Punk rock was generally thought of as the antidote to Seventies Cock rock. While bloated, aging Spinal Tap clones wailed about being too fast for love, living in the limelight and buying the stairway to heaven, punks were growling about being too dumb, ugly and poor to get laid, famous or high. Sure, both styles of music were loud and aggressive and guitar driven, but that's about all the two shared. Like the greasers and the preps, never the 'tween should meet. Or so it was thought.
Fast forward to the late 90s, where punk rock, cock rock and even the 'tween will meet -- at the top of the charts. Korn? Sabbath goth meets hardcore pop. Sugar Ray? Melodic beefcake meets reggae skank. Blink 182? The Monkees meet a MTV-ready Ramones. To many observers, punk pop is the cock rock of the '90s.
The members of the Furious IV, however, don't see it that way. Joking that they play neither Punk nor Cock rock, but "a combination thereof," they quickly distance themselves from the retro boogie, classic rock cover bands that plague so many of the local bars.
The author of such song titles as "The Poor Me Sob Story" and "Testosterone," Ian Taylor points out that there is still at least one economic distinction between the two kinds of rock: "You're definitely going to stay just a bar band if you play cock rock.
"You can't play cock rock anymore," adds Taylor, the band's "left handed guitarist" and self-appointed mouthpiece. "You can't get away with it at the all ages shows, the kids would kill ya."
I'm tempted to mention how Blink 182, a band who built they're reputation on the all-ages, punk pop circuit, is now so heavy in MTV rotation due to the videogenic hunkability of its members, that they make Bon Jovi look like a modest, blue collar bar band with integrity.
I decide to save it for later. I just met these guys a couple hours ago and we're only on our first round at Tony's bar in Ocean Beach. Besides, the Furious IV's impressive sound should be enough to convince anyone of the only credibility that matters: the ability to rock out -- with or without your cock out. Should you require a resume and references, however, the Furious IV come fully strapped with punk, indie and street cred...
Their new album, being recorded at the Pennywise (indie cred) studios up in L.A.'s South Bay, is being produced by Eric Melvin(punk cred), whose band NOFX (indie) has long championed the punk ideals of kindred acts like Fugazi (indie) and Bad Religion (punk). Their debut, What's Become Of The Baby? won critical praise and a San Diego Music Award for "Best Local Recording" (street cred) and, they are fond of pointing out, was done in just eight days (punk), in an O.B. garage (street), for pennies less than Bleach (Sub Pop) (indie), Nirvana's (punk) cult (indie) masterpiece.
With a cache like this, perhaps the contradictions of the Furious IV's punky roots and their fun-loving, skirt-chasing monster-truck-sized riffing could be synthesized in a new subgenre all their own: Cocky Punk Pop Rock. The band laughs at the suggestion, but decides on their own approach, probably because my idea may be confused with that horrible TV show, "Cop Rock."
"Actually," offers "right handed" guitarist Brian Bunn, who presents himself as the more restrained counterpoint to the antsy Taylor, "we're going to change our strategy and start playing boogie rock on Tuesday and Thursday nights at Winston's. Get us some of those spinning chicks in the back of the club, start marketing that crowd--..."
Taylor interrupts him: "But only if they shave. If they shave, they get in free," he adds, as if they've actually discussed this before.
"Right," deadpans Bunn, not missing a beat. "That's the special for Tuesdays and Thursdays, anyway.
I ask if "punk cred" is an important thing to the band.
"Sure," replies Taylor without hesitation. Bunn, after I glance at him for an answer, offers a non-committal yes. The band's other members, drummer Andy Karr and bassist Jamie "Angel" Garza, who've been sitting bemusedly mute so far, remain so, only nodding unconvincingly when I look to them for responses. I wait, suspicious of the silence. Then Garza, who recognizes that the moment has betrayed their wariness of this issue, explains the quandary.
"See the thing is, there's so many kinds of sub, post, dot sub genres of punk these days," he jokes. "It's like, are you posi, emo, punk pop or are you..." He trails off into our laughter at the recognition that "cred" is a virtually meaningless term now. Maybe when you've raged against the machine for so long and in so many different voices, you have to take a break and just have fun with your idealism instead of letting it blind you. Maybe that's what punk as a cultural ethos has done.
Humor, I agree, is very punk. I mention a very funny punk pop act from just up Interstate Five, whom many think make a mockery of the "punk" label in the description of their music.
"Credibility is just genius," waxes Taylor, whose slight build and slouched posture in person don't quite jibe with the rich gruffness of his vocals, or the athletic energy of his stage presence. The Furious IV are definitely comfortable, in fact, they seem to revel in their many contradictions. Which, actually, is very punk rock.
"Sure, they contradict themselves, but that's just being honest... and having genius marketing."
Of course, punk rock is mostly about honesty. It's about having courage -- big balls and not big hair, if you like -- that mattered in the 70s, still does in the nineties. But, honestly, wouldn't it be funny also to write a punk song about 70 to 90 big, hairy balls? Or, how about one, which the IV actually wrote, called "Stay Golden Pony Boy."
Taylor offers an example of credibility with contradiction: "A band like Blink 182 has done everything they've ever wanted to do, seemingly without even trying. But they know exactly what they're doing. That's brilliant. That's credibility.
"It's just walking a fine line, that's all," adds Taylor. "But I believe there is."
When I ask what the fine line is between, he grins mischievously.
"Between punk rock and...," he pauses and frowns, looks at Karr, whose Cheshire grin offers only silence, as his bandmates pretend to forget also. He's snapping his fingers, playing dumb by asking me, "What was that other thing?"
"Cock rock?" I answer, realizing too late that he's putting one over on me.
"Oh yeah," he nods contentedly, happy with his performance.
I stop the tape recorder to get another round (from the lovely bartender, who just happens to be Karr's girlfriend), and when I return, the band has refused to go on record anymore for the evening. Tired after a long afternoon photo shoot, they suggest we embark upon more important adventures than journalism -- adventures that they prefer stay "off the record."
My credibility as an honest journalist questioned, I am left without a choice.
This article was originally
published in No Cover Magazine. Dec. 06, 1999.
© Will K.
Shilling, 2000.