The best punk show I ever saw was put on by a 70 year old black man. If you've never heard of the reggae group CULTURE and their iconic lead singer Joesph Hill, stop reading this right now and do some sonic reasearch.
You back? Ok, I'll continue. Around the time I discovered punk rock, I also stumbled onto reggae music. What's weird about this is, two of the most influential things in my life I discovered by stealing from my friends' fathers. The first was a copy of Slaughterhouse Five (I admit it, it was because of that scene in "Footloose" where they talked about banning it (hell, I read The Carpetbaggers because of that scene in "The Outsiders"), but fuck, I was like 13 years old, give me a break)), and the other was a Bob Marley cassette I stole from my buddy's dad, who was this weird old military guy, who owned 3 Yugo's (red, white, and blue-no shit) and spent all his free time watching videotapes of chinese karate movies. He'd even watch the undubbed ones, he loved 'em all (but didn't know karate himself, strange). The first time I ever heard Bob Marley, I felt changed. I suddenly knew that music wasn't just what I thought it was. The usage of music as an actual OUTLET became clear (soon enough, my older sister would give me a copy of Enjoy! by the DESCENDENTS, who'd played at her school, and it was ON, motherfucker! But, that's a different blog for a different time). We danced around the pool table in his basement like fools for hours listening to that cassette over and over.
The years went by and my record collection grew. I still listened pretty much exclusively to punk rock and reggae music. I still think that they're the only two that really have anything to say (and some rap music, but not much anymore). It was during this period that I discovered Culture, The one thing I look for more than anything in music is authenticity, and few reggae groups were more authentic than them. They'd been around since the 70's doing a three-peice harmony-type of roots reggae, led by their lead singer Joesph Hill. Joesph is a complete trip, he would play wearing gold lame suits and top hats, had a glass eye and used a cane, tottered around onstage, making jokes in a heavy patois and chuckling to himself, stopping the band to blurt things at the crowd; he was an amazing frontman.
One day I saw in the Suntimes that a group called Culture was playing at the Cubby Bear on a wednesday night (site of me and Cassandra's first date some years earlier-a POISON IDEA show but, again, that's a different blog for a different time). Thing was, it was only listed in the classified portion of the listings, there was no ad for the show. Also, it was a wednesday night, these guys played to THOUSANDS in their Jamaican homeland, there was just no way this was THE Culture. Probably just some coincedentally named awful cover band or something. I decided to call the Cubby Bear anyway. I asked the chick who answered the phone, "Is that Culture that's playing wednesday night, the reggae band from Jamaica?" "Well," she answered "I know they're black." Good enough for me.
Me and Cassandra drove down wednesday night and figured we were outa luck when we got to the Cubby Bear a half hour before showtime and saw that the Cubby Bear parking lot was only like one-third full. These guys were HUGE, this had to be a mistake. We pulled in and I told the lot attendant that we weren't sure if it was the right band, and could I just park and run in real quick and make sure. He said sure and I parked and started to jog around to the front of the building, leaving Cassandra as collateral. I came up alongside a tour bus parked next to the building and as I rounded the corner I heard a firmiliar high-pitched cackling. I stopped and Joesph Hill came walking slowly out of the bus, leaning on a can, top hat pitched rakishly on his head. It was like what catholics probably feel when they meet the pope. I stood in reverent silence as he passed, smiling at me, and absobed his aura. This cat was oozing with charisma. I ran back to pay the lot guy with an ear-to-ear grin.
All of the truly great shows I have either played or been to are shows were there's a small crowd who is completely into the band. Like early Screeching Weasel shows, those two shows WAX played in the same week, house parties, the Amoeba show at Fireside, among many others. There was probably only 30 or so other people at this show, but everyone knew every word to every song, and sang along; it was epic. Culture came out after a snooze-inducing opener that played about one set too long and were on FIRE. They played like it was a sold-out Wembley Stadium, and Joe was in rare form. He would dance off the low stage into the crowd inducing people to sing with him, dancing in circles, stopping the band to make a point. One time, in the middle of "Sweet Freedom" to launch into a three-minute rant in a patios so thick, I don't think the even band understood him. They were used to it, though, they just kinda shrugged and waited to him to finish and when he did, they four-counted right back in where they left off. By the end of the set, even the bartenders were dancing and sweat was condensing on the windows like any good punk show. And like any good punk show, I was soaked in sweat. And like any good punk show, it was fully audience-participatory. I shook his hand and thanked him in the parking lot afterwards and he did the same to me. We drove home blaring the new cd we'd just bought from his punk-style merch table and drinking in the cool night air.
A couple weeks later I saw on the internet that Joe had died. Culture had played a show in Germany, and Joe walked off the stage and dropped dead of a heart attack. The perfect death for a musician, one we should all hope for, and a perfectly fitting one for him. R.I.P. Joesph Hill; a great showman and a true gentleman.
