Gimme Something Better (12 page)

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Authors: Jack Boulware

BOOK: Gimme Something Better
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Mike LaVella:
The first punk record I ever bought, I was at a record swap at a Holiday Inn in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I was buying a Captain Beefheart record, and the guy was like, “You’re a weird little kid, I have something I think you’re gonna like.” And it was the first pressing of “California Über Alles.” I took it home and I was like, “Whoa. What’s this?”
Winston Smith:
I did some artwork for Rock Against Racism, did work for their paper. A friend of mine said, “I know this guy who thinks just like you. But he’s a musician, they do a band. Y’all should meet.”
She showed me a record and said, “This just came out, it’s called ‘California Über Alles.’ ” I sent Biafra a postcard, said, “If you want any more of this . . .” It was a picture of the Zapruder film. He wrote back and said yes, send me more, meet us at the Mabuhay after the show.
We got there just as the show was over. Biafra was hungry, so we found Clown Alley, which used to be down on Van Ness. It was him, his soon-to-be wife and Ray, and the other guys in the band. We scarfed down hamburgers. Biafra I could tell was a creative individual who was kind of a challenging personality. Obviously a deep thinker about stuff.
I showed him a bunch of pictures. He saw one of this cross of dollars I had made a couple years before, a commentary on religion, and Jerry Falwell and those guys making money off it. Biafra said, “This is dangerous, man, we need to use this for our record.” He gave me a call a week or so later and said we’d like to use that for our new EP.
Klaus Flouride:
Winston’s such an eccentric. His juxtaposition of images is great, and generally it wasn’t just shock for shock’s sake. It all had some sort of theme to it that was driving the point home.
Winston Smith:
Biafra called one night and said, “Can you do an emblem for our band, that we can use for our logo?” I had heard their single. At that point, I had seen them a couple of times. I made this DK logo in one night, after going through a bottle of wine. I used the bottom of the bottle to make the circle. And tried to put things on the inside to make it geometrically even. I wanted to make it look Third Reich-ish. Real hard, even lines, something that would be easy to reproduce. I never got a dime!
Ian MacKaye:
In 1980 we saw them play, and after the show went backstage and hung out with Biafra. He was super friendly. I remember thinking, oh my god, an older guy. I think he was 22. My conception of punk at that time was really kind of no-frills. We were coming from the world of Bad Brains. Pre-Rastafarian Bad Brains.
Biafra was very theatrical, and his presentation was really considered. I think he probably had his stomach hair shaved in the shape of a cross. Like his little pubic, whatever you call that hair that comes up on his stomach. And he might have been wearing green rubber gloves. It was just weird, you know? But they were good.
Dave Dictor:
Biafra is quite a character. He was very inspiring. “Kiss ass while you bitch / But you get rich / While the rich get richer off you.” There isn’t a more classic punk rock political line out there. And I can say that off the top of my head without even thinking about it. Ingenious.
Klaus Flouride:
That first album, people said they liked it, but at the time, we were not the hippest thing.
Martin Sprouse:
That was so many people’s introduction to punk. You can’t even measure the impact of that. Those first singles—huge impact.
Bill Michalski:
Trouser Press
, there was an article about Public Image Ltd. and it had a picture of Johnny Rotten, and he was clutching a bunch of 7-inches. And you could see the Dead Kennedys’ “Holiday in Cambodia.” I’m like, “What the fuck is that?” So I tracked it down, found it. Okay, that’s cool.
Steve Tupper:
They were a totally crazy band. It became this ritual where the audience would grab Jello and rip his clothes off and throw him back up on the stage. He would just keep going.
Bruce Loose:
Paul Rat put on one show at a warehouse somewhere in the deep Mission. New Year’s Eve show, it just happened. Oh, here’s a microphone. Oh, nobody realizes it. Oh, I can slip under the stage right now with it, and nobody’s gonna see me. I can fuck with someone.
I was under the stage, I couldn’t see anything. I waited until they were one or two songs into stuff, and then I started making comments. I was going, “I may be too drunk to fuck, but I can sure eat some pussy!” Stuff like that. Ridiculous. And from what I heard, the sound people were going, “Where is that mic? What’s going on? Who’s singing that?” They were flipping out all over the place.
East Bay Ray:
I don’t know if it made much difference in the sound, ’cause it was a pretty crappy P.A.
Max Volume:
Dead Kennedys played at the Mab the night before they went on their first world tour. I was very drunk. I was standing in the front row. It was their last song. And Jello says, “Well, I’m getting pretty sick and tired of singing ‘California Über Alles.’ Is there annnnybody in the audience who knows allllll the words to ‘California Über Alles’?”
All of my friends pushed me onstage. I didn’t have any time to react at all. I was there on my knees, I started hearing the drums start up, and I saw a microphone handed in my face. They helped me stand up. Fortunately I had an impersonation of Jello Biafra at the time. With the mime show, and pushing against the wind, and all of that stuff. Mocked him mercilessly.
Buzzsaw Bill:
With the cord in the teeth.
Max Volume:
I asked him about that a year ago, and “No, I don’t rememmmber.” He blocked it out, obviously.
Jennifer Blowdryer:
When I was living with Peter Belsito, he had a zine and I reviewed Jello, and I said something about him doing the same exaggerated movements night after night. Then Marion Kester came along and did an unauthorized book on the Dead Kennedys and used my quote, under the name Jennifer Waters. Jello figured out that was me and was kinda miffed. But it did seem kind of cartoonish. His dad was a lawyer and he was always very hyper-articulate. He liked the girls that had their own brainy, girlish high-camp thing going.
There’s Always Room for Jello: Dead Kennedys at Dolores Park
East Bay Ray:
I think it might have been
Plastic Surgery Disasters
, we all grew little pencil-thin mustaches and soul patches. That was actually the tour where we actually got the most hate. This is a little bit later, it was like either second or third record, so punk rock was more codified. Sid Vicious with a padlock. That’s what you were supposed to look like.
Klaus Flouride:
We had all gone on vacation. And we’d all separately, without any planning amongst each other, decided to come back with facial hair and see if we could freak out the other guys. East Bay Ray: We made it the sleazy lounge lizard thing. We did the whole tour like that, and, boy, it was tough.
Klaus Flouride:
We were courted by Polydor. We were courted by all sorts of labels.
East Bay Ray: The Polydor thing, we met this guy Tony something. Like a cigar-smoking guy.
Klaus Flouride:
He was in town with Sham 69. We were playing the Whisky. He said, “I gotta talk business with you guys. Come on over tomorrow around noon when they kick you out of the hotel.” It was like, sure. We were crashing at people’s places.
We met him at the Beverly Hills Hotel, the big pink Beverly Hills place. And the guy was sitting by the pool. He got us up to the room, still wearing a towel. And he was big. He said, “Okay, here’s what I picture. I want you to picture this with me. Sit down. Colored vinyl!” This is what he was trying to sell us with. “Colored vinyl! On Polydor! First time we’re gonna do it!”
East Bay Ray:
We were
very
noncommittal. I had a question or two, well, more than a question or two. Left a message. And the guy never returned the call.
Steve DePace:
They started their own record label. They sold a lot of records and they made a lot of money. But they did it themselves. They ultimately became the number one American punk rock band. There was the Ramones, but that was different.
Kelly King:
They would totally pack out places. They played Haight Street Fair one time. They were super popular, almost mainstream, almost commercial. Everybody in the United States at one point had heard of Dead Kennedys. Their name just went everywhere. And it was a controversial name.
Howie Klein:
The Dead Kennedys were sort of the forerunner of Green Day, in terms of San Francisco. They never signed with a major label, they never made it in the traditional sense of what makes it. Jello never compromised at all. He was what he was and that was it. With some of the other bands, they could say, “Well, you’re not the real thing.” No one can say that about the Dead Kennedys. Although they did later.
From a conventional standpoint, did they have hits? Of course not. But in terms of the underground audience at the time, they absolutely had hits. “California Über Alles,” “Holiday in Cambodia,” even when you get down into their catalog, like “Let’s Lynch the Landlord.” I mean, that wasn’t as big, but, yes, that was a hit, too, for the people who heard it. They had a couple of songs that just had that magic moment that you need to sort of be a hit. Jello was an amazing songwriter. And a good performer.
John Marr:
Biafra would jump out into the audience. He would run around, knock over chairs, confront people in the back of the room. Back in the ’70s this was just flat mind-blowing. Bands didn’t do stuff like that. And then a bunch of kids at our high school, who bought the imported records, put on what they called the “Whittler’s Ball.”
East Bay Ray:
Moraga high school.
Jello Biafra:
Mark Carges was one of two kids who approached me at the Mabuhay: “Would you ever consider playing a high school?” And I thought, yeah, sure, why not! I wasn’t like some of the other bands where they really didn’t wanna get outside their own little womb and play farm towns.
Luckily they were very savvy about the whole thing. They were clever. They joined an officially sanctioned club that nobody cared about, called the Whittler’s Club. The Whittler’s Club got to do the annual Christmas dance. So who did the Whittler’s book for the Christmas dance, but us. We knew we’d have to do it under another name, so we called ourselves the Cream-Sicles.
John Marr:
In 1978 there was no way a band called the Dead Kennedys was going to play a suburban high school.
East Bay Ray:
So we made a logo where the sickle was a popsicle. All the kids knew who we were. This was strictly for the chaperones.
Jello Biafra:
Then they expanded it to a real punk show and got Sudden Fun and the Zeros to play as well. Headlining were the Cream-Sicles. We got there, and sure enough it was a festive high school dance. I think Dennis from Sudden Fun probably had the time of his life with all the cheerleader girlie chickies and yarn ribbons in their hair, chewing purple bubble gum. They were pogoing along with everybody else, just enjoying the rock ’n’ roll.
John Marr:
This was just a spectacular show. Biafra was jumping into the audience the second or third number. The image that remains is the band playing their music while Biafra is being dragged around in the back of the cafeteria. It was great fun. That converted me.
Klaus Flouride:
We played something for KPFA. Angela Davis was before us, and she went on for, like, 30 minutes beyond her allotted time. So we had ten minutes to play.
John Marr:
This huge stage at Berkeley Community Theater. The [guitar and mic] cords couldn’t get them to the edge of the stage, so they invited everyone to come up onstage to see the show. The punk rock kids who were only there to see the Dead Kennedys swarmed up there. This really freaked out the granola types who were running it, so they immediately pulled the plug.
Everyone was scratching their heads, and this guy said, “My fraternity will let them play.” So the mob of punks and the Dead Kennedys showed up at the fraternity and set up in the living room and played the show. They played until four in the morning.
Jello Biafra:
It was such a ridiculous situation. We were playing a house party, so we treated it like a house party. We played a country-western “Man with the Dogs.” We played a disco “Kill the Poor.” We played covers of songs we didn’t even know, like “The Boy from New York City” by the Ad Libs. I think we played two or three sets.
Sheriff Mike Hennessey:
Jello and I met on the campaign trail, 1979. I was running for sheriff at the same time he was running for mayor.
Jello Biafra:
I was basically riding to a Pere Ubu show at the Old Waldorf in the back of Ted’s Volkswagen. Our first drummer. I was folded in the backseat, and Ted was saying, “Biafra, you have such a big mouth, you should run for president.” “No, no, you should run for mayor.” Then a lightbulb went off over my head. Why not? I think I will!

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