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Happy Independence Day

Well it's a hot one so far. But in honor of the Holiday, I thought I'd show you a related article that I submitted to the July issue of a new fashion and music oriented 'zine called STEELNOTES. It may not be on line as of this date (July 2) but here's the article, and a link. I have articles in the May and June issues too. (http://steelnotesmagazine.com)

MAN! I could hardly wait to get back to America!

When I started my punk rock band The Fux in 1996 I burned an American flag. I didn't hate America, frankly I didn't think much about it, and I wasn't intending it to be disrespectful. I just wanted to create controversy. Actually it was more about burning a guitar than anything, the flag just happened to be handy to cover the back of the guitar I had.

I covered the back of the guitar, added a few modifications, and it was ready. It's primary purpose was to upstage a friendly rival band at a summer festival. I tried a practice rehearsal with the guys and it worked. It was awesome!

The show went great. The punk rock recklessness of it all and the energy of a guitar on fire... the fact that it was a flag burning added to the anarchy atmosphere.

That was the beginning of our fiery escapades and putting The Fux on the map. I went on to fine tune the act, making it safer, getting it to the point that I could actually play it with my teeth while it was burning. (Jimi would have been so proud.) We started doing sets, then small local tourism then bigger ones, then the North Eastern US, and finally England!

I was still using an American Flag on the guitar for burning which went over well with our new British “mates.” Back in the States there were mixed reviews. Some were naturally offended. Others in the Anarchy scene really dug it. It didn't bother me either way. The whole purpose in calling ourselves the Fux was to not have to care about being politically correct or following the norms and rules of the radio airplay status quo. I really had no political agenda, it was just fun as hell! Hold that thought...

A band from England, Panic, comes over to the US to go on tour with The Fux. By coincidence, it is the 4th of July. Now first of all, regardless off any special holiday, they are awestruck by America as soon as they land, much like we were upon arriving in the UK. They saw huge bridges, fantastic skyscrapers (NYC) and the music! Station after station of everything! Why, there's not just one station playing non-stop rock 'n roll but THREE! (Britain had only BBC 1, 2, & 3, and rock was a 1-2 hour time slot in the course of selected periods throughout the day.) Totally unrelated to this article, I asked them what was the first thing they wanted to buy. They said Converse sneakers (“trainers” they called them. Funny!) and Taco Bell! OK back to the article...

The “Revolution! US vs. UK Tour” was booked in NYC, Buffalo, Chicago, Nashville, Atlanta, etc. (a play on the our 4th of July, celebrating Americans freeing themselves from English rule. “Down with the British!” we were yelling. “Kill the rebels!” was their reply.) But even by our decadent standards the parties were especially obvious due to the 4th of July. They didn't have anything like it. They had a vandalism night, celebrating that bloke who tried to blow up Parliament. What's his name? I don't know. I don't even care. I'm really don't know about politics, here or there. And I don't have to! That's part of the point of this whole article.

So here's what our humble UK-punk rockers-on-the-dole were learning about us: It's a big party!The whole country is in on it! Keggers. Pool parties. Babes with tans in bikinis. Hot rods all over the highways, pulling along side of you. FIREWORKS! Explosions of colors everywhere, all the time! Jesus there was a car in EVERY driveway! TWO of them and more! It was all just like the movies but REAL! When those guys had to leave they practically cried. I felt bad. We really kind of faked them out. Hold that thought. Don't worry, I tie it all together by the end. You have to keep reading though. It's your [patriotic duty. Especially if you want to criticize me.

We go to Europe. Land in Germany. The promoter is from the former East Germany, but by now the wall was down. He was lucky, he just made it. He had received higher education and therefore qualified to work for the government. He was rewarded with the privilege of being able to order a car! And he had a choice of TWO to pick from (those ugly Russian boxy-things.) Wow! Of course it was a 4 year waiting list. Then, as he said it, the wall came down and he was just able to go buy one. Any time, anywhere, any kind, like all the other Germans in “the West.”

That's one example of the communist influence I saw. Being as he was from Eastern Germany most of the place he booked were former Communist Block venues and countries. It was an obvious thrill for him to see ALL of Germany as we all traveled together. I mean, we totally were digging it but I was surprised to see him kind of amazed at so much of his own country that he just never had the opportunity to go to because he WASN'T ALLOWED.

So we land and proceed to the first show. Another band from Spain (actually Portugal, I can't tell) and one from Sweden are on the bill. The driver from Swedish band is there but not the band itself with the van they are to supply for us. We find out that they weren't allowed over the border because they only had enough bribe money to get the driver in his car through to come meet us. The band and van turned back to go get more bribe money. Damn.

From the very first show we are asked “is your music Fascist or Ant-fascist?” And we get asked it a lot. And sometimes by little kids. What the? I heard the word “fascist” more times in one night there than I heard my entire life. And when we drove into another country, which you could do in less than a day, we heard the same thing. Yeah, you can just drive straight in any direction and you're in a different country with different languages and different spellings. These countries seemed so small, yet the governments of each were huge. Everybody knew politics. Even kids.

Europe was indeed wonderful to see. For me, it was new, different and beautiful. But there was something sinister underneath. We'd go to a little town to play and the monument in the center square would be an old Soviet anti-aircraft gun. We saw towns that had been reduced to rubble during the war that were still trying to be rebuilt. In Czech it didn't seem to matter if they were still communist or not. Nothing really changed for the poorer people in the mountains and stuff. They didn't have any more or less of anything. They mainly had less, like they were used to.

In Czech we were treated like rock stars. Kids came from miles around to see ANY band play ANYTHING. We were stationed in this huge abandoned building of a venue (that’s what many venues were, bombed out factories that people would take over to squat in.) I swear I didn't see a kid the whole day in the little village at the bottom of the hill where we were staying. But when it was showtime, up on top of this hill, there were thousands, coming up this hill like ants. I don't know where they all came form! There was no crowded parking, nobody had cars. There was no radio promotion. Social media consisted of a poster hanging in the town square. These kids had no personal computers, iPods, or cell phones. Nope.

So when a show comes to town EVERYONE went to see it. ALL of the crowd listed to and watched ALL of the acts, no matter what kind of music it was. There was real solidarity (another word I was hearing a lot now.) The support was massive. When a band took a break, everyone left the building to smoke (this is before smoking regulations. It was just too dangerous to smoke in these places.) When the next band came in they re-packed the place. The volume, vibe, and interior heat rose 100%. It was awesome, impressive, and flattering. They really, really appreciated us.

After four dates in Czech we are scheduled to go to Austria and then Italy. We approach the border of Czech/Austria. We are three bands in a van and a car. And a beat -up looking van and car. (The car lead the way with a driver, a co-pilot, and another passenger or two that rotated between the van and car. If you were in the car, you were driving or reading the maps.)

We pull up to the check-point and get stopped. We can't go through. We see them waving on the nice newer cars, all Mercedes and BMW's and stuff, and us poor filthy punk rockers are being questioned. “ Papers and ID!” OK, we have them. “Passports!” OK, ok. “Vehicle information!” It goes on and on. They actually weigh the vehicle. We go to get out and they rush us-”Back in the car!”

What's going on? Well, they just didn't like us, that's all. We looked like...gypsies or something. “Cross somewhere else!” they said. Cross somewhere else? That's thirteen hours away! Why? “We would get in trouble letting you pass. Try somewhere else.”

We turn the vehicles around (happy to get he hell out of there) and go back to the gas station right at the border. It slowly starts sinking in. That's a former “check-point Charlie.” They can do whatever they want. There's no rules. We have no rights here. They can just arrest us if they feel like it. And then who would know? Who would even find us? Hell, ten years ago they just SHOT anyone crossing here.

Now pretty, scenic Europe isn't so fun anymore. We drive thirteen hours through god-forsake Czech, through horse-and-cart towns that are pure dark with no lights at all, just praying we won't break down. I swore a werewolf or vampire was going to pop out of the woods at any moment. And it did! “Look out! There a ghoul!” Oh crap, it's just a Czech prostitute trolling for Germans near the border.

Seriously, it was scary. We had to drive back up to Germany because that’s where we had been let in, and even then there was no guarantee that we would definitely be let out of Czech. That's a scary thought. And it was growing on me. This sucks! And the damn maps...towns with names like Mnzcektzck or Kstvpigtz and whatever. I swore to my bass player that if we ever got out of there I would never fear being lost in Pittsburgh again! When we reached a new border at on ein the morning I called my wife just mentally and physically exhausted. I slept in a fetal position (that's all the room there was in the back of the car) all the way to Italy, waking up at 7 am at the bottom of the Italian Alps. (Awesome!)

So here's where I tie at all together...Boy was I glad to be back in America! i never cared about politics (and still don't) but I thank God I live in a country where I don't have to. I don't have to worry about who's who or what....I don't even need to know who the President is to have a car in the driveway. Or have a car even. Or a driveway!

And I won't get shot or imprisoned for having an opinion. Or not having one. And I have “rights” and stuff! I can probably be found if I end up in an accident or a jail somewhere. And I can drive for miles and hours and days and weeks and still be in America with all these privileges. There's so many different cultures in our own country-the south, the north, the west...all different accents and cultures, but all the same language. And the same map. I can pronounce the damn names of the towns.

I know there's exceptions to this, and there's lots of problems with our system. I don't even know what I'm talking about when go into those topics, but guess what? I DON'T HAVE TO! Ahhhh what a RELIEF!

OK I burned a flag. It was phase. I didn't go to jail for it. I still burn a guitar for shows and I don't use a flag but I'm proud to live in a country where I could. I'm grateful to live somewhere that I didn’t need to know politics, be scared to have a religious faith or voice an opinion, and be able to travel to different states without getting a third degree.

I don't know much about all this stuff but I definitely believe that many of the people I've met that having nothing good to say about America just never really had to live anywhere else. Go ahead and try it loudmouth. Go live in a country the size of Kentucky and see how you like your options then.

But until then shut the hell up! It's time for a party!

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