I've always been a fan of two things: history and punk. I mean, there're more than two things that occupy my life which I enjoy, but I find my mind wandering towards one or the other. Anyway, here's where I believe the origins of punk music to reside:
* * *
A butterfly flaps its wings, and a hurricane is stirred. But where did things go from bad to worse? Was it the butterfly you blamed? Or his mother for giving birth? You can reach as far back as you'd like to say the influence for an idea started elsewhere, and in this case, I will tell you how punk music started in a doo-wop song from 1957.
A bass opens the harmony with Richard
Berry humming the tune like it's the first one he's ever known and
come to love. His voice croons over the lyrics and you can hear him
smile in an almost sultry way as he slips the words “Louie Louie”
from between his lips and past his perfectly-manicured mustache. By
the end of the song, you've memorized the chorus and are ready to hum
along.
Now let me make one thing clear: back
in those days you didn't care about who made the song first, just who
played it best. When you released a record, you had a few of your
own songs, but nobody cared if you could write, just let me hear you
play the ones I love. The best way to sell a record was to play a
good song better. But so far Berry's version was the only one
around. Popular as it was, it got played at every sock-hop and on
every station. It was a way to make the bars in town a cheerier
place as well. So enter “Rockin'” Robin Roberts.
Roberts may have misunderstood what
the song intended, tattling for the girl named “Louie” between
the cigarette smoke and the smell of piss and beer became a song
rattling for another round from a bartender named “Lou”. Roberts
recorded his version just one year later in '58 with The Wailers,
transforming a serenade into a plead for one more round. True to the
name of the band, Roberts took the buttery voice of Richard Berry and
high-tuned it to the wailing voice of Jack Daniels. The bass of the
original song matched and complimented the bass of Berry's voice.
The scratching of the saxophone exacerbated the cry of Rockin'
Roberts. Amid the rumble of instruments, Roberts declares “Let's
give it to 'em right now!”.
Five years pass, and the rain makes a
suicide dive on anyone caught in the fray. Jack Ely and a gang of
others from a local high school in Portland, Oregon make their way
into the recording studio to escape the weather and record their
first single. Forming The Kingsmen, they never figured they'd play
rock music, but a 90-minute session of “Louie Louie” they
performed the night before in a club makes them feel eager and
prepared, if not a little braggy. Pooling their money, they have
enough for one take. They tell the producer they want to have a
practice round before the real thing. Whether he didn't hear or
didn't care is anyone's guess. Where there was once a bass or a
saxophone paving the opening beat to form the song, Jack Ely takes a
breath, the piano strikes the chords, and the drum slaps the beat
together. The Kingsmen believe they're warming-up, getting sloppy in
their style and shaking sleep from their voices, but the producer has
hit record and no one notices a thing. Someone has convinced Ely to
use a hanging microphone to give the song a live feel. But being a
teenager and not quite tall enough to fully utilize the height of the
microphone, he leans back and yells over the instruments to hear
himself sing. His braces sit funny and his words become slurred,
almost an ode to Roberts' version. The drums continue to slam until
a drumstick is dropped around the 57-second mark, where the drummer
yells a “FUCK” in frustration. Pulling influence from the
Roberts version of “Louie Louie”, Ely screams in annoyance “Let's
give it to 'em RIGHT NOW!” and the guitarist plucks from his guitar
strings like he's trying to torture the poor thing. The final slam
on the drum is enough to almost break the snare.
With their anger belted from their
systems, The Kingsmen discuss how to fine-tune the “real” version
they'll record. The producer tells them they've already played the
final cut. They can pay for another take or cut their losses. April
6th, 1963 is the day The Kingsmen were broke enough the
record punk history.
Paul Revere and The Raiders record
their own version of the song two weeks after The Kingsmen, in the
same studio, giving back to the 50's vibe of Roberts' version.
There's more yelling, better guitar plucking from an already seasoned
musician, and more emphasis on the brass instruments. Being already
a well-established band, Paul Revere and The Raiders slowly climb
their version of “Louie Louie” behind The Kingsmen before
dropping suddenly. When investigating the causes, the band finds
that while they sold well locally, the band's producer isn't a fan of
hard rock music and shuts the single down.
The Kingsmen's selling to the local
radio stations comes easy, but no one expects the number of sales it
garners. The popularity of it stems mostly from a playing style that
no one has heard before: sloppy, angry, and compulsive. The unclean
style gains attention from those of an older generation as well,
condemning the song for an almost certain abrasive nature. The
governor of Indiana tries banning the song from club and radio play,
to some success. The anger from certain crowds also draws the
attention of the FBI, who spearhead a 31-month-long investigation
into The Kingsmen's version of the song for subliminal messages of
Anarchistic or Communist nature. The case is finally closed when the
drummer lies about the outburst at the 57-second mark being an “Argh”
rather than anything profane. The original performers split ways
shortly after, but the song remains a chart-topper for years.
The influence of The Kingsmen's style
slithers into the minds of an (as of yet) unheard of band. The
Sonics are from the Northwest as well, and “Louie Louie” becomes
an anthem for disgruntled musicians. The Sonics release their first
record, with covers of popular sock-hop anthems, albeit in a grungy
sound much like that from The Kingsmen. While the original songs
most bands made were love ballads, The Sonics' were a bit darker in
nature.
“Psycho” is the tale of a man
driven mad by a shit relationship. “Boss Hoss” is about driving
a nice car. “Strychnine” is about being addicted to drinking
poison. And their most famous song, “The Witch”, about being in
love with an evil woman. The Sonics' sound and subject matter made
its way around the country, influencing a much heavier style for
generations. One of their most popular covers continues to be “Louie
Louie”.
Over 1,500 versions of the song have
been recorded. April 2nd has been declared “Louie Louie
Day” in Oregon.
There was once a Louie Louie Parade in
Philadelphia, but it was cancelled in '89 in its first year due to
rowdiness from the crowd.
