I used to be one of those people who hated it when they could not understand the words to a song. But after a lifetime of it I have come to an understanding that often it is the emotional sound in a voice that is the lyric. It creates a mood and as you will see in the clip I’ve added that mood can expand and sweep up a certain type of mob.

Nirvana was like that, well Cobain was–he deliberately aimed at what I mentioned earlier. He was an extremely wonderful human being when you dig into the things he said and tried to say. By wonderful I do not mean he visited sick kids or picked up strays (though he may have done those things), I mean he was fascinating to read in an interview. He was so unlike the people around him and it makes sense he could not live long. Scarcity does not always mean special, but in his case it is the truth. Frankly, I find the Foo Fighters as artistically relevant as a half rack of diet Pepsi.

I loved the energy in punk music, which later became grunge and probably still exists more in the truly outlaw country we have along the fringes of the form than anywhere else. Personally speaking, I have all the respect for the Sex Pistols as I do the Monkees. They were built, designed and produced. Funny thing is all the members are genuine human beings and I do love that fat guitar sound they had–but like Johnny Rotten finally had to say “You ever get the feeling you are being used?” Punk was not as much as an expression of truth as it was disgust for what the kids were being told was true, as their world decayed all around them.

I find there was more truth in bands that never blew up but were known. X is one of those (still going in an off and on sort of fashion) and so was Husker Du (which was named after an educational board game, the words are Danish meaning “Do you remember?”–the band added superfluous umlauts over the vowels, which I’ve forgotten how to make on this keyboard). The guys in the band did not assume the punk look. Oh hell no. The singer looked like he drove a beer truck, the bassist had a great Deadwood mustache–Only the drummer (who died a rocker’s death from cancer caused by several addictions) bore resemblance to a rocker, and even there he looked more like a roadie than a performer.

Back in the 80’s punk bands did ironic covers of 60’s songs. But I do not think that was the case with Husker Du’s version of the Byrd’s “Eight Miles High.” The emotion that flies from the threesome is a powerful thing and it is especially keener when you listen to the studio version on headphones. For a very long time I thought that the name of their song was coincidental to the Byrd’s one. That is how different they are.

I believe art is a localized magic like love. Both can exist only in small spaces but they do they are the gretest human creation. Most people are horrified by the Husker Du version of the Byrd’s classic. I guess that’s called gatekeeping–we are so into labeling stuff and each other. The keepers may have conveniently forgotten their parent’s reaction to that “hippy shit” they were listening to in 1960-whatever. Or maybe they were protecting something very dear to them and that any alteration by the future was a call to arms. Things usually go better when people try to understand, but since that is hard to do, anything ranging from cheap meanness to ugsome patronization takes its place.

Regardless, there are times when art does not need the words to get across, yet the circle is small and the resistance is immense. And in that small magic circle, stood I, when the world was just as old as ever but I was still fairly new.

From 1987 I present Husker Du performing “Eight Miles High” in Nordic weather that, as a northwesterner, I am very familiar with.

(Image is of Alfie, truly a Punk Rock Cat)

Leila