Whence came punk rock? In his grand tome Lipstick Traces, Greil Marcus argues convincingly (or at least appealingly) that its philosophical roots can be found in the great heretical social revolts of the Middle Ages, with particular emphasis on the Movement of the Free Spirit, citing Situationist Raoul Vaneigem’s astounding study of the same name. “Today, so many years later, the shock of punk is that every good punk record can still sound like the greatest thing you've ever heard,” Marcus gushes. His secret history of subversion is an imaginative, tasty literary gumbo flavored not only by centuries-old heresies but also by early 20th century radical art movements including Dadaism, the Lettrist International, and the aforementioned Situationist International. Along with charting a kind of punk spirituality, he sheds light on the often overlooked fact that much of early punk, while frequently shocking and outrageous, was also intellectually stimulating and creatively groundbreaking at a time when rock & roll was largely mired in a Beatles-inspired symphonic tar-pit.
Jeffrey Lewis’s brilliant History of Punk on the Lower East Side posits that punk was hatched from Magician Harry Smith’s roots record collection, inspiring hilariously crass jug band revivalists The Fugs and Holy Modal Rounders, just for starters. Between the minds of Marcus and Lewis a curious synergy takes place, one that recasts history as a creative and sometimes speculative endeavor which posits a chain of transmission for punk gnosis. Surely, between them, a kinship of spirit emerges from seemingly diverse cultural sources culminating in a style of music that was so effectively subversive that it remains conspicuously absent from most 1970s revival radio stations. Traveling back in time from this decade, the signposts of a perennial explosion of social inversion appears not only in music but also in spirituality and social movements of yore like the Levellers, Ranters and Diggers.
If we stick to the history of recorded music, there is no shortage of exemplary anarchic spirit like that found in the chorus of Blind Willie Johnson’s Old Testament growl “Tear This Building Down” (recorded in Dallas, Texas on December 3, 1927) which seems as proto-punk in its way as any MC-5 song, its lyrics as nihilistic as anything howled by an inspired Ranter. Even when humorously re-imagined by pop genius T-Bone Burnett, the lyrical edge of the refrain still slashes across its peppy pop arrangement like a razor:
“If I had my way
Well, if I had a, a wicked world
If I had a, ah Lord, tear this building down.”
Johnson's refrain echoes down the decades, inspiring new generations of raw, self-taught musicians to take up the hammer with wit and gusto.
