Sex Pistols released their first single ‘Anarchy in the U.K’, a link between anarchism and punk was declared, though as noted by Penny Rimbaud3 (1998), albeit perhaps by name rather than by intent. Many of the ‘first wave of punk’ bands such as the Sex Pistols and The Clash had little interest in the ideologies of anarchism much beyond the term being used as a way of signifying a broader anti-establishment rhetoric, or to provoke media and consumer attention (Dunn, 2016, p. 197). Gordon (1995, 2016), McKay (1996), Rimbaud (1998), Cross (2004, 2010), Dale (2012), Dines (2004), Glasper (2006), Liptrot (2012) and Worley (2017) all suggest that what British anarcho-punk did was to take some of the political and ideological sloganeering of earlier first wave punk and politicise them in a more literal way. Dines (2004, p. 253) states: [Al]though anarchism was at first taken as a means of mere shock value and expression of political rhetoric encompassing an eclectic mix of symbols … it was soon transformed within certain fragments of the punk rock movement into a ‘space’ for a more organised form of dissent. Subsequently, anarchism was taken seriously by the newly emerging anarcho-punk scene as a means of interjecting a sense of fervent political ‘self awareness’ into the punk rock movement.

Crass’s ideological approach to anarchism was in many ways linked to the type of anarchism associated with the 1960s and 1970s hippie

3  Penny Rimbaud was one of the co-founders of seminal anarchist punk band Crass, which disbanded in 1984.

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counterculture and the Situationist International (SI)4 movement. As McKay (1996, p. 75) suggests: The anarchism [Crass] espoused was not the anarchy of the Pistols …but a lifestyle and worldview they developed through a combination of hippy idealism and resistance, punk energy and cheek, and some of the cultural strategies of the Situationists.

Crass’s relationship with the counterculture further highlighted commonalities between hippies and British anarcho-punks in their resistance to the establishment. However, in the booklet Series of Shock Slogans and Mindless Token Tantrums (Crass, 1982a), which was included with Crass’s ‘Christ – The Album’ (Crass, 1982b) Rimbaud talks at length about his involvement with the 1960s/1970s counterculture and what he saw as the failings of it in effecting any real change in society through countercultural and political resistance. The inclusion of the booklet signified the important influence of that period on some of the ideological and philosophical positions espoused by Crass and their interpretation of anarchism as a political ideology they endeavoured to live by. Crass’s relationship with more politically overt anarchist organisations was, to some degree, brief in that they staged a benefit gig to raise money for the Persons Unknown trial5 and to help finance the Wapping Autonomy Centre,6 also known as  The Situationist International (SI) (1957–1972) was a relatively small yet influential Paris-based group that had its origins in the avant-garde artistic tradition. The situationists are best known for their radical politics which were heavily influenced by Marxist philosophy. SI drew inspiration from art movements like Dadaism and Surrealism by creating artwork that challenged capitalism and consumer culture and presented an alternate view of everyday life, one not influenced by advertising and media. 5  The Persons Unknown trial was a trial of six alleged anarchists, and others unknown and not arrested, allegedly linked to the 1970s anarchist group The Angry Brigade and to Black Flag. They were accused of being part of an anarchist terrorist conspiracy, who were plotting to cause explosions and radically change society through violent means. After 18 months in custody during the length of the trial, all defendants were acquitted and immediately released. British anarcho-punk bands Crass and Poison Girls recorded and performed a benefit record and performance in support of the defendants which enabled the development of the Wapping Autonomy Centre, aka The Anarchist Centre. 6  The Wapping Autonomy Centre, also called The Anarchist Centre, was a social space set up in Metropolitan Wharf, Wapping, from late 1981 to 1982. The centre was the idea of anarchist Ronan Bennett and others initially funded by money raised by the Poison Girls/ Crass benefit single ‘Persons Unknown/Bloody Revolutions’, as well as benefit gigs by Poison Girls and Crass. It became a hub for the British anarcho-punk scene in London for a short period of time, with live gigs, book fairs, fanzine conventions, discussion groups, films, debates and political workshops, until the building was vacated in 1982. 4

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The Anarchist Centre. The centre, which closed after only a year of operation, was a focal point for a number of informal anarchist support groups and provided a space for debates, workshops, and a venue for the increasing number of British anarcho-punk bands that were forming (Rimbaud, 1998, pp.  117–124). So, whilst the literature signifies relationships between British anarcho-punk, anarchism and the counterculture, the type of anarchism that developed was based less on ‘traditional’ political anarchist principles (Gordon, 2016). Cross (2010, p. 2) argues that the relationship between anarchism and punk was not always cohesive in that “the punks who raised new anarchist banners of their own making were quickly revealed in pursuit of very different goals” to an anarchist tradition that focused on political power, economic and personal exploitation, and class relationships. So, whilst O’Hara (1999, p.  71) suggests that most punks “share a belief formed around the anarchist principles of having no official government or rulers and valuing individual freedom and responsibility”, the manifestation of those principles in tandem with other individual and personal principles and politics varies greatly amongst them. Donaghey (2016, p. 45) deftly summarises the relationship between punk and anarchism: So, while a connection between anarchism and punk (or even a ‘punk-­ anarchism’) is widely recognised, it is qualified as being somehow different from other anarchisms, and even then there is no unanimously shared understanding of anarchism that is shared by all punks [...].

As British anarcho-punk emerged and developed, it appropriated the theoretical definition of anarchy in the sense that “anarchy is the rejection of that state control and represents a demand by the individual to live a life of personal choice not one of political manipulation” (Crass Flipside #23 1981 cited in Dines, 2004, p. 244). Craig O’Hara’s detailed and philosophical analysis of anarchism within the punk movement goes some way to supporting this by stating: Anarchist punks view anarchy as a freedom from authority and rules; a place where people can live their lives without some form of external compulsion. Thus police and formalized laws would not be necessary. (1999, p. 95)

However, Cross (2004, p. 32) argues that there was no one cohesive political agenda or ideology within British anarcho-punk and that

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Crass’s own reading of anarchism retained hippy’s concern with the freedom of the individual from the intrusion of the state but infused it with militant opposition to the ‘war machine’, and an excoriating critique of the alienated social relations of capitalism.

Crass, also displayed the circled ‘A’ anarchy symbol across a number of their multi-media outputs, as did many other British anarcho-punk bands of that period and beyond (Bestley, 2016). Whilst this could be seen as a direct alignment with the politics of anarchism, Rimbaud (1998) states that the band, who were by then attracting large audiences, were being put under pressure by the political left and political right to clarify their political affinities. The use of the anarchist symbol enabled Crass to disassociate themselves from either polarised political position and allowed them to continue with their own message of libertarian and anarchist self-­ determination (1998, pp. 108–109). Engagement with the politics of pacifism was also central to Crass philosophy (Worley & Lohman, 2018) and British anarcho-punk ideology. Cross (2004) argues that, for Crass, anarchism and pacifism were symbiotic. As British anarcho-punk gained momentum and a larger audience, organisations such as Class War,12 whose anarchistic ideologies were focused on class division and direct action, started to gain traction (Bone, 2006; Dines, 2004, pp.  215–223, Worley, 2017). Similarly, the British anarcho-punk ‘zine Pigs For Slaughter, which was representative of the Anarchist Youth Federation (AYF), took a more hard-line approach. The first issue contained a three-page searing critique of Crass and British anarcho-­punk, highlighting their contradictions, the failure of its pacifist approach and lack of commitment to direct action and confrontation with the ‘system’ and all its agents (Bestley & Binns, 2018). It was often in the DiY punk ‘zines of the early 1980s where debates over what constituted anarchism, pacifism versus direct action, collective vs individual anarchism created and maintained points of tension (Bestley & Binns, 2018; Grimes, 2016, 2019; Worley, 2018). However, Crass’s pacifist approach to anarchism was being unquestioningly reproduced and reiterated in a proportion of ‘zines. In doing so, British anarcho-punk was seen to be limited, stifling, partisan and dogmatic, with a number of ‘zine editors critiquing what was seemingly becoming the commoditisation of a subcultural movement spurred by Crass and developed, and in some ways reproduced, by other British anarcho-punk bands that followed after Crass (Bestley & Binns, 2018; Grimes, 2019). This commoditisation, partisan and

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dogmatic development within the British anarcho-punk movement and subcultural scene would eventually lead to its fragmentation in the mid to late 1980s, accelerated by the disbanding of Crass in 1984 (Grimes, 2019).

Research Method This chapter draws upon my doctoral research around anarcho-punks, ageing and identity. Previous research into ageing fans and ageing within youth cultures of popular music tend to focus on the fans or participants’ continuing relationship with music or their continuing participation in an existing subculture or post-subculture. My doctoral research however sought to answer issues around what happens to those people when their affiliation to a subculture ceases? What becomes of their subcultural or post-subcultural identities? What continuing influence or impact does their previous participation have on their subsequent lives and identities? Thus, revisiting and re-examining a subcultural scene from over 30 years ago created a retrospective account, which, as Strong (2011, p. 13) argues, “adds a new perspective to the literature on music, which mostly studies movements as they occur, or presents historical accounts that do not involve the recollections of fans”. Taking from Hobb’s (2006, p.  101) descriptor of ethnography as a “product of a cocktail of methodologies” my method combined a ‘cocktail’ of interviewing approaches and techniques which were all focused around a biographic-narrative interview (Fischer-Rosenthal, 2000; Wengraf, 2001). These included approaches such as life history interviewing, which is a form of individual interview directed to documenting the respondent’s life, or an aspect of it that has developed over the life course (Jupp, 2006); oral history interviewing, which involves interviewing people about their historical lived experience, (Smith, 2001); and narrative interviewing, where a set of semi structured questions provide an opportunity for the participant to narrate their life experiences (Allen, 2017). This ‘cocktail’ of interviewing approaches enabled me to fully consider how people, through their previous affiliation and engagement with a musical subcultural scene, form their identities through narratives constructed from their personal memories. Gathering the research data was achieved by conducting a set of semi-structured in-­ depth interviews with 18 participants, 4 female and 14 male, between the ages of 45 and 62, who self-identified as anarcho-punks during their adolescence and into their early to mid-20 s during the late 1970s and into the

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late 1980s. The in-depth semi-structured interviews, both face to face and online, consisted of two to three interviews with each participant over a period of 17 months.

(Anarcho-Punk) Identity Memory and Nostalgia When I use the term ‘identity’ in this chapter, I’m referring to the complex ways in which people come to understand who they are and where they fit into the world, both psychologically and socially. The identities that we develop in our adolescence are understood as being quite significant in terms of forming distinctive identities, as it is a period of considerable cognitive and psychosocial development (Erikson, 1950, 1968; Kroger et  al., 2010; Meeus et  al., 1999, cited in Decker et  al., 2014). Damon and Hart (1991) argue that adolescence is the transitional shift from physical characteristics to more psychological judgements involving feelings, emotions and participation/non-participation with other people and things around us. For the majority of my research respondents, their initial engagement with British anarcho-punk took place during their adolescence. So, for them, this period of adolescence and first engagement played an important role in forming a distinctive identity (Hodkinson, 2002; Liptrot, 2012) for them. My respondent’s anarcho-punk identity, although individual, would have also been impacted by group affiliation and membership in those early stages of development. Therefore, my approach to identity allows me to consider not only how my research respondents considered the narrative construction of their individual anarcho-punk identities and sense of self, but how being part of a subcultural scene had an impact on the development of their anarcho-­ punk identities through the shared ideologies, politics and cultural practices of the subcultural scene. The literature suggests that the construction and creative production of one’s identity is produced through narratives, or the telling of stories. Here, identity is constructed through the assemblage of various stocks of knowledge, memories, values, beliefs, experiences, ideas, images and sounds that are reflexively embedded in social constructions, which make them meaningful to the individual’s sense of self through the narratives they tell (Lawler, 2014; Schütz, 1964). Drawing on the work of French philosopher Paul Ricœur (1991a, 1991b), Lawler (2014) argues that identities are constructed and creatively produced

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through narratives. We come to be who we are by locating ourselves or being located in social narratives (Somers, 1994, p. 606). Narrativity and the process of ‘telling stories’ then plays a central role in how we understand ourselves and others. In this sense, the story we tell is the chronology of events within the narrative that we narrate through a set of discourses, wherein the particular discourses we employ refer to the manipulation of that specific story in the presentation of the narrative. The identity is constructed through the assemblage of various memories, experiences and how we make sense of those narratives through interpretation of the episodes within the narrative (Lawler, 2014, pp. 24–26). Most of my respondents encountered and self-identified with British anarcho-punk during their adolescence, and for many this is where they first became aware of, or were introduced to ideas of, anarchist ideology and thought. In doing so, they began to establish their anarcho-punk identity, which in many ways was informed by their introduction to anarchism. Because the narratives of my respondents are reflective, I could not overlook the roles of memory, nostalgia, ageing and the life course in terms of how they impact on narrative identity, identity construction and identity development. As one ages, self-narratives become crucial to one’s successful negotiation and migration in and through time (Harrington et al., 2011; Westerhof, 2010). The narrative accounts of our life stories are dependent on memory, and the ways in which memories are reconstructed in our narratives is bound up in notions of self-identity. Our identity is constructed through the assembling of various memories and experiences and how we interpret them and reconstruct them (Lawler, 2014). This process of reconstruction takes place in the present, and through our relationship with those continually reproduced memories, our identity is maintained (Halbwachs, 1992 [1942]). As King (2000, p. 2) argues, a sense of continuity between past events, actions and present experiences is essential to a sense of personal identity. Returning to my earlier discussion around adolescence and identity construction and consolidation, Conway (1997) argues, particular events and interactions, both individual and collective, that occur during late adolescence where identity consolidation takes place are seen as more significant and being more important, and as a result are generally remembered more and are more likely to become fixed in one’s memory. This process of memory is not without its problems though, as the time between the event or action, and the recalling or reconstruction of the

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event, has an impact on what we choose to remember, what we choose to forget and subsequently what then gets narrated. As King (2000, p. 22) states, “Autobiographical narratives reconstruct the events of a life in the light of ‘what wasn’t known then’, highlighting the events which are now, with hindsight, seen to be significant” and “the idea that events might have turned out differently, and if interpreted differently, might still be capable of changing the subject’s understanding of her life and herself” (King, 2000, p. 23). The process of remembering, then, might be understood as both a mediated act that connects the human mind and process and the available social frameworks and sociocultural settings within which it is experienced and constructed. However, remembering also involves forgetting, and is a selective process where within those narratives we select the important and significant events from the ordinary and inconsequential (Little, 2008) and reconstruct our past identities in collaboration with our present identities. Here, past and present are brought together, and in the recounting of past memories we add to the narrative elements of ourselves in the present—what I term ‘post-memory narrative’. Nostalgia also plays a part in how one reflects on the past as a means of continuation with the development of the self and one’s identity. Davis (1979) argues that nostalgia is one of the psychological lenses we use in the construction, maintenance and reconstruction of our identities. Like memory, nostalgic reconstructions also have the capacity to filter out and mute the unpleasant, painful and elements of our former selves about which we may feel some guilt and shame. Conversely, it also has the potential for depicting a romanticised ideal of a time that might have been quite ordinary and also a romanticised version of ourselves, especially in our later life, where we might convey that it was better in the past, when in fact it may not have been. Nostalgia has the capacity to locate in memory an earlier version of the self to which we measure to advantage some current condition of the self. This is aided by nostalgia’s ability to simplify and romanticise the past to a point of patronising our former self. With this comes the encouragement that we have grown and matured and are able to cope with the challenging demands of the present (Davis, 1979). Therefore, where nostalgia is a means for the continuity of identity, it also is a lens through which to look back at one’s identity, benchmarking periods of those life transitions Nostalgia becomes a means for the continuity of identity by locating in our memory an earlier version of the self, which we can measure to positively enhance some current condition of the self.

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Our connectedness to youthful associations and activities are often supported by remaining connected to the subcultures and scenes we engaged with in our youth and retain elements of our adolescent identity in our present identity. Therefore, ageing does not necessarily exclude us from our past activities and memories of those periods. Therefore, we make use of these stocks of knowledge to meaningfully frame who we are and utilise them in the processes of constructing the self and identity.

Anarchism Then and Now For the majority of my participants, the political and ideological values they were exposed to and engaged with in their adolescence played a central role in developing and affirming their anarcho-punk identities. Transition into adulthood can involve taking on a number of responsibilities, and that can often bring a change in values, beliefs and ideologies. As people mature, their political and ideological beliefs and values can change with their identities. As my participants have moved through the life course, they more than likely would have moved through a number of identities, taking with them some of those values and beliefs as residual identity into each one. I was interested to find out if, and how, the political and ideological values and beliefs that were part of their adolescent anarcho-­punk identity had in some ways remained with them. All of them stated that reflecting on their time being an anarcho-punk during their adolescence had mostly a number of positive impacts on their lives then and introduced them to a number of beliefs, ideologies and values that they still hold on to now. These include anarchism, animal rights, anti-­ authoritarianism and personal politi cs. Whilst anarchism was connected to a common set of ideologies, my interviewees’ interpretation and manifestation of those beliefs varied. I asked those who stated they were anarchists then whether they still considered themselves to be anarchists now. Most said they did, but the few who no longer consider themselves to be anarchists still retained some of their anarchist values, beliefs and principles, though to what degree varied between them: Basically, I’m an anarchist and I’m not someone who calls himself an anarchist, I am an anarchist and I do believe in these things [ ] If anything, I am more committed to the idea than I was then. Fundamentally, I believe it’s in what you do, actions you take. The reason I think I’m attracted to the ideol-

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ogy is that it fits well with my personality. You know it’s not something I struggle with, it’s ideas that I sort of thought all of that stuff but didn’t have a name to call it [ ] it kind of, it imbues every decision I make, but not in a conscious way. I don’t go, “what would an anarchist do in this situation?” It’s just like, if something is unfair you just don’t do it, if it’s taking advantage of people, you don’t do it. If there’s a way to do something that includes people, you do it that way. (Pete)

What is of particular interest in Pete’s narrative is that, for him, anarchism is still made meaningful by action or practices centred around anarchist ideologies and principles. In particular, Pete states that he is more committed to the idea of anarchism now than he was then. Further discussion with Pete revealed an understanding of anarchism in more nuanced ways, as a result of maturation and engaging with anarchist literature, which subsequently has enabled him to appreciate and apply anarchism more cohesively in his daily life. For a number of my participants, they had encountered and engaged with anarchism before they had become aware of and identified with anarcho-­punk. Guy and Simon had both identified as anarchists before their awareness of and engagement with anarcho-punk. Both Guy and Simon said that they had attended a number of meetings and discussions organised by anarchist organisations, such as The Anarchist Black Cross,7 Anarchist Federation8 and the Persons Unknown Trial support group in London. Whilst these meetings were useful in terms of gaining a deeper understanding of anarchist politics and ideologies, both of them expressed frustration at the lack of action that arose from these types of meetings: I went to these meetings and they went on for hours. There were anarchists talking about theoretical things. They believed in it but it was more theoretical than practical [...] no one was practically doing anything, there was no, “let’s set this up, let’s get a space working, let’s live this way”. It was all just talk and no action. In the end I got so disillusioned with it all because no one was actually doing anything. Then I started hanging out with the anarcho-punks at the Anarchy Centre in Wapping, after seeing an ad about the centre in a fanzine I bought in Freedom Books. I went down there, and

7  The Anarchist Black Cross (formerly the Anarchist Red Cross) is an organisation founded in 1906/1907 to provide support to Anarchist and Social Revolutionary Political Prisoners. 8  The Anarchist Federation (formerly the Anarchist Communist Discussion Group) is an organisation founded in London in 1986.

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it was like brilliant-at last people doing stuff and organising stuff, so I got involved in it. (Guy) And then there was the crossover with Crass doing their benefit single (raising and donating money towards the court costs of the Persons Unknown trial and the Anarchy Centre), erm, but again I was quite comfortable with that and in fact my alignment moved more from the older anarchist group to the punk anarchist group who were creating things and actively trying to effect change and that was definitely something I was more comfortable with. (Simon)

Their narratives suggest that this association with punk anarchists drew them away from what they considered to be serious or traditional anarchist politics to a group of people expressing anarchism in a way that fitted with their existing anarchist identities and principles. With the traditional anarchists that Simon and Guy were involved with, there seemed to be a lot of meetings and discussions but little anarchist-based action. This suggests that they both wanted to put some of their own anarchist ideals and values into practice to reaffirm what they considered to be an authentic anarchist self, and that these groups of punk anarchists presented them with that opportunity. So, in many ways this presented a better fit to their already-­ established anarchist identities. When I asked them both about their experiences within the anarcho-­ punk subculture, they both expressed a generally positive experience. However, towards the end of their affiliation with anarcho-punk, they both expressed that the ‘anarchism’ within anarcho-punk became more of a ‘badge’ than a set of anarchist principles that were manifested in the daily lives of the anarcho-punks they knew or met. For both of them, this led to disillusionment with the anarcho-punk subculture, and they eventually disassociated themselves from it, but remained committed to their anarchist beliefs and principles. Being part of the anarcho-punk scene really helped me understand in many ways the possibilities of anarchism, but it also highlighted the utopian idealism that often goes with it. Unless you have a critical mass of people behind that [anarchist] movement that are willing to take action, it will in many ways remain idealistic and utopian. But I am ever the optimist and remain committed to my anarchist beliefs and try to live by those principles as much as I can within the framework of a neo-liberal capitalist society. Yes, I do (consider myself an anarchist). What kind of anarchist? I’m still working on

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that. It’s alright talking about theoretical stuff, but you’ve got to get off your backside. If you want it to work, you’ve got to try to make it work. I still think it’s workable. I think it’s doable in a practical way, which I’ve tried to do in my jobs and through other things I’ve done. (Guy)

For some, their past anarcho-punk beliefs and values had been revised and refashioned in ways that they considered to be more compatible with their current lives and identities. One of my participants Kate broke her ties with the anarcho-punk subculture in the mid- to late 1980s to live a nomadic lifestyle as a New Age traveller9 because she perceived that group of people to be living a more anarchic lifestyle “without the trappings of society which was what we [anarcho-punks] were sort of against”. After living a nomadic lifestyle for a number of years, she finally settled within a community of other New Age travellers who have chosen to live, to some degree, outside of mainstream society. When I asked her if this current lifestyle was a continuation of her anarchist beliefs and her commitment to anarchism, she stated that she still considers herself an anarchist and that, for her, Anarchy still means self-rule, it’s about living and let living, it’s about having respect for other people and it’s about being responsible for your own actions. It’s incredibly difficult to do and it doesn’t always work. I mean living in a community like this, we like to think we can police ourselves, but it doesn’t always work and sometimes you have to go to the outside world to get it sorted out. It goes against the grain big time, it goes against the grain really badly because we have no trust for the police, we have no trust for the authorities because we know how corrupt they are, and how they have viewed us in the past. We are having to actually get the authorities in to come and sort somebody out and it’s horrendous. The one good thing is that we are actually all coming together, all of us as a community and standing together and saying, look, we can’t deal with this person and we need you to take him away and deal with him. (Kate)

Her narrative pulls into focus the difficulty in attempting to live by a set of principles and values that are at times at odds with the society outside 9  New Age travellers emerged out of the counterculture and free-festival movements of the 1960s and 1970s but gained prominence and numbers during the 1980s and 1990s. Originally differentiated from Gypsy, Roma and Irish travellers, who are seen as ‘ethnic’ travellers rather than ‘Cultural’ travellers, many existing New Age Traveller families have been nomadic for three consecutive generations.

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of the community she lives in. Having to call on those representatives of authority that she disapproves of to intervene in this specific case creates an interesting paradox, where her anarchist principles are challenged and she herself questions the difficulty in wanting to uphold them and live by them. For some of my respondents, the sense of paradox and tension between wanting to uphold anarcho-punk values and ideologies into later life as residual identity is seen as problematic. Davis (2012, p. 118) argues, “Coming to embrace change and paradox seems to be central to the experience of becoming an adult and therefore resistance must be reframed as a way of being not necessarily a clear – cut rebellion against some nameable force”. Since their introduction to anarchism, as anarcho-punks in their adolescence, some of my participants still self-identify as being anarchists. It seems that this particular element of their residual anarcho-punk identities has remained prominent. What has shifted for them is the way in which they manifest their anarcho-punk or anarchist identarian values, beliefs and ideologies. A common type of response to how some of them resolved paradoxes between their beliefs, values and ideologies, adulthood, ageing and society is best summed up by Phil: It’s about being realistic. I recognise that I don’t live in an anarchist society and at times I have to compromise, well let’s say adjust [laughs], my anarchist beliefs and just try to change people’s outlook and hope that by adjusting my anarchist take on things I can find more, shall we say, subtle ways of exercising my anarchist beliefs whenever and wherever possible. Most of the people I know, including my work colleagues, know I am an anarchist, and they know I have remained committed to anarchism since I was a teenage anarcho-punk. It does make for some interesting conversations, and I often get the piss taken out of me for being idealistic, unrealistic and living in some utopian dream, and that’s fine by me, they are entitled to their opinion. I say to them just because I don’t act as they think an anarchist might, it doesn’t mean I’m not an anarchist, it’s just as much about the ways in which I think and conduct myself. I suppose, in a nutshell, I do what I can when I can, whilst living in this capitalist system. (Phil)

His account suggests that his current manifestation of an anarchist identity still focuses on the doing and exposition of anarchist principles, as highlighted by Guy and Pete’s narratives on anarchism. Phil highlights that the way he thinks and conducts himself is important in the daily manifestation of his anarchist beliefs and values. Davis (2012, p.  118) states that within the punk scenes that she investigated, “the meaning of punk is

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reconfigured to make sense with the realities that come with adulthood” and punk is “more broadly defined to accommodate adulthood  – punk becomes compatible with the lifelong endeavour; it becomes a philosophical approach to living”. So, we can see from the narratives presented that the exposition of anarchist beliefs and values is exercised through notions of enacting anarchist principles and ideologies and also through a sense of it becoming a philosophical approach to living and functioning within the real world.

Conclusion From the majority of my respondents’ narratives, it seems that over time their interpretation of anarchism has remained, and the notion of respecting others and allowing people autonomy in their lives still remains at the forefront of those narratives. However, it seems that over time how that manifests itself has shifted. In Bennett’s (2013, p. 170) analysis of ageing punks, he argues that many older punks “articulated a highly reflexive awareness of the naïveté inherent in their earlier music-inspired political beliefs”. Likewise, for my research participants, some expressed that in hindsight there was a degree of youthful naivety and utopian idealism in their engagement with anarcho-punk and anarchism. This is best summed up by Adam: At the time, yes, we thought anarchy was a big, big possibility. Like every 18 and 19- year-old at the time, you wanted to smash the system and change the world for the better, to the way you believe it should be. I still believe in anarchism. I still believe it’s the right way to go.

For others, their attachment to anarchism over time had waned to varying degrees. So, whilst some of them still considered themselves to be anarchists, others I interviewed did not explicitly identify as anarchists but still empathised and incorporated some of those anarchist values and ideologies in their current political lives. Most of them expressed having left-­ leaning libertarian politics and green politics and were highly critical of mainstream politics, the norms and expectations of mainstream society and considered themselves to have a set of alternative views that often conflicted with or challenged traditional mainstream values. Many of them said that their political awakening and education was during their adolescence when they were anarcho-punks, so whilst not wholly attributing

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that to their political views now, they expressed that anarcho-punk and their awareness of anarchism had a marked influence on their current adult political leanings. Herein the notion of a residual anarcho-punk identity is seen to still permeate into their current identities, 30+ years after they had relinquished their anarcho-punk identities.

References Allen, M. (2017). The SAGE Encyclopedia of Communication Research Methods (Vol. 4). Sage Publications, Inc.. https://doi.org/10.4135/9781483381411 Avery-Natale, E.  A. (2012) Narrative Identifications Among Anarcho-Punks In Philadelphia. Ph.D. Thesis. Temple University. Bennett, A. (2013). Music, Style and Aging: Growing Old Disgracefully? Temple University Press. Berger, G. (2006). The Story of Crass. Omnibus Press. Bestley, R. (2016). Big A Little A: The Graphic Language of Anarchy. In M. Dines & M. Worley (Eds.), The Aesthetic of Our Anger: Anarcho-Punk, Politics and Music (pp. 43–66). Minor Compositions/Autonomedia. Bestley, R., & Binns, R. (2018). The Evolution of an Anarcho-Punk Narrative, 1978–84. In The Subcultures Network (Ed.), Ripped, Torn and Cut: Pop, Politics and Punk Fanzines from 1976 (pp.  129–149). Manchester University Press. Bone, I. (2006). Bash The Rich: True Life Confessions of an Anarchist in the UK. Tangent Books. Christie, S., & Meltzer, A. (1970). The Floodgates of Anarchy. Stanmore Press Ltd. Colegrave, S., & Sullivan, C. (Eds.). (2001). Punk. Cassell & Co.. Conway, M. A. (1997). The Inventory of Experience: Memory and Identity. In J. W. Pennebaker, D. Páez, & B. Rimé (Eds.), Collective Memory of Political Events: Social Psychological Perspectives (pp.  21–46). Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc. Crass. (1982a). A Series of Shock Slogans and Mindless Token Tantrums. Exitstencil Press. Cross, R. (2004). The Hippies Now Wear Black: Crass and the Anarcho-punk movement 1977–1984. Socialist History, 26, 25–44. Cross, R. (2010). ‘There Is No Authority But Yourself ’: The Individual and the Collective in British Anarcho-Punk. Music and Politics, 4(2), 1–20. Dale, P. (2012). Anyone Can Do It: Empowerment, Tradition and the Punk Underground. Ashgate Publishing Ltd. Damon, W., & Hart, D. (1991). Self-Understanding in Childhood and Adolescence. Cambridge University Press. Davis, F. (1979). Yearning for Yesterday: A Sociology of Nostalgia. Free Press.

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Davis, J. R. (2012). Punk, Ageing and the Expectations of Adult Life. In A. Bennett & P. Hodkinson (Eds.), Ageing and Youth Cultures: Music, Style and Identity (pp. 105–118). Berg. Decker, S. H., Pyrooz, D. C., & Moule, R. K., Jr. (2014). Disengagement From Gangs as Role Transitions. Journal of Research on Adolescence, 24(2), 268–283. Dines, M. (2004) An Investigation Into The Emergence Of The Anarcho-Punk Scene Of The 1980’s. Ph.D. thesis. University of Salford. Donaghey, J. (2016) Punk and Anarchism: UK, Poland, Indonesia. Ph.D. thesis. Loughborough University. Dunn, K. (2016). Global Punk: Resistance and Rebellion in Everyday Life. Bloomsbury Academic. Erikson, E. H. (1950). Childhood and Society. Norton. Erikson, E. H. (1968). Identity, Youth & Crisis. Faber & Faber. Fischer-Rosenthal, W. (2000) Biographical Work and Biographical Structuring in Present-Day Societies. In: J, Bornat, P.  Chamberlayne and T.Wengraf , eds. Turn To biographical Methods In Social Science: Comparative Issues and Examples. : Routledge, pp 109-125 Gibbs, A. (1996). Destroy: The Definitive History of Punk. Britannia Press. Glasper, I. (2005). Burning Britain: The History of UK Punk 1980–1984. Cherry Red Books. Glasper, I. (2006). The Day The Country Died: A History of Anarcho-Punk 1980–1984. Cherry Red Books. Gordon, A. (1995). Throwing The Punk Rock Baby Out With The Dirty Bath Water: Crass And Punk Rock, A Critical Appraisal. BA UG Diss. Nottingham Trent University. Gordon, A. (2016). Crass Reflections. Itchy Monkey Press. Gosling, T. (2004). “Not For Sale”: The Underground Network of Anarcho-­ Punk. In A. Bennett & R. A. Peterson (Eds.), Music Scenes: Local, Translocal and Virtual. Vanderbilt University Press. Grimes, M. (2016). From Protest to Resistance: British Anarcho-Punk Fanzines (1980–1984) as Sites of Resistance and Symbols of Defiance. In M. Dines & M.  Worley (Eds.), The Aesthetics of Our Anger. Anarcho-Punk, Politics and Music (pp. 157–178). Minor Compositions/Autonomedia. Grimes, M (2019). “Life We Make”: Identity, Memory and British Anarcho-Punk. Ph.D. thesis. Birmingham City University. Halbwachs, M. (1992 [1942]). On Collective Memory (L.  A. Coser, Trans.). University of Chicago Press. Harrington, C. L., Bielby, D. D., & Bardo, A. R. (2011). Life Course Transitions and the Future of Fandom. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 14(6), 567–590. Hobbs, D. (2006). Ethnography. In V. Jupp (Ed.), The Sage Dictionary of Social Research Methods (pp. 101–102). Sage.

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Hodkinson, P. (2002). Goth: Identity, Style And Subculture. Berg. Jupp, V. (Ed.). (2006). The SAGE Dictionary of Social Research Methods. SAGE Publications Limited. King, N. (2000). Memory, Narrative, Identity: Remembering the Self. Edinburgh University Press. Kroger, J., Martinussen, M., & Marcia, J.  E. (2010). Identity Status Change During Adolescence and Young Adulthood: A Meta-Analysis. Journal of Adolescence, 33, 683–698. Laing, D. (1985). One Chord Wonders: Power and Meaning in Punk Rock. Open University Press. Lawler, S. (2014). Identity: Sociological Perspectives (2nd ed.). Polity. Liptrot, M. (2012) Beyond The Lifespan of A Scab: The Longevity of The Diy Punk Subcultural Movement in Britain. Ph.D. Thesis. University of Bolton. Little, D. (2008) History, Memory and Narrative. Retrieved February 20, 2023, from http://understandingsociety.blogspot.co.uk/2008/08/history-­ memory-­and-­narrative0.html Marshall, P. (1993). Demanding the Impossible: A History of Anarchism. PM Press. McKay, G. (1996). Senseless Acts of Beauty: Cultures of Resistance Since the Sixties. Verso. Meeus, W., Iedema, J., Helsen, M., & and. Vollebergh, W. (1999). Patterns of Adolescent Identity Development: Review of Literature and Longitudinal Analysis. Developmental Review, 19, 419–461. O’Hara, C. (1999). The Philosophy of Punk: More Than Just Noise. AK Press. Ricœur, P. (1991a). Narrative Identity. Translated by David Wood. In D. Wood (Ed.), On Paul Ricouer: Narrative and Interpretation (pp.  188–199). Routledge. Ricœur, P. (1991b). Life in quest of Narrative. Translated by David Wood. In D. Wood (Ed.), On Paul Ricouer: Narrative and Interpretation (pp. 20–33). Routledge. Rimbaud, P. (1998). Shibboleth: My Revolting Life. AK Press. Robb, J. (2006). Punk Rock: An Oral History. Ebury. Sabin, R. (1999). Punk Rock: So What? The Cultural Legacy of Punk. Routledge. Savage, J. (1991). England's Dreaming: Sex Pistols and Punk-Rock. Faber & Faber. Schütz, A. (1964). Studies in Social Theory. Martinus Nijhoff. Smith, R.  C. (2001). Analytic Strategies for Oral History Interviews. In J. F. Gubrium & J. A. Holstein (Eds.), Handbook of Interview Research: Context and Method (pp. 711–731). Sage Publications Inc. Somers, M. R. (1994). The Narrative Constitution of Identity: A Relational and Network Approach. Theory and Society, 23(5), 605–649. Strong, C. (2011). Grunge: Music and Memory. Ashgate. Wengraf, T. (2001). Qualitative Research Interviewing: Biographic Narrative and Semi-Structured Methods. Sage.

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Westerhof, G. J. (2010). ‘During My Life So Much has Changed That It Looks Like a New World to Me’: A Narrative Perspective on Migrating in Time. Journal of Aging Studies, 24, 12–19. Woodcock, G. (1975). Anarchism: A History of Libertarian Ideas And Movements. Pelican. Worley, M. (2017). No Future: Punk, Politics and British Youth Culture 1976–1984. Cambridge University Press. Worley, M. (2018). No Doves Fly Here: British Punk and Cold War Dystopia. Journal for the Studies of British Cultures, 24(1/2017), 59–71. Worley, M., & Lohman, K. (2018). Bloody Revolutions, Fascist Dreams, Anarchy and Peace: Crass, Rondos and the Politics of Punk, 1977–84. Britain and the World: Historical Journal of the British Scholar Society, 11(1), 51–74.

Discography Crass. (1978). Punk Is Dead. On: The Feeding of the 5000. [Vinyl 12”] Recorded in London 1977/1978 (Small Wonder Records WEENY 2;621984). Crass. (1982b). Christ the Album/Well Forked-But Not Dead. [Vinyl 12”] Recorded in London June 1981-February 1982 (Crass Records BOLLOX 2U2).

CHAPTER 8

Memories of the Past, Inequalities of the Present: The Temporality of Subcultural Violence, Gender, and Authenticity Matthew Newsom

MN: Jakob: MN: Jakob:

So, in the 80 s, why did psychos fight other psychos? Because of ‘I’m better than you, I’m gonna knock you down.’ Is it still like that? Still? No. No, no. Now it’s very, very soft.

In Berlin, older psychobilly men often speak of their youthful experiences with violence during the scene’s inception during the 1980s. Many recall gang-like clashes between psychobillies and other subcultural groups, like skinheads or punks. Other men emphasize violence that took place within the scene, recounting the broken bones and knockout punches they administered or received during concert brawls. Reflecting in hindsight,

M. Newsom (*) Southern Utah University, Cedar City, UT, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9_8

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narrators justify their experiences as essential subcultural mechanisms for testing the resolve and dedication of newcomers. These men’s violent personal narratives comprise the dominant collective memories surrounding the psychobilly scene’s early history. Following Mary Fulbrook, I understand collective memories as “a conversation about the past” (1999, p. 146). The dynamics and content of such conversations are important to subcultural theorists because people use them to define their subcultural present and project their subcultural future. In Berlin, psychobilly fans regretfully admit their scene is in decline—whether in the symbolic sense of its dissipating toughness, as Jakob describes, or in the literal sense of the number active members. In this chapter, I argue mnemonic discourses about Berlin’s psychobilly past are structured hegemonically and serve to reproduce gender inequality in the subcultural present. Between 2014 and 2019, I conducted 24 months of ethnographic research in Berlin. I spent countless hours as a participant observer at innumerable shows, subcultural events, get-­ togethers, and known hang-out spots. In addition to producing comprehensive field notes, I completed multiple rounds of person-centered life history interviews (Hollan, 2005) with roughly 20 men and 10 women, numbers which reflect my estimates for the broader gender makeup of this particular scene. All of my research participants report involvement with subcultures since at least their teenage years and nearly all of them discovered psychobilly at this age. Interviews were both semi-structured and unstructured, with each ranging from as little as 30 minutes to as long as 6 hours. Unlike other subcultural scenes in which queer and nonbinary people are either marginalized (Ambrosch, 2016) or “seen but unknown” (Sharp, 2019), Berlin psychobillies present as heteronormative and otherwise reproduce binary expectations in several ways. Below, I draw primarily (though not exclusively) on interview data from psychobilly men to demonstrate how these men possess and withhold the power to define their scene’s collective memories. I do this through critical examination of three prominent memory themes. First, I explore the gender and memory dynamics people use to define what they recognize as “real” psychobilly. I then detail discourses surrounding what locals refer to as “fashionbillies,” a specific model of inauthentic subcultural personhood that many people consider a worrying feature of the contemporary psychobilly scene. Finally, I focus on behavioral forms of spatial marginalization to explain how the same gatekeeping mechanisms found in collective memories of psychobilly’s past are visible in the present

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day. Before considering these issues at length, I briefly review the role of memory among other German subcultures to contextualize how psychobillies describe the early scene in Berlin.

Memory and Subculture in Germany Memory and history are essential to understanding punk-based subcultures in Germany. By analyzing specific historical flashpoints, researchers can locate the social, political, and economic conditions responsible for subcultural origins. For example, in a recent edited volume, Hall, Howes, and Shahan see punk as “so inevitable to German cultural history precisely because of the tensions in Germany’s Nazi past and present, its division post-1949, and the international Cold War powers dominating daily life” (2016, p. 3). Indeed, the impacts of this cultural history are particularly relevant to subcultural life in Berlin. After the fall of the Berlin Wall, newly vacant buildings and other deindustrialized spaces provided the physical infrastructure for musical subcultures and rebellious creativity to flourish (Bader & Scharenberg, 2010). Scholars also frequently examine specific subcultural waves and productions as responses to distinct historical and geopolitical periods (e.g., Hayton, 2013; Silva & Guerra, 2019; Ventsel, 2012). This approach is itself a mnemonic exercise in that such research places different historical discourses in conversation with each other. In the context of Germany, for example, Melanie Eis and Fabian Eckert (2016) analyze late 1970s West German punk songs through the lens of Holocaust discourses that were circulating through various German media at the time. Other research on West German punk considers how memories and images of left-wing terrorism and national socialism in the 1970s and 1980s directly influenced West German punk identities (Shahan, 2008). In my previous work (Newsom, 2021), I have built on this scholarship to show how the model of hardened masculinity prominent in psychobilly is taboo among the cultural mainstream due to its association with collective memories of Nazi-­ era violence. Broadly speaking, Berliners have renounced the violent past and established their city as a hub for left-wing political values and cultural inclusivity. One sees this in the many gendered features that dominate the city’s landscape, such as the rampant graffiti proclaiming feminist and queer political slogans or the advertisements for public transportation which depict homosexual couples in fetish wear. Psychobilly’s gender dynamics belie this reputation. Instead of conforming more neatly to

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Berlin’s mainstream political imaginaries (Rohrer & Thompson, 2022), the overwhelmingly White psychobilly members embrace otherwise-­ problematic qualities like masculine toughness and men’s sexual prowess. In this chapter, I am interested in the active construction of subcultural memory narratives. People often invoke ideas about subcultural origins when they discuss notions of authenticity; consider, for example, the relevance of Afro-Caribbean influences to debates over racial politics in skinhead (Marshall, 1994) or the now-mythical role of Ian MacKaye in the origins of straightedge (Williams, 2006). In these cultural discourses, people analyze and explain the subcultural present through the subcultural past. As subcultural scholars, it is therefore worthwhile to consider the role of collective memories in the formation of localized identity models among specific scenes.

The Violent Origins of Psychobilly Among Berlin psychobillies, who I refer to in this chapter using pseudonyms, such memories hinge largely on the concept of violence. As Timo told me, “People were more violent back then [in the 80s]. They were mean to each other.” He even says his first six months in the scene “were horrible for me because I wanted to be part of the group that beat me up.” Jakob explained, “at every gig, at every concert you could be sure there would be a broken nose or something like that happening. There were fights at every concert.” In the London scene, where psychobilly originated during the 1980s, violence was also normalized. Eddie, a British man in his 40s, told me psychobilly was a place for people in London to “go mad,” that the music was for the “people who just fucking like to shoot people, who are just fucking into music!” Jamie, another man active in the London scene during the 1980s, described the pleasure he would take from those early days: I used to love it, the Klub Foot was great. It used to get really heavy. I loved it man. You used to come back completely bruised and covered in scrapes. And all the women used to stand on the edge and scratch your fuckin back! Right fun.

Jamie’s description hints at the gendered analysis of psychobilly spaces below, where forms of spatial marginalization place women “on the edge” of subcultural events. Before exploring this in detail, I offer a few

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ethnographic examples to demonstrate the central role of violence in psychobilly memories. People active during the early years of the Berlin scene suggested violence was not unique to them but was rather a larger phenomenon occurring throughout the city’s underground. Psychobilly men in particular associated inter-subcultural violence with youthful aggression, as the following interview excerpts indicate: It was only young people in the early psychobilly days. Only young people. There was no one older than 25. And at that age you’re more aggressive. And at that time there was psychobilly, rockabilly, skinheads, punk rockers, and all of them were against each other, fighting. (Jakob, late 40s) And also Kreuzberg [the iconic subcultural district in Berlin] was a dangerous, alternative, punk area. It was dangerous. The 80s and early 90s, in all of Germany, when you were 15 or 16, it was dangerous because subcultures were fighting with each other. (Bruno, mid-40s) In the 80s, like I said, during puberty, I was getting into the psychobilly scene and at the time, we didn’t really have many problems with punks but with skinheads we had really big problems. Because, I don’t remember his name any more, but there was a skinhead who was stabbed by a psychobilly. He survived, but after that a bunch of skinheads came to Berlin from all over Germany and were hunting anyone with a quiff (Flat). And that was also the time when I had a Flat (laughs). But despite that, everyone stuck around in the scene. But then, in the 90s, a bunch of kids would come to shows, take a punch to the face, and they didn’t stick around. (Kappi, early 50s)

Memories of intra-subcultural violence also persist in Berlin, centering on a wider musical feud between two UK-based bands. In 1988, The Meteors released an album called “Only the Meteors are Pure Psychobilly,” and many in the scene consider this as a direct attack on the more punk-­ inspired sounds that began to emerge in psychobilly, particularly those of the band Demented Are Go. Kappi describes how this conflict ultimately fractured the scene and led to violent clashes between opposing fans: The idea that “only the Meteors are pure psychobilly” divided the scene. So you had people who only listened to the Meteors, and everyone else was shit. And they would go in groups and beat up people for wearing Demented [Are Go] shirts. And that destroyed the scene. (Kappi)

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Most members of the scene criticize the pointlessness of this conflict; for example, Simon referred to the issue as “stupid” because it resembles “football hooligan shit.” While in Berlin, I observed violence related to the Meteors-Demented conflict when a man suddenly and without provocation smashed a beer bottle over the head of another man just because he was wearing a Meteors shirt.1 While most people I spoke to condemned the aggressor’s behavior, they also reluctantly admitted that such violence was part of the scene, for better or worse. From a theoretical perspective, people who invoke the Meteors-Demented conflict, whether in conversation or direct action, can be seen as actively contributing to the violent memory bank that people draw on when making determinations about psychobilly authenticity. As shown below, these memories later erupt through a range of psychobilly practices and discourses. Ultimately, I argue the examples below demonstrate how memories of psychobilly violence in the past come to privilege hardened models of masculinity in the present.

“Real” Psychobilly Throughout my research, I often witnessed people debate what Sharp (2019, p. 374) might call the “master narrative” of psychobilly identity. Disagreements over what qualified as real psychobilly arose during conversations, comments, and jokes. Whatever alternative, inauthentic versions of psychobilly were almost always referenced through gendered and infantilizing language. One common example is the notion of “pussy psychobilly,” a term ostensibly meant to describe the more melodic sounds and crooning vocals that typify many American and Canadian bands—for example, The Brains, Tiger Army, The Creepshow, and Rezurex. To folks in Berlin, the North American scene lacks what Bruno described as the “hard and aggressive” sounds of “old-school” psychobilly bands from the 1980s, such as Guana Batz, the Meteors, and Coffin Nails. The typical

1  This altercation occurred in 2018 shortly after a hotel surveillance video surfaced online in which Meteors fans in Brazil violently confronted male fans of As Diabatz, an all-female psychobilly band from Brazil. In the video, the Meteors fans act as aggressors and emasculate their subcultural peers by forcing them to stand outside and physically remove their As Diabatz T-shirts. In Berlin, the victim reported to me that his attacker walked up to him and, after expressing outrage over the video, he struck him with the beer bottle and quickly left the venue.

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European sound is characterized by twangy guitar riffs and upbeat rhythms, mixed with a healthy dose of vulgarity. Inherent to the notion of “old school” psychobilly is the sense that bands fitting this mold are somehow more authentic because they are closer to an imagined original. Such an “authentic original,” Alastair Gordon tells us, “operates through the award of authentic subcultural credentials to the speaker whilst simultaneously ‘othering’ inauthentic genres/participants” (2014, p. 192). For many in the Berlin scene, North American bands are poor attempts at psychobilly, even among those who like them. For example, Simon once explained his view, which I italicize for emphasis: So, Tiger Army’s new album, I’ve heard it, and it’s absolutely not psychobilly, I want to say that. Also, American psychobilly is not psychobilly. Just because they play with upright bass doesn’t make them psychobilly. But, it’s a very good album. It is soft pop music, but very good songs. I listen to the album for example. And it’s not psychobilly. But I like the album.

As Simon sees it, Tiger Army has some necessary psychobilly ingredients, such as a standup bass. But their “soft pop” aesthetic runs contrary to the edgier sounds of old school bands. Simon demonstrates how authentic originals are largely constructed out of knowledge and experience about the subcultural past and present (Gordon, 2014). For example, the still-circulating records and images produced in the “old school” era help define what is understood about “original” psychobilly style, sound, values, and attitude. This chapter builds on Gordon’s work by suggesting the narration of memories about subcultural pasts—bygone eras, events, and origins—actively construct and reproduce notions of authenticity. As shown in the excerpts above, psychobilly narratives from the 1980s and early 1990s are marked by violence. Many people describe this early violence as a mechanism for testing subcultural dedication. Timo described his entrance to psychobilly during the 1980s as “super rough” and “horrible” because newcomers like him were treated as “wanna-bes” (pseudos). He says those who were new to the scene were regularly beaten up until they could prove themselves worthy of being considered full-fledged members. Kappi, a 50-something clerk, echoed the inescapabilty of psychobilly violence while sitting at an outdoor cafe. He held his hands over the table and turned them over, saying:

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Look at me, I’m all scarred up (vernarbt). I’ve had my nose broken, I think, eight times? Back then, I also had to beat people, but it was never to the point of getting people to leave. For me, it was the opposite, it was more or less that I had to defend myself, you know? And of course I was also hanging around a group of friends who always had violence going on. And so when something happened, I couldn’t get away, I had to join in somehow. So yeah, I don’t know, maybe the people at that time were harder.

Although Kappi denies any intentional gatekeeping on his part, he acknowledged in a different conversation that the 1980s and 1990s were times during which “you would beat on people at shows and stuff to kind of test them, and whoever stayed around was incorporated into the scene.” His suggestion that early psychobillies may have been “harder” indicates his sense of how the Berlin scene has changed since its inception. Others specifically lament the supposed softness of psychobilly and view barriers for entering the scene as a positive means for maintaining authenticity. When he entered the scene in the 1990s, Karl says he had to “prove” he wanted to stay there. However, some 20 years later, he thinks psychobilly is “slowly dying” (geht langsam kaputt): It’s too easy to become a psychobilly nowadays. It’s just too easy. You pay your five-Euro cover charge, go inside, and then you’re a psycho. But before it was more like, you had to wait outside first and ask if you were allowed to come inside!

Of course, Karl was half-joking when he said this. Rather than literally requesting permission to enter, I believe Karl meant that newcomers previously had to keep showing up to demonstrate their dedication before others would accept them. Now, without this liminal period, Karl says “so many fake people are able to come into [the scene]” (dadurch kommen ganz viele falsche Menschen rein). These memories cast violence and toughness as integral to psychobilly. In mainstream German society, strength and aggression are both historically and mnemonically associated with masculinity (Hecker, 1993; Jerome, 2001; Newsom, 2021). When members of the psychobilly scene relate stories of how things were “back then,” they reproduce the association of authenticity with traditionally masculine qualities. The flipside of these associations is that femininity is somehow rendered inauthentic in psychobilly, hence the dismissal of North American bands through the

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gendered label of “pussy psychobilly.” In other words, bands with softer or more melodic sounds come to comprise what Gordon (2014, pp. 197–200) describes as the “hated yet related” part of the scene. For example, Bruno complained about female-fronted psychobilly bands that he described using the English word “crap”: They make me feel like I’m listening to music that an 11-year old would listen to, or like the Monster High dolls. Mad Marge is one of the better ones, but Creepshow is a good example.

As in the US at the time, the Monster High TV show, dolls, and other merchandise were popular among young girls in Germany. I asked Bruno if he liked any women singers in psychobilly. For emphasis, I italicize key words in his response: Yes, Sin Alley. They were from Belgium, back in the 90s. But she had a really rough voice which suits the rockabilly and psychobilly style. […] I don’t have anything against female singers or against women in music. It’s just that psychobilly is a hard and aggressive music. Even if there’s fun psychobilly, it’s still fast and a bit rough and tough. So I don’t like that connected to a girly singer. [Switches to singing in high pitch] ‘La la la la.’ I don’t like that.

Bruno’s perspective is hardly surprising considering punk scenes in general are known to privilege men and masculinity (Leblanc, 1999; Dunn, 2014). Despite their proclaimed values of egalitarianism and gender equality, research suggests that gender and sexual minorities experience both direct and indirect forms of discrimination, marginalization, and violence (e.g., Mullaney, 2007; Griffin, 2012; Ambrosch, 2016; Wälty, 2017). Although feminist interventions in punk scenes continue to effect meaningful change (Rouse, 2019; Donaghey, 2021), these impacts have not yet reached psychobilly. In a separate interview, Bruno points to the scene’s historical influences to explain why psychobilly is more “sexist” than other subcultures and “normal society” more generally. As he says: In the psychobilly scene we take a lot of elements from the ‘50s, from before feminism and emancipation, before all that. So, a lot of how we see women is still based on ‘50s things, like the ‘50s pinup [...] With the women, they’ve gotten a little bit, like, there’s more women in the scene, but they dress up more female than normal girls, I think.

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Bruno’s description of women in the psychobilly scene as being “more female” than “normal girls” distances those women from the subculture’s raison d’être, its “hard and aggressive” music. By his logic, the “normal” women who are less feminine could be considered more psychobilly than the hyper-feminine women who are in the scene! His example of Sin Alley boasted a female singer—but she is distinct from her hyper-feminine counterparts in that she sang with “really rough” vocals. In other words, Sin Alley is both temporally and qualitatively closer to psychobilly’s authentic original. Younger psychos, both men and women, come to internalize ideas about masculinity and authenticity as they listen to these and related narratives while growing up in the scene. For example, Claudia, a woman in her late 20 s, explained she was introduced to psychobilly via Tiger Army, but relegates her interest in the band to her teenage years: Of course, when you begin getting involved with old school psychobilly, your musical tastes change. And then of course there are the people who are against Tiger Army, and of course I understand them. But at that point in time, when I was 16, I really liked their music. But that was a Teenie thing. Like, they’re Teenie music, you know? They’re poppy and stuff.

In Berlin, Teenie is a term specifically used to describe normative teenage girls who listen to boy bands and other pop music. Claudia’s distinction between “old school psychobilly” and memories of her Teenie phase reiterates gendered assumptions about psychobilly authenticity. Moreover, her personal development in the scene and characterization of Tiger Army as “Teenie music” also “conform[s] to the expectation that [older] male participants have for proper subcultural behavior, thereby reproducing hegemonic masculinity” (Williams, 2011, p.  60). Regardless of the reasons for her change in sound preference, which are likely complex, Claudia’s gendered discourses bolster the masculine default that gives shape to psychobilly’s “old school” temporality. These discursive effects are compounded through conversations about “fashionbillies,” or people who are presumed to lack ample subcultural knowledge and values.

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Fashionable Memories As many others have shown (e.g., Thornton, 1995; Muggleton, 2000), embodied style is essential to subcultural authenticity. This is as true for psychobilly today as it was in the “old school” era. As Bruno proclaimed, “Fashion was really important in the 80s. Some people always say, ‘today it’s only fashion.’ But it was always very much about fashion.” In those days, some psychobilly women, but especially psychobilly men, accentuated their scene’s rockabilly roots to establish a harder and more rugged sense of style. By converting pompadours into chiseled, flat-topped quiffs (in German, Flats), acid-washing their denim jeans, and cutting the sleeves off of their T-shirts, early psychobillies embodied a form of toughness that matched their experiences with subcultural violence. Bruno is correct that many contemporary psychos grumble about fashion. As Claudia once told me, “In the last few years, you hear a lot from the older psychos that it’s gotten to where there’s much more fashion in the scene, and that the concerts are like a catwalk (Laufsteg).” Such perceptions highlight the larger gender dynamics at play here. In the West, fashion is generally and traditionally understood as a feminine enterprise, and the catwalk in particular is associated with women’s sexual objectification (Entwistle & Mears, 2012, p. 328). Anxiety over the role of subcultural fashion illuminates how authenticity is not limited to embodied style—that the personification of specific values, attitudes, and other inner qualities is equally, if not more, significant (e.g., Muggleton, 2000, p. 30). Consider, for instance, what one woman expressed to Lauraine Leblanc: “I don’t label someone a punk just because they have a mohawk. Any idiot can shave their head” (1999, p. 87). In strikingly similar language, Karl told me, “Any idiot (jede Idiot) can just say they’re psychobilly and then suddenly they’re psychobilly.” For these individuals, subcultural identity runs deeper than fashion—a sentiment often aroused by concerns that subcultures “are becoming increasingly important as niche markets” (Bader & Scharenberg, 2010, p. 79). Margarit, a woman in her 40s, explained this as an inevitable cycle with which all subcultural scenes must contend: The underground always changes, until it’s not underground any more— like when fashion designers say, ‘Oh that’s cool.’ That happened with punk, […] where it becomes a new look for Prada. You see Prada with studs on shoes, or cargo pockets. And when the fashion is discovered (entdeckt), then

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people wear it. They can buy something and look exactly like a punk, or like a biker, and it’s not underground any more. And that always happens, sooner or later.

Elaborating on this inevitable transition from subculture to mainstream, Margarit reflected on her own experience and explained women’s psychobilly fashion as a recent phenomenon: Once it becomes a fashion, then you see more people with it. And then suddenly more women wear that style. Years ago, when I’d be at a show, there were so few women. And now, and I’d say it’s 60% men, 40% women. Right now, it’s great, you can make yourself pretty (dich hübsch machen), put on a beautiful dress. You can be a woman (du kannst Frau sein), but that’s new. It wasn’t that way before […] You had jeans on, you should be like a tomboy or something. Before, there wasn’t the styling, the burlesque, the chic clothing, pencil skirts, we didn’t go around like that. We wore jeans, we wore a jean jacket, we wore chucks or boots, we actually looked like the men. And when you had a t-shirt on, it was also chic, but not like it is today with high heels. That came later. And through that more women came into the scene, through the styling.

Margarit’s perspective highlights how psychobilly gender norms have changed such that femininity has a new place—one that has not always existed. As several examples illustrate below, not all of my research participants agree that femininity belongs in the scene. However, Margarit’s perception that its presence has increased certainly parallels the wider notion that psychobilly’s style and membership have gone astray from their authentic original. In Berlin, concerns over the distinction between style and authenticity are most visible through so-called fashionbillies, a negative identity label for people who are presumed to be interested in the scene strictly for its fashion appeal. In most cases, such concerns are expressed anonymously— only rarely did I encounter accusations directed at or about specific individuals. However, considering fashion models are traditionally rendered feminine throughout the West (Entwistle & Mears, 2012, p. 325), I have come to understand critiques about fashionbillies as veiled critiques about femininity. First, discourses surrounding fashionbillies rely on stereotypical gender constructions that cast fashion as an attribute of the feminine object. But also, when subcultural style and values are “created along the precepts of masculinity” (Leblanc, 1999, p.  141), as they so often are,

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women and others who do not live up to such gendered ideals face unique barriers to subcultural membership. Consider, for instance, what we find in the literature on straightedge. Women in Denver’s straightedge hardcore scene have few female role models to provide opportunities for entrée into a “hypermasculine atmosphere” (Haenfler, 2006, p. 134). In other US cities, assumptions that straightedge hardcore women cannot fully embody the toughness of their masculine counterparts mean that these women face increased scrutiny over their subcultural motivations and commitment (Mullaney, 2007, pp. 402–403). More recently, the straightedge women and female-presenting punks in Northern Ireland, who are either unable or unwilling to reproduce normalized forms of masculinity, are “labelled as deviant or as outsiders within a community they consider themselves to have helped create and shape” (Stewart, 2021, p. 32). In all of these examples, what determines the authenticity of subcultural style and internal values (or subjectivity) is the extent to which these adhere to a masculine original. Fashionbillies, or those who ostensibly lack these masculine attributes, are thus presumed to intentionally objectify themselves as if modelling themselves on a distinctly feminine catwalk. When Berliners invoke fashionbilly discourses, they draw on stereotypical associations of femininity with fashion to both reflect and perpetuate the gender hegemony rooted in psychobilly’s collective memories. For example, Markus explained fashionbillies as “the pretty (die hübschen) psychobillies, who spend all their money on outfits and stuff.” This perspective does more than merely imply that fashionbillies purchase their membership from a “style supermarket” (Blackman, 2014, p. 506). In this case, Markus’s description of “pretty psychobillies” evokes stereotypical links between femininity, fashion, and shopping. Claudia was quick to label these automatic associations as sexist. To her, men can make a radical stylistic change and be more readily accepted because others presume their fashion as more sincere. She recounted her own experiences when first moving to Berlin with her psychobilly boyfriend. Although she had been in the scene longer than he had, People would say, ‘oh yeah, that’s the girlfriend of Thomas.’ So, you know, this guy or that guy, they’ve already been in the scene, but now they have a new girl. And you don’t know the woman herself, or think she has her own personality or even a name. Just, ‘oh yeah, she’s the girlfriend of so-and-so.’

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Claudia’s experience as a “girlfriend” is widely documented in punk subcultures (e.g., Haenfler, 2006; Mullaney, 2007; Griffin, 2012; Donaghey, 2021). However, while discussing fashionbillies in the same interview, Claudia also espoused the very sexism she laments above. Even though she claimed women are more likely to be considered fashionbillies due to sexism, she did not question the assumption that women take greater interest in psychobilly fashion than they do psychobilly music. When asked why women have a harder time getting into the psychobilly scene, she answered: The fashion thing; girls (Mädels) think the clothes are cool, and that’s why they wear them. There’s also a lot of men who bring women into the scene […] and the longer they’re there the more they adopt the psychobilly style. But yeah, I don’t know, the men bring in the women from other subcultures, and when they break up, then the women leave. That’s how they are.

Claudia’s skepticism of women who come into the scene conflicts with her personal experience. Through her third-person linguistic construction (“that’s how they are”), she reproduces the stereotype about women that she herself had to endure: that women may spend time in the scene and adopt the fashion, but they are unlikely to stick around. Such a stereotype perpetuates the notion that women’s subcultural authenticity is only skin-deep. And yet, not all psychobilly women adhere to such rigid expectations about style. Maia, a psycho in her 40s, is proud of her ability to alternate between professional fashion—the “normal” clothing and makeup she wears at her workplace—and the subcultural fashion that she wears to nightly concerts. She resembles the older punk women in Laura Way’s study (2020, pp. 111–118) who show that there is no one way to ‘do’ punk, and that people continuously adapt punk values and style based on social expectations, personal interests, and other contextual factors. Maia considers her ability to engage in this sort of embodied code switching as what proves “the music” and identity are still firmly lodged beneath her clothing, in her “heart.” As she says, fashion is really just a collection of objects (Gegenstände): For me it makes no difference. For example, if a Louie Vuitton purse works better with my outfit, then I wear it. Both worlds belong to me—­psychobilly

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and the fashion world. And so, why shouldn’t I say I’m psychobilly? For me, only the music is important.

Maia’s perspective critiques narrow subcultural expectations for authentic style. In Berlin, where dominant ideas about psychobilly authenticity are rooted in hardened masculinity, people—but especially women—face criticism if they stray too far from any “authentic original.” This is just as true for Maia and her hypothetical purse as it is for women like Sonja, a woman in her 30s, who describes her fashion sense as distinctly “feminine”: Then there are those in the psychobilly scene, who say, ‘Oh, Sonja, you don’t have a Flat, you’re not a real (richtige) psychobilly.’ Psychobilly was always—so, in the 80s, everyone had a Flat, you had to have acid-wash jeans, you needed a vest with patches. And so these people tell me, ‘you’re dressed too much like a pinup.’ Yeah, good, ok, fuck you […] There are, I think in every scene, a few people who take it too seriously, and are too fanatical (fanatisch). I think that’s a subculture problem, to say ‘I’m the ultimate psychobilly,’ and ‘I’m the ultimate rockabilly.’ Yeah, you already had a Flat when you were born as a baby, huh? I understand now.

Sonja indicates how members of the scene police those who do not conform to an imagined set of the 1980s standards. This may be a general subcultural problem; however, in the Berlin psychobilly scene, this problem is entangled with wider gender politics. One final example from Lina, a psycho in her late 30s, illustrates this. During one interview, we discussed how people get into psychobilly, and she spoke at length about a man who she considered odd because of his feminine behavior: It was super embarrassing, his behavior was somehow very, very embarrassing. He did this thing I thought was awful: he had so many selfies, and uploaded them to Facebook. And I was like, ‘Nooooo!’ Sure, it’s a bit sexist, but I don’t know, I think that’s such a woman’s thing. So, I mean, really, if you upload a daily selfie, and then do it with a filter and make everything beautiful and stuff, that’s somehow embarrassing (irgendwie peinlich). That doesn’t fit into psychobilly, you know? I found it so weird somehow. (Das passt halt auch irgendwie nicht so zu psychobilly, weißt du? Fand ich irgendwie merkwürdig.)

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Lina clearly considers this man’s behavior to be womanly and embarrassing, qualities that are antithetical to psychobilly’s iconic toughness. She recognizes the sexism of her perspective, and, along with Claudia above, she reminds us how subcultural women can internalize the gender hegemony present in their scenes (Leblanc, 1999, p.  105). Yet, Lina is unable to articulate exactly what bothers her about the man’s behavior— she only knows he is “somehow” embarrassing, “somehow” weird. An explanation lies in her scene’s collective memories, which (re)produce an association between masculinity and authenticity while also encouraging the general dismissal of femininity as inauthentic, or “pussy psychobilly.” This, I think, is why Lina finds the man weird. Instead of fighting or roughhousing in normatively masculine ways, this man behaves in ways that Lina considers feminine, a quality that she recognizes as not “fit[ting] into psychobilly.” This example demonstrates how discourses about psychobilly authenticity extend beyond the verbal. That is, discourses surrounding power relations also include specific behaviors (Foucault, 1978). In the context of psychobilly, this includes the ways in which subcultural men regulate and control physical space at concerts.

Spatial Marginalization and Embodied Authenticity As Angela McRobbie and Jenny Garber suggested early on, the women who successfully navigate the mainstream barriers to subcultural participation must still negotiate the fact that, within subcultures, male “dominance” ultimately pushes women “to the margin of each social activity” (1991, p.  211). Because subcultural men retain control of the physical spaces where group members congregate, women are restricted in their ability to access symbolic and performative behaviors. One key way this happens in musical venues is the physical prevention or deterrence of women’s participation in the pit—the center of the scene (see Leblanc, 1999, p. 108; Griffin, 2012, p. 76; McDowell, 2017, p. 235). The historical tendency for women to encounter this kind of spatial marginalization helps contextualize the revolutionary behavior of Riot Grrl bands, who maximized inclusiveness and participation at shows by encouraging “women to come to the front of the stage, where they passed out lyric sheets” (Dunn, 2014, p. 320). At psychobilly shows, fans gather at the front of the stage to “wreck.” This style of moshing is distinct to psychobilly and consists of pairs or small groups of people who simulate a fistfight by pummeling each other

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in the arms and chest. If not broken up by the chaos of human bodies hurling around, these simulated brawls symbolically reenact memories of the past for up to 30 seconds or more. People describe wrecking as painful but also boast about their injuries. For example, in 2014 I interviewed Stefan, a late 30s psycho who learned English from watching American TV shows and horror movies. I asked him if psychobilly was violent, and he explained: Very much. Like the whole wrecking thing. At the Koffin Kats show I was wrecking in the front and now I have a broken rib. I also had a broken rib at the end of the Psychomania festival in Potsdam […] But it’s so much fun. [Fun? How is that fun?!] I can’t really tell. Everybody’s looking after each other, not trying to hurt someone badly, but it happens. And I wear my bruises with pride. Everything was green and blue, and that’s pretty much fun.

Stefan may not enjoy his injuries, but it is clear he enjoys the experience through which those injuries are sustained. Not long after this interview, Stefan and I walked from a venue in Kreuzberg to our homes in the neighboring district of Neukölln. As we passed underneath streetlights, he held out his arms several times and asked me to admire all the bruises he earned from wrecking that night. Although wrecking pits are not exclusively comprised by men, they are largely masculine spaces. Such gender dynamics are made clear by The Minestompers (2015) when they derisively sing, “Get off your momma’s clit, and join the wrecking pit!” Memories are communicated in bodily practice (Cattell & Climo, 2002; Csordas, 1994), which means those who are physically capable of reenacting the past are also capable of authoring collective memories. At psychobilly shows, wrecking symbolically reflects and commemorates the violence and fighting that comprise early memories of the scene. As Paul Connerton writes, “Our bodies, which in commemorations stylistically re-enact an image of the past, keep the past also in an entirely effective form in their continuing ability to perform certain skilled actions” (1989, p. 72). Whenever psychobilly fans stuff themselves into sweaty, tightly packed venues, it is not long before several men take off their shirts and fight to maintain physical dominance in the pit. In Berlin, the behavioral discourses related to wrecking reinforce normative modes of masculine violence and toughness. For example, I have witnessed men single out newcomers to the scene and test their resolve with

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targeted pushes, punches, and other body blows. The following scene in my field notes were recorded after an Evil Devil show in 2017: I noticed a small, skinny man who I had never seen before. He didn’t appear to be from a subculture, with just a plain t-shirt and a normal-looking haircut. The show’s turnout was rather small, making him stick out more than he would have at a bigger show. The man, who appeared to have come alone, stood near the pit on one side of the room as he watched what I suspect to be his first psychobilly show. Suddenly, two known members of the scene who clearly outweighed the loner grabbed him and threw him into the pit. The man looked uncomfortable and awkwardly made his way out of the pit toward the back of the room. The same two men again tried to pull him in, but he resisted. For the rest of the show, the two men took turns finding the loner and smashing into him with their fists, elbows, or entire bodies.

I never saw that same loner again during my research, but I have observed this kind of behavior on multiple occasions. A familiar script plays out in these situations, where apparent newcomers are challenged to participate in the pit, and, despite or because of their refusal, they are picked on and likely made to feel unwelcome. Such behavior corresponds with the lyrics of classic, “old school” songs. For example, in their 1983 song, “Wreckin’ Crew,” The Meteors invite listeners to “come and join us if you think you’ve got the guts.” In related situations, I have observed men mock women for wrecking. Jakob, for instance, once overdramatized two women’s wrecking behavior behind their backs. He did this because, as he explained, “It was so girly! It was so girly. I don’t even like girls in the real pit […] It looked like they don’t belong in there, they were just trying to fit in. Like doing the same stuff as the others and just pretending.” Here, Jakob’s explanation echoes fashionbilly discourses and the mnemonic association of psychobilly with masculinity. This discussion with Jakob, which took place in English, indicates he has a specific imagined model for what psychobilly looks like, and that this model is decidedly not feminine. To him, women do not look like they belong. Even if they are “doing the same stuff as the others,” they are “just pretending.” This example reminds us that, even when lower-status groups subvert power dynamics through mimicry (e.g., Butler, 1990), such efforts will always be limited because imitations can only ever be “almost the same, but not quite” (Bhabha, 1984, p. 126). In response to what he perceived as a failed imitation, Jakob parodies what he most

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considers to stick out as not-quite psychobilly: the women’s femininity. In so doing, he challenges perceptions that psychobilly has grown “soft” by recreating the gatekeeping mechanisms that psychobillies of the past used to screen newcomers. Together, these verbal and behavioral discourses reassert toughness as a normative, symbolic trait that is central to psychobilly identity—both ideologically and spatially. However, the physicality of the above examples also indicates that hardened masculinity is integral to psychobilly as an embodied experience. Here, subcultural authenticity is determined by the ability to enact certain corporeal competencies (Driver, 2011; McDowell, 2017). These competencies are gendered and hierarchical in psychobilly. As men spatially exclude those perceived as lacking toughness, they demonstrate how “the choreography of authority is expressed through the body” (Connerton, 1989, p. 74). The importance of violence to psychobilly’s early years means the bodies capable of successfully enacting hardened masculinity in the present represent authenticity. Conversely, the bodies unable or perhaps unwilling to reproduce such performances cannot reproduce collective memories of violence, thereby drawing accusations of inauthenticity.

Conclusion: Memory, Inequality, and Authenticity As the anthropologist, Kevin Birth (2006) suggests, the past is always “immanent,” meaning it provokes action in the present. In considering this book’s theme of temporality, Birth challenges us to consider how subcultural histories (re)produce present inequalities. Among the Berlin psychobilly scene, memories of early violence are inherently tied to present discourses and behaviors that contribute to gender hierarchy. Specifically, memories of fighting and subcultural conflict reinforce notions of psychobilly authenticity as looking and feeling like hardened masculinity. As new members of the scene encounter the images, sounds, and narratives of previous psychobilly generations, they learn to determine authenticity based on the presence or absence of different traits—for example, the ability to distinguish between a “rough” singing voice and one that is “girly,” the ability to embody psychobilly fashion correctly, and the ability to both take and administer a punch. It is through these learned and reproduced behaviors, I argue, that gender hierarchy becomes naturalized in psychobilly. In this way, inequality itself comes to represent authentic psychobilly.

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References Ambrosch, G. (2016). ‘Refusing to Be a Man’: Gender, Feminism, and Queer Identity in the Punk Culture. Punk & Post-Punk, 5(3), 247–264. Bader, I., & Scharenberg, A. (2010). The Sound of Berlin: Subculture and the Global Music Industry. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 34(1), 76–91. Bhabha, H. (1984, October 28). Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse. Special Issue on Psychoanalysis, 125–133. Birth, K. (2006). The Immanent Past: Culture and Psyche at the Juncture of Memory and History. Ethos, 34(2), 169–191. Blackman, S. (2014). Subculture Theory: An Historical and Contemporary Assessment of the Concept for Understanding Deviance. Deviant Behavior, 35(6), 496–512. Butler, J. (1990). Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. Routledge. Cattell, M. G., & Climo, J. J. (2002). Introduction. In J. J. Cattell & M. G. Climo (Eds.), Social Memory and History: Anthropological Perspectives (pp.  1–38). AltaMira press. Connerton, P. (1989). How Societies Remember. Cambridge University Press. Csordas, T. J. (1994). The Sacred Self: A Cultural Phenomenology of Charismatic Healing. University of California Press. Donaghey, J. (2021). Punk and Feminism in Indonesia. Cultural Studies, 35(1), 136–161. Driver, C. (2011). Embodying Hardcore: Rethinking ‘Subcultural’ Authenticities. Journal of Youth Studies, 14(8), 975–990. Dunn, K. C. (2014). Pussy rioting: The Nine Lives of the Riot Grrrl Revolution. International Feminist Journal of Politics, 16(2), 317–334. Eis, M., & Eckert, F. (2016). “1979 Deutschland”: Holocaust, West German Memory Culture, and Punk’s Intervention Into the Everyday. In M. M. Hall, S. Howes, & C. M. Shanahan (Eds.), Beyond No Future: Cultures of German Punk (pp. 109–128). Bloomsbury Academic. Entwistle, J., & Mears, A. (2012). Gender on Display: Performativity in Fashion Modelling. Cultural Sociology, 7(3), 320–335. Foucault, M. (1978). The History of Sexuality Volume I: An Introduction. Pantheon Books. Fulbrook, M. (1999). German National Identity After the Holocaust. Polity Press. Gordon, A. (2014). Distinctions of Authenticity and the Everyday Punk Self. Punk & Post-Punk, 3(3), 183–202. Griffin, N. (2012). Gendered Performance and Performing Gender in the DIY Punk and Hardcore Music Scene. Journal of International Women’s Studies, 13(2), 66–81.

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Haenfler, R. (2006). Straight Edge; Hardcore Punk, Clean Living Youth, and Social Change. Rutgers University Press. Hall, M. M., Howes, S., & Shahan, C. M. (2016). Punk Matters: An Introduction. In M. M. Hall, S. Howes, & C. M. Shahan (Eds.), Beyond No Future: Cultures of German Punk (pp. 1–14). Bloomsbury Academic Publishing. Hayton, J. (2013). Härte Gegen Punk: Popular Music, Western media, and State Response in the German Democratic Republic. German History, 31(4), 523–549. Hecker, M. (1993). Family Reconstruction in Germany: An Attempt to Confront the Past. In B. Heimannsberg & C. J. Schmidt (Eds.), The Collective Silence: German Identity and the Legacy of Shame (C. O. Harris & G. Wheeler, Trans.). pp. 73–93). Jossey-Bass Publishers. Hollan, D. (2005). Setting a New Standard: The Person-Centered Interviewing and Observation of Robert I. Levy. Ethos, 33(4), 459–466. Jerome, R. (2001). Introduction. In R.  Jerome (Ed.), Conceptions of Postwar German Masculinity (pp. 3–12). SUNY Press. Leblanc, L. (1999). Pretty in Punk: Girls’ Gender Resistance in a Boys’ Subculture. Rutgers University Press. Marshall, G. (1994). Spirit of ’69: A Skinhead Bible. S.T. Publishing. McDowell, A.  D. (2017). Aggressive and Loving Men: Gender Hegemony in Christian Hardcore Punk. Gender & Society, 31(2), 223–244. McRobbie, A., & Garber, J. (1991). Girls and Subcultures: An Exploration. In S. Hall & T. Jefferson (Eds.), Resistance Through Rituals: Youth Subcultures in Post-War Britain (pp. 209–222). (Original work published 1975). Muggleton, D. (2000). Inside Subculture: The Postmodern Meaning of Style. Berg Press. Mullaney, J. L. (2007). “Unity Admirable But Not Necessarily Heeded”: Going Rates and Gender Boundaries in the Straight Edge Hardcore Music Scene. Gender & Society, 21(3), 384–408. Newsom, M. D. (2021). The Power of Memory: Gender Inequality Among the Berlin Psychobilly Scene. In R.  Bestley, M.  Dines, M.  Grimes, & P.  Guerra (Eds.), Punk Identities, Punk Utopias: Global Punk and Media (pp.  39–56). Intellect Press. Rohrer, Ingo and Michelle Thompson 2022. Imagination Theory: Anthropological Perspectives. Anthropological Theory, 0(0): 1-23. Rouse, J. (2019). “Punks are not Girls”: Exploring Discrimination and Empowerment Through the Experiences of Punk and Alt-Rock Musicians in Leeds. Punk & Post-Punk, 8(1), 73–88. Shahan, C. (2008). Punk Poetics and West German Literature of the Eighties. Dissertation Submitted to Department of Germanic Languages and Literatures, UNC-Chapel Hill. Sharp, M. (2019). Hypervisibility in Australian Punk Scenes: Queer Experiences of Spatial Logics of Gender and Sexuality. Punk & Post-Punk, 8(3), 363–378.

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Silva, Augusto Santos and Guerra, Paula. (2019). The Global and the Local in Music Scenes: The Multiple Anchoring of Portuguese Punk. In Mike Dines, A. ‘Gords’ Gordon and Paula Guerra (Eds.), The Punk Reader: Research Transmissions from the Local and the Global (pp. 69-95). : Intellect Ltd. Stewart, F. (2021). From Belfast With Love: The Women and Female Presenting Punks of Northern Ireland and Their ‘Subculture’. In R.  Bestley, M.  Dines, M.  Grimes, & P.  Guerra (Eds.), Punk Identities, Punk Utopias: Global Punk and Media (pp. 21–38). Intellect Press. The Meteors. (1983). Wrecking Crew. Wreckin’ Crew. I.D. Records. The Meteors. (1988). Only the Meteors are Pure Psychobilly. Anagram Records. The Minestompers. (2015). Mama’s Clit. The Minesompers. Crazy Love Records. Thornton, S. (1995). Club Cultures: Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Routledge. Ventsel, A. (2012). “This Is Not My Country, My Country is the GDR”: East German Punk and Socio-economic Processes After German Reunification. Punk & Post-Punk, 1(3), 343–359. Wälty, T. (2017). “I’ve Always Been a Misfit”: Body and Beauty in Mexico City’s Punk Women. In M.  Dines & L.  Way (Eds.), Postgraduate Voices in Punk Studies: Your Wisdom, Our Youth (pp.  103–115). Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Way, L. (2020). Punk, Gender, and Ageing: Just Typical Girls? Emerald Publishing. Williams, J. P. (2006). Authentic Identities: Straightedge Subculture, Music, and the Internet. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 35(2), 173–200. Williams, J. P. (2011). Subcultural Theory: Traditions and Concepts. Polity Press.

CHAPTER 9

Punk, Literature and Midlife Creativity: Ordinary Stories, Ordinary Men Philip Miles

Introduction Does the geist of ‘punk’ have longevity? Can a spirit of youthful resistance transition from its origins of performative fashion, lifestyle and music into a channelled dynamic of mature creativity? This chapter sets out to detect traces of punk’s ideological and aesthetic legacy as it assimilates with midlife cultural and creative labour as detected in contemporary creative writing, leaving behind musical fandom and musical ingenuity (Laing, 1985), ‘DIY’ fashion (Hebdige, 1979), and territorial sociality of a scene (Straw, 1991; Bennett & Peterson, 2004; Crossley, 2015) and, alternatively, considering punk as something of a conscious, retained ‘philosophy’ that has endured over time and understood via the words of creatively active people within the field. Seeking a unifying theory of creative disposition and tenacity, taking the form of three portraits of middle-aged male writers, the data is drawn from a larger and diverse intersectional

P. Miles (*) University of Bedfordshire, Bedfordshire, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9_9

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ethnographic study on the personal meaning of creativity involving men and women (Miles, 2019).1 It is concerned with the philosophical, sociological, and psychological aspects of what it ‘is’ and ‘means’ to be creative, drawing on quasi-Bergsonian experiences of time, action and meaning that are often connected to embedded ideologies and identity (Bergson, 2014), examining the shift towards a realisation of the creative muse that harnesses the lingering energy and intent of the original ‘scene’ into the creation of, inter alia, memoir, motion picture screenplays, science fiction novels and the odd work of musical biography. Consequently, this chapter emphasises punks that have got old but do not appear to have lost the possession of that cultural zeitgeist of 1976–1979, adding substance to an assertion that ‘punk’ need not be retired with the 28-inch waist Paul Simonon white jeans.

Midlife, Creativity and ‘Punk’ It is enduringly problematic to define ‘midlife’; there is a reliance on arbitrary notions of what it is to ‘be’ middle aged, a predilection for cliché and prejudice rather than official definitions. Ageing, of course, is an omnipresent fact of life (the passage of time, the sense of experience and wisdom and so on), but midlife is often articulated in terms of crisis (Setiya, 2017), an experience of hiatus (Hamilton, 2014), or a sense of stability (Swinnen, 2018)—essentially it is something of a marker of generic survival (Hepworth & Featherstone, 1982), a transitioning point from youth to old age, simultaneously fluid and secure. However, it is also arguably a moment of renewal, both symbolic and strategic, resulting in tangible productivities relating to a variety of strategies and dynamics, a ‘place’ where transformative creativity can flourish and become the location of the development of overlapping, synchronous identities (Miles, 2019). This midlife is about recognising the potential of one’s accrued human capital to fill ‘blank’ spaces (cf. Bourdieu, 1993) and consequently develop a reinvigorated sense of self. Such desired outcomes, detectable in individuals via an assortment of pastimes, hobbies and stratagems, can be achieved, 1  For an excellent discussion of female punks and reflections on ageing, see Laura Way’s (2021) analysis of female identity and the longevity of the ‘state of mind’ attached to youth culture and self-concept. Additionally, the central role of women in the creation of punk music has been documented over the years, with Amy Raphael’s Never Mind the Bollocks: Women Rewrite Rock (1995) and notable autobiography, such as Viv Albertine’s Clothes, Music, Boys (2014), being strong, almost prototypical, examples.

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inter alia, by way of specific artistic creativity and, if Raymond Williams’s observation that the repetitiveness of the creative process is understood as a recurring reliance on developed techniques (Williams, 1961, p. 20), the method of recycling accrued ideology, talent and spirit. ‘Punk’, in this instance, can be viewed in these terms, including recognising the soft conflict of the fluid ‘subcultural/scene’ dichotomy that arguably emerges from an organic nostalgia, incremental in nature, and almost Hegelian in its continual, historical transmogrification via synthesis of time, identity, sociality and the search for idealisation (Davis, 2006). It is, however, arguably more of a highly idiosyncratic applied and augmented cultural capital that can drive a variety of artforms, somehow external to linear time-space, not necessarily associated with urban or rural ‘scenes’ or ‘place’ (Straw, 1991; Miles, 2023), ‘networks’ (Crossley, 2015), ‘careers’ or ‘phases’ in subcultural attachment and development (Andes, 1998), or ‘myths’ (Bennett, 2002) and not simply attached to omnipresent artefacts of music and design. It is therefore a personal, individualistic and encompassing worldview, perhaps best understood here as an assimilation of those ‘recycled’ approaches and skills that create something perceived as useful (Feldman et al., 1994) to the participants involved in this research dedicated to ascertaining the ‘meaning’ of the creative process, centring on writing, fine art, photography, performance and music making, and using methods that observed, questioned and sensually appraised the artistic routine (Miles, 2019, 2020). Analysing the data produced evidence that ‘art’ is unpredictable in emergence, liminal in creation, intertextual, intersectional and intuitive. It is driven by processes of explosive, risky ‘anarchy of thought’ and instinct, serving as an affirmation of personal security and vitality, and furnishing the protagonist with self-efficacy and self-wonder. Art consolidates life; it is what it means to be alive, but what is the origin of the spirit and how does it sustain itself over time?

Transitions and Transformations In this particular instance, meeting the men who have transitioned from music into writing was one of the final phases of the ‘midlife creativity’ project. Pete Haynes, former drummer of punk band The Lurkers, was arguably the most prominent of the former musicians that I met, having been active the longest and sporting an impressive back catalogue of releases and notable stage performances over his life. However, Steve Hardy and Darrell Buxton—a Derby-based partnership founded in horror

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and sci-fi script writing—gave insight into the continual motivation of the amateur post-punk writer, and talking to Johnny Vincent, erstwhile frontman of post-punk/alt-rock band The Ruins about his sociocultural oral histories that appeared two decades after he first took to the stage with a volatile mix of youthful abandon and considerable self-doubt, gave additional insight into the essence of punk that remains in the creative muse. In each instance, there is a tangible, detectable ‘sense of the possible’ coupled with a belief in the productive status of the ‘outsider’ that emerges in the dialogue. Art, it seems, is a continual process that articulates life as it has been, and continues to be, lived. Punk and art are simply one and the same thing, an esprit de corps spanning time, space, and place, and Johnny, it seems, has the perfect angle on such matters with which to begin. Just Stories Johnny Vincent looks tired; he’s had a tough week at work. These days his day job and everyday life vie for a balance alongside his music and his writing. He has a lot to do and, in his view, he fears he has insufficient time to achieve what he wants to achieve. His artistic origin is situated in the immediate post-punk (or ‘new wave’) scene in Derby in the English Midlands in the late-1970s and early 1980s, initially attending gigs and socialising with like-minded stylists in clubs before beginning to create his own music with early bands such as the Thoroughbreds of Wisdom and Last Mourning. On listening to the outputs (mainly live recordings) of these bands now, one is struck by the omnipresent energy and optimism in the music combined with the evident anxiety of influence that partially stymies the emergence of something entirely novel; this is the music born of a scene (Bennett & Peterson, 2004), a network of sound based on value and pleasure (Crossley & Bottero, 2015) that reflects style and the influences that helped create it rather than acting as a lamp that shines light into unexplored corners of musical virtuosity. That said, Johnny’s career in (mostly amateur) music making is long, varied and continually exciting; the originality eventually emerged in his writing, born of the synthesis of musical advancement, variation in musical colleagues and the continual desire to do. His later 30s contained an interesting hiatus and associative spur back into creative life: his day job was mundane, his music career was on hold and his priorities had changed.

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Johnny Vincent (JV): I took a lot more control of my own destiny [and] ditched what I didn’t want to do with my life. […] I used to see [music] as a way of getting out of the rat race. […] You don’t do an awful lot because you’ve got your family […] and when you’re bringing up your kids you can’t spend a lot of time [making music] because they are so demanding.

Thus, it was his new attachment to the home, via the nurturing of his daughter, that saw Johnny subconsciously consider an alternative means of creative expression; things, he stoically acknowledges, eventually somehow come together—songs, gigs, writing and his recent acting duties with a local dramatic company. However, alongside The Ruins producing high-­ quality albums, his day job has continued to remind him of the persistent linearity of life itself and Johnny admits that he has had a tough pandemic, experiencing at first-hand life and death, the fragility of existence, and how people prioritise, organise and memorialise. Back in 2005, Johnny had sensed a desire to place something on the record, just in case. He sought to create a history of a Derby music and fashion scene (Vincent, 2008) as something emotionally and sensually tangible, which related to those who lived through it and those who wished to know more about the scene. ‘I weave my own life through it’, he says, relating his own experiences as a participant at the time and as an observer across time of something that was transient and exciting but has left perceptible traces. To get his thoughts in some kind of order and to give the project vitality, Johnny spoke with luminaries such as Peter Hook and members of the UK Subs, along with other participants of the era, such as members of Derby’s Anti-­ Pasti. Having compiled a huge amount of written and oral data he hesitated, overcome by self-doubt about his entitlement to comment, to publish, to somehow act as a curator of the scene’s intimate and subcultural details. The book, sitting as a digital file and ready to be published, felt that it had ‘got to the stage where it wasn’t “me” now, it seemed to be someone else’, he recalls. It ‘seemed to have been a different person who had lived this thing’, he continues, alluding to the creative ‘in-between state’ of what I have termed the ‘mezzanine’ (Miles, 2019). This pattern of ‘flow’ and ‘aura’ that is gained from the writing process visited Johnny, but it left him with something that he considered to be valuable and an achievement: JV: You write it like a “third person” […] it was very therapeutic […] and, in another way, something to do […]; but the best thing it did was bring me

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confidence […], not to be scared to do something, […] that actually I could do anything if I want to, just a case of putting my mind to it. (Original emphasis)

Eventually, Johnny ordered 20 copies via a self-publishing platform and sold them all at gigs, and the book has since shifted over 500 units in the UK and some abroad. Confidence, it seems, came not only from sales bearing out its qualities, but also in self-acceptance, good oral reviews and the idea that the book contributed to a folk history of his home city. In doing so, he managed to synthesise the original spirit of punk with researching and writing, recording music, playing gigs, being a father and husband, and working on a ‘front line’. To do this as efficaciously as possible it’s all about, in Johnny’s view, overcoming insecurity and self-doubt— a resistance that is difficult to summon, but ultimately instrumental. JV: do it yourself, and not being scared of having a go at anything, […] the carefree attitude, I suppose, not to be overly concerned; […] it don’t really matter what other people think about it, it’s what you’ve done for yourself.

There is a sense that individualistic labour is rewarding, that the task is more important than the reception, a cathartic process that instils confidence, sense of self, sense of destiny rather than a resistance to ideology or the ‘system’ that creates subculture as an opposition to the dominant ideology. Thus, ‘punk’ production is something of a self-empowering strategy that has little directly to do with resistance but is probably a by-product of the system that isolates and excludes those who ‘buck it’. Ultimately, it is all driven by a sense of legacy—it is, he says, ‘not what you do, it’s what you leave behind that matters’. Johnny senses that depositing such traces of the creative self in the public domain are equal to defeating the creeping sense of the mortal that affects us as we age. It is also driven by the desire to communicate, to feel human, to contribute to informal discourse. It is, he adds, simply ‘something to talk about […] it’s just swapping stories, isn’t it?’ This articulation of the informal is very telling; we are left with the sense that the spirit of punk was to communicate, to somehow give a formality to the informality of the street, the subcultural subtleties that exist beyond the fashion and the shocks, the sense that it’s just people communicating with other people and sharing experience. Such as it is, this experience never really stops, and, in effect, this informal communication need not cease with the natural fizzling out of a subculture in tandem with the passage of time. Punk, therefore, may have been a subculture located in a

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time and space—namely the mid- to late 1970s—but it is also simply a pause point of human progression illustrated by a youth subculture. Those punks of 1976–1977 still exist and they still talk, and they continue to have a common dialogue, common values and a sense of community even if they have moved on in life from the ‘look’ and the ‘sounds’. ‘You’ve lived through something’, he states, while emphasising again that ‘it’s just stories; you just write down what has happened’. Thus, we are confronted with the interesting metaphor of a ‘punk fiction’ that frames the oral histories: the idea that the punk spirit is somehow manifest in a living homology of interpretation (cf. Willis, 1978) that allows participants to ‘write history’ as an anecdote, highly individualistic, driven by the composite of a ‘reception’ theory of interpretation (Willis, 2019) that may envelop ‘postmodern’ subcultural histories (Muggleton, 2000), an anxiety of influence that involves an inherent revisionism (cf. Bloom, 1973), and involving something of a utilitarianism of memory (cf. Felski, 20082) incorporating a sense of place within the linear development of punk and the desire to create novelty from such a disparate recall and the omnipresent, media and print text–driven, public discourse. Johnny considers himself best suited to social/oral history rather than shifting into the world of novels or drama. ‘You can’t make something up that you don’t know’, he says, suggesting—ultimately—that immersion is required to create an authentic narrative in writing. Johnny believes, strongly, that he is better documenting what he knows. I asked him if it was really all about documenting his own past, filling in the blanks, recalling the scene as a community. He responded to the contrary—in essence, it is about communicating to people who don’t know, leaving the kids something where currently they ‘have nothing to work with’. Old punks realise, in many ways, that they never ‘did anarchy’ but, instead, ‘did communication’—the fanzine, the music, the languages of subculture. Johnny’s writing is simply another phase of this process, leaving behind a record both on vinyl and on the page, some tangible traces for new generations to value.

2  In some ways, Rita Felski’s study presents a taxonomy of reading motivations (and rewards), and, in essence, the notion is presented here as an example of how interpretation, revisionism, influence and time-space combine to create both the ‘work’ and the ‘value’ of the work as tangible and conjoined.

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Stories That I Want to Write There is evidence that when participatory punks—those who bought the records, went to the gigs, wore the clothes and occasionally created some sounds—get a bit older, they want to bring that experience that Johnny spoke of to bear in good writing. While Johnny concentrates on sociocultural histories, written via the gathering of oral evidence, Steve Hardy and Darrell Buxton lean very much on the extra-experiential, weaving in the influences of punk rock, its spirit and it’s imagery, into the creation of the fantastical; the creation of spectacle via writing, the elementary forms of punk life—be it the DIY essence of the fanzine (Laing, 1985, pp. 24–25) or the exhibitionism of the style (Bennett, 2006) or the many things in-­ between—finds a fresh voice in the generation of novel forms of fiction. Steve and Darrell are old friends and now collaborators, an embodiment of the point where individual fandom of science fiction and horror, via TV and cinematic releases over the decades, combine with a lingering, strong, personally valued influence of subculture, art and music to create something new. This is the point where the intertextuality of sight, sound and text is discovered, and the spirit of punk is most certainly retained. On meeting them both at Steve’s suburban home in Derby, there is an immediate detection of the sense of the ‘outsider’ in their words, their memories of life on the edges, outside of the mainstream. This unifying theme across all participants is striking, illustrating that there may have been an additional layer of translation of the punk spirit between the urban classes and the urban and the ‘provincial’. The building blocks of punk resistance appear to be the same in the context of rejection of the established norms and values of the mainstream of society, but there appears to be that sense of exclusion the farther from the major urban areas one gets. Punk, to these men, was about growing up and self-discovery but also the creation and maintenance of an intellectual character. ‘I didn’t want to know about the ‘mainstream”, says Darrell with some considerable conviction. Growing up in a village in south Derbyshire, he sensed strongly that ‘I was sort of on my own doing this’, and Steve concurs, adding that he always felt ‘on the outside, looking in […] not joining in with what the other people were doing’. It is therefore ironic that the sense of isolation, exclusion and the subconscious sense of ‘difference’ actually saw the development of similar interests in artistic merit. Their passion was for science fiction on TV and was just the beginning of a connectivity across a range of arts. Glam came and went, Bowie and Ronson and T. Rex, but it was

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the Sex Pistols (and the surrounding public controversy) that transitioned them from the acknowledgement of the staid conventional towards a perceivable anarchy of possibility. A durable connection was created. Steve: As a creative type, as a writer, there has always been a connection between science fiction and punk rock, which culminated some time later with the bands I liked in the eighties […] a lot of science fiction fans feel like they’re outsiders, [it] creates a world that is different to the world that they live in.

To Darrell, the punk ‘movement’ unfolded in a slightly different way to the received wisdom of some commentators. This was not about fashion but, instead, about the spirit of the laissez-faire and the destruction of the quasi-intellectual anxiety of influence (cf. Bloom, 1975). Punk was about, he says, quoting Kevin Rowlands of Dexy’s Midnight Runners, ‘burning it down’,3 destroying the daunting legacies of rock and art, and adhering to a situationist view that ‘sanitisation neutralises’. Steve adds that ‘with reminiscence, there’s always a touch of nostalgia—that’s the problem’, and they are both quick to state that their writing is very much resisting such ‘sanitisation’. Their work, therefore, needs some form of definition of approach, of method, of ideology. If it is not drawing on something, where is it ‘coming from’? To Darrell, the lingering influence of his punk days is in the ‘DIY’ essence of production, a cultural labour that continues to have resonance with what Johnny called ‘swapping stories’, the notion that subcultural communication is a structuralist layer of language that transcends linear time. ‘It’s very punk, very fanzine’, says Darrell, but Steve elaborates on this, suggesting that there is a distinction between those who create and those who consume, and that such communications embody a distinction between transitory interest and a new way of life and lifestyle (Chaney, 1996): Steve: In the seventies you were either a punk or a punk rocker […] somebody who went out and bought the records, it was a fashion for them […] but, if you were a punk with a capital ‘P’, that was a lot broader, […] a whole society that was going on. (Original emphasis)

3  Dexy’s Midnight Runners, Burn It Down (Rowland), on the Searching for the Young Soul Rebels album released July 1980 by EMI/Parlophone.

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A whole subculture existed, to be sure, but Punk had a series of dimensions that other subcultures didn’t have, including fanzines. The two men see the subculture as creative, but not exclusively so—the hippies, says Darrell, had fanzines (International Times and Oz, for example—see Neville, 1971) and so did the sci-fi community. This, he adds, suggested ‘anyone could do it; the means of production—you didn’t need to go to a publisher to produce it’. However, to Steve and Darrell, the spirit—as well as the physical manifestation—of fanzines is central to the way that punk praxis transitioned into the literary world. ‘The next logical step was to make my own work’, says Steve, acknowledging that punk instilled an idea to ‘do’, to be active in music and writing. Music didn’t need to be at the heart of artistic creation, Darrell adds, mimicking the famous Tony Moon graphic, by stating ‘here’s no chords, don’t form a band!’ However, some bands danced along an edge between music and fanzine, combining message with sound even if the chords were not necessarily in the right order. Darrell: no-one really cared if people could play […] who decides who plays, […] how you play, whether you’re doing it right or not? […] The Slits encompass this different angle […] and Crass was all about getting things out, they are a fusion of music and fanzine. (Original emphasis)

The transition into writing was, perhaps, entrenched in their subcultural roots, a fusion of music and fanzine that might mean that Crass were actually onto something (Berger, 2006). Steve eventually went off to do a creative writing degree, seeking authentication for his chosen pathway, but fearing that he may ‘become part of the spectacle’ (Debord, 1967) as a result. Submitting to conventions, according to Steve, is not a very ‘punk thing’, but he acquiesces, understanding that good grammar, syntax and spelling are a must, despite Darrell’s light-hearted protestations that ‘Sniffin’ Glue didn’t have a grammar checker!’. They laugh, but there is something latent here. ‘The message need not be lost by tighter content’, says Darrell before concluding that ‘I’m all for the raggedness of the production method, but I like the content to be red hot’. There is a belief that there was a latent sophistication in punk all along and that, as Darrell points out, ‘the reason that it was perceived as a threat was because it was […] a dangerously intelligent youth culture’ and well beyond three chords. The visual transformation of ‘punk’ into ‘gothic[k]

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punk’ (Savage, 19914) and the ‘dramaturgical shift’ from resistance towards the theatrical (perhaps always embodied by Dave Vanian and Siouxie Sioux) and the development of an intertextuality of ‘punk’, film and literature sealed this veiled sophistication, seen and heard in many instances—for example, in the connection between the gothic horror novels of Anne Rice and the LA gothic rock of Concrete Blonde5—but also traced earlier in the connectivity between visual, artistic influences via TV scheduling of horror flicks on Saturday nights in the early 1970s. The stylistic development of Vanian, Siouxie and bands such as Bauhaus connected with Steve. ‘When I started to write stuff it was born out of a fusion of punk and sci-fi’, he says, creating a subcultural style of writing consolidated with influences such as the band Japan and the goth imagery and sound, but also via the cultural influences of friends and co-authors. The original punk laissez-faire approach that they adopted so long ago therefore remains, woven with eclectic intersectionality and genres, but they acknowledge that the paymasters expect, need, a script that can be workable. Recent work on their script for the British film Ouijageist illustrated this. Darrell: [we want to] write something that has got a conventional setting and a conventional structure and then to invade, or tear apart, that structure. PM: Is that how ‘punk’ finds its way into the way you write? Steve: It’s moving within a framework.

The dramaturgical mixes with the ideology and the phantasmagorical to inform their style, genre, and approach, but there is continually a Goffman style adherence to the idea of the ‘stage’ and the ‘private’ (Goffman, 1959) in the way that they continue to consider contemporary philosophy of writing and the mindset of the punks that they have remained. They see themselves as still creating the way that they did when they were younger but that, as Steve says, ‘experience makes it better’. The ‘on-stage’ is simply the way that they do things creatively, as ‘off stage’ they are fully conversant with the passage of time and its limitations. It all combines to create the ‘framework’ that they acknowledge. They now 4  Jon Savage discussed style and genre throughout but also hints at the dramaturgical, proto-horror-flick look of Siouxie Sioux and Dave Vanian as representative of the envisioning a post-punk, stylistic form. 5  See/hear ‘Bloodletting (The Vampire Song)’ on the album Bloodletting, released May 1990 by IRS records.

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have time and energy to write, free of family commitment and financial constraints commonplace amongst men in their late 50s, retaining the desire to be creative, to explore their craft, to continue to fuse punk, drama and the destiny of writing. It’s all about being an outsider and revelling in its freedom. Steve: I absolutely chose the route I took […] I needed to live the life the way I needed to live it, not wanted to live it. Darrell: We all wanted to learn, we just didn’t want the conforming system, we wanted to learn our own stuff […] Are other people going to get this? Then I concluded ‘fuck them!’, I don’t care; I’ve written the story that I want to write. The end!

Stories of God’s Lonely Men? Pete Haynes has come a long way from Top of the Pops. The drummer of The Lurkers drifted into music and out of it again, stopping at building sites and university and the screen of his computer to write novels before synthesising the whole lot with autobiography and a reformed band who find themselves recording and gigging again after many years. His opinion on punk is immediate and sincere: it was a state of mind that saw people find common ground, articulated through music, style and the sense of being on the ‘outside’ of the mainstream, conventional world. It lost its way after its initial entrée into the musical and cultural world in 1975–1976, becoming simultaneously disingenuous and shallow, political and commercial. He recalls that ‘it was an art school explosion’, involving subconsciously privileged middle classes, and Pete Haynes (PH): it doesn’t come from building sites or from factories, it comes from people who have time on their hands and see themselves as interesting and with something to say [with] access to things [and] the knowhow to put things together.

Influenced by The Ramones, The Lurkers were the ‘loners [lurking] in the corner of the bar’, Pete opines, who ‘never went to discotheques, never really spoke to girls, pretty much disconnected’. The Lurkers considered themselves an ‘outsider’ band, not quite a philosophy but a way of life, defined by the ‘ordinary’ (Williams, 1958), the everyday, the sense of separation from a mainstream that had little to offer but a lot to take.

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Fulham Fallout—their first album released in 1978—cemented their reputation on the circuit, gaining plauditry from John Peel, supporting key bands at key clubs (such as The Roxy), and developing their own following. ‘The conventional life wasn’t for me’, says Pete, ‘but [neither was] the designer unconventionality, to be “this kind of person”’. The Lurkers— and Pete ‘Esso’ Haynes—were in the scene but firmly not of it. PH: Punk provided a platform for many types of people, you might have had the person who went a bit crazy with their hair, and you had the ‘anarchy’ people, but there was also the unsung heroes, the oddball types who would have never got out of their bedroom.

The version of punk that The Lurkers arguably ascribed to was based on voice: outsiders—including people with disabilities—regularly made up significant sections of the audience, and Pete saw intrinsic value in their experiences, their enjoyment and their humanity. As he later turned to writing, he was able to draw on this tranche of experience (see: Haynes, 2009), consequently articulating the strength of feelings that he had experienced at the gigs, the witnessing of pleasure in the faces of the crowd, and accordingly channelling such energy into the text that he was producing. Such satisfaction in the impact of the music, and sense of belonging that it appeared to cultivate, all influenced recurring narratives in his fiction and is explored in his memoir of The Lurkers, Gods Lonely Men (2007). Ordinary life creates art. However, if ordinary life creates art, where is it protected and where is it lost? Pete, author of novels, plays and autobiography/sociological observation (an approach he shares with his friend John King, author of The Football Factory), is left under no doubt that ‘punk’ had no discernible ‘ideology’ and was nothing, in effect, beyond a fleeting meeting of minds and money. The idea of a creative anarchy—to coin a phrase—had potential, but Pete believes that the essence of such freedom was eventually flattened by the interests of commerce. Writing, he states, is riven by variety and reflexivity, thus ‘sink[ing] into more cracks and pores without having to be […] committed to being within a given remit, but I’ve changed my thinking’. The cause for such a change of mind is that publishers, in his view, have been swept along with events, causes and themes, resulting in a ‘trendy commerciality that has squashed such anarchy’. Over time he has come to consider himself an ‘underground writer’, he says, but (perhaps as a result) he encounters problems getting commercial interest,

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getting past gatekeepers at the big publishing houses, attracting agents and so on. It’s a cynical thing, he adds, with the potential of creative writing being ‘broader’ in the past; these days, in effect, the ‘reading public’ (Leavis, 1932) set the boundaries of consumption via the popular cultural dynamics of consumption, setting (and settling) taste (Bourdieu, 1984) while ensuring simultaneous commercial conservativism in the mainstream. The artist still exists as a quantifiable ‘thing’, but it is driven by a sense of authenticity—and authenticity tends to come with no commercial success and is, ostensibly, framed by a sense of socio-cultural legitimacy. ‘I don’t believe artists are on the outside; obviously you are going to get a few who are, but you’re [also] going to get a few bricklayers who are’, he says. Artists that ‘come selling’ things are false; in the days of the punk ‘scene’ he recalls that some prominent contemporaries were such false prophets, people who dropped into a scene as middle class revolutionaries, expecting Pete to be the same, and backing away when confronted by his attested working-class identity, born of secondary modern schooling, the council estate and manual labour. ‘I could see the fear in his face because he thought I was like him’, he recalls. PH: He thought I was a bullshitter […] from a middle class background, just like him. […] I come from a different background [to him], I was laying concrete at 15. […]. He saw lying about the system as being nothing more than a politician […] an affected accent, false camaraderie and things.

This friction persists in the writing world, but he’s older now. ‘I’ve had a couple of run-in’s with theatre directors’, he says, but he insists that he won’t doctor his writing for commerciality. The theatre ‘plays to a bunch of liberals’ who don’t understand the overall structure of division, divisions that he encountered in the generation of punk music that exist also in the field of writing; it’s not about the music, the writing, the creative self or indeed the scene, sociality or the liminality and interpretation of fashion; it is instead about exploitation of power and the vagaries and boundaries of structural exclusion and social class. Thus, he perceives himself as something of an observant sociologist within literature, and his fictional narratives follow this path with vivid precision. PH: I don’t write with an agenda in mind […] so, I’m not thinking ‘this is a salient social issue that I can jump on’, which a lot of people do. […] They are like tailors, or engineers, a lot of writers—they make a storyboard, the

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whole thing, […] research, and then they write it; mine writes itself as it goes along.

When asked if the ‘punk spirit’ has ‘hung on’ in his writing technique and routines, he is categorically sure that ‘punk’ is not external to the self; it was not a ‘scene’, but that ‘way of life’ that must express itself—naturally—in your creative routines and outputs. PH: It’s not a thing you take with you; it is you. [Some people] might apply a punk message or a punk philosophy to something they’re writing, an objective, structural view to what they’re writing; to me, it’s purely subjective, and my emotional response to what impacts upon me and it just so happens to be exactly the same—I haven’t changed at all.

Life is a framework for the creation of art; the art—in this instance being music and literature—is merely something from within, a natural instinct, driving the individual without coaxing, labour that is done largely without effort, an effortless articulation of what it is to be working class and an outsider.

Maintaining Anarchy: The Outsider and the Desire for Novelty At the outset I asked whether the authors apply a ‘meaning’ of punk to their writing, whether they see ‘resistance’ as still existing in their outputs, and whether a vitality of punk rock is still detectable in their writing. In truth, the sense is that these matters never really mattered at all; instead, the men I spoke to were concerned more with life as it is lived, how to make progress, how to articulate themselves in the most productive way, and how to represent their values in the creative labours that they undertook. Punk, if anything, was simply a passing phase in time, an opportunity to engage publicly, a media-driven music-style-social curiosity that enabled articulation rather than something functionally tangible as a framework for creativity. Instead, ‘punk’ remains simply as an emblematic, though dynamic, enunciation of values and techniques that exists externally to help articulate a way of seeing that would have ‘been there’ anyway, burning on the inside. Punk is not now, or arguably has ever been, something relating to specific lifestyle, consumer choices, perceived nostalgia, hackneyed fashion, structurally driven and reproduced ideologies,

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or three-chord-structured songs lasting two minutes. Instead, it is a hard-­ wired, continued desire to publicly participate, produce, exhibit and celebrate the ‘outsider’ via creative writing. This has ‘usefulness’. This usefulness is achieved via introspection, self-discipline and aspects of continued resistance as well as a functional, explosive creative routine, a process, a unique space that I call ‘the mezzanine’—simultaneously liminal, transitory, trance-like, empowering and interpretive. The mezzanine is effectively a ‘condition’, a required situation experienced as the creative place between anticipation and invention of novelty; interpretations happen here, though they cannot be summonsed on demand (Miles, 2019, p. 161). The inventive mezzanine, therefore, is a state of mind that embodies momentary resistance of the banal everyday (cf. Highmore, 2011) that is accordingly experienced in unpredictable, fleeting bursts, embodying the skilful manipulation of talent, the revisionist urge, sensual and intellectual self-confrontations, and resulting (mostly) in reinterpretations of existing ideologies, semiotics, mimetic language and artefacts. The mezzanine draws, ultimately, into the theatre of unpredictable creativity a combination of existing perceived structures of feeling (Williams, 1961; or the innate understanding of structural biography/identity) and reflexive, discursive and personal dimensions of interpretation. This creates ‘borderless risk’ otherwise determined as the chaos and constructive anarchy of creativity, the sucking in of the past that shall result in the throwing out of the future, but understood as uncanny ‘aura’ (Benjamin, 1927), unrepeatable and always somehow fruitful prior to the predictable, value-laden process of post-mezzanine determination of meaning by artist and audience. Punk, as an ideology, lifestyle and spirit, is a dynamic of the mezzanine’s process, but it is only that: a sense of ‘who I am, somewhere’, assisting in the shaping of novelty. A lot of time has passed for these men, beyond the music, the contested styles, the inspirations to act; the literatures that they now create are influenced by their formative years, but the spirit of punk is somehow only detectable via a sense of purpose rather than a rigid ideological—or nostalgic—code. Punk exists, it seems, not only as an echo, a trace of inspiration, engagement and nostalgia but also as a reason to do. It is about crafting legacies, articulating empathy and justice, generating powerful (and creative) dramaturgy and, ultimately, all about life itself. It is clear that the artistic lives of the four creative men that I have discussed are intrinsically representative of what Howard Becker would variously describe as the ‘outsider’ in the ‘art world’ (Becker, 1963, 2008).

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The art-text produced is arguably a ‘front region’ product (Goffman, 1959), a dramaturgical embodiment of the aura of punk (whether acknowledged as such or not), while the artist himself is reflexive, the artistic process discursive, and the artefact that emerges at the end of the creative cycle is intertextual and intersectional, involving the text, the artist, history and the reader. The texts created are therefore arguably polyphonic in that the authors utilise multiple voices (emotional, experiential, ideological-political, cultural, aesthetic and so on) that are drawn from those recycled experiences, techniques and requirements, indicative of a ‘liquidity’ of meanings detected in analysis of late modern society (Bauman, 2000) and reminiscent of Julia Kristeva’s (1980) ‘semianalytical’ status,6 the place where the textual voices are never quite consolidated and where the author (as well as the object, subject, reader etc.) is in a continual state of development (Allen, 2011). Plus ça change. Such poststructural dissonance is, if anything, representative of the elusive punk ‘spirit’ (rather than the associative commerce) and is detectable in the narratives of the novels of Pete Haynes, the form of Johnny’s writing and presentation within his social histories, and the historical artistic and genre intertextuality of Steve and Darrell’s horror scriptwriting. Thus, ‘punk’ translates into middle age not as a retained ideology as such, but more like a trace that is left by association; it is, in short, a way of continuing to articulate ‘outsider status’ and a cacophonous fluidity of meaning, this time via the creative labour of writing rather than composing. It is seen as consisting of a continued sense that ‘work must be done’ to resist the ordinary, the bounded confines of commercialism, transcendent histories, and reproduced social and cultural inequalities.

References Albertine, V. (2014). Clothes, Music. Boys. Faber and Faber Allen, G. (2011). Intertextuality (2nd ed.). Routledge. Andes, L. (1998). Growing up Punk: Meaning and Commitment Careers in a Contemporary Youth Subculture. In J. S. Epstein (Ed.), Youth Culture: Identity in a Postmodern World (pp. 212–231). Blackwell. Bauman, Z. (2000). Liquid Modernity. Polity. 6  Kristeva’s ideas often interweave, in this instance, with those of Roland Barthes, essentially entering into analysis of text via prolonged appreciation of meaning, via form (and after Mikhail Bakhitin) and something of an ongoing conversation with the text that gives prominence to the notion of the intertextual.

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Becker, H. (1963). Outsiders: Studies in the Sociology of Deviance. Free Press. Becker, H. (2008). Art Worlds, 25th Anniversary Edition. University of California Press. Benjamin, W. (1927 [2008]). The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. Penguin. Bennett, A. (2002). Music, Media and Urban Mythscapes; A Study of the ‘Canterbury Sound’. Media, Culture & Society, 24(1), 87–100. Bennett, A. (2006). Punks Not Dead: The Continuing Significance of Punk Rock for an Older Generation of Fans. Sociology, 40(1), 219–235. Bennett, A., & Peterson, R. A. (2004). Music Scenes: Local, Translocal and Virtual. Vanderbilt University Press. Berger, G. (2006). The Story of Crass. Omnibus. Bergson, H. (2014). Key Writings (K. Ansell Pearson and J. Ó Maoilearca, Eds. and M. McMahon, Trans.). Bloomsbury. Bloom, H. (1973). The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry. Oxford University Press. Bloom, H. (1975 [2003]). A Map of Misreading. : Oxford University Press. Bourdieu, P. (1984). Distinction. Routledge. Bourdieu, P. (1993). The Field of Cultural Production. Polity. Chaney, D. (1996). Lifestyles. Routledge. Crossely, N., & Bottero, W. (2015). Music Worlds and Internal Goods: The Role of Convention. Cultural Sociology, 9(1), 38–55. Crossley, N. (2015). Networks of Sound, Style and Subversion: The Punk and Post-­ Punk Worlds of Manchester, London, Liverpool and Sheffield, 1975–80. Manchester University Press. Davis, J.  R. (2006). Growing Up Punk: Negotiating Aging Identity in a Local Music Scene. Symbolic Interaction, 29(1), 63–69. Debord, G. (1967). Society of the Spectacle. Rebel Press. Feldman, D., Csikszentmihalyi, M., & Gardner, H. (1994). Changing the World: A Framework for the Study of Creativity. Praeger. Felski, R. (2008). Uses of Literature. Blackwell. Goffman, E. (1959). The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Penguin. Hamilton, C. (2014). Middle Age. Routledge. Haynes, P. (2007). Gods Lonely Men: The Lurkers. Head-Hunter. Haynes, P. (2009). Malayan Swing. London Books. Hebdige, D. (1979). Subculture: The Meaning of Style. Routledge. Highmore, B. (2011). Ordinary Lives: Studies in the Everyday. Routledge. Kristeva, J. (1980). Revolutions in Poetic Language: A Semiotic Approach to Literature and Art (L. S. Roudiez, Ed., and T. Gora, A. Jardine, & L. S. Roudiez, Trans.). Columbia University Press. Laing, D. (1985). One Chord Wonders: Power and Meaning in Punk Rock. PM Press. Leavis, Q. D. (1932 [2000]). Fiction and the Reading Public. Pimlico.

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Miles, P. (2019). Midlife Creativity and Identity: Life into Art. Emerald. Miles, P. (2020). Creative Routine and Dichotomies of Space. In T.  Ashley & A.  Weedon (Eds.), Developing a Sense of Place: The Role of the Arts in Regenerating Communities. UCL Press. Miles, P. (2023). Music from The End of the Land. In A. Bennett, M. Cashman, & N.  Lewandowski (Eds.), Popular Music Scenes: A Regional and Rural Perspective. Palgrave Macmillan. Muggleton, D. (2000). Inside Subculture: The Postmodern Meaning of Style. Berg. Neville, R. (1971). Playpower. Paladin. Hepworth, Mike & Featherstone, Mike. (1982). Surviving Middle Age. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Raphael, A. (1995). Never Mind the Bollocks: Women Rewrite Rock. Virago. Savage, J. (1991). England’s Dreaming: Sex Pistols and Punk Rock. Faber and Faber. Setiya, K. (2017). Midlife: A Philosophical Guide. Princeton University Press. Straw, W. (1991). Systems of Articulation, Logics of Change: Communities and Scenes in Popular Music. Cultural Studies, 5(3), 368–388. Swinnen, A. (2018). ‘Writing to Make Ageing New’: Dutch Poets’ Understandings of the Late-Life Creativity. Ageing and Society, 38(3), 543–567. Vincent, J. (2008). An Alternative Derby. Lulu.com. Way, L. (2021). Punk Is Just a State of Mind: Exploring What Punk Means to Older Punk Women. The Sociological Review, 69(1), 107–122. Williams, R. (1958). Culture Is Ordinary. In Williams, R. (1989), Resources of Hope: Culture, Democracy, Socialism, Ed. Robin Gable. Verso. Williams, R. (1961). The Long Revolution. Penguin. Willis, I. (2019). Reception. Routledge. Willis, P. E. (1978). Profane Culture. Routledge.

CHAPTER 10

Exploring Older Punk Women’s Conceptualisation of ‘Punk’ through Participant-Created Zine Pages Laura Way

Introduction Despite a growing academic interest in ageing subculturalists, and an increasing acknowledgement that identification with punk can extend ‘post-youth’ (e.g., Andes, 2002; Bennett, 2006; Bennett & Hodkinson, 2012), little still has been done in rendering visible the understandings and experiences of older punk women. Additionally, whilst there has been an abundance of literature concerning pre-existing zines as a source of (secondary) data, less has been said concerning zines created as part of a research study, for example as a form of primary data, and, indeed, outside of a pedagogical context. Bringing these two areas together, this chapter reflects upon initial findings concerning how punk was conceptualised through zines pages created by my research participants (older punk women) as well as considering methodological advantages and challenges L. Way (*) University of Roehampton, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9_10

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of such an approach in this context. Proposing that ‘zines commonly maintain a particular ‘ethos’, my chapter will reflexively explore how this played out in the context of my own research experiences and the extent to which their democratic and participatory ideal, DIY ethic, and their transformative potential were upheld. I open this chapter with some brief context regarding research with older punk women before contextualising the use of zines as a methodological tool and offering some consideration of ‘zine ethos’. I turn then to my initial findings before reflexively considering my use of zines in research with older punk women.

Research with Older Punk Women My decision to conduct research with older punk women stemmed from my argument that they have been marginalised and largely rendered invisible in academic literature concerning subcultures. Since early work on punk in which it was theorised as a male-dominated, youth-centred subculture (Hebdige, 1998), there has been greater recognition of the presence of women within punk (Griffin, 2012; Leblanc, 2002; Roman, 1988) as well as ageing punks (Andes, 2002; Bennett, 2006, 2012, 2013). However, the limited inclusion of older punk women in such research samples or attention to gender analysis means knowledge produced can be critiqued as being ‘malestream’1 (Gurney, 1997; Oakley, 1998), and existing theoretical and conceptual understanding of punks fails to consider the interaction between ageing, gender and subcultural affiliation. I have provided a much fuller discussion of this elsewhere (see Way, 2020), though, for time and space reasons, the brief summary above will suffice for the purpose of contextualising the research sample that this chapter concerns. A much fuller discussion contextualising zines and their methodological use now follows.

Zines: A Brief History and Ethos Zines […] are self-published, low-budget, non-profit print publications. Originally born out of fandom; particularly sci-fi, music, sport, and cultural iconography, they have long served as a significant medium of ­communication in various subcultures and considered a mainstay of the “do-it-yourself” creative movement. (French & Curd, 2022, p. 77)  In sociology, this can refer to male dominance in the discipline (in terms of researchers, samples and perspectives) and when findings from samples comprising of only men are taken to represent women as well. 1

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Though arguably zines can be difficult to define, the above definition of zines does a particularly neat job of summarising some of their key aspects and historical context. Subcultures which have utilised zine making and sharing have particularly included punk and riotgrrrl, and fanzines (zines which focus on fandom, e.g. concerning a particular band or music) appear a key aspect of the British punk movement from the 1970s onwards (Grimes, 2016; Worley, 2015). Whilst zines originally tended to be A5 sized and produced via photocopier, containing a mixture of images and text, they can be created in a variety of sizes, design, look and layout, and now can be produced electronically and/or online as well as being paper/ materially based. As noted above, zines are commonly understood as a form, or aspect, of DIY culture(s). This can be seen as an important aspect of a zine ethos, with a DIY ethic key to this (Fletcher, 2017). In unpacking this DIY notion, a bit more, it’s relevant here to draw upon how this has been understood academically. Some link DIY to anarchist ideas, particularly in terms of the individual taking responsibility for themselves but also in terms of cooperating with others to enact change (O’Hara, 1999). DIY, then, can be understood as comprising a “collective independence” (Martin-Iverson, 2014, p. 187), grounded in the values of both autonomy and community. Furthermore, zines have been presented as encompassing a democratic and participatory ideal, possessing an experimental spirit and politicising influence, and holding a transformative potential (Fletcher, 2017). This democratic and participatory ideal relates to how “[h]istorically, zines have been an underground way for marginalised communities to record their stories, share information and organize” (French & Curd, 2022, p. 78). Indeed, this was in part my rationale for deciding to use participant-­ created zine pages in addition to interviews in my research with older punk women as a means of ‘raising their voices’ amidst academic work which had otherwise marginalised them. This participatory ideal indicates, perhaps unsurprisingly(!), that zines are well suited as a method to be utilised if engaging in research which seeks to be grounded in a participatory ethos. As Ptolomey (2020) notes, zines can be a medium for agency, and this sits particularly well too with such an ethos and can be a means of democratising the research process (Edwards & Brannelly, 2017). Returning to zines’ democratic ideal, their capacity to be ‘multimodal’ (Ptolomey, 2020) opens up opportunities for a range of participants to engage in zine making. They do not, for example, require artistic ability nor do they rely on literacy. This can make zine making an adaptable and

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accessible methodological tool, though it is recognised that the DIY ethic in punk has been criticised for its ableist advocation of being ‘open to all’ when this is not the case for everyone (Dale, 2008; Phoenix, 2020; Stewart & Way, 2023a, b).

Zines in the Context of Research Qualitative research is increasingly utilising creative and participatory methods, exploring new and innovative ways to engage participants in research projects and moving to research being done with participants rather than being done to them. Zines, when used in the context of research, can be understood as a creative method, and, depending on how zines are used, they can also be seen as a participatory method. It is this difference I will discuss first in this section on zines in the context of research. In considering zines as creative and/or participatory methods, I draw here upon a distinction I have used elsewhere (Way, 2017) in which I distinguish between ‘zines as resource’ and ‘zines as creation’ when discussing zines in the context of research. ‘Zines as resource’ refers to when zines are treated as secondary data with pre-existing zines being used by the researcher and analysed (e.g., through a content analysis, textual analysis and so forth). Red Chidgey’s (2013) work concerning young women’s zines and feminist memory uses zines in this way, for example. ‘Zines as creation’, on the other hand, treats zines as primary data more so than secondary. Zines in this context are produced as a part of research (e.g., they did not exist prior to the research). Katharine Houpt et al.’s (2016) work which involved zine making with older adults in nursing homes would be an example of ‘zines as creation’. Undoubtedly, both of these approaches entail zines being understood as a creative method; however, this distinction should make clear the potential for zines to be used as a participatory method too if taking a ‘zines as creation’ approach. This approach of utilising zine making as a part of research has increased in prominence as a methodological tool amongst social researchers, though still remaining an area fruitful for development, and it is this approach to zines which I focus upon in this chapter. I will consider some of the existing literature relevant to ‘zines as creation’ next.

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Zines as Creation Where a ‘zines as creation’ approach can be identified, this often concerns zines being made as a part of an in-person or online ‘zine workshop’. Ptolomey’s (2020) research concerning disabled young women’s everyday lives and imagined futures, for example, used zine-making workshops with the individually produced zines then used as a precursor to interviews with participants—these interviews then involved some reflection on the zine the participant made as well as other questions pertaining to the research’s empirical focus. Creating individual zines whilst in a shared space with others also creating zines can also be found in research by Lupton and Watson (2021) and Gray et al. (2021) (with, in this case, the shared space being an online one). The organisers of the ‘Welfare Imaginaries’ workshop series also took such an approach, and, additionally, they then collated the zine pages together with text from themselves to produce a finished zine which was made available online (Welfare Imaginaries, 2022). Where a ‘zines as creation’ approach has been taken, this has not just entailed participant-created zines/zine pages being treated as data and analysed but also the process of their creation and the ‘afterlives’ of the zines themselves, and zines’ capacity for participation and collaboration has been drawn upon by researchers. Zine workshops, therefore, can be a place for this collaboration to be realised. The Covid Realities (2022) research team, for example, carried out remote fieldwork during the pandemic and subsequent lockdown, and, in addition to other creative and participatory methods, they facilitated online zine-making workshops with their participants. After participants had created zine pages, the researchers ran an additional workshop with them concerning how to present and organise the final zine itself. Such an approach has also been used by the ‘Researchers don’t cry’ project (2022), whereby online workshops making zines are run with participants before a ‘sharing symposium’ for participants to share creations and reflect on the process. Such collaborative zines can go beyond the call-out for submissions approach which has been utilised within the zine community (by which a call is put out for submissions which the organiser then collates and distributes) and can involve a ‘back and forth’ process between participants and researcher(s), the exact nature of which can be shaped by whether the workshops are online or in-person, and demonstrate how “the act of creative making is not simply a medium to facilitate or communicate research findings: it is a research generation practice in itself” (Lupton & Watson, 2021, p. n.p).

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Concerning the afterlives of zines mentioned above, some research has considered not just what zines can ‘do’ for those creating them but also for those engaging with them thereafter. Houpt et al.’s (2016) research, for example, concerned the creation of zines with nursing home community members (in-person), with these zines becoming a way for the participants to share their experiences and ideas with other nursing home members and staff. Furthermore, they took their collaboratively created zine ‘on tour’ to conferences and festivals to share these ideas with the public and professionals more widely, making their voices heard and offering alternative narratives concerning ageing. This reflects a belief that zines can be a form of social action and have the capacity to enact change. In a similar vein, zine workshops (albeit this time online) have been utilised more recently in online spaces as a feminist response to COVID-19 (Gray et al., 2021). When discussing the ethos of zines earlier in this chapter, their capacity for providing marginalised communities with a voice was noted, and part of zines’ increasing use as a creative and participatory method comes from their potential for breaking down traditional researcher/participant hierarchies and providing visibility for those often marginalised in academic research (Gray et  al., 2021; Ramdarshan Bold, 2017).

Zine Making with Older Punk Women My use of zine making with older punk women formed a smaller aspect of a larger research study which utilised qualitative interviewing in exploring their construction and maintenance of punk identities. In the research, my plan was for participant-created zine pages to supplement the interviews I was already carrying out with them. This plan was adapted as the research progressed and what follows now is an overview of that process. My original plan for the participant-created zine pages was that this would be an additional ask of those who participated in an interview. When I was recruiting interview participants for the research, then, I would explain that they would be invited to create to create a zine page on ‘what being punk means to them’ after the interview. Out of my twenty-­ two research participants, only two took up the invitation to create and submit a zine page. Reflecting on this, there were some possible reasons for this low uptake. Firstly, some of the participants said they were not familiar with zines and what they were and that whilst they’d happily take part in an interview, they did not want to make a zine page. I had wrongly

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assumed then that punk women would know what a zine was and had not built in any explanation of what a zine was as a part of the information provided to them. This may have been a reflection of my insider position—zines were something I was familiar with because of my involvement in punk, for example, and therefore I had wrongly assumed them as part of some kind of punk subcultural knowledge. The other potential reason for participants’ low uptake was the extra effort being required. Many participants, for example, commented on how they would not have time to create a zine page. Wanting to still utilise zine pages, I adapted my original plan and decided to branch out the invitation to create a zine page beyond the interview participants. I created a ‘call out’ asking any women who identified as punk over the age of thirty, advertising this in the same way as I had done for the initial calls for interview participants (through social media, relevant online forums etc.). In addition to the two submissions from the women within my research sample, I received six further contributions. Participants were left to decide for themselves whether to include a name (real or otherwise) on their page. I collated these into a zine which I photocopied, sending copies out to the contributors and making copies available at a local zine fair. Sending copies back to the contributors was understood as a way of ‘giving back’ and celebrating their combined efforts in creating the zine.

Thematic Analysis of the Zine Pages: Initial Findings The zine pages the research participants created were not analysed alongside the interviews as originally hoped or planned for during my PhD; in fact, the analysis of the zine pages was paused during my doctorate for several reasons, and I recently returned to this, a few years later. Currently, my analysis is concerned with coding the zine pages for themes which emerged from the interviews I carried out with older punk women. As the zine pages were proposed as a method to supplement the interviews with older punk women, the approach to analysis thus far has been to consider them thematically as to the extent their themes mirrored or differed to the findings based on the interview data. My current focus is on the text presented on the zine pages the women created, omitting one of the pages in the analysis here as it featured an image and no text. Beyond this initial analysis (and this chapter), I plan to conduct greater open coding of the zine pages as well as exploring textual analysis. The interview data had

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highlighted a commonality amongst the women I spoke with concerning how punk was conceptualised as a ‘state of mind’, comprising of particular ‘punk values’ (Way, 2020, 2021). I drew upon these as the themes guiding my initial analysis of the zine pages and I discuss this in greater detail now.

Punk is a ‘State of Mind’ All the zine pages comprising of text spoke to this notion of them associating particular values with punk (detailed further below), implying, then, that punk could comprise a mindset or set of beliefs which underpin behaviour. Two pages were more explicit in presenting this understanding of punk as being a ‘state of mind’. One of the participants wrote on their page how punk was “more than just studs on your jacket and safety pins in your ears”, that it was “not just about music” and that punk was “a way of life”, for example. This speaks as well to how punk can be conceptualised through comparisons to that which it is not. This emphasis on punk not just being about dress and/music also emerged in my interviews with older punk women (Way, 2020) and could be indicative of an internalisation of punkness as one ages, or a demonstration of subcultural knowledge (by virtue of knowing what punk is and is not). My analysis of the interview data revealed four key punk values—subversion, DIY, community and political consciousness—and I will consider this now in relation to the participant-created zine pages. Punk Value 1: Subversion I firstly draw upon here the way subversion was differently conceptualised in the interviews with older punk women to situate this ‘punk value’ in the participant-created zine pages. Amongst the interview data, the conceptualisation of subversion differed in terms of the source of the power/ authority that the subversion was aimed at—this source could be understood as wider/mainstream society, which was more commonly the case, but one participant also understood punk ‘others’ as the source (Way, 2020). There was potentially one example of the latter too amongst the zine pages (see Fig.  10.1)—in this zine page the author, for example, talked about being in a feminist punk band and placed an emphasis on women being capable of ‘doing it themselves’, with this used in contrast to experiences of sexism from men in the music scene.

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Fig. 10.1  Zine page by Nina N

More common, however, was this idea of wider/mainstream society being the source of the power/authority that the subversion was aimed at. One zine author felt punk was about “challenging norms”, for example (and norms are commonly accepted ways of being/doing), another constructed this idea of speaking out against the “status quo”, whilst a third zine author felt punk was to “dress differently, answer back”.

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Punk Value 2: DIY The example above also alludes to the collective aspect of DIY—“it made me feel welcomed and encouraged to be involved”. Whilst the collective was not explicitly always spoken about in the context of DIY across the zine pages, the overlapping value of community featured more heavily (which I will discuss in the next section). The way DIY was presented and understood by the zine page authors overlapped with how it had been conceptualised amongst the older punk women I interviewed. DIY involved being pro-active and taking individual responsibility. As Sam (one of my interview participants) had said, “if it’s not there and you want it, make it yourself” (Way, 2020), and near on these very words featured on one of the created zine pages—“if it doesn’t exist, make it!” (see REM’s zine page, Fig. 10.2). The use of this ambiguous ‘it’ or ‘things’ by several zine page participants could be all encompassing—moving away from some conceptualisations of DIY which have been largely tied up with the context of music (e.g., Hannerz, 2015; O’Hara, 1999; Martin-Iverson 2014). For my participants, DIY could be spoken about in the context of music, but it could also be related to other things too, such as craft and this link between DIY and craft (and punk) has been evidenced elsewhere too (including, for example, Hackney, 2013; Wallace, 2014). Punk Value 3: Community Community can align with collectivity, and therefore be bounded up with the DIY value—this can be seen, for example, with the zine page author who wrote that punk meant to them “Team work to change the world”. The sense of helping others could also be demonstrated—one zine page author wrote, “I have chosen a career which will always be tough and I will never be rich, but I know I am trying to help people who need it”, also suggesting how punk values can be exuded through the nature of the work one does or how punk might shape educational/employment choices. This was something found too in the interviews with older punk women. One interview participant, Ces, for example, spoke of how her punk had contributed to her wishing to work in a job which allowed her to help others, and she rejected the idea of a vocation being merely for monetary gain. This rejection of pursuing work to ‘get rich’ was emphasised by a number of interview participants.

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Fig. 10.2  Zine page by REM

Relevant to this theme of community too is ‘skill sharing’, which one zine page author referred to (see Fig. 10.3), having this as one of their words they had representing what punk meant to them. Again, this can overlap with DIY—sharing skills as a part of collectively doing things for yourselves, making things happen, for example. Though not exclusive to them, skill sharing can be an important aspect of and practice within anarchist, DIY and/or punk communities (Hemphill & Leskowitz, 2013; Lohman & Pearce, 2021; Martin-Iverson, 2018; Shantz, 2012).

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Fig. 10.3  Zine page by Anon 2

Punk Value 4: Political Consciousness The relationship between punk and politics was conveyed in several ways by the women I interviewed, and there were overlaps between this and the participant-created zine pages. For example, the idea that politics was built into punk music through songs/lyrics which expressed particular ideas/

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views and the feeling that punk’s political component came from the music, rather than being part of punk more broadly as a state of mind. One of the zine page authors conveyed this idea of punk music itself providing political awareness and/or education, writing that they protested because “punk opened their eyes”, citing a punk band, The Clash, as initially prompting this (see Fig. 10.4). More prevalent, however, was the implicature that politics was just built into and part of a broader punk ethos, demonstrated, for example, by stand-alone words or phrases used by participants on their zine pages in response to what punk meant to them. Whilst a few zine authors referred to feminism and one to anarchism, it was more common for more generalised political affiliations to be made which could reflect a dislike of punks towards labelling and categorisation (Way, 2020). These more generalised political references commonly linked punk with

Fig. 10.4  Zine page from Anon 3

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fighting social injustice, for example anti-racist views, and environmental issues/animal rights also featured. This was the case too in my interviews with older punk women. One potential difference between the interview data and the zine pages, however, was the greater reference to feminism amongst the zine pages. If working on the basis that those who created zine pages had an existing knowledge of and/or involvement in zine making, then they may have come to this through riotgrrrl, which would explain the greater connections to feminism though this is very much a personal musing at this stage. Finding Ageing Within Zine Pages Whilst the prompt given to those creating the zine pages (of ‘what does punk mean to you’) lent itself well to the creations being analysed in terms of punk values, ‘finding ageing’ amongst the zine pages proved more difficult. This highlighted a flaw on my part in setting up the zines as a methodological tool, particularly in the context of my research which sought to explore temporality and ageing in relation to the construction and maintenance of punk identities. Amending the prompt to ‘what does punk mean to you as an older punk woman’ might have achieved this and captured further relevant insights. However, there were some insights relevant to ageing and time. Earlier, I spoke of this notion of punkness being internalised, and one of the zine page authors spoke directly to this internalisation of punk values over time (see Fig. 10.5), something found too in my interviews with older punk women (Way, 2020) and which has also been found in other research concerning older punks (Andes, 2002; Bennett, 2006). There was also the idea of punk values being negotiated alongside responsibilities that adulthood might present or the expectations of new roles—as one participant wrote: “But now I’m an adult with responsibilities. I am a parent and therefore a role model. Sometimes my fuck you attitude has to be put aside” (Fig. 10.6). My interviews with older punk women offered weight to a social construction view of ageing, presenting, in some cases, this notion of “you’re as young as you feel” (Way, 2020). There can be a role for punk in such constructions, and this was evidenced too in one of the zine pages whereby

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Fig. 10.5  Zine page by Anon 1

the participant wrote: “Punk helped me grow up, but it’s also keeping me young”. This could speak to the nostalgia sometimes felt by older punk women when punk has featured in their lives since their teenage (or preteenage) years or how punk offers a way to resist societal, often gendered, expectations of ageing (Way, 2020).

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Fig. 10.6  Zine page by Nat

Methodological Reflections on Using ‘Zines as Creation’ My methodological reflections are a mixture of reflection noted at the time of my doctoral research and reflections now, some years later, when returning to the zine pages for analysis. This ‘distance’ and time away

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from them no doubt shaped my thoughts, potentially this distance allowed for stronger critical reflection, and I recognise too how my research experiences since my doctorate and the subsequent use of zine making with research participants (this time, young fathers) will have contributed to my thinking through zines methodologically. I group these reflections around some of the aspects of the zine ethos discussed earlier in this chapter, namely their democratic and participatory ideal, their DIY ethic, and the transformative potential of zines. However, I do recognise the overlapping nature of some of these. Zines’ Democratic and Participatory Ideal By default, a ‘zines as creation’ approach entails zines being utilised as a participatory research method (I would argue that the same cannot necessarily be said when a ‘zines as a resource’ approach is taken, however). Taking a ‘zines as creation’ approach allows research to be done with rather than on participants, with participation enacted through the making of a zine/zine page(s). Reflecting on how I used zine making with older punk women; however, it is evident there can be different levels of participation, and this becomes even more so evident when comparing my approach to some of the research examples I highlighted earlier in this chapter. This opens up questions concerning the degree to which, then, I was democratising the research process through the use of a participatory tool such as zines. My reliance on the use of zines to enact the participatory ideal in my research should be problematised and greater consideration of how a participatory approach could have been enacted across the research process in such cases would be needed. Though the focus of the zine page was pre-determined (with a prompt question provided to the participants), this single prompt question allowed the content direction to be left fairly open for the participants. In addition to this, participants could (feasibly) have used whatever materials they wished or format they wanted when creating their zine pages. For the most part, the zine page authors used typed text, but others used handwritten text, collage, drawings and/or a more ‘cut and stick’ aesthetic (see Fig. 10.7). This freedom might not have been realised to the same degree potentially had the zine making taken place during an in-person workshop with materials provided. There is also the element of time here too. Zine workshops often entail zines/zine pages being made ‘in the moment’, whereas my approach involved participants having a fairly extended period of time to work on their pages (a couple of months in most cases). This

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Fig. 10.7  Zine page by Suzyska

provided time also could have meant participants could ‘source’ things for their zines, be it materials or otherwise. As well as being relevant to how participation is enacted, this speaks as well to the DIY ethic of zines which I will turn to next.

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Zines’ DIY Ethic As discussed earlier, DIY can be conceptualised as being about individual agency and/or autonomy as well as about people doing things collectively, potentially to enact change. My approach for using zines with older punk women might indeed be seen as focused upon the participants’ agency and autonomy (in ways discussed in the section above) but the collective aspect needs further consideration. As detailed earlier in this chapter, my approach for making this collaborative zine with older punk women entailed a call for submissions with the submitted pages then collated by myself, photocopied and distributed. This way of making a group zine ‘at a distance’ (e.g., not in a face-to-face zine-making workshop) is often used within the zine community,2 but, at the time of doing my PhD research, academic consideration of zine making with participants ‘at a distance’ was largely absent. This has developed however far more now, largely prompted by researchers adapting to online and/or remote methods because of lockdown/pandemic, and, whilst still in its infancy, there is now greater methodological consideration of group zine making ‘at a distance’ (as demonstrated in my earlier review of literature). These examples offer excellent methodological approaches in how to facilitate collaborative zines, making use of online conference calling facilities and building in processes which allow group reflection and creation more so than that which was achieved in my own research. This certainly gives food for thought concerning how I might do things differently in order to ensure greater collaboration and sense of collectivity. Zines’ Transformative Potential A great deal of my rationale for researching with older punk women was recognising them as having been marginalised previously in empirical work concerning punk and subcultures more broadly, and I aimed to contribute towards their increased visibility in academic discussions. This sat well with the transformative potential of zines but the degree to which the zine creation and sharing contributed to any such transformation needs to be considered. In Houpt et al.’s (2016) work involving collaborative zine making and sharing to challenge ageism and provide counter narratives of 2  Penfight Zine Distro, for example, has a dedicated page to such ‘calls for entries’, and the International Women’s Day Zine 2020 is an example of a zine collated in such a way.

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nursing home experiences, it was noted that such changes cannot be made all at once, yet making the participants’ voices heard was a step in the right direction. This too could be said with my own research, that whilst it would be unfeasible to think that one group zine could correct the marginalisation of older punk women’s voices, it can be at least seen as a step in the right direction. The transformative potential of zines is aligned with their long history as a social action tool (Houpt et al., 2016) but it is also important to consider this transformative potential and action on an individual level. Some argue that engaging in participatory research can be empowering for those participating (Titterton & Smart, 2008) so it could be that being involved in research focused on their experiences and being listened to left participants feeling empowered. Indeed, creating their zine pages could have had a beneficial personal, emotive aspect (this was the case for the participants involved in Houpt et al.’s, 2016 zine making). However, it is difficult to gauge this without any reflection from the older punk women involved in the zine making in the context of my own research. It would have been beneficial to have built in some reflection on how the participants who created zine pages found taking part in their creation to consider this aspect of the transformative potential further.

Conclusions This chapter has reflected on the use of a ‘zines as creation’ approach in the context of research with older punk women, drawing out some initial analysis concerning what these pages might reveal about what punk means to these participants. Initially, there is much overlap with some of the findings from interviews with older punk women, highlighting still how punk can be constructed as a ‘state of mind’ or set of beliefs. Critical reflection on this process of zine creating as a part of research contributes to ongoing academic learning concerning the use of zines as a participatory methodological tool, highlighting some potential tensions between maintaining the ethos of zines and negotiating the research process itself. Initial analysis of the zine pages did require some ‘searching’ for that which could offer insights concerning ageing/temporality, but it remains to be seen what further analysis will bring.

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References Andes, L. (2002). Growing Up Punk: Meaning and Commitment Careers in a Contemporary Youth Subculture. In J. S. Epstein (Ed.), Youth culture: Identity in a Postmodern World (pp. 212–231). Blackwell. Bennett, A. (2006). Punk’s Not Dead: The Continuing Significance of Punk Rock for an Older Generation of Fans. Sociology, 40(2), 219–235. Bennett, A. (2012). Dance Parties, Lifestyle and Strategies for Ageing. In A.  Bennett & P.  Hodkinson (Eds.), Ageing and Youth Cultures: Music, Style and Identity (pp. 95–104). Berg. Bennett, A. (2013). Music, Style and Aging: Growing Old Disgracefully? Temple University Press. Bennett, A., & Hodkinson, P. (2012). Ageing and Youth Cultures. Music, Style and Identity. Berg. Chidgey, R. (2013). Reassess Your Weapons: The Making of Feminist Memory in Young Women’s Zines. Women’s History Review, 22(4), 658–672. Covid Realities. (2022). Covid Realities—Our Zines. Retrieved January 2, 2023, from https://covidrealities.org/zines Dale, P. (2008). It Was Easy, it Was Cheap, so what? Reconsidering the DIY Principle of Punk and Indie Music. Journal of Popular Music History, 3(2), 171–193. Edwards, R., & Brannelly, T. (2017). Approaches to Democratising Qualitative Research Methods. Qualitative Research., 17(3), 271–277. Fletcher, N. (2017). Designing a Space for Thoughtful Voices: Aligning the Ethos of Zines with Young-driven Philosophical Inquiry. Journal of Unschooling and Alternative Learning, 11(11), 53–75. French, J., & Curd, E. (2022). Zining as Artful Method: Facilitating Zines as Participatory Action Research Within Art Museums. Action Research, 20(1), 77–95. Gray, E.  M., Pollitt, J., & Blaise, M. (2021). Between Activism and Academia: Zine-making as a Feminist Response to COVID-19. Gender and Education, 34(8), 887–905. Griffin, N. (2012). Gendered Performance and Performing Gender in the DIY Punk and Hardcore Music Scene. Journal of International Women’s Studies, 13(2), 66–81. Grimes, M. (2016). From Protest to Resistance: British Anarcho-punk ‘Zines (1980–1984) as Sites of Resistance and Symbols of Defiance. In M. Dines & M.  Worley (Eds.), The Aesthetic of Our Anger. Anarcho-Punk, Politics and Music. Minor Compositions. Gurney, C.  M. (1997). “…half of me was satisfied”: Making Sense of Home Through Episodic Ethnographies. Women’s Studies International Forum, 20(3), 373–386.

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Hackney, F. (2013). Quiet Activism and the New Amateur. Design and Culture, 5(2), 169–193. Hannerz, E. (2015). Performing Punk. Palgrave Macmillan. Hebdige, D. (1998). Subculture: The Meaning of Style. Routledge. Hemphill, D., & Leskowitz, S. (2013). DIY Activists: Communities of Practice, Cultural Dialogism, and Radical Knowledge Sharing. Adult Education Quarterly, 63(1), 57–77. Houpt, K., Balkin, L.  A., Broom, R.  H., Roth, A.  G., & Selma. (2016). Anti-­ Memoir: Creating Alternate Nursing Home Narratives Through Zine Making. Art Therapy, 33(3), 128–137. Leblanc, L. (2002). Pretty in Punk: Girls’ Gender Resistance in a Boys’ Subculture. Rutgers University Press. Lohman, K., & Pearce, R. (2021). SEVEN: Queering Community Development in DIY Punk Spaces. In Arts, Culture and Community Development. Policy Press. Retrieved January 12, 2023, from https://bristoluniversitypressdigital. com/view/book/97814473405 Lupton, D., & Watson, A. (2021). Towards More-Than-Human Digital Data Studies: Developing Research-Creation Methods. Qualitative Research, 21(4), 463–480. Martin-Iverson, S. (2014). Running in Circles: Performing Values in the bandung ‘do it yourself’ Hardcore Scene. Ethnomusicology Forum, 23(2), 184–207. Martin-Iverson, S. (2018). The DIY Ethic and the Politics of Value in the Indonesian Hardcore Punk Scene. In A.  Bennett & P.  Guerra (Eds.), DIY Cultures and Underground Music Scenes. Routledge. O’Hara, C. (1999). The Philosophy of Punk: More than Noise! AK Press. Oakley, A. (1998). Gender, Methodology and People’s Ways of Knowing: Some Problems with Feminism and the Paradigm Debate in Social Science. Sociology, 32(4), 707–731. Phoenix, R. (2020). DIY as Privilege: A Manifesto. Rough Trade Books. Ptolomey, A. (2020). “It made us all kind of feel like we were on the same level and that if we’re sharing stuff you’re sharing stuff too”: Exploring Zine-making as a Creative Feminist Research Method. University of Glasgow Sociology Seminar Series, April 23. Ramdarshan Bold, M. (2017). Why Diverse Zines Matter: A Case Study of the People of Color Zines Project. Pub Res Q, 33, 215–228. ‘Researchers don’t cry’ Project. (2022). Researchers Don’t Cry?! Retrieved January 2, 2023, from https://researchersdontcry.wordpress.com Roman, L. (1988). Intimacy, Labor and Class: Ideologies of Feminine Sexuality in the Punk Slam Dance. In L. Roman, L. Christian-Smith, & E. Ellsorth (Eds.), Becoming Feminine: The Politics of Popular Culture (pp.  143–184). The Falmer Press.

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Shantz, J. (2012). Spaces of Learning: The Anarchist Free Skool. In R. H. Haworth (Ed.), Anarchist Pedagogies. Collective Actions, Theories, and Critical Reflections on Education. PM Press. Stewart, F., & Way, L. (2023a). Beyond Boundaries: Disability, DIY and Punk Pedagogies. Research in Education, 115(1), 11–28. ISSN 0034-5237. Stewart, F., & Way, L. (2023b). Punk Pedagogies in Practice: Disruptions and Connections. Intellect. Titterton, M., & Smart, H. (2008). Can Participatory Research be a Route to Empowerment? A Case Study of a Disadvantaged Scottish Community. Community Development Journal, 43(1), 52–64. Wallace, J. (2014). Handmade 2.0: Women, DIY Networks and the Cultural Economy of Craft. PhD thesis, Concordia University. Way, L. (2017). Here’s Some Scissors, Here’s Some Glue, Now Go Make a Zine! A Teacher’s Reflections on Zine-Making in the Classroom. In G.  Smith, M. Dines, & T. Parkinson (Eds.), Punk Pedagogies. Routledge. Way, L. (2020). Punk, Gender and Ageing. Just Typical Girls? Emerald Publishers. Way, L. (2021). Punk is Just a State of Mind. Exploring What Punk Means to Older Punk Women. The Sociological Review., 69(1), 107–122. Welfare Imaginaries. (2022). Welfare Imaginaries. Retrieved January 2, 2023, from https://welfareimaginaries.wordpress.com Worley, M. (2015). Punk, Politics and British (fan)zines, 1976–84: ‘While the world was dying, did you wonder why?’. History Workshop Journal, 79(1), 76–106.

CHAPTER 11

Working With/In: An Exploration of Queer Punk Time and Space in Collaborative Archival Workshops Kirsty Fife

Introduction The last decades have highlighted a growing interest in the histories of punk subcultures, demonstrated through the publication of memoirs (Albertine, 2015; Brownstein, 2015; Gordon, 2015; Grace, 2016) oral history books (McNeil & McCain, 2016; Robb & Craske, 2006; Warfield et al., 2021), exhibitions of music heritage (Punk: 1976–1978 at British Library and Punk at Museum of London) and the deposit of archival materials such as the Riot Grrrl Collection at Fales Library (Keenan & Darms, 2013). However, tensions emerge when punk moves into the museum, archive and/or history books. Punk exhibitions have been criticised as overly nostalgic (Press Association, 2016) and for erasing the contributions of women and people of colour (Bulut, 2016). The writing of

K. Fife (*) Manchester Metropolitan University, Manchester, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9_11

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histories of music subcultures has similarly been criticised for centring whiteness, affluence, commercial success and masculinity (Nguyen, 2015; Sheffield, 2016; Strong, 2011; Wiedlack, 2015), in turn erasing, minimising and pushing out the contributions of individuals from marginalised backgrounds (Lohman & Raghunath, 2019). The extensive pushing back against the historicisation and curation of punk by outsider professionals could lead us to logically conclude that there is a fundamental misalignment between punk cultures and heritage. However, community-led and grassroots archival projects have also developed across the past decades. These include online archives such as Manchester Digital Music Archive and Birmingham Music Archive, and subcultural collections in institutions including the UCLA punk archive and the Riot Grrrl Collection at Fales Library, which have been instigated by information professionals with pre-existing background within communities. These initiatives demonstrate the positive impact and progressive potential of alternative and grassroots forms of archiving. Caswell et al. describe The transformative affective potential of community archives as spaces for members of marginalised communities to represent themselves and learn about their histories. (Caswell et al., 2017, p. 5)

Community-led initiatives emerge from contexts which share the participatory politics of queer punk communities, and therefore can be positioned as aligned with these communities. This chapter draws from my doctoral research, which explores methods for documenting and archiving current or recently active UK-based DIY music spaces (Fife, 2022). The analysis explores the facilitation of a documentation workshop in 2019 at Bent Fest, a queer punk festival based in London. Influenced by Cooper’s work with “A Queer and Trans Fat Activist Timeline” (Cooper, 2012), this workshop utilised a roll of wallpaper, a pile of permanent markers and the audience of the festival to create a microhistory (Caswell & Mallick, 2014) of UK queer punk. The following section contextualises this chapter within existing literature about DIY cultural and music heritage. After this I explore the methods used in the research project. The main body of the chapter divides into two subsections—firstly, a critical examination of the use of the timeline method and, secondly, an examination of the resulting source and what can be learnt about queer punk heritage from it.

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The methodological dimensions of this chapter are shared to inform others beginning grassroots heritage projects. The analysis of the resulting archival source contributes to scholarship about the nature of queer punk historiography and heritage. By exploring both of these aspects in tandem, I seek to examine how grassroots forms of archival work can create more dialogic and representative archival sources which are in tune with rather than opposed to the politics of queer punk communities.

How Does Existing Scholarship Engage with Archives of Music Cultures? Academic examination of popular music heritage has flourished alongside an increased focus from heritage institutions. Bennett and Janssen describe this interest from heritage institutions as an acknowledgement of the “sociohistorical significance [of popular music] in a post-1945 context”. Popular music heritage can exist in many forms including temporary exhibitions, heritage tours, permanent museums and the consecration of childhood homes of musicians (Bennett & Janssen, 2016, p.  2). Financial investment in popular music heritage projects by national funding bodies demonstrates awareness of “the crucial contributions that… [music] makes to both the UK’s economy and its social fabric” (Behr et  al., 2014, p. 1). Scholars have sought to understand the motivations which underpin the recognition of post-1945 music heritage in exhibitions and programming. Leonard links the popular cultural turn in museum programming to “cultural policy agendas and government targets for museums aimed at facilitating greater social inclusion” (Leonard, 2010, p. 175). Robinson’s review of Punk London at the British Library situates the exhibition as one of the most popular free exhibitions in the organisation’s history (Robinson, 2018, p.  311), evidence of the audience appeal of popular music exhibitions. Although the success of recent exhibitions demonstrates the value of popular music to national heritage institutions, researchers have identified ways in which these initiatives can displace music communities through what De Cesari and Dimova refer to as “the heritagisation-and-gentrification nexus” (De Cesari & Dimova, 2019, p. 868). In reference to tensions around the development of creative cities, Ross describes how without appropriate consultation and dialogue “a city’s development initiatives risk counterproductively destroying the

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precise characteristics they are otherwise seeking to nourish, create, and, even, commodify” (Ross, 2017, pp. 32–33). Members of music communities can benefit from popular music heritage when projects are used to rebuild lost connections and historically dispersed networks (van der Hoeven, 2018, p.  215)—for example, the Manchester-based Excavating the Reno project involved an archaeological excavation which recovered artefacts from The Reno, a nightclub and community hub for mixed race youth in the 1970s (Pidd, 2017; Tailor, 2019). The project and subsequent exhibition enabled the rebuilding of a dispersed community through surfacing and displaying previously lost heritage. Projects can also have a positive or transformative impact on the living conditions and socio-economic circumstances of community members. In their exploration of popular music heritage initiatives within deindustrialised cities, Cantillon et al. posit that grassroots projects can “resist some of the injustices impelled or compounded by deindustrialisation” and produce cultural justice outcomes through the (re)formation of archives, narratives and community networks (Cantillon et al., 2021, p. 85). Community-led archival projects have also received attention in a cluster of research influenced by Bennett’s concept of “DIY preservationists” (Bennett, 2009, p.  475) and Roberts and Cohen’s models of self-­ authorised and unauthorised heritage (Roberts & Cohen, 2014), which is derived from Smith’s formulation (Smith, 2006). The concepts of authorised and self-authorised heritage inform research about fan-led and independent community music archives (e.g. Baker, 2015b; Baker & Huber, 2015; Collins & Long, 2015; Guthrie & Carlson, 2018; Long et  al., 2017; Long, 2018). Baker uses the term “DIY institutions” to refer to a group of popular music archives, museums and halls of fame that were founded by enthusiasts, run largely by volunteers and which exist outside the frame of authorised projects of national collecting and display. (Baker, 2016, p. 173)

The traditional boundaries of the archive and practice of record-­keeping are challenged by such cultural theorists, who situate record collectors, bootleg makers, reissue labels and tape collections as informal forms of heritage activity embedded within communities (Berg, 2018; Carlson, 2018; Kwame Harrison, 2018; Maalsen & McLean, 2018). Although queer punk is the subject of several sociological studies (Downes, 2010; Wiedlack, 2015), queer punk archives remain

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underexplored. Cantillon et al. identify queer music heritage as overlooked within the field of popular music heritage (Cantillon et al., 2017, p. 3). This could be attributed to overemphasis on the cultural production of straight white men in punk and subcultural histories, which in turn renders queers marginal or invisible in turn (Halberstam, 2003, p.  319). Conversely, punk communities are also underexplored in examinations of queer archives (Brown, 2020; Lee, 2020; Sheffield, 2016). Emerging analyses of queer punk identify informal and embodied forms of archival practice including tattooing (Rosenberg & Sharp, 2018) at work within queer punk communities. Examinations of fanzine networks in queer punk communities highlight the intersection of information, identity and community building (Fenster, 1993). These articles identify connections between queer punk and information, archival, and history practices, which would benefit from more intensive attention in scholarship. This chapter therefore addresses this gap by focusing on queer punk heritage through a sustained examination of one methodological intervention.

Making the Timeline Methods This project employed methods taken from action research and participatory archival practice to develop and facilitate the workshop. Action research is defined by Bradbury as “a democratic and participative orientation to knowledge production” (Bradbury, 2015, p. 1). Emerging from research contexts located within workplace and community settings (Adelman, 1993), the development of the methodology was also informed by the development of the popular education movement associated with Paulo Freire (1972). By working with participants as co-producers of knowledge, action research can transform both the traditional power dynamics of researcher/participant relationships and the everyday lives of those involved in a research project. In tandem with the development of community-led archives, which empowered communities to collect and facilitate access to their own histories, participatory archival practice emphasises the importance of interrogating and rebuilding archival processes (e.g. collecting, curating, cataloguing, arrangement, access and preservation) in more equitable ways (Allard & Ferris, 2015, p. 361). Participatory archival practitioners view the involvement of community members within the management of

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archives as a way to create “empowered narratives” (Shilton & Srinivasan, 2007, p.  90) and to resist the othering of marginalised individuals in description, exhibition and interpretation of archival materials. This project utilised action research to respond to a perceived problem through undertaking archival practice. Participatory methods informed the development of an approach to archival work in my PhD, particularly through the critical interrogation of curatorial “expertise” and utilisation of community-­led alternatives to traditional archival practices. The following section evaluates how these methods affected the resulting archival source. To write up this analysis, I utilised my research diary as a data source, along with the timeline itself. The entries on the timeline were transcribed prior to the deposit of the object, and this transcription was subsequently coded using thematic analysis along with my research diary.

Reflections Before reflecting on the process of facilitating the workshop, I will introduce the space in which the research was undertaken. Bent Fest was a queer punk festival that was active in London between 2014 and 2019. The 2014 festival was held in Power Lunches (a small DIY music space in Dalston, which subsequently closed in 2015), and in DIY Space for London from 2015 to 2019. The festival was organised by a collective of UK-based cultural organisers and musicians, instigated by shared experiences of exclusion, marginalisation and isolation within broader punk scenes. Each festival took place over a weekend in May of each year, and consisted of events including zine fairs, discussions, talks, gigs, club nights and karaoke. The collective produced a zine for each festival, which acted as an informal document of the people participating and performing as well as capturing/expressing the politics and motivations behind their/its organising. In 2019, the organising collective announced that the upcoming festival would be the last that would happen in its current format, and that there were no immediate plans for successor events. I had an established background in both the festival and broader UK-based queer, punk and DIY cultural networks. In prior iterations of the festival, I had performed in bands, spoken on panels and run daytime events (e.g. zine fairs) which happened in the duration of the festival. This positioned me as what Taylor refers to as an “intimate insider” (Taylor, 2011) in this research context. My pre-existing relationship with

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organisers and peers meant that I was able to propose using the festival as an opportunity to test out documentation methods with relative confidence that this would be well received. I liaised with the collective about using the daytime space of the festival to run a documentation/history making workshop. It was agreed that I would use the Saturday afternoon slot to run a group discussion and practical exercise to document memories of queer punk spaces. The workshop was facilitated using a timeline mapping exercise which had been employed by other activists pursuing DIY ways of documenting their own community. These include Charlotte Cooper, who used the timeline format in the context of queer and trans-fat activism. Cooper ran workshops at international gatherings of activists, in which individuals could write their significant moments in fat activism on a timeline. As she writes of the workshop: people talked and wrote, asking for clarification and discussing events they were simultaneously memorialising. It was like a dialogue between the past and the present, a statement of memory. (Cooper, 2012, p. 63)

In addition, community heritage researchers have adopted geographical mapping exercises in grassroots heritage settings. For example, Brett Lashua used collaborative mapping workshops to document the intangible heritage of Liverpool’s black community-led music social clubs in Liverpool throughout the 1980s and 1990s (Lashua, 2015, p. 55). Beate Peter utilised digital mapping in combination with oral histories of Manchester’s club scene to create the Lapsed Clubber Audio Map project (Peter, 2020). The Warzone Dialectogram zine project utilises graphic methods to document the history and space of the Warzone collective, in the face of the closure of a physical space due to gentrification (O’Donaghey, 2020). The success of these grassroots initiatives informed the development of this project. The Bent Fest workshop aimed to create a record rather than collect what already existed, due to a perceived lack of documentary sources of queer punk. Queer and feminist theorists identify the absence or “hauntings” of queer feminist pasts, who persist despite their absence in formal archival records (Chidgey, 2013; Cowan & Rault, 2014; Mitchell & McKinney, 2019). At the end of Watermelon Woman, a fictional documentary in which a protagonist attempts to find more about the history of a black, queer actress listed only as “the watermelon woman” in the

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credits, the audience is left with the quote “sometimes you have to create your own history” (Dunye, 1997). This sentiment aligns with the politics of community-led archives, who, as Caswell et al. write, are aware of “the urgent need to undertake… documentation before such stories are lost” (Caswell et al., 2016, p. 71). With little resource to support the activity, we decided our timeline would be created using a roll of paper that I marked with a central line with annotations for each year from 1970 to 2019. By doing this, we were using everyday and familiar materials, which were accessible to peers in DIY cultures (paper and Sharpies or permanent markers). The workshop (a two-hour session which was advertised via the festival’s channels) was attended by a small group of participants. This session began with an introduction to my research project followed by a group discussion, which was recorded and later transcribed for data analysis. This part of the workshop felt unsuccessful despite producing data which was later incorporated into my PhD.  As a facilitator, I felt uncomfortable doing what felt like “traditional” academic data collection activities (e.g. focus group interviews) in punk spaces. Rather than enabling me to have useful conversations with peers based on our shared histories, I instead felt that this method placed an unnecessarily formal frame on our discussion. Downes et al. describe feelings of discomfort experienced [by DIY cultural researchers] in performing the researcher engaging participants in moments of thesis-orientated data collection. (Downes et al., 2013, p. 116)

This early instance of discomfort led me to move away from discussion activities in later data collection during my doctoral research, instead adopting a mixture of creative methods and individual interviews to collect data. After the conclusion of the discussion, we began adding to the timeline as a group. The change in activity caused a shift in atmosphere, and the activity began to feel more sociable, creative and collaborative. As the workshop continued, more people began drifting into the room and the workshop developed a more informal and social nature, much more in line with the general atmosphere of a punk festival. The gradual shift into a more sociable space had a positive impact on the progression and purpose of the activity. Although this shift made it harder to monitor the “boundaries” of the research (e.g. who was participating and who was just

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chatting to a friend?), the activity began to blend into the festival with less perceived friction between formalised academic data collection and informal leisure time. In response to the issues of discomfort described in the preceding paragraph, Downes et al. suggest that researchers employ creative methods drawn from cultures to enable data generation within the “everyday life” of these communities (Downes et al., 2013, p. 117). The timeline exercise seemed to fit more comfortably within what was expected of the festival and felt more comfortable to facilitate than the discussion. Following discussion with the rest of the Bent Fest organising collective after the conclusion of the small workshop, we decided to move the timeline onto the wall of the gig space so that the documentation exercise could be contributed to by a wider variety of attendees. To accompany the timeline, I wrote some brief information about the research project and the intention to deposit the timeline at an archive following the festival. I left a stack of marker pens close to the timeline, and then left it alone for the rest of the event. I did this deliberately, to see whether people would interact with it differently without any guidance or the pressure of participating in a structured workshop. Over the course of the festival, people took to adding to the timeline naturally without any intervention from me or monitoring from the collective. It often happened in the breaks between bands, and people would often tell a friend to add something, so it became a natural group activity. The act of documenting became something which was just part of the rhythms of the space, existing alongside the music and the socialising and dancing, something to do and talk about around everything else. The source that was created was a time and place specific timeline of things that happened, co-created by people who participated in or ran them. In the context of historical geography, Ashmore et al. talk about the experience of “working-with” in archival processing. As they write: Working-with the owner of an archival collection… offers alternative forms of communal knowledge formation which are worthy of further consideration. The process of working-with, combining the physical graft of moving and discarding, intellectual work of evaluating, organising and making connections, and emotional work of listening, discussing and reviewing particular objects can be productive. (Ashmore et al., 2012, p. 82)

By working collaboratively to create the timeline, we utilised the temporary space of a queer punk festival to create an archival object. In a

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socio-economic context in which grassroots spaces are frequently forced to close (The Mayor of London’s Music Venues Taskforce, 2015), the act of documenting (even at a small scale) can feel like a small act of resistance against inevitable loss. Participants commented on the emotional nature of undertaking this work informally to me. We can situate these personal and emotional responses to the workshop and timeline activity as being connected to broader impulses to memorialise within music cultures, which Baker and Huber refer to as “the process of materialising their own experience and expertise through the collection, declaring and naming its importance” or “enacting memory” (Baker & Huber, 2015, p. 122).

The Archival Source The preceding section of this chapter explored the facilitation of a timeline workshop at Bent Fest. This section shifts focus from the methods employed to the resulting source, and what can be learnt about the cultural memory of queer punk through its examination. The following subsections explore a series of three thematic categories of memory that were identified during data analysis: creativity, space and place, and personal accounts of subcultural involvement. In each section, I provide illustrative examples from the timeline before using cultural theory to examine the role of each theme within queer punk subcultures. In this exploration, I am influenced by Halberstam’s ideas about the queer archive and specifically archives of queer subcultures. Halberstam situates the archive as an “immaterial repository” that not only collates and curates material but ultimately constructs and underpins identity (Halberstam, 2005, p. 33). Much like archives, memory too is described by theorists as “under construction” by individuals, communities and technologies (Smit, 2020, p. 90). By examining the types of memory documented on the timeline, I identify and critically explore what experiences, spaces and narratives are considered valuable and worthy of preservation through documentation within this community context.

Creativity The first category of memory identified is creativity, by which I refer to the documentation of creative projects and collaborations. Examples include zines (Move Under Yr Own Power; Chemical Smile zine), podcasts and radio (DIY or Die), mixtapes (Hell Hath No Fury Records releases Vol. 3

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mixtape), and bands (Pink Grip; Mouth Full; Livid; Spook School; Cat Apostrophe; Irn Brunette; Killjoys; Jean Genet; Sister George). The presence of creative projects in the source speaks to the significance placed on cultural production by queer punk communities. Taylor’s examination of ageing LGBTQ individuals in queer subcultures also links queer temporalities to cultural production: Queer time is not only a departure from and a critique of temporal heteronormativity, but it is also a form of temporality that invests heavily in, and places great value upon, cultural production and innovation. (Taylor, 2010, p. 897)

Punk scholarship also explores the relationship between subcultural involvement and cultural production, identifying how cultural production enables communities to enact resistance against mainstream creative industries (Moore, 2007). Creative collaborations also “enhance subcultural camaraderie, [allowing participants] to make friends and support them” (Moore, 2007, p. 451). Cultural production through music is one way in which individuals are encouraged to participate in DIY music scenes (alongside, for example, putting on gigs or hosting touring bands). However, many of the resulting projects are short-lived with recorded releases published and circulated within small communities. Therefore, few of these projects make it into archive collections unless the band achieves commercial success or critical acclaim. The writing down of individual projects on the timeline nonetheless demonstrates a motivation to remember and celebrate bands and collaborations. In an examination of zine culture, Zobl writes that self-publishers are motivated to make zines in order to carry forward legacies and create “an alternative [to mainstream representation] that reflects and resists their cultural devaluation” (Zobl, 2009, p. 5). The inclusion of creative projects allowed individuals to assign value to projects that were personally significant in creative journeys and resist the devaluation of work done by others. Queer theorists have also situated creative practice and cultural production as another form of record-keeping. Halberstam describes how cultural producers “also play a big role in constructing queer genealogies and memories” (Halberstam, 2005, p. 170). In an article exploring the poetry of Langston Hughes and its relation to the very temporal spaces of Harlem queer nightlife, Vogel positions Hughes’ poetry as a record which

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inscribes a queer time consciousness that is impossible to archive under the official regimes of documentation and verification. The queer time and space of the afterhours club, in other words, is archived in the line of the poem, if not at the library at Yale. (Vogel, 2006, p. 400)

In the context of queer punk, creative projects can enable the persistence of cultural memory through the production of recorded outputs (e.g. cassettes, digital releases and artwork) and the use of referencing or linking to situate bands within legacies of queer cultural production (e.g. covers, acknowledgements, references in lyrics and visual materials). Similar motivations underpin critical analyses of sampling and remixing, which carry forward musical legacies that are otherwise not readily archived (Campbell, 2021; Ishmael et al., 2020). Outputs of creative projects, whilst not consciously positioned as such, often later become the evidence of activity and documentary material which continues beyond the short-term existence of the bands themselves.

Space and Place The first category of memory identified through my analysis was space. Physical spaces were documented regularly on the timeline. These include music venues with a fixed (albeit still ultimately short-lived) physical location—for example, Power Lunches and DIY Space for London, which were both London-based music venues. Participants also documented temporary uses of spaces, including squatting (“Dalston Lane queer squat”, “Funeral Parlour squat party anti-pride” and “Vauxhall Grove queer squat”) and house shows/parties (““Nundeath” house show at Colette’s house—first Roseanne Bar show and Chaps, Universal Orders, Corey Orbison”). Regularly programmed temporary events represented included club nights (Homocrime, Unskinny Bop, Fuck Like Bunnies Club, Suck my Left One, Club Vaseline at The Garage), gig nights (Bloody Ice Cream, Queer Union gigs, “The Bakery queer matinees at Pullens Centre, Elephant and Castle”) and festivals (Queeruption, Bent Fest, Ladyfest, Get Bent). Individual gigs were also afforded significance (“Mouth Cull first gig”, “Jean Genet gig”, “Limp Wrist play the Grosvenor”, “Sister George gigs at the Monarch”) as well as tours (“Huggy Bear and Bikini Kill joint UK tour” in 1993 and “Husbands/ Chaps/Drunk Granny UK tour’).

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The earlier entries on the timeline indicate that temporary uses of spaces (through either hire of existing venues or the creative use of domestic spaces like squats or houses to host shows) was more common than the establishment of more permanent spaces (such as grassroots music spaces or social centres). The regular documentation of club nights, promoting collectives and temporary occupation of spaces, indicates that the subcultural memory of queer punk is commonly located in ephemeral and short-­ lived spaces which leave little trace. Queer theorist Muñoz asserted that Queerness is often transmitted covertly… Instead of being clearly available as visible evidence, queerness has instead existed as innuendo, gossip, fleeting moments, and performances that are meant to be interacted with by those within its epistemological sphere. (Muñoz, 1996, p. 6)

Both queer and punk spaces (and therefore queer punk spaces) may need to remain covert and/or live little behind due to the potential for surveillance from authorities, privacy needs of peers and the illegitimacy of specific spaces (e.g. squats). However, the spaces documented on the timeline nonetheless indicate that ephemeral spaces are valued and significant to community members, especially when under-documented in official records. This aligns with writing about queer time, space and subcultural memory by Halberstam, who proposes that we need to theorise the concept of the archive, and consider new models of queer memory and queer history capable of recognising and tracing subterranean scenes, fly-by-night clubs, and fleeting trends. (Halberstam, 2005, p. 161)

Queer time, according to Halberstam, develops differently to time which relies upon heteronormative markers of life progressions including marriage, reproduction, well-being and housing stability. Without following this linear narrative and achieving these goals, a queer life course commonly “goes uncelebrated or at least it is informally marked in non-prescriptive or obscure ways” (Taylor, 2010, p. 894), therefore also being less documented in official records. Queer spaces, whether long or short term, allow for individuals and communities to build and reimagine communities outside of these markers, creating possibility and necessary alternatives. The presence of these spaces on the timeline therefore assigns value to spaces that are often otherwise easily forgotten due to a lack of documentation and fleeting existence.

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Accounts, Anecdotes and Experiences Memories documented on the timeline included individual accounts of subcultural involvement. These included the development of relationships and friendships—with comments including “Taysti: In love with my neighbour” in 1980, and “my first queer kiss (Power Lunches)” and “fell in love with the bassist/vocalist in my band”, both positioned around 2013 on the timeline. Although some memories are explicitly situated in relation to queer punk spaces (e.g. by association with creative projects or spaces), others document the personal lives or milestones within individual queer life stories. These entries illustrate what DiVeglia (in relation to wider LGBT histories) refers to as a desire “to assign significance to one’s own life and the lives within one’s community” (DiVeglia, 2012, p. 78). Similarly, Sue McKemmish conceives of record-keeping as a “kind of witnessing”. On a personal level, record keeping is a way of evidencing and memorialising our lives—our existence, our activities and experiences, our relationships with others, our identity, our “place” in the world. (McKemmish, 1996, p. 175)

More specifically, the presence of personal memories on the timeline also demonstrates the value of subjective experience within queer punk historiography. This contrasts with Western archival traditions, which value professional neutrality in history and archival work. This is described by Michelle Caswell as “a purportedly objective ‘view from nowhere’ (which in fact belies a dominant but unnamed white male position)” (Caswell, 2019, p. 7). However, both queer theorists and popular music heritage scholars articulate personal and emotional dimensions of grassroots archival projects (e.g. Baker, 2015a; Cifor, 2015; Cvetkovich, 2003; Long et al., 2017). For example, Muñoz describes how “anecdotal and ephemeral evidence grants entrance and access to those who have been locked out of official histories” (Muñoz, 1996, p.  9). The inclusion of anecdotes and personal narratives in collections enable continuing connections with the “structures of feeling” of queerness (Muñoz, 1996, p. 11) and the affective dimensions of subcultural involvement. Although many personal accounts were positive, others highlighted tensions and conflicts within community settings. The position of personal conflict and interpersonal violence in DIY music spaces was raised in both the discussion and on the timeline itself. In the recent past, there have

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been several public disclosures of abuse perpetrated in popular, alternative and local music subcultures (Anonymous, 2018; Bowcott & Snapes, 2019; Flanagan, 2017; O’Connor, 2018). Examples of conflict and abuse which manifest on the timeline include the disclosures about abuse perpetrated by a member of American queer punk band PWR BTTM which were published around the time of a 2017 UK tour and led to them being dropped from a record label (Cills, 2017). This is written on the timeline near another memory of the band playing the Garage in London. The multiplicity of memories and perspectives relating to this and other incidents on the timeline illustrates a need for histories and the voices of records to talk to each other, in dialogue and sometimes in conflict with one another. This is also drawn out in relation to participation and archival activism by Cameron, who calls for archives to be understood “not as self-­ contained repositories where one quietly gathers the ‘facts’ but rather as webs of connections and opportunities for dialogue (sometimes with living kin or colleagues)” (Cameron, 2014, p. 100). The presence of interpersonal conflict and violence on the timeline also speaks back to the presentation of queer spaces and punk spaces as utopias and safe spaces. Of the establishment of queer spaces, Eves writes that they tend to have been constructed as ‘safe’ in response to the real and imagined threat of homophobic violence and naturalized heterosexual hegemony. (Eves, 2004, p. 486)

However, as the data on the timeline suggests, queer punk spaces are nonetheless spaces in which people experience violence, abuse and conflict. Archives have been positioned as a source of radical accountability and survivor-led action against historical abuses (Palmer-Mehta, 2018; Petro, 2015). In this context, “the sharing of survivor accounts has been a resource for identification and community building” (Palmer-Mehta, 2018, p. 166). Archiving can therefore enable people to be understood, seen and believed even against a cultural context which is otherwise set up to discredit survivors and devalue individual testimony. The participants in the timeline workshop documented both the positive and the negative experiences which form their personal histories of participation, and as such to create nuanced and complex historical narratives that differ from the nostalgic accounts often produced in histories and exhibitions of punk’s pasts. Writing these memories down can in turn affirm experiences and enable people to recover or process traumatic experiences.

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Conclusion This chapter has explored the facilitation of a collaborative archival workshop at queer punk festival Bent Fest. Through my account of the workshop’s development and delivery, I have contributed a critical account of the use of this method, which I hope will inform those undertaking similar work in their own communities. My analysis of the timeline method identified opportunities and limitations of the exercise, and the subsequent analysis of the timeline as archival object has contributed to a research gap about queer punk archives. The exercise was successful because it enabled the collaborative formation of a history through contributions from individuals. This is different to the production of historical narratives in exhibitions and interpretation, which rely upon the authority of a curatorial expert and selective collecting practices. By undertaking history work in a community space using more collaborative methods, this workshop succeeded in producing more diverse and nuanced narratives of subcultural involvement. The facilitation of this activity within a familiar space also demonstrates potential for transformations of documentary and archival practices into sociable and collaborative activities that can occur in queer punk settings. There are limitations to this project which are important to note. The timeline was produced at one event in 2019 and is as such partial and not representative of a wider community. The memories documented inevitably represent queer punk as an urban community, due to the workshop happening in London. Nonetheless, the small scale of the project was appropriate for the size of the community and indeed grassroots community-­ led archival projects. Future work utilising these methods might adopt a more extensive period of data collection involving visits to multiple events or the long-term installation of a timeline in a venue to gather more memories across a less fleeting period. Digital mapping technologies could be used for projects which are not site-specific, or to engage with dispersed networks following the closure of a space. However, overall the method shows promise for future development by both scholars and grassroots communities. The resulting archival object is now deposited at Bishopsgate Institute Library and Archive in London. The memories on the timeline document spaces, projects and experiences that often go unarchived due to their short-lived existences, a lack of personal capacity, and the tensions that surround documentation (and therefore increased visibility) of queer punk

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lives. Clustered together, queer punk is represented as complex, emotive, collaborative, social and ever-changing. The types of memories documented are evidence of the ephemeral (and the value placed on the ephemeral within queer punk communities), but also of the experiential and affective dimensions of subcultural involvement. Returning to the tensions outlined at the outset of this chapter, the timeline demonstrates how many individual and often conflicting narratives underpin experience of gigs, spaces, music networks and fandom. Traditionally, histories and archives have been formed through “selective collection practices which work to reinforce existing musical canons” (Baker, 2016, p. 183). When queer punk is historicised in this way, the resulting archives inevitably emphasise those of us that made money or reached large audiences, and they will always exclude many experiences and those most marginalised in communities. Instead of constraining the disorderly subculture of queer punk within a singular historical narrative, this method demonstrates the power of rewriting from the ground up, together. Embracing the messiness of community history rebuilds our collective memory on more equitable grounds and transforms the archive from a place of exclusion to one of recovery and connection across generations.

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Cantillon, Z., Baker, S., & Buttigieg, B. (2017). Queering the Community Music Archive. Australian Feminist Studies, 32(91–92), 41–57. https://doi.org/1 0.1080/08164649.2017.1357004 Cantillon, Z., Baker, S., & Nowak, R. (2021). A Cultural Justice Approach to Popular Music Heritage in Deindustrialising Cities. International Journal of Heritage Studies, 27(1), 73–89. https://doi.org/10.1080/1352725 8.2020.1768579 Carlson, S. (2018). Bootleg Compilations as Fan Preservation. In S. Carlson & N.  Guthrie (Eds.), Music Preservation and Archiving Today (pp.  157–176). Rowman and Littlefield. Caswell, M. (2019). Dusting for Fingerprints: Introducing Feminist Standpoint Appraisal. Journal of Critical Library and Information Studies, 3(1), 1–36. Caswell, M., Cifor, M., & Ramirez, M. H. (2016). “To Suddenly Discover Yourself Existing”: Uncovering the Impact of Community Archives. The American Archivist, 79(1), 56–81. https://doi.org/10.17723/0360-­9081.79.1.56 Caswell, M., & Mallick, S. (2014). Collecting the Easily Missed Stories: Digital Participatory Microhistory and the South Asian American Digital Archive. Archives and Manuscripts, 42(1), 73–86. https://doi-­org.libproxy.ucl.ac. uk/10.1080/01576895.2014.880931 Caswell, M., Migoni, A.  A., Geraci, N., & Cifor, M. (2017). ‘To Be Able to Imagine Otherwise’: Community Archives and the Importance of Representation. Archives and Records, 38(1), 5–26. https://doi.org/10.1080/ 23257962.2016.1260445 Chidgey, R. (2013). Reassess Your Weapons: The Making of Feminist Memory in Young Women’s Zines. Women’s History Review, 22(4), 658–672. https://doi. org/10.1080/09612025.2012.751773 Cifor, M. (2015). Presence, Absence, and Victoria’s Hair: Examining Affect and Embodiment in Trans Archives. TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly, 2(4), 645–649. https://doi.org/10.1215/23289252-­3151565 Cills, H. (2017). Member of Queer Punk Band PWR BTTM Accused of Sexual Assault. Jezebel. https://jezebel.com/member-­of-­queer-­punk-­band-­pwrbttm-­accused-­of-­sexual-­as-­1795132781 Collins, J., & Long, P. (2015). ‘Fillin’ in Any Blanks I Can’: Online Archival Practice and Virtual Sites of Musical Memory. In S.  Cohen, L.  Roberts, M. Leonard, & R. Knifton (Eds.), Sites of Popular Music Heritage: Memories, Histories, Places. Routledge. Cooper, C. (2012). A Queer and Trans Fat Activist Timeline: Queering Fat Activist Nationality and Cultural Imperialism. Fat Studies, 1(1), 61–74. https://doi.org/10.1080/21604851.2012.627503 Cowan, T.  L., & Rault, J. (2014). Trading Credit for Debt: Queer History-­ Making and Debt Culture. Women’s Studies Quarterly, 42(1/2), 294–310. JSTOR.

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Cvetkovich, A. (2003). An Archive of Feelings: Trauma, Sexuality, and Lesbian Public Cultures. Duke University Press. https://doi.org/10.1215/ 9780822384434 De Cesari, C., & Dimova, R. (2019). Heritage, Gentrification, Participation: Remaking Urban Landscapes in the Name of Culture and Historic Preservation. International Journal of Heritage Studies, 25(9), 863–869. https://doi.org/1 0.1080/13527258.2018.1512515 DiVeglia, A.  L. (2012). Accessibility, Accountability, and Activism: Models for LGBT Archives. In L.  Bly & K.  Wooten (Eds.), Make Your Own History: Documenting Feminist and Queer Activism in the 21st Century (pp.  23–38). Litwin Books. Downes, J. (2010). DIY Queer Feminist (Sub)cultural Resistance in the UK [PhD Thesis]. University of Leeds. Downes, J., Breeze, M., & Griffin, N. (2013). Researching DIY Cultures: Towards a Situated Ethical Practice for Activist-Academia. Graduate Journal of Social Science, 10(3), 100–124. Dunye, C. (Director). (1997). The Watermelon Woman [Documentary; DVD]. First Run Features. Eves, A. (2004). Queer Theory, Butch/Femme Identities and Lesbian Space. Sexualities, 7(4), 480–496. https://doi.org/10.1177/1363460704047064 Fenster, M. (1993). Queer Punk Fanzines: Identity, Community, and The Articulation of Homosexuality and Hardcore. Journal of Communication Inquiry, 17(1), 73–94. https://doi.org/10.1177/019685999301700105 Fife, K. (2022). Challenging Voices: Documenting and Archiving UK-Based DIY Music Spaces [Doctoral thesis]. UCL. Flanagan, A. (2017). Dramatic Fallout For PWR BTTM After Accusations Of Sexual Misconduct. NPR. https://www.npr.org/sections/therecord/2017/ 05/15/528456757/dramatic-­f allout-­f or-­p wr-­b ttm-after-accusations-­o f-­ sexual-­misconduct Freire, P. (1972). Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Herder and Herder. Gordon, K. (2015). Girl in a Band (Main ed.). Faber & Faber. Grace, L. J. (2016). Tranny: Confessions of Punk Rock’s Most Infamous Anarchist Sellout (Illustrated ed.). Hachette Books. Guthrie, N., & Carlson, S. (2018). Pursuing Preservation in the Do-It-Yourself Music Community. In N. Guthrie & S. Carlson (Eds.), Music Preservation and Archiving Today (pp. 121–140). Rowman and Littlefield. Halberstam, J. (2003). What’s that Smell?: Queer Temporalities and Subcultural Lives. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 6(3), 313–333. https://doi. org/10.1177/13678779030063005 Halberstam, J. (2005). In a Queer Time and Place: Transgender Bodies, Subcultural Lives. NYU Press.

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Ishmael, H. J. M., Sowinski, E. A., Foster, K., Joseph, E., & Richards, N. E. (2020). Locating the Black Archive. In S. Popple, A. Prescott, & D. Mutibwa (Eds.), Communities, Archives and New Collaborative Practices (pp.  207–218). Policy Press. Keenan, E.  K., & Darms, L. (2013). Safe Space: The Riot Grrrl Collection. Archivaria, 76, 55–74. Kwame Harrison, A. (2018). Preserving Underground Hip-Hop Tapes in Ethnographic Context. In N. Guthrie & S. Carlson (Eds.), Music Preservation and Archiving Today. Rowman and Littlefield. Lashua, B. (2015). Mapping the Politics of ‘Race’: Place and Memory in Liverpool’s Popular Music Heritage. In S. Cohen, R. Knifton, M. Leonard, & L. Roberts (Eds.), Sites of Popular Music Heritage: Memories, Histories, Places (pp. 45–61). Routledge. Lee, J.  A. (2020). Producing the Archival Body. Routledge. https://doi. org/10.4324/9780429060168 Leonard, M. (2010). Exhibiting Popular Music: Museum Audiences, Inclusion and Social History. Journal of New Music Research, 39(2), 171–181. https:// doi.org/10.1080/09298215.2010.494199 Lohman, K., & Raghunath, A. (2019). Notes in the Margins. Punk & Post Punk, 8(2), 189–192. https://doi.org/10.1386/punk.8.2.189_2 Long, P. (2018). What is Popular Music Cultural Heritage? In S. Baker, C. Strong, L.  Istvandity, & Z.  Cantillon (Eds.), The Routledge Companion to Popular Music History and Heritage (pp. 121–133). Routledge. Long, P., Baker, S., Istvandity, L., & Collins, J. (2017). A Labour of Love: The Affective Archives of Popular Music Culture. Archives & Records, 38(1), 61–79. https://doi.org/10.1080/23257962.2017.1282347 Maalsen, S., & McLean, J. (2018). Record Collections as Musical Archives: Gender, Record Collecting, and Whose Music is Heard. Journal of Material Culture, 23(1), 39–57. https://doi.org/10.1177/1359183517725101 McKemmish, S. (1996). Evidence of Me.... [Personal Recordkeeping]. Archives and Manuscripts, 24(1), 28–45. McNeil, L., & McCain, G. (2016). Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk. Grove Press. Mitchell, A., & McKinney (Eds.). (2019). Inside Killjoy’s Kastle: Dykey Ghosts, Feminist Monsters, and other Lesbian Hauntings. UBC Press. Moore, R. (2007). Friends Don’t Let Friends Listen to Corporate Rock: Punk as a Field of Cultural Production. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 36(4), 438–474. https://doi.org/10.1177/0891241607303520 Muñoz, J. E. (1996). Ephemera as Evidence: Introductory Notes to Queer Acts. Women & Performance, 8(2), 5–16. https://doi.org/10.1080/07407709 608571228

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Nguyen, M.  T. (2015). Minor Threats. Radical History Review, 2015(122), 11–24. https://doi.org/10.1215/01636545-­2849495 O’Connor, R. (2018, November 1). Hookworms Split as Frontman Denies Sexual Abuse Allegations. The Independent. https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-­ enter tainment/music/news/hookworms-­s plit-­m atthew-­m j-­j ohnson-­ allegations-­sexual-­abuse-­statement-­latest-­a8611926.html O’Donaghey, J. (2020). The Warzone Dialectogram. Black Fox Books. Palmer-Mehta, V. (2018). The Subversive Power of Survivor Rhetoric: An Innovative Archive of Survivor Discourse in New  York Magazine. Women’s Studies in Communication, 41(2), 159–182. https://doi.org/10.108 0/07491409.2018.1471764 Peter, B. (2020). Negotiating the Co-Curation of an Online Community Popular Music Archive. Popular Music History, 13(1–2), 58–76. https://doi. org/10.1558/pomh.39666 Petro, A.  M. (2015). Beyond Accountability: The Queer Archive of Catholic Sexual Abuse. Radical History Review, 2015(122), 160–176. https://doi. org/10.1215/01636545-­2849594 Pidd, H. (2017, October 27). Digging the Reno: Moss Side’s Legendary Club Unearthed—30 Years On. The Guardian. http://www.theguardian.com/uk-­ news/2017/oct/27/digging-­t he-­r eno-­m oss-­s ides-­l egendar y-­c lubunearthed-­30-­years-­on Press Association. (2016). Punk Funeral: Joe Corré Burns £5m of Memorabilia on Thames. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/music/2016/ nov/26/punx-­not-­dead-­joe-­corre-­burns-­memorabilia-­worth-­5m-­on-­thames Robb, J., & Craske, O. (2006). Punk Rock: An Oral History. Ebury Press. Roberts, L., & Cohen, S. (2014). Unauthorising Popular Music Heritage: Outline of a Critical Framework. International Journal of Heritage Studies, 20(3), 241–261. https://doi.org/10.1080/13527258.2012.750619 Robinson, L. (2018). Exhibition Review Punk’s 40th Anniversary—An Itchy Sort of Heritage. Twentieth Century British History, 29(2), 309–317. https://doi. org/10.1093/tcbh/hwx047 Rosenberg, S., & Sharp, M. (2018). Documenting Queer(ed) Punk Histories: Instagram, Archives and Ephemerality. Queer Studies in Media and Popular Culture, 3(2), 159–174. Ross, S. G. (2017). Development versus Preservation Interests in the Making of a Music City: A Case Study of Select Iconic Toronto Music Venues and the Treatment of Their Intangible Cultural Heritage Value. International Journal of Cultural Property, 24(1), 31–56. Sheffield, R. T. (2016). More Than Acid-Free Folders: Extending the Concept of Preservation to Include the Stewardship of Unexplored Histories. Library Trends, 64(3), 572–584.

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Shilton, K., & Srinivasan, R. (2007). Participatory Appraisal and Arrangement for Multicultural Archival Collections. Archivaria, 63(0), 87–101. Smit, R. (2020). Connective Memory Work on Justice for Mike Brown. In S. Merrill, E. Keightley, & P. Daphi (Eds.), Social Movements, Cultural Memory and Digital Media: Mobilising Mediated Remembrance (pp. 85–108). Palgrave Macmillan. Smith, L. (2006). The Uses of Heritage. In Uses of Heritage (pp.  15–22). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203602263-­9 Strong, C. (2011). Grunge, Riot Grrrl and the Forgetting of Women in Popular Culture. The Journal of Popular Culture, 44(2), 398–416. https://doi. org/10.1111/j.1540-­5931.2011.00839.x Tailor, N. (2019, March 27). Unearthing The Reno, Manchester’s Lost Mixed-Race Clubbing Haven. Gal-Dem. https://gal-­dem.com/the-­reno-­whitworthgallery-manchesters-­lost-­mixed-­race-­clubbing-­haven/ Taylor, J. (2010). Queer Temporalities and the Significance of ‘Music Scene’ Participation in the Social Identities of Middle-aged Queers. Sociology, 44(5), 893–907. https://doi.org/10.1177/0038038510375735 Taylor, J. (2011). The Intimate Insider: Negotiating the Ethics of Friendship When Doing Insider Research. Qualitative Research, 11(1), 3–22. https://doi. org/10.1177/1468794110384447 The Mayor of London’s Music Venues Taskforce. (2015). London Grassroots Venues Rescue Plan: A Report. Greater London Authority. van der Hoeven, A. (2018). Narratives of Popular Music Heritage and Cultural Identity: The Affordances and Constraints of Popular Music Memories. European Journal of Cultural Studies, 21(2), 207–222. https://doi. org/10.1177/1367549415609328 Vogel, S. (2006). Closing Time: Langston Hughes and the Queer Poetics of Harlem Nightlife. Criticism, 48(3), 397–425. JSTOR. Warfield, L., Crasshole, W., & Leyser, Y. (2021). Queercore: How to Punk a Revolution: An Oral History. PM Press. Wiedlack, M. K. (2015). Queer-Feminist Punk: An Anti-Social History. Zaglossus. https://library.oapen.org/handle/20.500.12657/33098 Zobl, E. (2009). Cultural Production, Transnational Networking, and Critical Reflection in Feminist Zines. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 35(1), 1–12. https://doi.org/10.1086/599256

CHAPTER 12

Enduring Attachments: On the Temporalities of Punk George C. Grinnell

Introduction There was a picture on Instagram of Alice Bag, Michelle Cruz Gonzales, and Shawna Potter together in 2019. It is a joyful image of three generations of punk women in the United States whose musical heydays are often categorized as belonging to the 1970s, the 1990s, and the present. The image is notable for more than just capturing three pioneering women from three different eras of American punk. It illustrates several commonplace but not always recognized features of punk: women have always been central figures; people of colour have always been vital participants; punk has always been more of an attitude and an allegiance to a DIY ethos than a fixed sound; and what was once a youth subculture has developed a variety of ways of thinking about the enduring attachments that some have with punk.

G. C. Grinnell (*) The University of British Columbia—Okanagan Campus, Kelowna, BC, Canada e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9_12

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The image was taken at 1-2-3-4 Go! Records in Oakland, and while these women are known for being musicians in bands such as Alice and the Bags, Spitboy, and War on Women, they are also authors who have written about punk. This chapter examines some of their writing as a way of posing questions that hover at the edges of this photo. How are their experiences of punk similar and different? How do relations of power within punk shape the accounts they write about punk? How do their narratives reflect on the reality of ageing in punk and ideas of temporality that express a desire to change punk in the present? In Violence Girl: East L.A. Rage to Hollywood Stage, A Chicana Punk Story (2011), Bag narrates her experiences growing up and becoming a founding figure in LA punk in the 1970s. Gonzales offers a quite different experience of what it means to be a person of colour in punk during the 1990s in The Spitboy Rule: Tales of a Xicana in a Female Punk Band (2016). Shawna Potter addresses the end of the 2010s with Making Spaces Safer: A Guide to Giving Harassment the Boot Wherever You Work, Play, and Gather. While her book is not a memoir but an activist manual that seeks to empower individuals to make punk a safer space, it makes explicit many of the themes central to the discussions of power and inequality that inform the narratives by Bag and Gonzales. In different ways, each of these narratives reflects on what it means to live in the wake of the disappointed ideals of punk, a story that becomes clearer with age, in some cases, and rawer in the moment of telling, in others. While these women write about distinct periods in the history of punk, each of them reflects on gendered and racialized relations of power in punk and do so from the perspective of individuals who remain attached to punk and what it can yet become. Their narratives assess the past and intervene in the present by telling stories that can reshape punk. This means that this chapter examines something not quite visible in this photograph: a concept of temporality that lies beyond the familiar chronologies of punk history and beyond the personal memoir and accounts of one’s salad days. What kind of punk temporality is it that emerges out of their continued attachments to punk culture and their desires to document the past while also reshaping what punk is and means for individuals in the present and future? As Bag, Gonzales, and Potter show, the reality of ageing and reflecting on one’s continued attachment to punk can shift ideas we might have about punk and its temporality, including when it happens, its lifespan, and its effects, and what the stories we tell about it might do to shape the future.

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Although two of these works involve life writing, my focus is not memoir and genre, though there is certainly much that one could say about such matters. Instead, my focus is on what unites each of them: they are a trio of works that make visible some of the relations of power that have long structured punk. As such, these books contribute to histories of punk women and add an important qualification to that project with their shared consideration of time, circumstance, and experience, especially for Xicana women, as well as the attention they bring to white male privilege in North American punk and its uneven dominance (Bag, 2012; Nguyen, 2011; Griffin, 2012). These authors write themselves into a project documented by Helen Reddington regarding the prominence of women in punk that begins in the 1970s in the United Kingdom. She sees this period as “an important historical moment when women instrumentalists established themselves in an influential new rock music genre” and seeks to rescue “this moment from the amnesia of conventional popular music historiography in the same way that other ‘histories from below’ have been written about the achievements and experiences of other excluded or marginalized social groups” (Reddington, 2016, p.  194). This chapter extends such research in two ways. First, it explores how temporality and femininity have been braided together such that one cannot think one without the other, given that there is no chronology of punk without the story of the gradual hostility directed towards women and the substantial barriers that had to be overcome to participate “in male identified music” (p.  194). Second, the chapter recognizes that the marginalization of women is part of an uneven and never fully successful movement to normalize white, heterosexual, male privilege in punk. As Michelle Phillipov notes, if punk is understood as “an essentially positive progressive movement articulating egalitarian, community-based, broadly leftist politics” that resists dehumanizing social relations under capitalism (2006, p. 386), this perspective cannot be neatly reconciled with the marginalization of women, queer and transgender people, as well as people of colour in punk. These works insist that any chronology of punk must acknowledge such unpromising realities even and especially when they challenge a redemptive narrative that celebrates the impressive accomplishments of a DIY spirit and anti-­ establishment punk politics. These works offer more than just an account of ageing in punk. They mediate how punk ages, then, and contribute to a body of criticism concerned with the narration of what punk is. More, they actively intervene in

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the maturation of punk by exploring areas of its history that have not always received the attention they deserve. Punk began as a youth culture, and it has an uneven relationship with ageing. It celebrates immaturity with claims like “we are the kids” (in a song of the same name by In/ Humanity) and often appreciates crude exploits over polished outcomes in sound and design. Such attachments to a cult of youthful exuberance are themselves a kind of lived theoretical exploration of “how that transition to adulthood is a culturally constructed social phenomenon” (Davis, 2012, p.  118) that takes the form of a daring departure from maturity. One could fairly wonder if immaturity has since become a dominant feature of politics and culture in many of the places where punk first flourished. Punk rock’s obvious antagonism towards that “adult crash” that has meant the topic of ageing is often unthinkable: what follows after youthful punk adventures comes to be represented primarily as death or an abdication of one’s punk ethics. The recurring declarations that punk is dead, for example, express this anxious refusal to let punk age and mature. If one is a punk, one is a kid. To become an adult is to leave punk behind. Such an equation is not the whole story. Punk was sometimes the most mature kid in the neighbourhood; it had to be to get away with some of the shit it tried. Kids created entire networks to distribute music and tour; they learned to live without consuming animals in a culture hostile to animal ethics; and they hosted shows in venues they created themselves because they wanted to express themselves and their culture. Such activities don’t happen if one is childish and immature. DIY takes commitment and coordination and a serious-minded approach. Such passionate dedication and practical habits age well, and it not surprising that many have remained part of punk throughout adulthood. Laura Way (2019) notes that “what punk means to older punk women” (p. 258) is defined less by the gravity of music and more by the “core punk values … such as DIY and community” (p. 268). Ross Haenfler (2012) similarly explores how punks come to practice ideals “professed in their youth but lived in adulthood” as they age (p. 23). Bennet (2006) comments that one of the features of ageing punk is an increase in “the variety of practices through which individuals retain a commitment” to punk (p. 223). Bag, Gonzales, and Potter each exemplifies how punk is “reworked to fit across time, rather than being clearly situated in one moment of a person’s life” (Davis, 2012, p. 106). The stories told about punk often acknowledge its interest in “a range of political and social discourses in a concrete and immediate way, but it is

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often ignored that it was marginalized groups who contributed this vital factor and provided the necessary enrichment to allow punk to be more than just another youth style dominated by white, cisgender, heterosexual men” (Lohman & Raghunath, 2019, p.  190). Punk’s “countercultural and political credentials were almost entirely dependent on these [marginalized] groups who defiantly confronted and dismantled stereotypes and were crucially and, often for the first time, visible not only to a wider culture but more importantly also to each other” (p.  190). It would be tempting to reply, as some do, that “much of punk history and criticism has been written by people who weren’t there at the time” and that what is needed are first-hand accounts from individuals who are in the “unique position to describe punk as I lived it (and still do) as well as provide a forum for others who were there to share their stories and perspectives” (Bag, 2012, p. 233). But there are plenty of oral histories, memoirs, and narratives of punk that forget the lives of marginalized punks, precisely because those oral histories listen to only some voices. Bag, Gonzales, and Potter suggest a further consideration when one thinks about the stories we tell about who has built and sustained punk culture: punk is now shaped by a curious temporality in which the present is partially a product of still-evolving accounts of its past. I will discuss this temporality more soon, but I want to first explore some of the primary aims and effects of these books. Alice Bag is a founding figure in the LA punk scene in the 1970s, and Violence Girl tells the story of her youth growing up in East LA and her life-altering experiences in a punk community that was creative, sustaining, destructive, persecuted and eventually transformed by the emergence of hardcore. She was the lead singer of The Bags, a group known for performing in sexually provocative outfits and paper bags over their heads. Bag was also a founding member of the iconic feminist punk band The Castration Squad. Writing as Alice Bag, not Alicia Velasquez, the memoir raises many fascinating questions about the more and less performative nature of identity, matters that lie beyond my focus on this occasion. For now, I will simply note that I am guided by Bag’s decision to refer to herself by her punk rock stage name. Her story is a familiar one in the genre of punk memoirs and for good reason because DIY has always been among the most compelling origin stories of punk. Bag (2011) recalls being inspired by the first punk show she witnessed, a bill that included the Zeros, the Weirdos, and the Germs, with the Damned in attendance: “it was as though someone had taken a

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torch to all of our ridiculous fears and self-imposed limitations” such that “everything and anything was possible” (p. 183). “All we needed was the guts to try” (p. 183), Bag recalls, because that night “Mexicans, Weirdos, and teenagers with more courage than musical skill could take the stage and bring the house down,” kicking the establishment “off their gilded thrones”, and “it was us – the rabble – who were going to do the kicking” (p. 183). Not only was punk transforming music, it was a “cultural revolution” affecting “everyday activities, from what we consumed to what we produced, from what we believed to what we found improbable” (p. 194). As Bag puts it, “punk was changing us from the outside in” (p. 194). The Bags started “because two good friends dared to dream of having their own all-girl band” (p.  325), even if the band would eventually emerge with an even gender split among the four members. The title of the memoir recalls a song by The Bags entitled “Violent Girl,” a reference to Bag’s willingness to throw down with the boys in an effort to police violence against women at concerts: “my protective instincts went into high gear and my fists were swinging before I could think about it” (p. 234). As Bag notes, this rage was a response to threats to “my new home and my new family” as well as an expression of ongoing domestic abuse that was part of Bag’s childhood (p. 235). Such aggression on stage meant that she “was often accused of being too masculine in my performance… too violent, too in your face for a girl” (italics in original, p. 221). Some had “never seen a woman so angry”, and punk was upending norms of gender and power (p. 308). The revolution was temporary, however. Bag’s memoir ends by noting how the landscape of punk in L.A. “was changing before my eyes” (p.  308). Punk was receiving more attention from outside than ever before. It was subject to state violence as police invaded punk clubs in full riot gear. These events were familiar to Bag as a racialized person in LA: “I’d sensed this danger many times before; I’d grown up with it all my life. It was the plight of the defenseless in the face of unrestrained power and force. It happened in East L.A. when the L.A. County sheriffs gunned down Chicano activists” (p. 304). And the revolution of punk was being policed from inside as well: “The once quirky men and women artists who prized originality above all else were being replaced by a belligerent, male-dominated mob” at concerts, changing the tone and spirit of punk (p. 309). Gone was an ideal that celebrated difference: the rallying cry of “the more variety the better” was being drowned out (p. 303). “Early punk was as much a rejection of the status quo as it was the product of the rejects of the status quo,” Bag (2012)

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elsewhere writes, appreciating that “we were a band of misfits” for whom there “was no white, male hierarchy” (pp. 236–237). Looking back more than thirty years later with age and perspective, Bag sees that early punk in LA represented a temporary loosening of social norms that was compromised by the rise of those same discriminatory relations of force that had policed her life as a Chicana woman growing up. The freedom from norms of race, sexuality, and gender that Bag associates with punk in California was short-lived, and, over the next two decades, punk in the United States continued to become increasingly male-dominated, even if that led to sometimes thoughtful conflicts between sensitive and aggressive masculinity. As Gonzales explains in her memoir on this era, punk had learned to perpetuate many of the discriminatory norms that defined the world it claimed to oppose. Gonzales was the drummer for the seminal all-female hardcore band Spitboy, and her memoir chronicles these days as a member of a band writing music that was “tough, and vulnerable, and it had attitude” (Gonzales, 2016, p. 128). The Spitboy Rule is especially notable for the story it tells of her place within the East Bay (Oakland and San Francisco) hardcore scene as both a woman and a Xicana. To create “something totally fresh and new, like the female punk band I had been waiting to hear, waiting to discover for some time” was a rare achievement for women at this moment in punk (p. 128). The scene had become dominated by men, even if its commitments to masculinity were sometimes ambivalent, and starting a “band that would soon be named after a female-body-centric creation story, a story that didn’t involve god, a rib, or a man” was radical (p. 129). To do so and also forcefully declare their independence from Riot Grrrl during the height of its ascendancy as a female-focused sphere of punk culture was quite another. Riot Grrrl emerged in 1991 and was associated especially with scenes in Olympia, WA, and Washington, DC.  It challenged the marginalization of women in punk with a generation of exclusively female bands such as Bratmobile, Bikini Kill, and Team Dresch alongside a vibrant zine culture. Spitboy sought to carve out a separate path by remaining attached to hardcore and insisting on their place within that male-dominated scene rather than identify with Riot Grrrl. As a memoir that revisits these tensions, the book reminds punks in the present of the variety of ways that one can address inequality and appreciate diversity. Despite their impressive performances, national and international tours, positive reception, prominence in the surging DIY punk scene of the 1990s, and support from prominent labels such as Lookout, Allied, and

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Ebullition, Spitboy was often received as an exception first, a band that was good considering they were women. As Gonzales notes, Spitboy did not always receive “the same respect [men] gave each other” (p.  23), and comments like “You hit hard for a girl” became a predictable assessment of her drumming. Capturing the spirit of Gonzales’ immediate desire “to punch each guy who said it in the face” (p. 31), The Spitboy Rule is a sustained middle finger to punk sexism. Gonzales documents the triumphs, joy, and life-changing experiences of “playing what everyone thought of as male music” (p. 23) with talented female artists who “genuinely liked one another and admired one another in many ways, too” (p. 55). The memoir celebrates the rare achievement of a dominant all-female punk band in the 1990s and recognizes how needlessly difficult that was. Moreover, it levels powerful critiques against expressions of punk feminism that harmfully promoted colour-blindness by ignoring the “relative comfort and white privilege” some experienced. Such feminism had little to offer a Xicana woman “who grew up in a small town, who was raised by a single mom, and who had been raised in relative poverty” (p.  19). Gonzales explores how her Xicana and punk identities did and did not converge, noting that people saw her as a woman only and that meant “people in the scene did not see me, who I really was at the core, the face and body through which I experienced the world” (p. 90). While I can only imagine how much this book must mean to Xicana women in the punk scene today and tomorrow who will find they are not alone, Gonzales knew just how transformative such a realization could be. Spitboy would release a split LP with Los Crudos, Latino punks from Chicago who were “one of the most beloved hardcore bands in 1990s” who sang “about Latino issues in Spanish” (p. 117). Not only was the “scene’s enthusiasm for Los Crudos … an indirect form of personal validation” (p. 119), it also meant no longer going it alone, even when surrounded by her white female bandmates. Gonzales notes that their record, Viviendo Aperamente (Roughly Living), explored “Latino struggles and feminist struggles” and “the cover image of a woman who looked like me felt like a personal victory” after “spending so many years feeling invisible” in the punk scene (p. 117). Age and experience give Gonzales perspective, and The Spitboy Rule documents a seminal band and recognizes the vital contributions of the author at time when Xicana women were not being acknowledged in punk. One of the continuing legacies of the memoir will be the effects it can have upon future generations who will know they belong here and are

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following in the footsteps of others like Bag and Gonzales who have gone before them. The Spitboy Rule ends with an account of the pleasure of writing their first song and discovering who they could become as women together in punk culture. “Seriously” was a “simple, three-chord song” that spat back all the rage that followed from “a night two guys in a visiting punk band sexually harassed me at a party at my house” (p. 128). The realities of misogyny in punk had been long ignored by the subculture, and these are the conditions that Potter has set out to address and transform with her book. Potter is the lead singer of the feminist punk band War on Women, and her guidebook is a road map to putting feminist philosophy into practice in punk. It establishes frameworks to make punk culture, and ultimately anywhere else that depends on sociability as a binding agent, more hospitable especially to women, people of colour, queer, and trans individuals, people living with disabilities, and others who have faced discrimination within spaces that are not always as counter-cultural in practice as they proclaim to be. Making Spaces Safer started off as a zine and a set of workshops that Potter shared during tours. She writes for those hosting a “house party, basement show, art opening, punk club, community space” as well as “festival, scene” in order to make just about any “space where people gather” safer for those who experience discrimination for being who they are, including one’s sexuality, gender, race, and ability (Potter, 2019, p. 10). The work is guided by the idea that whatever else punk does, it is fundamentally social in the sense that it exists as an effect of human interaction and occurs in spaces that can be structured by unequal relations of power whether by intention or neglect. As Bag noted, punk could create safer spaces for marginalized individuals, and Gonzales recognized that it often did not. Potter’s book is obviously different from a memoir, and while it might not tell a story about a life lived in punk, it is clearly motivated by the personal realities faced not just by Potter but by too many women in the punk scene. If one of the rhetorical effects of memoir is to invite the reader to identify with and reflect upon the personal experiences of the author, Potter achieves a similar degree of intimacy by beginning from the assumption that she speaks not just for herself but for many more who have found that punk is not as safe a space as it could be. Potter writes with a mix of pragmatic utility—there’s a template for a “Punk Club Conflict Resolution Plan,” for example—and an encouraging

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tone that, in the tradition of the best zines, speaks directly to the reader, wondering “were there any bits that just didn’t click, that you were hesitant to listen to? Congrats! Now you know where your weak points are and can address them. Do what you can, then figure out how you can do more. Keep a steady pace and take care of yourself” (p. 172). Potter situates her efforts within a broader history of the development of safer spaces during gay liberation and feminism, noting that the goal is not to create spaces “free of challenging ideas or different opinions” but to recognize the existence of discrimination and then “doing what we can to ensure [those facing discrimination for who they are] are believed and supported if it happens on our watch” (p. 11). Potter quotes Ren Aldridge from The Petrol Girls who survived sexual assaults at house shows in London: “We need safer spaces to make it easier for everyone to organise politically, and also for us all to have a fucking break sometimes” (p.  18). The book embraces a punk ambition to build “a better a world inch by difficult inch” (p. 38) and that means recognizing the complexity of discrimination within “truly DIY spaces” that offer “no legal protections or rights” (p.  56) as well as in “small social scenes where most people know one another” (p. 55). Potter makes inspiring and direct connections between the anarchist safety precautions that gave rise to the tagline “ask a punk” on fliers in the case of gigs held illegally, on the one hand, and the need to exercise a similar degree of care at a show, on the other: “just because the law doesn’t know you exist, doesn’t mean you can’t help validate the existence of everyone who walks through your doors” (p. 57). Recognizing the power of artists to shape the venues that host them, Potter encourages bands to ask if venues have policies in place to make a space safer and then explain why it is important “that your audience feels safe and welcome at your shows” and/or “make the venue a safer space the night you’re there” by inviting relevant local organizations to set up and share their info, creating trans-friendly bathroom signage, and ensuring that a merch person is trained in bystander intervention and crisis response (p. 67). Potter’s book recognizes that punk is not juvenile anymore. But its maturity is inconsistent: “if our goal is a less violent world, focusing on the positive change you can make locally is a perfect place to start” (p. 70). Potter shows that ageing in punk is not just a personal experience; it is a social experience that involves taking responsibility—whether one should have to or not—for changing punk and bringing it closer to many of its stated goals of equality by realizing what it takes to actually transform relations of domination.

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One way to understand how these three books reflect on ageing in punk would be to fit them into a chronology of disappointed ideals, a story that perhaps becomes clearer the longer one is attached to punk: Bag looks back to celebrate the diversity of early punk in which Latinos and women were central participants; Gonzales recalls how that earlier paradise was lost; and Potter depicts an organized feminist response designed to recover some of the equality glimpsed by early punk. These three works are united by their common commitments to feminism and anti-racism, as well as their understanding that punk can be transformed by the work of dedicated individuals, whether that means making venues safer or by telling one’s own story and insisting that these experiences matter to the history, and present, of punk rock. Each of these works sees that punk is a community that can transform lives in ways that are positive or harmful. These works believe in the vitality and promise of punk, and I would speculate that their authors would not go to all of the effort to write books were they not still attached at some deep emotional level to punk, regardless of how large or small a part it might play in their present daily activities. These works express an enduring attachment to punk despite age and a continuing desire to alter it with one’s written contributions in the present. Ageing is not, in these works, a reflection on what it means to be a punk in one’s thirties or forties or fifties or older. Ageing is an unspoken context evident primarily in how these authors remain attached to a social experiment called punk, taking the time and effort to document it and shaping what it can yet become for the future. Bag, Gonzales, and Potter each illustrates how the recent surge of works remembering punk can reshape the present in ways that are more just and equitable based on whose stories are told and what topics are recognized to matter. These works see that cultural memory is always more than just a matter of recording what happened. There will always be multiple stories to tell and different ways to narrate the past. Whose voices dominate? Whose experiences are acknowledged and prioritized? When these works demand that women and women of colour be remembered and recognized as participants, they also recognize that writing can alter the future of punk by embodying “the potential for producing inclusive spaces” that was sorely lacking in DIY punk scenes in the early 2000s despite the fact that “equality [was] often verbally promoted and sexism condemned” (Griffin, 2012, p. 76). Each of these authors takes responsibility for stewarding the culture, and this is a particular expression of ageing that diverges from what Bennet (2006) describes as the practice of

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older punks who “positioned themselves as critical overseers of the local punk scene” in order to judge “the scene and those involved in it” (p. 228). Bag, Gonzales, and Potter are not standing in judgement, as if looking from a distance. They are actively shaping punk by sharing narratives that expose relations of power within punk culture, using their accounts of punk to make a case for imagining alternatives that have existed or could yet exist. They use personal experience to express the full emotional impact of dehumanizing relations of domination in punk and make the case that things need to change. Their books remember the vital contributions of women and people of colour, something sometimes sorely lacking from recent public expressions of memory. As Francis Stewart (2019) notes of the 2016 exhibition at the British Museum celebrating the fortieth anniversary of punk’s emergence: “notable, largely by their absence in the content of the exhibit, were references to women, disabled people, people of colour and LGBTQIA individuals. Punk was never solely the domain or identity of white, cisgendered, able-bodied, heterosexual men” (p.  211). Leslie Kahn—one of the editors of the zine HeartattaCk—made a similar point during the 1990s: I constantly hear about the lack of women in punk, and the lack of active women, but there really are a ton of active women doing so much stuff. There may not be a ton of women in bands (though there certainly are several), but since when is punk supposed to be all about the bands? There are many women currently kicking ass doing so many things, and there have been many women in the past to for inspiration. (Martin, 2012, p. 193)

As Griffin (2012) notes, “women play more central roles in activities that are less visible when analysing the spatiality of a show” (p. 72), and this is especially clear in the zines that make up the “community institutions” of punk culture (Duncombe, 2008, p. 53). One might conclude, then, that it is a commitment to community and a desire for a better world that motivate Bag, Gonzales, and Potter. But their books do more than just tell new stories about who matters in punk. More than just documentation, these books can do things. They can generate effects, thicken and thin out alliances, stir and prompt, and act upon readers in unpredictable ways. I am interested to close by speculating upon one of the primary effects of these works: the idea that punk is being shaped and reshaped by new forms of temporality that are

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emerging in works that bring the vitality of 1977 and 1997 and 2017 into the present, merging all of these moments and making them simultaneously available to punks now. For a punk in 1988, there might have been some local lore about the scene and a few record labels with back catalogues. Now one can read memoirs about so many different experiences of punk! The temporality mediated and created by these books and works like them is distinct, I think, from frameworks of ageing and the perspectives that emerge as an author grows older. That latter approach to ageing was evident in my earlier consideration of how these authors take stock of some of the failures of punk to upend the status quo. Likewise, that same approach to ageing was present in a special issue of HeartattaCk entitled “Punks Over 30” that documented and explored the presence of older punks in a culture once thought to be only for kids; and ageing is similarly front and centre for a band like Done Dying (2013) that proclaims they “are done with the notion that my time has passed” despite being made up of middle-aged punks. The temporality of these books names another matter, even if grows out of the realities of ageing and punk. In this context, temporality involves asking when does a book affect people and with what duration? These books bring the past to life for punks in the present, inspiring new possibilities, while also belonging to a time that has passed. There is a temporality to punk—the many ages of punk—that is not exactly the history of punk because it is living and changing according to new gravitational forces established, for example, by that photograph and its novel alignment of different individuals who may never have been in one another’s orbits when they first entered punk. It is not just them but also me and their works and their substantial catalogues of music and performance that get pulled into some sort of alignment here. There is an organizing temporality that emerges when we read these books together and that does not exist in the same way when they are apart. Punk temporality recognizes that the narratives one tells can change what we know of the past and alter punk for future generations. This temporality has forcefully emerged as something that can dissolve or firm up distinctions between the past and present and future. For Bag, the temporality of punk involves one in what is more than punk: In the process of writing my memoirs, I discovered that I was able to situate my participation in the birth of the West Coast punk scene within a much

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broader historical context, one that was not at all obvious to me at the time. What started out as a series of autobiographical blog entries ended up telling the story of several social movements that personally affected me: the Chicano movement, feminism, gay rights. My particular form of punk expression was also deeply affected by my childhood. I was born in East L.A., the daughter of Mexican immigrants and I entered the U.S. educational system as a non-English-speaking student. (2012, pp. 234–235)

The story of punk is never just the story of punk, a reality that each of these women documents so effectively and painfully as they confront relations of domination and inequality that do not belong to punk but which are nonetheless intensified by punk culture. To speak about the temporality of punk is to abandon clean distinctions between what is and is not punk, as well as where it starts, ends, and restarts. This strange temporality in which the pastness of punk is created in the present (and the present is shaped by the past) can change the essence of punk, then, now, and for the future. Temporality involves recognizing the continuing changes and effects wrought by the knowledge contained in these narratives. Directly, in this instance, this means moving “marginalized groups within punk” onto the stage so that they are no longer “fetishized strangers” (Stewart, 2019, p.  214). I can’t underscore this point strongly enough. The history of punk is women’s history. The history of punk is the history of people of colour. These books do not add new voices; these voices have always been part of punk. It is the weird effect of sustained efforts to forget their contributions that makes the temporality of all of this so curious. These books feel as though they are adding something to the punk archive. That is what this temporality involves: it is a restoration that feels like an addition because the chronology of punk is being played out of time. A punk temporality captures some of the complex co-existence of relations of domination in punk scenes that aspire to equality and seek to end dehumanizing social relations. These contradictions are visible in new ways, as if in the form of simultaneous punk timelines: misogyny and the centrality of women; the whiteness and diversity of punk; unsafe spaces and much needed spaces of inclusion. Punk has always included the marginalized; punk has never been safe. These contradictory realities are true, and they can exist at the same time and sometimes even the same place. Temporality is not chronology. It is not then and now. The story is not always linear and definitely not always progressive. One does not want to

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forget the differences between then and now, but a punk temporality makes it possible to offer another insight beyond the workings of chronology. Consider these comments from Reddington, writing on the substantial role of women in punk: Finally, for all of the women I spoke to, punk was about individual freedom and self-expression above anything else, and it is the importance of this factor that is lost in many of the texts written after the fact. Hindsight shows up many of the flaws in the ideology of punk, but its protagonists were, in the main, sincere in their activities, and no amount of academic misinterpretation can deny them this. (2016, p. 169)

Reddington offers a fair defence of the individual desires that structure punk. But defending punk like this may not change its future. The punk temporality present in works by Bag, Gonzales, and Potter offers another possibility in which one need not defend the past and its sincerity any more than one would need to attack it. These narrate their own experiences as the first step to altering what we expect, demand, and imagine punk could be. They remain attached to what is so promising and empowering in punk even when the past says it would be foolish to continue to believe in such ideals. The strange temporality of punk is evident in other ways too, such as the digital mediums in which recordings and zines from another time and place live on in all sorts of unpredictable ways, sometimes carefully curated and sometimes not. This may be an intensification of what recording and printing have always meant for temporality. To speak about Gonzales as an older punk hardly makes any sense when one can listen to her perpetually youthful drumming on any Spitboy record. And what does it mean to listen to a 2021 remastered recording of something from the 1990s? What kind of magical transformation of the past is this? Punk temporality does not even end there. Listening to that “Mi Cuerpo Es Mio” 7” now, the first Spitboy recording I ever heard and one of my first punk records, it sounds different. And it is different, at least for me. It is different because I hear different things in it now, because I know more about all of these musicians, and especially the drummer. It is different because I am different too. Perhaps it is even different because my hearing has changed over time, the consequence of too many loud shows or not enough of them depending on your moral calculus. It is different because I know how much it meant to Gonzales to title the record in Spanish and claim her

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identity as a Xicana in a scene that failed to acknowledge her. And punk has always been punctuated by getting to know one another, at least for me. When I met someone or saw a band live, it changed everything about how I listened to their music or read their zine. What is punk if it is isn’t this strange experience of time travel in which past activity transforms present experiences and vice versa? Finally, I will end with one last example of punk temporality, drawn from Bag’s account of her band Cholita, fronted by the drag queen Vaginal Davis, from the 1980s. Being backstage “at a Cholita performance is a bit like seeing a bomb explode in a drag queen’s closet” with costumes everywhere. The elaborate performance makes a simple point about punk and its strange temporality that makes “kids” out of us all (2011, p.  378). Davis insisted “that every member dress the part and adopt the persona of a teenage Latina, the more colorful and over the top, the better,” leading to chaotic performances with a “message of social and sexual equality behind the mascara” (378). And isn’t this a perfect representation, in part at least, of what punk is for anyone who ages with it, a way of being a little bit young—immature, even—at the same time that one grows older, still holding out-of-step ideals and working, always working, towards a more just world with all the knowledge and tactics that one picks up along the way?

References Bag, A. (2011). Violence Girl: East L.A. Rage to Hollywood Stage, A Chicana Punk Story. Feral House. Bag, A. (2012). Work that Hoe: Tilling the Soil of Punk Feminism. Women & Performance: A Journal of Feminist Theory, 22(2–3), 233–238. https://doi. org/10.1080/0740770X.2012.721079 Bennet, A. (2006). Punk’s Not Dead: The Continuing Significance of Punk Rock for an Older Generation of Fans. Sociology, 40(2), 219–235. https://doi. org/10.1177/0038038506062030 Davis, J. R. (2012). Punk, Ageing and the Expectations of Adult Life. In A. Bennet & P. Hodkinson (Eds.), Ageing and Youth Culture: Music, Style and Identity (pp. 105–118). Routledge. Done Dying. (2013). Anthem. Shelf Life. Duncombe, S. (2008). Notes from the Underground: Zines and the Politics of Alterative Culture. Microcosm. Gonzales, M.  C. (2016). The Spitboy Rule: Tales of a Xicana in a Female Punk Band. PM Press.

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Griffin, N. (2012). Gendered Performance and Performing Gender in the DIY Punk and Hardcore Music Scene. Journal of International Women’s Studies, 13(2), 66–81. Haenfler, R. (2012). ‘More than the Xs on My Hands’: Older Straight Edgers and the Meaning of Style. In A. Bennet & P. Hodkinson (Eds.), Ageing and Youth Culture: Music, Style and Identity (pp. 9–23). Routledge. Lohman, K., & Raghunath, A. (2019). Notes in the Margins. Punk & Post-Punk, 8(2), 189–192. https://doi.org/10.1386/punk.8.2.189_2 Martin, V. (2012). Simba: A Collection of Personal and Political Writings from the Nineties Hardcore Scene. Vitriol Records. Nguyen, M. (2011). It’s (Not) a White World: Looking for Race in Punk. In S. Duncombe & M. Tremblay (Eds.), White Riot: Punk Rock and the Politics of Race (pp. 257–267). Verso. Phillipov, M. (2006). Haunted by the Spirit of ’77: Punk Studies and the Persistence of Politics. Journal of Media and Cultural Studies, 20(3), 383–393. https://doi.org/10.1080/10304310600814326 Potter, S. (2019). Making Spaces Safer: A Guide to Giving Harassment the Boot Wherever You Work, Play, and Gather. AK Press. Reddington, H. (2016). The Lost Women of Rock Music: Female Musicians of the Punk Era. Routledge. Stewart, F. (2019). ‘No more heroes anymore’: Marginalized Identities in Punk Memorialization and Curation. Punk & Post-Punk, 8(2), 209–226. https:// doi.org/10.1386/punk.8.2.209_1 Way, L. (2019). ‘I don’t go to the gigs to go to the gigs—I don’t give a shit about the gigs!’: Exploring GIG Attendance and Older Punk Women. Punk & Post-­ Punk, 8(2), 257–269. https://doi.org/10.1386/punk.8.2.257_1

CHAPTER 13

Generation Lost: Resignation, Rupture, and the Infinite Realities of Post-Future Punk Owen Morawitz

Before: “It Doesn’t Feel Like the Future…” Consider the following. If the future is already over, what comes after? The sensation of time has an innate sense of presence that is both immediately familiar and strangely intimate: “Why do we remember the past and not the future? Do we exist in time, or does time exist in us? What does it really mean to say that time ‘passes’? What ties time to our nature as persons, to our subjectivity?” (Rovelli, 2018, pp. 2–3). In After The Future, Franco ‘Bifo’ Berardi (2011) describes how the twentieth century represented the peak of a mythic temporalisation of the future, corresponding to a concept of progress that was necessary to orient political action towards progressive ends (pp. 11, 18). Regardless of their ideological contours, the dominant conceptual frameworks of that century—liberalism and social democracy; nationalism and communism; bourgeois production and economic expansion under modernity and capitalism—all shared

O. Morawitz (*) Independent Scholar, Brisbane, QLD, Australia e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9_13

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a common certainty that was inherently wedded to this mythic state of temporalisation, namely that, “notwithstanding the darkness of the present, the future will be bright” (Berardi, 2011, p. 18). Yet it was not futurity’s temporal orientation but the psychological perception of the future itself which was mythologised, a view which emerged within progressive modernity and peaked following the Second World War. However, traditional notions of futurity did not simply disappear overnight; rather, the sociopolitical attitudes and cultural expectations established in the latter half of the twentieth century worked to bring about “the slow cancellation of the future” (Berardi, 2011, p. 18). For Berardi (2011), the dwindling promise of progressive modernity can be traced back to a specific and curious temporal flashpoint: the 1977 release of “God Save the Queen” by The Sex Pistols. While the track’s original title, “No Future,” works as “a self-fulfilling prophecy that slowly enveloped the world,” the repetition of frontman John Lydon’s sneering lyrical refrain and its abrasive sense of finality also corresponds to this marked shift in psychological perception: When the punks cried “No Future,” at the turning point of 1977, it seemed like a paradox that couldn’t be taken too seriously. Actually, it was the announcement of something quite important: the perception of the future was changing. The future is not a natural dimension of the mind. It is a modality of projection and imagination, a feature of expectation and attention, and its modalities and features change with the changing of cultures. (Berardi, 2011, p. 17, 24–25)

Linking this shift in psychological perception to the tensions imposed upon cultural production and human desire, Mark Fisher (2014) argues that the boundless horizon of twenty-first century potential has been severely dampened and limited by an increasingly “crushing sense of finitude and exhaustion [where it] doesn’t feel like the future” (p. 8). Through this feeling, twenty-first century culture can be defined by its pronounced sense of lack and absence, where “in one very important sense, there is no present to grasp and articulate any more” (Fisher, 2014, p. 9). Within the realm of contemporary music, we see this loss of futurity manifest itself in two distinct ways: first, as a discursive cultural product that eschews newness in favour of endless repetition and pastiche, that is, in music that no longer feels futuristic; and second, a collective lack of perception or awareness of the present as an ephemeral historical moment

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(Fisher, 2014). Punk, like many other musical genres, is continually revisited through modes of representation that serve to reinforce a compulsive repetition and empty nostalgia for the vitriolic glory days. Simultaneously, genuinely new and exciting visions for radical futures remain obscured and closed off as potential sites for meaningful cultural production. All of which brings us back to our original question, albeit slightly reframed: If the future is to be forever perched on that boundless horizon of a time yet to come, one destined to be endlessly obstructed, how, if at all, could we ever hope to move beyond it? What happens to punk when the culture it aims to counter stubbornly refuses to change? If “the end of the future” is to be found within the “complex constellations of the present,” how might punk seek to actualise its own post-future potential in this current decade (Berardi, 2011, p. 11)? While many scholars would likely reject the notion of punk as a cohesive social movement (and perhaps rightfully so), this chapter seeks to identify and explore how the genre’s contemporary forms nonetheless contain the foundations necessary for cultivating radical forms of authenticity and subjectivity. Amidst the sociopolitical tumult of 2020, three acts from disparate subgenres of punk—Spanish Love Songs, Code Orange, and Enter Shikari—released music that sought to grasp and articulate themes of resignation, rupture, and infinite realities. By analysing how these acts engage directly with the political valences of our turbulent present, this chapter will demonstrate how artists positioned on punk’s vanguard actively work to resist this static temporalisation and, in turn, inevitably gesture towards the genre’s post-future potentiality.

Resignation: “It Gets Harder, Doesn’t It?” While the internal politics of punk itself are inherently messy, the genre’s signification of negation as a means to agency and empowerment relate directly (and, in some instances, often contentiously) to “contemporaneous socio-political questions”: Not only did punk engender creativity, it also forged cultures that challenged prevailing social (and socioeconomic) norms in irreverent and provocative ways. Equally, punk’s critical sensibility—and tendency to social commentary—allowed for deeper interpretation, filtering countercultural, artistic and ideological influences through a youth cultural lens at a time of broader socioeconomic and political change. (Worley, 2017, p. 254)

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However, if punk truly engenders creativity and a tendency towards social commentary, where are the protest songs for this current decade? Furthermore, one might ask why is it that punk in particular struggles to articulate and interpret the present? For Deena Weinstein (2006), the answer, in many instances, is the lack of interpretative skills and misapprehension on the part of a wider musical audience. Protest songs are typically oriented towards a specificity of injustice, “whether it is power in general, some particular policy or a specific instance of abuse of power” (Weinstein, 2006, p. 3). However, due to the cynicism and consolidation of mainstream media and corporate capitalism, the ability of protest songs to act as meaningful catalysts for social change has been considerably reduced. If the perceived cause of injustice is diffuse, wide-ranging, and powerful to the point of universality and ubiquity, the ability of a protest song to narrow in on the specificity of the problem becomes diminished. Applying this reasoning to the scarcity of punk protest songs and Berardi’s thesis of slow cancellation, there is a clear link between the “psycho bombs” of competition, commercialisation, and labour under capitalism—depression, panic, unhappiness, anxiety, fear—and the affective conditions of those afflicted by the perversity of contemporary culture (Genosko & Thoburn, 2011). More specifically, Berardi’s (2011) analysis of depression as a principal affective driver in younger generations narrows in on two crucial aspects: first, the by-product of panic induced by the sensory overload of the digital age, exacerbated by the competitive and narcissistic structures of enterprise, in turn forcing a withdrawal from the psychosocial sphere; and second, at the root of it all, the glaring feebleness of political will to generate effective change in the everyday living conditions of the capitalist underclass (Genosko & Thoburn, 2011). Coupled together, these aspects become symptomatic of a mood of grim resignation towards the future, a lack of belief in the ability of the status quo to change or improve in any meaningful way. One such instance of poignant despair can be found on Brave Faces Everyone (2020), the third studio album from Californian punk rock quintet Spanish Love Songs. On the opening verse of “Losers,” a melodic mid-tempo track and the album’s lead single, frontman and guitarist Dylan Slocum consciously pairs the real-world effects of neoliberal policies with a depressive millennial worldview:

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Well, we’re gonna waste the days/ Getting outpriced of our apartments. Hoping we don’t go homeless/ We sure as shit ain’t moving home. Watching television, we’re stealing from our parents/ So many opinions on how we live/ But there’s no option for even how to get out of bed. (2020)

Here, Slocum’s lyrics pointedly articulate the song’s core themes of precarity and impotence. The fragmentation of the present has become “reversed in the implosion of the future,” as the once-temporary conditions envisioned by the adoption of and adherence to neoliberal reforms have now become the dominant form of labour relations. Precarity, then, is no longer just a conditional feature of twenty-first-century living but the “general form of the labor relation in a productive, digitalized sphere, reticular and recombinant” (Berardi, 2011, p. 88). Taking his parents as direct inspiration, who lost their house and jobs during the global financial collapse of 2008, Slocum seeks to describe how financial insecurity has now become a multi-generational affliction: I’ve lived month-to-month since I graduated college, and even in college I only wasn’t because I was living off loans that I now owe. I worked my ass off in college, but I still had loans. Most people—everybody, maybe—are stressed about money. Even things you don’t always realize is money, is money. Healthcare is money, climate change is money, mental health is definitely money. Everything comes down to money and capitalism… the bane of our existence. (De Freitas, 2020)

Against a background of wage stagnation, ever-rising rents, and the increasing threat of homelessness, this pervasive sense of economic uncertainty yields paradoxical and self-contradictory strategies, perpetuating seemingly unending cycles of impotent struggle and immiseration. Faced with this harsh reality and the totalisation of a capitalist worldview that frames every issue as constituted by and only resolvable through the relentless pursuit of capital, it’s hardly surprising that, for Slocum and many others, depression has become “the prevailing feeling of [a] generation,” where the perception of decline is no longer explicitly tied to a denuded trust in mass politics, but rather to a deeper, underlying cause: “a scenario of social and psychic involution that [seems] to cancel every possibility of building alternatives” (Berardi, 2011, p. 87).

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Moving into the track’s chorus, Slocum personalises this dark sentiment through expressions of internal struggle and suicidality: And my bleak mind/ Says it’s cheaper just to die. The prick inside my head’s/ Laid off and daring me to try. My bleak mind says this is all you got/ Hoping all this time. But all you’ll find is/ It gets harder, doesn’t it? (Spanish Love Songs, 2020)

By connecting blame and responsibility with the faults and failures of the individual, Fisher (2017) stresses how the ontology of the ruling class is one that purposefully denies any possible social causation for mental illness: The chemico-biologisation of mental illness is of course strictly commensurate with its de-politicisation.… It goes without saying that all mental illnesses are neurologically instantiated, but this says nothing about their causation.… To a degree unprecedented in any other social system (and capitalism is very precisely NOT a social ‘structure’ in the way that the despotic state or primitive socius are), capitalism both feeds on and reproduces the moods of populations. (p. 436)

The juxtaposition between desire and depression works to reveal the central tension within “Losers,” where the punk catharsis of the group’s uplifting instrumentals contrast against Slocum’s narrative anguish, exasperation, and bleak forecast for millennial potential. As a horizon of potentiality, the future is viewed as a threat when “the collective imagination becomes incapable of seeing alternatives to trends leading to devastation, increased poverty, and violence” (Berardi, 2011, p.  59). Under such oppressive conditions, the psychopathology of the depressive is left with little option but to question the very foundations of being (Berardi, 2011). If the future conforms with Berardi’s modality of projection, the pervasive mood of grim resignation captured by Spanish Love Songs correlates to a dissipation of expectation and imagination, as increased precarity and impotence generates frustration and despair. Echoing Slocum’s final line (“We’re mediocre/We’re losers forever”), Berardi (2011) asserts that the absence of movement and degradation of the public sphere have obstructed

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real pathways for multiple generations to actualise their post-future potential: The so-called neoliberal reforms that are continuously imposed on an increasingly fragmented, defeated, impotent society, which has been crushed by the dominant ideologies, are directed toward the destruction of any economic security for working people…. The essential idea is that we all should consider life as an economic venture, as a race where there are winners and losers. (p. 66)

Rupture: “It’s Even Deeper than Before…” How then might punk push past its own grim resignation and break free from this epidemic of depressive psychopathology? One possible pathway, Berardi (2011) proposes, is to directly challenge and disrupt “the century with no future”: The terms “denunciation” and “engagement” no longer have meaning when you are a fish getting ready to be cooked. Artists no longer search for a rupture, and how could they? They seek a path that leads to a state of equilibrium between irony and cynicism, that allows them to delay the execution, at least for a moment. All energy has moved to the war front. (p. 42, 44)

On their fifth LP, Underneath (2020), Code Orange boldly strive for artistic dissolution, using the atypical genre assemblages of metallic hardcore, harsh industrial noise, and jagged electronics to achieve a form of ideological rupture. Across the album’s three pre-release tracks and their respective music videos, the Pittsburgh quintet combine vivid Gothic imagery with cyberpunk surrealism, crafting a visual aesthetic that serves to accentuate and sharpen lyrical themes of violent de-personalisation, mechanised aggression, engineered schizophrenia, and the existential horror of bodies without organs. Second single “Swallowing the Rabbit Whole” takes this need for rupture and focuses on a phenomenologically rigorous representation of digitality, a world dominated by competing flows of information accelerated along spatial and temporal dimensions. After a cacophonous build­up and the sonic detonation of the group’s immense hardcore-infused fury, frontman Jami Morgan’s opening verse interpolates systems of control with themes of agency, descent, and consumption:

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It’s even deeper than before/ The hole has swallowed us, the prey are in control. I’ve seen the other side, it’s darker than it was/ It stretches what I love until it falls apart. In the minutia and the nuance, there’s a cloud heavy above/ Watching it inch closer, the blackest beam to take me up. Can’t see it, couldn’t touch it, even from the highest rung/ In this cell we call a full life, is it here I’m finally stuck? (Code Orange, 2020)

Here, absence and negation are inverted. The body is both whole and hole, everything and nothing at once. In this way, the embodied nature and confrontational mindset of Underneath embraces what Fisher (2018) classifies as the Gothic Flatline, “where to have agency is not necessarily to be alive” (p. 2). Along the radical immanence of this philosophical plane, life and creation are not opposed to death and destruction but are instead elements of the same vast ontological whole. Trapped in the liminal space between life and death, the human body becomes merely a processor for “bio-info”: Digital and biotechnologies have turned the external machine of iron and steel into the internalized and recombining machine of the bio-info era. The bio-info machine is no longer separable from body or mind because it’s no longer an external tool, but an internal transformer of body and mind, a linguistic and cognitive enhancer. Now the nanomachine is mutating the human brain and the linguistic ability to produce and communicate. The machine is us. (Berardi, 2011, p. 23)

Where the twentieth century saw the machine of speed complete the internalisation of global space through domestic labour, globalisation, and the eventual triumph of liberal democracy, the twenty-first century became the domain of time, fought through the domination of mind and body, of perception and social attention. As Berardi (2011) argues, the “collapse of the future is rooted in the acceleration of psychic and cognitive rhythm” (p. 23). Throughout “Swallowing the Rabbit Whole,” Code Orange utilise aggressive tempo changes and sudden bursts of devastating heaviness to emphasise themes of collapse and rupture. As the track shifts into a punk-­ inspired d-beat, Morgan screams of the desire for self-destruction in the face of sensory overload:

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With the soldiers and all the suffering/ All good men but the smothering of what’s undone runs like blood. A synaesthesia-filled needle pokes through the skin/ How can I be so certain, that this was more than the sum of our urges? (Code Orange, 2020)

These urges—our desires—Fisher (2018) argues, support the need for radical immanence in our technological age: “The desire of human beings supposedly explains the existence of machines, but how are we to account for this desire? How is it produced?” (p. 116). Code Orange attempt to answer this question by following the hunger, the swallowing, the descent into the rabbit (w)hole, where it naturally leads—through darkness, through endless consumption, through late-capitalist manufacture, through death and destruction—all to be reborn anew in the blazing inferno of violent retribution. Against the bludgeoning breakdown that cleaves the rhythmic meter of the track’s midsection, the band chants in unison: “Down, we, go” (Code Orange, 2020). As Worley (2017) attests, punk’s politics reside both “in its refusal and its practice,” where an awareness of the genre’s media manipulation, commercialisation, and cultural appropriation can be directed against “contemporaneous sociopolitical questions” (p. 254). Affirming this position, Morgan’s lyrics in the track’s bridge doubles down on this confrontational approach, skewering the acceleration of time in an era of digitality and bioinformation: It felt so good to analyze and correct/ But you never really know until the foot’s on your neck. Where will I be when I’ve aged and I can’t connect? With these little rat fuck kids and the pigs who sign the checks? When buzzing noise rots your ears and the breath clogs your chest/ Or better yet what are you gonna do/ When it comes your turn to pay time’s debt? (Code Orange, 2020)

By emphasising the de-personalisation of the body as merely a processor of bioinformation, along with the use of aggressive compositions as distortions of temporal perception, Underneath becomes a conflagration of digital decadence transfigured as a site of revolt, the “resistance of the social itself to the scene of its own disintegration” (Jackson, 2006, p. 188). In this sense, through their mission statement of artistic dissolution, Code

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Orange actively work to reveal and rupture the “inability of the social body to escape the vicious destiny that capitalism has prepared: deactivation of the social energies that once upon a time animated democracy and political struggle” (Berardi, 2011, p. 138).

Infinite Realities: “I Feel It Coming in the Air…” There is perhaps no statement more effective, pernicious, and brutally totalising in its view of reality than “There is no alternative”: a political slogan (commonly abbreviated as T.I.N.A.) attributed to the infamous ‘Iron Lady’ of British politics, stateswoman and former prime minister of the United Kingdom, Margaret Thatcher. By borrowing a turn of phrase from Victorian philosopher Herbert Spencer, Thatcherite ideology would do more than simply oppose differing forms of government; instead, it actively performed a negation of differing possibilities (Hofstadter, 1944, pp. 4–6). After her swift rise to power within the United Kingdom’s Conservative Party, Thatcher’s fifteen-year leadership was marked by policies advocating for neoliberalism, free-market ideology, a deregulated, restructured capitalism, excessive austerity, and the dismantling of the welfare state—a policy platform in direct conflict with Labour’s established theory of social democracy (Berlinski, 2011, p. 115). Despite oscillating periods of unpopularity, Thatcher’s reign was ultimately vindicated by the eventual collapse of the Soviet Union in 1989, an event which led to Francis Fukuyama’s famous proclamation that the worldwide ascendancy of (neo)liberal democracy over communism and social democracy as the dominant system of political governance constituted “the End of History” (Hughes, 2011, p. 35). In the decade since her death in 2013, Thatcher’s political legacy continues to exert considerable influence both inside and outside the sphere of European politics (Albertson & Stepney, 2019). Against this background of historical and political uncertainty, British outfit Enter Shikari have found success and longevity through an eclectic fusion of electronica and punk rock. Across their back catalogue—a veritable cornucopia of genre soundscapes including hardcore, dubstep, metalcore, Brit-pop, classical, post-hardcore, and jungle—one finds a divisive political core. On their sixth LP, the poignantly titled Nothing Is True and Everything Is Possible (2020), the St Albans quartet tackle feelings of anxiety and stasis head-on with “T.I.N.A.”: a euphoric, three-minute rave

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punk rager that functions as an ode to ideological struggle, infinite realities, and the spectre of possibility. Vocalist, lyricist, and conceptual mastermind Rou Reynolds begins with a recitation of Thatcher’s slogan, fusing his spoken word delivery with a mixture of despair and hope: There is no alternative/ Take my hand if you want to live. (Enter Shikari, 2020)

Here, Reynolds’ invitation to the listener is at once both infectious and euphoric. As the frontman explains, “T.I.N.A.” is “about the stunting of thought” and was written to evoke a sense of temporal dislocation and ephemeral timelessness (Nothing is True & Everything is Possible, 2020). Transitioning to the pre-verse refrain, Reynolds’ voice soars on hung melodies, embracing the liberating jouissance of familiar dance floor anthems: No, I feel it coming in the air/ You can enter if you dare. It’s the essence of humanity/ To build an infinite reality. (Enter Shikari, 2020)

Themes of war, violence, and death collide, propelled along by percussive dance beats, as the weight of history becomes a burden on the consciousness of the governed subject. Moving into the verse, daring becomes a physical manifestation of desire, an exertion of free will and human nature, where: The present is the past that we cannot shed/ Umbilical cord that we cannot cut/ A secret trapdoor that we cannot shut. (Enter Shikari, 2020)

For Reynolds, our current condition of stasis and anachronism has led to a form of ideological purgatory that disavows the spectre of possibility: Possibility isn’t something that’s just positive or motivating anymore. Normally when people hear the word ‘possibility’ they think of the future. “What can we design? What are we capable of?” Whereas now I think we’re almost like, “Oh Christ, what’s next?” [There are] so many disconcerting things happening in the world…. And you have to watch it because it’s very

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easy to get into a nihilist way of thinking—“Everything’s fucked, fuck it!”— which is obviously never going to help anyone, then it becomes self-­ defeating. (Rose, 2020)

As Fisher (2017) writes, the “immanent transformative immediacy” of countercultural movements represented a threat to the perverse legacy of Thatcherite ideology through its affirmation of collective desire: It reinforced the feelings of despair, disaffection and rage that bourgeois culture ordinarily makes us distrust. As such, music functioned as a form of consciousness-raising, in a which a mass audience could not only experience its feelings being validated, it could locate the origins of those feelings in oppressive structures. (p. 423)

Rather than give in to resignation, Enter Shikari seize upon this desire for rupture and embrace the potential of a post-future world. Daring to allude to hope, Reynolds’ pre-chorus pierces the listener’s mental veil in an attempt to see both through and beyond what Thatcherite ideology has deliberately obstructed: I never noticed you were in disguise/ But now I see you T.I.N.A. (T.I.N.A., T.I.N.A). You were a barrier around my mind/ Yeah, I see through you T.I.N.A. (T.I.N.A., T.I.N.A.). (Enter Shikari, 2020)

By turning the slogan-as-object into a subject, this anthropomorphised “T.I.N.A.” is made to embody an allusive spectre—if only “she” could be convinced. For Reynolds and Enter Shikari, it is the ignorance of “T.I.N.A.” as a governing political worldview, and, by proxy, the steadfast adherents of neoliberal dogma, that provides an opportunity for consciousness-­raising in the twenty-first century. The focus of social transformation, Berardi (2011) notes, rests in the pursuit of creative singularity as a contagious force: The present ignorance has to be seen as the space of a possibility…. The force of collective intelligence is boundless. Theoretically. But it currently lacks any consciousness of itself. Intelligence without self-consciousness…. The ignorance of the general intellect is the starting point, after the future. (p. 163)

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Through an infectious hook and triumphant chorus, the track’s sonic contagion moves from the phenomenological to the ontological, turning the act of seeing into being itself: a projection of possibility and an orientation towards the infinite realities of human potential. In this way, the productive power of “T.I.N.A.” resides in its ability to actualise what Worley (2017) describes as punk’s dialectical stimulus, the negation of a negation. Through his lyrical gestures, Reynolds seeks to denounce the neoliberal self’s denial of “impersonal and collective structures,” instead creating a space for a new unbound subject, a “we that is both the agent of struggle and what is being struggled for” (Fisher, 2017, pp.  420–21). As Enter Shikari’s album title makes all-too clear: everything is possible. The choice, then, is ours.

After: “The Promise Is Over” In the closing chapter of After the Future, Berardi (2011) interpolates and reframes the work of early twentieth-century Italian art theorist Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, presenting a “Manifesto of Post-Futurism” (p. 165). Across eleven points of action, Berardi (2011) calls for a widespread social recomposition at the “extreme promontory of the centuries,” where poetry is cast as a bridge “over the abyss of nothingness to allow the sharing of different imaginations and to free singularities” (p. 166). Only by abolishing the separation “between poetry and mass communication” and reclaiming “the power of media from the merchants,” can artists hope to turn their art into “a life-changing force,” one ready to “sing to the infinity of the present and abandon the illusion of a future” (Berardi, 2011, p. 166). The grand nostalgic vision of punk is one of ongoing ideological contestation, a sneering challenge and raised middle finger in the face of dominant ideologies, hegemonic forces, and social normalisation (Hebdige, 1979, pp. 138–139). Yet, as Fisher (2014) notes, punk, like all forms of cultural production, has not been immune from the “gradual yet relentless way in which the future has been eroded over the last 30 years” (p. 13). Locked in endemic forms of paralysis, punk’s formalism has been gripped firmly in the stranglehold of endless repetition and hollow pastiche. Indeed, overcoming these historical antimonies and becoming a true community of resistance, Kelly (2006) suggests, will require the resolve to ask more authentic questions:

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What might appear as humanity or universal human community if one radically reconsiders the very concept of the future? Where are there instances of human solidarity that explore or disclose concepts of temporality that resist assimilation into the sway of an historical framework determined by technology? (p. 151)

The three acts discussed in this chapter have dared to ask such authentic questions, in turn providing a vital and necessary voice for the Generation Lost—through Spanish Love Song’s ode to millennial precarity and resignation, in Code Orange’s savage cry for rupture and digital disintegration, and the euphoric power of Enter Shikari’s spectre of possibility. Through their musical expression and avid creativity, these artists seek to reclaim punk as a multi-valent movement for the youth subculture of the present, of and for the collective subjects of our ephemeral ‘now’, a movement with vast potential and an unknown future trajectory, a movement that must embrace communal solidarity and the infinite realities of lost futures.

References Albertson, K., & Stepney, P. (2019). 1979 and All That: A 40-year Reassessment of Margaret Thatcher’s Legacy on Her Own Terms. Cambridge Journal of Economics, 44(2), 319–342. https://doi.org/10.1093/cje/bez037 Berardi, F. (2011). In G. Genosko & N. Thoburn (Eds.), After The Future. AK Press. Berlinski, C. (2011). There Is No Alternative: Why Margaret Thatcher Matters. Basic Books. Code Orange. (2020, February 8). Swallowing The Rabbit Whole [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ctn14oYz0qA De Freitas, R. (2020, February 11). Break Even Or Die Trying: Spanish Love Songs’ Dylan Slocum on Punk Success. The Hard Times. https://noise.thehardtimes.net/2020/02/11/break-­e ven-­o r-dietrying-­spanish-­love-­songs-­dylan-­slocum-­on-­punk-­success/ Enter Shikari. (2020). T.I.N.A. [Song]. On Nothing Is True & Everything Is Possible [Album]. SO Recordings. Fisher, M. (2014). Ghosts of My Life: Writings on Depression, Hauntology and Lost Futures. Zero Books. Fisher, M. (2017). In D. Ambrose (Ed.), K-punk: The Collected and Unpublished Writing of Mark Fisher (2004–2016). Repeater Books. Fisher, M. (2018). Flatline Constructs: Gothic Materialism and Cybernetic Theory-­ Fiction. Exmilitary Press. (Original Work Published 1999). Genosko, G., & Thoburn, N. (2011). The Transversal Communism of Franco Berardi. In After The Future (pp. 3–8). AK Press.

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Hebdige, D. (1979). Subculture: The Meaning of Style. Methuen. Hofstadter, R. (1944). Social Darwinism in American Thought  – 1860–1915. University of Philadelphia Press. Hughes, C. (2011). Liberal Democracy as the End of History: Fukuyama and Postmodern Challenges. Routledge. Jackson, K. (2006). Gothic Music and the Decadent Individual. In I.  Peddie (Ed.), The Resisting Muse: Popular Music and Social Protest (1st ed., pp. 177–188). Ashgate. Kelly, S. K. (2006). Communities of Resistance: Heavy Metal as a Reinvention of Social Technology. In I. Peddie (Ed.), The Resisting Muse: Popular Music and Social Protest (1st ed., pp. 149–162). Ashgate. Nothing Is True & Everything Is Possible. (2020, April 17). Apple Music. https://music.apple.com/gb/album/nothing-­i s-­t r ue-ever ythingis-­possible/1496648817 Rose, A. (2020, April 21). Enter Shikari: Making Sense of the Nonsensical. Hysteria Magazine. https://www.hysteriamag.com/entershikari-­making-­sense-­nonsensical/ Rovelli, C. (2018). The Order of Time (E. Segre & S. Carnell, Trans.). Penguin. Spanish Love Songs. (2020). Losers [Song]. On Brave Faces Everyone [Album]. Pure Noise Records. Weinstein, D. (2006). Rock Protest Songs: So Many and So Few. In I.  Peddie (Ed.), The Resisting Muse: Popular Music and Social Protest (1st ed., pp. 3–16). Ashgate. Worley, M. (2017). No Future: Punk, Politics and British Youth Culture, 1976–1984. Cambridge University Press.

Index

A Abuse, 215 See also Violence Addiction, 40 Adolescence, 53, 56, 65–66, 121, 122, 124 Age appropriateness, 17, 19, 26–27, 30, 96, 97 Age convergence, 77–80 running across generations, 81–83 Running Punks, 73, 84–87 See also Generational differences Ageism ageing-punk conflict, 19–20 balance with punk values, 26–30 cultural expectations overview, 16–18 feminist toolkit, 23–25, 27 moments of conformity, 25–26 punk toolkit, 21–23, 25–26, 28–29

Alcohol, 40–41, 46 Aldridge, Ren, 234 Alley, Sin, 143–144 Anarchism, 6, 7, 113, 115–120, 124–129 See also British anarcho-punk Anarchist Black Cross, 125 Anarchist Federation, 125 Anarchist Youth Federation (AYF), 119 Anderson, Timothy, 80 Andes, Linda, 6 Animal rights, 37, 124, 228 Anti-authoritarianism, 18–21 British anarcho-punk, 118, 124, 127–128 Anti-consumerism, 18 Anti-Flag, 65 Anti-Pasti, 161 Appearance, 2, 18–19, 21, 145–150 female punks, 20, 24–28

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 L. Way, M. Grimes (eds.), Punk, Ageing and Time, Palgrave Studies in the History of Subcultures and Popular Music, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-47823-9

259

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INDEX

Archiving, 3–4, 201–203 queer punk; accounts and experiences, 214–215; Bent Fest workshop, 206–210; creativity, 210–212; space and place, 212–213, 215 scholarship and music heritage, 203–205 Art, see History writing; Midlife creativity; Zines Arthur, Damien, 82–83 Ashmore, Paul, 209 Authenticity, 35, 38, 80, 98–101 creative work, 170 post-future punk, 245, 255–256 psychobilly, 140–144; fashionable memories, 146–150; spatial marginalization, 150–153 Autoethnography, 73–74, 77–87 B Bad Religion, 54 Bag, Alice, Violence Girl (2011), 225–231 ageing and shaping diversity, 235–236 punk temporalities, 236–240 The Bags, 229–230 Baker, Sarah, 204, 210 Bauhaus, 167 B-Boys, 5 The Beatles, ‘When I’m Sixty-Four’ (1967), 76 Becker, Howard, 172–173 Bennett, Andy, 5–6, 37, 85–86, 204, 228 challenging stereotypes, 109 collective nostalgia, 80 critical overseers, 102, 235–236 gig going, 28, 96 music heritage, 203

youthful naivety, 129 Bent Fest, 202, 206–210 Berardi, Franco, After the Future (2011), 243–244, 246, 248–250, 254–255 Beringer, Dan, 38–40, 42, 47 Berlin psychobillies, 135–136 fashionable memories, 145–150 memory and subculture in Germany, 137–138 real psychobilly, 140–144 spatial marginalization and embodied authenticity, 150–153 violent origins of, 138–140 Bérubé-Sasseville, Olivier, 3–4 Bioinformation, 250–252 Birmingham Music Archive, 202 Birth, Kevin, 153 Bishopsgate Institute Library and Archive (London), 216 Blaikie, Andrew, 77 Blondie, 79–80 Bodies, 46–47, 77, 151–153, 250–252 Bohemianism, 106, 107 Bolin, Göran, 66 Bourdieu, Pierre, 35 Bradbury, Hilary, 205 Bray, Ryan, 55 Bricolage, 18 British anarcho-punk, 7, 113–115 anarchism then and now, 124–129 identity, memory, and nostalgia, 6, 121–124 relationship with anarchism, 115–120 British Library (London), 3, 203 British Museum (London), 236 Buxton, Darrell, 159–160, 164–168, 173 The Byrds 'Turn! Turn! Turn!' (1965), 76

 INDEX 

C Cameron, Laura J., 215 Cantillon, Zelmarie, 204, 205 Capitalism, 34, 100, 119, 227, 246–249 Career punks, 97 The Castration Squad, 229 Caswell, Michelle, 202, 208, 214 Chalmers, Tandy D., 82–83 Chaufour, Lucile, 36 Chidgey, Red, 180 Childcare, 48 Cholita, 240 The Clash, 116, 189 ‘Janie Jones’ (1977), 76–77 Class War, 119 Code Orange, ‘Swallowing the Rabbit Whole’ (2020), 245, 249–252 Cohen, Sara, 204 Collaborative practice archival workshops, 201–203; Bent Fest workshop methods, 205–210; Bent Fest workshop results, 210–215 zine-making, 181, 195 Collectivity, 43, 82–83 collective memories, 49, 136, 138, 151 collective nostalgia, 80 DIY ethos, 186–187, 195 Commercialism, 59–61, 169–170 Communism, 33–34, 36, 41–42 Community-led archiving, see Archiving Community, value of, 186–187 Compilation albums, see Punk-O-­ Rama (1994–2005) Concrete Blonde, 167 Conformity, 25–26 Connerton, Paul, 151 Conway, Martin A., 122 Cooper, Charlotte, 202, 207

261

Copper, Baba, 18, 20 Corporate incorporators, 97 Covid-19 pandemic, 182 Covid Realities, 181 Crass, 43, 115–120, 166 ‘Punk Is Dead’ (1978), 114–115 ‘Series of Shock Slogans and Mindless Token Tantrums’ (1982), 117 Creativity, see History writing; Midlife creativity; Zines Critical overseers, 102, 236 Cross, Rich, 118–119 Cultural gerontology, 16–18, 22 Cultural injustice, 204 Cultural production, 211–212, 244–245 Czech punk males, 33–34, 36–37 bodies, work, and family, 46–48 exploiting the past, 41–43 finding home, 43–46 generations and masculinities, 34–35 meanings of punk, 39–41 D Damon, William, 121 Davila, Richard Cruz, 2 Davis, Fred, 123 Davis, Joanna R., 6–7, 77, 97, 102, 128–129 Davis, Vaginal, 240 De Boise, Sam, 35 De Cesari, Chiara, 203 Demented Are Go, 139–140 Democratic ideal, 179–180, 193–194 Denzin, Norman, 56 Depression, 246–249 Dezerter, 36 Digitality, see Technology Digital mapping, 207, 216 Dimova, Rozita, 203

262 

INDEX

Dines, Mike, 115, 116 Disabled people, 16, 169, 236 DiVeglia, Angela L., 214 DIY ethos, 18, 21, 72, 76, 165 careers, 97, 103–107 female perspectives, 19, 25 zine-making, 179, 185, 186, 195 DIY Space for London, 212 Donaghey, Jim, 118 Done Dying, 237 Downes, Julia, 208–209 Drugs, 40–41 E E!E, 38 East Punk Memories (dir. Lucile Chaufour, 2012), 36 Eckert, Fabian, 137 Economic insecurity, 34, 97, 104, 247, 249 Eis, Melanie, 137 Embodied experience, 151–153, 250–252 Employment, see Work issues Engels, Friedrich, 46 Enter Shikari, ‘T.I.N.A.’ (2020), 245, 252–255 Epitaph Records, see Punk-O-Rama (1994–2005) Eves, Alison, 215 Excavating the Reno, 204 Exhibitions, 201, 203–204 F Fales Library (New York), 202 Family, 47–48, 106–107 Fanzines, see Zines Fashion, 145–150 See also Appearance Fashionbillies, 146–148

Fatherhood, 48 Fear of ageing, 76–77 Featherstone, Mike, 95 Female perspectives, 3, 7, 178 ageing-punk conflict, 19–20 ageist pressures vs. punk values, 26–30 cultural expectations overview, 16–18 feminist toolkit, 23–25, 27 moments of conformity, 25–26 psychobilly fashion, 145–150 punk toolkit, 21–23, 25–26, 28–29 punk values across lifecourse, 18–19 zine-making, 182–183; finding ageing, 190–191; punk values, 184–190; reflections on zines as creation, 192–196 Femininity, 142–144, 146–150 Feminism, 19, 77, 143, 232 feminist toolkit, 23–25, 27 queer punk, 207–208 safe spaces, 233–234 zines, 182, 190 Fife, Kirsty, 4 Fisher, Mark, 244, 248, 250, 251, 254, 255 40th anniversary of punk, 2–3, 203, 236 Freire, Paulo, 205 Frith, Simon, 4–5 Frontman (2013–present), 46 Fukuyama, Francis, 252 Fulbrook, Mary, 136 Future punk, see Post-future punk G The Garage (London), 215 Garber, Jenny, 150 Gébová, Daniela, 36–37 Gender

 INDEX 

archives and exhibitions, 201–202 Berlin psychobillies, 136–138, 142–144; fashionable memories, 145–150; spatial marginalization and embodied authenticity, 150–153 female music careers, 230–233 femininity, 142–144, 146–150 feminism, 19, 77, 143, 232; feminist toolkit, 23–25, 27; queer punk, 207–208; safe spaces, 233–234; zines, 182, 190 making safer spaces, 233–234 masculinity, 34–35, 137–138, 142–144, 146–147, 153 Punk-O-Rama, 62 punk temporalities, 227, 238–239 writing and shaping punk, 235–236 See also Czech punk males; Female perspectives Generational differences, 33–34, 77–80, 95 bodies, work, and family, 46–48 exploiting the past, 41–43 finding home, 43–46 meanings of punk, 39–41 Portuguese punks, 98–103 punk masculinities, 34–35 running across generations, 81–83 Running Punks, 73, 84–87 studies on punk and ageing, 36–37 Geographical mapping, 207 Germany, see Berlin psychobillies Giddens, Anthony, 95 Goffman, Erving, 167 The Golden Girls (1985–1992), 77 Gonzales, Michelle Cruz, The Spitboy Rule (2016), 225–229, 231–233 ageing and shaping diversity, 235–236 punk temporalities, 236–240 Gordon, Alastair, 141, 143

263

Gothic Flatline, 250 Gothic subculture, 5, 96–97 Grassroots heritage projects, see Archiving Gray, Emily M., 181 Green, Ben, 56–57 Green Day, 54, 59 Gregory, Julie, 25, 95 Griffin, Naomi, 236 Grimes, Matt, 6, 7, 115 Gullette, Margaret Morganroth, 18 H Haenfler, Ross, 6–7, 25, 37, 228 Halberstam, Jack, 210, 211, 213 Hall, Mirko M., 137 Hancock, Black Hawk, 67 Hardcore punk, 39, 45, 48 Hardy, Steve, 159–160, 164–168, 173 Harry, Debbie, 80 Hart, Daniel, 121 Hawk, Tony, 55–56 Haynes, Pete, 159, 168–171, 173 HeartattaCk (1994–2006), 237 Henriksson, Helena Wahlström, 35 Hepworth, Mike, 95 Hippy counterculture, 4, 116–117, 119 History writing, 201–203 punk women, 225–229; ageing and shaping diversity, 235–236; punk temporalities, 236–240; stories of three women, 229–234 queer punk; accounts and experiences, 214–215; Bent Fest workshop, 206–210; creativity, 210–212; space and place, 212–213, 215 scholarship and music heritage, 203–205

264 

INDEX

Hitchings, Russell, 83 Hobbs, Dick, 120 Hodkinson, Paul, 5, 37, 96 Holland, Samantha, 29, 96 Home, 43–46, 164 Hook, Peter, 161 Hopkin, Mary, ‘Those Were the Days’ (1969), 76 Hosek, Petr (Sid), 36–37 Houpt, Katharine, 180, 182, 195–196 Howes, Seth, 137 Hrabovská, Eva, 38–41, 47, 48 Huber, Alison, 210 Hughes, Langston, 211–212 Hungary, 36 Hypercriticism, 102–103 I Identity formation, 65, 80, 121–124 Identity, shared, 72–74, 82–83, 86–88 Ideological struggle infinite realities, 252–255 resignation, 245–249 rupture, 249–252 Infinite realities, 252–255 Inglis, Chris, 71, 73–74 punk across generations, 77–80 running across generations, 81–83 Running Punks, 84–87 Internet, 62–63, 99–100, 103 J Janssen, Susanne, 203 K Kahn, Leslie, 236 Kelly, Sean K., 255–256 Kien, Grant, 56–57 King, John, 169 King, Nicola, 122–123

Kmeny (dir. Daniela Gébová, 2015), 36–37 Knowledge transmission, 102–103, 163 Kristeva, Julia, 173 Kumová, Petra, 38, 43, 48 Kurík, Bob, 36, 42, 45–46 L Lapsed Clubber Audio Map, 207 Lashua, Brett, 207 Last Mourning, 160 Latham, Alan, 83 Lawler, Steph, 121–122 LCD Soundsystem, ‘Losing My Edge’ (2002), 98 Leblanc, Lauraine, 145 Legacy, 35–36, 63–67, 162 Legends, 97, 102 Leonard, Marion, 203 LGBTQ+, see Queer punk Lorr, Michael J., 67 Los Crudos, 232 Lowis, Michael J., 56 Lupton, Deborah, 181 The Lurkers, 159, 168–169 M MacKaye, Ian, 138 Málek, Stěpán, 46–47 Manchester Digital Music Archive, 202 Manifesto of Post-Futurism, 255 Mannheim, Karl, 34 Marciniak, Marta, 36, 77 Masculinity, 34–35, 137–138, 142–144, 146–147, 153 Maslow, A. H., 56 McKay, George, 117 McKemmish, Sue, 214 McRobbie, Angela, 150

 INDEX 

Media representations, 4, 17, 22, 95 Mental health, 83 Merchandising companies, 105–106 The Meteors, 139–140 ‘Wreckin’ Crew’ (1983), 152 Midlife creativity, 157–159 Johnny Vincent's story, 160–163 maintaining anarchy, 171–173 Pete Haynes' story, 168–171 Steve Hardy and Darrell Buxton’s story, 164–168 Mimicry, 152–153 The Minestompers, 151 Mod subculture, 4 Moon, Tony, 166 Morgan, Ashley, 71, 73–75 punk across generations, 77–80 running across generations, 81–83 Running Punks, 84–87 Morgan, Jami, 249–252 Morgan, Rhodri, 72, 84–85 Mosh pits, 28, 77, 96, 150–152 Muñoz, José Esteban, 214 Music careers in, 46–47, 103–107, 160–161, 230–233 fear of ageing, 76–77 generational differences, 78–80 genres, 95 heritage, 203–205 nostalgia, 5–6 post-future punk, 244–245; ideological rupture, 249–252; infinite realities, 252–255; resignation, 245–249; See also Peak music experiences N Naivety, 129 Narrative construction, 121–123, 214–215 Neoliberalism, 34, 246–247, 252, 254 Nguyen, Mimi Thi, 4

265

Northern Ireland, 147 Nostalgia, 5–6, 95–96, 123–124, 165 collective nostalgia, 80 female perspetives, 191 peak music experiences, 56–57, 66–68 Portuguese punks, 100–101 Novelty, 171–173 N.V.Ú., 46–47 O Official Dreamcast Magazine (1999–2001), 60 The Offspring, 54, 59 O’Hara, Craig, 118 Older punk women, see Female perspectives 1-2-3-4 Go! Records (Oakland), 226 Ouijageist (dir. John R. Walker, 2018), 167 Outsiderism, 79–80, 86, 164–165, 168, 171–173 Ozzi, Dan, 54 P Pacifism, 119 Parenthood, 48, 106–107 Participatory ideal, 179–180, 193–194 Patriarchal systems, 23 Peak music experiences commercial exposure to punk, 59–61 enduring impact of Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater, 61–64 lasting impressions of Punk-O-­ Rama and Pro Skater, 64–67 nostalgia, 56–57 rise of Punk-O-Rama and Pro Skater, 54–56 Persons Unknown trial (1979), 117, 125 Peter, Beate, 207

266 

INDEX

The Petrol Girls, 234 Pigs For Slaughter (1981–1982), 119 Pixová, Michaela, 36, 43, 48 Pizza Hut, 59–60 Place ageism, 28 home, 43–46, 164 queer punk, 212–213, 215 rural environments, 43–45, 164 safe spaces, 233–234 spatial marginalization, 150–153 Poland, 36, 77 Political engagement, 45–46, 64–65, 129–130 zine-making, 188–190 Political squatting, 45 Portugal, 96 career opportunities, 103–107 generational differences, 98–103 Post-future punk, 243–245 ideological rupture, 249–252 infinite realities, 252–255 resignation, 245–249 Post-memory narrative, 123 Post-socialist space, 36 Potter, Shawna, Making Spaces Safer (2019), 225–229, 233–234 ageing and shaping diversity, 235–236 punk temporalities, 236–240 Poverty, 106 Power Lunches (London), 212 Pro Skater (1999–2020), 55–56 commercial exposure to, 59–61 enduring impact of, 61–64 lasting impressions of, 64–67 Protest songs, 246 Psychobilly, see Berlin psychobillies Ptolomey, Amanda, 179, 181 Punk & Post-Punk (2012–present), 75 Punk London (2016), 3, 203 Punk temporalities, 225–229, 236–240, 243–245 See also Post-future punk

Punk toolkit, 21–23, 25–26, 28–29 Punk-O-Rama (1994–2005), 54–55 commercial exposure to, 59–61 enduring impact of, 61–64 lasting impressions of, 64–67 PWR BTTM, 215 Q Queer punk, 201–205 accounts and experiences, 214–215 Bent Fest workshop, 206–210 creativity, 210–212 space and place, 212–213, 215 R Race, 3, 16, 201–202, 232–233 punk temoporalities, 238 writing and shaping punk, 227, 235–236 Rage Against the Machine, 65 Raha, Maria, 23 Ramones, 168 ‘I Don’t Want to Grow Up’ (1995), 75, 76 Record shops, 60, 104–105 Reddington, Helen, 3, 23, 227, 239 Rehák, Vojtěch, 38, 41–42, 45–48 Reminiscence bumps, 56 The Reno (Manchester), 204 Researchers Don’t Cry?!, 181 Resignation, 245–249 Resistance, 162, 171–172, 211 ageing-punk conflict, 19–20 ageist pressures vs. punk values, 26–30 cultural expectations of older women, 16–18 feminist toolkit, 23–25, 27 post-future punk, 255–256 punk toolkit, 21–23, 25–26, 28–29 punk values across lifecourse, 18–19 Retirement, 29–30

 INDEX 

267

Reynolds, Rou, 253–255 Rice, Anne, 167 Ricœur, Paul, 121 Rimbaud, Penny, 116–119 Riot grrrl, 150, 179, 190, 202, 231 Roberts, Les, 204 Robinson, Lucy, 3, 203 Rockers subculture, 4 Rovelli, Carlo, 243 Rowlands, Kevin, 165 The Roxy, 169 The Ruins, 160, 161 Running, 75, 81–83 See also Running Punks Running Punks, 71–73, 75, 84–87 Rural environments, 43–45, 164

queer punk, 206–210, 212–213, 215 safe spaces, 233–234 Spanish Love Songs, ‘Losers’ (2020), 245–249 Spitboy, 231–233, 239–240 Stagnant punks, 97 Stewart, Francis, 2–3, 236 Straight edge, 6–7, 37, 138, 147 Strong, Catherine, 5, 120 Strummer, Joe, 75, 76 Subcultural capital, 35, 38, 41–43, 100, 102–107 Subculture concept, 35–36, 57–58 Subversion, 184–185 Successful ageing theory, 16

S Savage, Jon, 18, 116 Scene identity, 4 Scene rejecters, 97 Schulkind, Matthew D., 5 Sex Pistols, 2, 116, 165 'God Save the Queen' (1977), 244 Shahan, Cyrus M., 137 Shared experiences, 67–68 See also Collectivity Sharp, Megan, 140 Shields, Rob, 44 Sioux, Siouxie, 167 Situationist International (SI), 117 Skill sharing, 187 Skinheads, 138, 139 Slamdancing, 5, 7 The Slits, 166 Slocum, Dylan, 246–249 Smith, Laurajane, 204 Social class, 170, 246 Social injustice, 190, 246 Space older punk women, 17–18, 20 post-socialist spaces, 36 psychobilly spaces, 137, 150–153

T Taylor, Jodie, 85–86, 206, 211, 213 Technology, 62–63, 66, 99–100, 103, 249–252 Teddy Boys subculture, 4 Temporalities, see Punk temporalities Thatcher, Margaret, 252 Thornton, Sarah, 41 Thoroughbreds of Wisdom, 160 Thurnell-Read, Thomas, 101 Tiger Army, 141, 144 Timeline method workshop, 202, 205–210 resulting source, 210–215 Tony Hawk's Pro Skater, see Pro Skater (1999–2020) Torkelson, Jason, 7 Tsitsos, Bill, 7, 77 Tulle, Emmanuelle, 82–83 Twigg, Julia, 17, 27, 77 U UCLA Library Special Collections, 3 UK Subs, 161 Undercover ageism, 22

268 

INDEX

United States of America (USA), 147, 229–233 Utopianism, 126, 129 V Vanian, Dave, 167 Vincent, Johnny, 160–163, 173 Vincour, Lukás, 36–37 Violence, 135–136, 138–142, 151–152, 214–215, 230 Vogel, Shane, 211–212 W Wapping Autonomy Centre (The Anarchist Centre), 117–118, 125–126 Ward, Jessica B., 3 War on Women, 233 Warzone Dialectogram, 207 The Watermelon Woman (dir. Cheryl Dunye, 1996), 207–208 Watkins, Jimmy, 72, 84, 86 Watson, Ash, 181 Way, Laura, 37, 75, 86, 148, 228 Weinstein, Deena, 5, 246 Welfare Imaginaries, 181 The Who, ‘My Generation’ (1965), 76 Williams, Raymond, 159 Wilson, Sherryl, 17 Women Against State Pension Inequality (WASPI), 23

Working-with process, 209 Work issues, 47, 100 female perspectives, 186 music careers, 46–47, 103–107, 160–161, 230–233 Worley, Matthew, 35, 115, 245, 251, 255 Wrecking, 150–152 Writing, see History writing; Midlife creativity; Zines X X-Acto, 105 Xicana women, 227, 231–233 Y Youth culture, 4–6, 57, 75–76, 95–98, 228 Z Zines, 119–120, 164, 206, 211, 236 archiving, 4 history and ethos, 166, 178–182 older women's zine-making, 182–183; finding ageing, 190–191; punk values, 184–190; reflections on zines as creation, 192–196 punk temporalities, 239–240 Zobl, Elke, 211