First, apologies for the irregularity. I will find consistency again soon…
Brothers in DIY
Folk and punk, two genres that celebrate the amateur. They admire the authentic while (sometimes) denying the presence of affectations. In practice, the combo of folk and punk means acoustic guitar, angst, poetry, and protest.
“Prove My Love,” Violent Femmes
No, not exclusively acoustic, but with their 1983 self-titled debut, Violent Femmes helped create ‘folk-punk.’ Combining the propulsion of punk with pared-down instrumentation and sixties-sounding group choruses, the band is at first a weird blend. And with lyrics fit for incels and scenesters, Violent Femmes seems so nineties. It’s also one of my favorite albums of all time, car screamers from start to finish. Learn the words and sing along.
“Prove My Love” starts piece by piece: the snare, the acoustic bass, and eventually Gordon Gano’s anxious voice declaring himself sick and deranged. But then it’s the chorus, and the song becomes almost pre-Rubber Soul Beatles, naively in love. That ends quickly, replaced by sexual innuendo and meta songwriting. Anti-folk. Much of the magic is in the bass, hit hard and ecstatic. Watch this live version; it’s a lot of fun — flannel bathrobe and pogoing.
“People,” by AJJ
The band formerly known as Andrew Jackson Jihad make more sense under the folk-punk banner. They’re acoustic, socially conscious, and replete with adolescent-inspired emotion. Listen to their albums start to finish, and AJJ is too repetitive — guitars strummed at full speed and the singer’s constant whine. Find the right track, though, and AJJ strike a balance not many other bands find.
I like “People,” its melody, its message — a responsibly cynical humanism, a kind-hearted optimism to strive for. AJJ talk straight, no bullshit, often no rhyme. Folk music takes people as its religion, and punk (but folk, too) can call out people when they let you down. God I love some people sometimes, because people are the greatest thing to happen. That’s my mantra lately, waiting for graduation to scatter my people like dandelions.
“Two-Headed Boy,” Neutral Milk Hotel
It seems everyone has strong feelings about Neutral Milk Hotel. These Pitchfork darlings claimed the blog’s #4 album of the 1990s with In the Aeroplane over the Sea, their genre-blending, surrealistic foray into a world inspired by Anne Frank’s Diary. You might be annoyed by the horn interludes, the exclamations of Christian faith, the lyrics that verge on poetically meaningless. Personally, I find Aeroplane uniquely beautiful: quiet and loud, psychedelic and frank. Listen if only to join the debate.
“Two-Headed Boy” foregrounds Jeff Mangum’s songwriting. One man, one guitar, baring all in Dylan-esque Symbolism. Mangum writes with an ear for sound, syllables ringing from word to word. In true folk-punk fashion, he pushes his voice past its natural range, straining higher as he praises the power of music. I try to let the lyrics wash over me: it all starts making sense, if only from the bird’s eye view of the aeroplane over the sea.