Ruthie’s Inn reunion. NIMBY. Oakland. September 23, 2006

Ode to the Easy Bay
or “Decline #6”

Sammy and Johnny sorted out who would headline in West Oakland. Billie Joe and Bono played the Superdome to NFL crowds in New Orleans. What a weekend it was. And which event was more culturally significant – depends on the view.

Whether Sammy or Billie Joe, each could learn something powerful from the other.

Here I am in a mechanical world
Mechanical boys, mechanical girls
They said I’m not like them
They put me in a special place
They said I was a big disgrace
To the human race
My mother was a junkie
My father was a faggot

…

They told me I was a vagrant
They put me behind bars
They said I was a miscreant
They said I was rapist
They called me a murdered
They called me a junkie
They said I did not belong in the
World of Law

-1982

Green Day could learn something of the authenticity and danger and sex from Fang. While Fang could learn something of moving forward and the strength of delicacy from Green Day.

St. Jimmy’s coming down across the alleyway
Upon the boulevard, like a zipgun on parade
Light of a silhouette, he’s insubordinate
Coming at you on the count of 1, 2, 3, 4

My name is Jimmy and you better not wear it out
Suicide commando that your momma talked about
King of the 40 thieves and I’m here to represent
The needle in the vein of the establishment.

I’m the patron saint of the denial with an angel face
And a taste for suicidal cigarettes and ramen
And a little bag of dope.

I am the son of a bitch and Edgar Allan Poe.
Raised in the city under a halo of lights.
The product of war and fear that we’ve been victimized.
Are you talking to me?

-2004

The East Bay took center stage in a significant way in both performances in too different parts of the country. Green Day are royalty of rock alongside Irish wimp-o Guitar and Political heroes while trying to help New Orleans. Fang and friends in Oakland while trying to hold on to, and maintain some of the cultural roots, that are mostly gone from the flats, as Emeryville had turned into Malls and Condos over the past 20 years, and then the factories, steel workers, and the West Oakland of the Sleeping Car Porters Union – and New Method scraped to the ground, slip into history – and the roots of California Punk struggle to survive as more than mere memories like those of near by Shipyards of WWII.

There is no doubt that all things said, Green Day is the better “band” … but there is nothing they’ve done that comes close to the honesty, directness, terror, personal soul-baring depth and humor as the first Fang album.

Ruthie’s Inn and the Telegraph, Silverball, Universal scene really did bridge the gap between the true early S.F. Punk scene of the Dils, Mutants, Pink Section, and that of the Gilman Street kinder-revival of the late 1980s of Rancid, Crimp Shrine, Green Day. And of any of the Bay Area scenes from the Summer of Love, to People’s Park, to the Mab, Gilman Street, Raves and Burning Man, the scene of Ruthie’s Inn was by far the largest hotbed of delinquency, hard drugs, multi-racial multi-gender macho anger. And certainly Ruthie’s was the scene with the most holistic native East Bay population.

Some highlights of the night: Sothira’s craning neck screaming Motorhead-like into the too-high mike. The halfpipe with Joel and Dave keeping the kids in gear and grinding the eight-feet-to-vert lip. The wall of photos of the pit in the early 80s. The creatures with the full face tattoos. The jailbait girls hanging by the oil drums of fire and flames spreading sparks into the sky.

Verbal Abuse had by far the best crowd of the night. And the 40-somethings and 20-somethings together clearing the floor, and Pat Tidd doing his patented backflip off the stage into the arms and onto the muddy-wet concrete floor.

Hate to say it, but the best musical performance and stage presence was indeed All Time Highs, whose Clash-esque back-to-back guitar players cut a swath of sound and of hard and bouncy grunge tango into the manufacturing hall air.

Another stadium show in New Orleans is just another Stadium show. Billy Joe is good. And The Edge and guitars soaring are great. And double drummers is cool and over the top. The fact that Bono has turned the opinions of President Bush, and raised awareness and support for fighting AIDS in Africa is admirable. A cultural force on the world stage. And American Idiot is a wonderful album. A great story – a concept album. And absolutely amazing, not even the Stones did it, that 10-years after Dookie that anybody could pull out such overall quality and relevance a decade later as seen in songs like “Are We The Waiting”, “Extraordinary Girl”, and “Jesus of Suburbia”.

There is a tie-in as Jimmy Thiebaud and a few others straddled the worlds this past Saturday. And each contingent continues to lean on the other.

In Oakland , though the crowd was small – the nervous, tired, yet impossible to stop. The eerie energy was there. Though the mood was pretty depressing at 5a.m. as trash cluttered the floor and aimless leather kids were lit by the smoky lights and the air began to cool from the 20-foot doors in the corrugated metal which let the night in. Then the voice and stature of Sammy took the stage. And Jimmy and with dripping face peeled Flying-V and sweat and leather to a high level.

People there last Saturday included Josh L., Mark A., Mark D., Max F., Wes, Toni, Rachael., Aaron O., Jason L., Sean C., Nina, Maude, Dean, Child, Andrea M., Greg L., Markley, Orlando, and a thousand more.

It was talking to Jocko on Saturday that I remembered for the first time in years that Fang had played a party in my living room with 200 people in 1983. That Joel F. and buddies had gone in the middle of the party, driven around Berkeley, got beer, stolen a bicycle put it in the car trunk, were seen by police on the way back and followed to my house. Police came in, said hi, saw Denz and Rob and Sammy and BTU and spurs and spikes, and god knows what all, but like nice cops let the party continue after they left. And Fang played on. With China White in the back room.

This past Saturday we missed many folks including Trip, Keckley, Curtis, RxOxBx, Sunshine, Victor, Juliet, Matt, Chris Wilson and Douglas , Brad, Ritter, and Turner.

Fang really sounded great. Crisp and hot, and alert, while unfortunately No Alternative were mixed muddy and dead. “Communism and Tooth Decay. U.S. will save the world today.” The smart, smart – fuckin’ try to be that smart you Vallejo, Rodeo, Valley boys – words, guts. Sammy, without being full of himself, had crafted at age 17, these great lyrics that took on these two agendas of the United States culture which are each equally ridiculous yet both taken overly seriously by the nation and it’s cash. And on top of that, the creepy self-deprecating ooey gooeyness of “Suck and Fuck”, and “Your Cracked”.

As the night came to an end – we strolled back across blocks of massive mid-Century West Oakland pot-holed manufacturing buildings, with the echoing sound of Fang. The sound of rock and almost industrial gothic hard core punk sound mixed with early morning fog, silent streets, concrete, sleeping bags, and razor wire. Around the corner the brand new beige and terra cotta townhouse loft spaces with fancy For Sale real estate signs stood silent too. With fuzzy plants and flowers on balconies. Contrast with the radiator fluid and battered garbage trucks. Bearing witness to the end. And the death of another era. And the death of the old West Oakland . As thousands of homes wait ready to be built next to the old Southern Pacific train station in West Oakland , and the punk of the past becomes no more than the Jazz of the Bee Bop Brooklyn of the 40s. A great, but forgotten vibe with a meaning that no future revival movement will ever really get. Just like no Royal Crown Review and swing fans will ever capture the jump jive and mode of the 40s or 50s real thing. And yet the music and lyrics of Fang and Sic Pleasure and Code of Honor and others will have a lasting poetry and art that will live beyond the people, the containers, and the steel, the boots, skirts, belts, buildings, or railroad tracks.

Long Live Punk.

- Peter Montgomery. September 2006

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