My Identity in Punk

This post was on my old blog, under the title, "A (Very) Short History of Punk, and The Beginnings of a Statement of Vision." I'm re-posting it (with some slight editing) for several reasons: 1) it serves as an appropriate preface to another post I'm working on; 2) I already wrote it; 3) I really don't want you to read my old blog. It sucked.

There’s a real risk of my losing focus, motivation, and any hope of a dedicated audience if I just fly by the seat of my pants here. Before I say too many things I know I’ll regret, I want to define my vision for this blog, in order that the things I say here will serve some kind of purpose. So I’ll talk about identity a bit. Probably a lot more of this will come out as I keep writing, but this is a good place to start, as it’s kind of core to the way I think.

I am a person who is very interested in the idea of subculture. One of the best and most obvious examples of subculture in Western society is punk rock. Unfortunately, the term "punk rock" has not aged well, and its meaning has fallen into ambiguity, though arguably it was pretty convoluted to begin with.

To me, the most essential aspect of punk is finding strength and identity in alienation. In a lot of cases that can be a very destructive kind of strength, and a volatile kind of identity. It's actually kind of amazing that punk is still exists in any form at all, considering how much it's suffered throughout the past several decades. The original boom lasted only a few short years. Regional scenes and splinter movements have developed and fallen apart. Many artists have quit, died, or sold out. Mainstream capitalist culture has taken every opportunity to cash in on its popularity, each time taking more than the movement could give. The words, “Punk rock is dead,” and, “Punk rock is still alive,” have been uttered too many times to count.

I am of the opinion that, despite it all, punk lives on to this day. Probably not in the way that the Ramones or the Sex Pistols might have guessed… but then they were insane. I doubt if they really understood what they were doing or what it would mean decades later.

How did it manage to survive, mangled and disfigured (or perhaps transfigured) as it is? It goes back to the “spirit” of punk rock. This was something that people in the post-punk and early hardcore era seem to have understood well. They were still who they were: angry middle-class intellectuals and anti-intellectuals, postmodernists through-and-through, snot-nosed kids with something to say. The scene that had embraced and inspired them had gone out in flames, but they kept going because punk was not just their scene. It was their identity.

And it's part of mine, as well. It resonates with me on a number of levels: the community of outcasts; the angry kids with guitars screaming about whatever; the spiky-haired prophets out to change the world.
I don't literally consider myself a punk, or a geek, or a metalhead, or really anything. Any time I get really close to any one particular subculture, I discover something really ugly about it that sends me running. But they all still have their place in my heart. Punk rock in particular is something of a symbol for me, and for a dream I have.

Basically, I want to change the world.