So I began mouthing off to everybody at the show that I was running for mayor. People got excited, asking, “What’s your platform?” So without thinking about it, I told them, “Ban cars from the city limits.” Ideas kept popping into my head. I wrote my platform down in felt-tipped pen, that bled into a wet napkin, as Pere Ubu played five feet away from me.
I mixed and matched the satire and the pranks with stuff I thought was perfectly practical, such as making the police run for election voted on by the districts they patrol. Legalizing squatting in buildings left vacant for tax write-off purposes, which was an epidemic in San Francisco at that time. A lot of downtown was empty. I mixed that with direct slaps at Mayor Feinstein, such as creating a Board of Bribery to set standard public rates for liquor licenses, building code exemptions, police protection, and most importantly, protection from the police. I also proposed erecting statues of Dan White all over town, and allowing the park service to sell tomatoes and eggs and rocks for people to throw at them.
The city was broke, so I also proposed making up the deficit from the city coffers by legalizing panhandling for the city at 50 percent commission. And that the panhandlers should concentrate in Pacific Heights, where Feinstein lived. Her whole campaign was “law and order” and “we need to clean up downtown.” I thought, you know, she’s right. But let’s clean up the other end. The dirty work is all done at the headquarters of Bank of America and Chevron and Bechtel. Therefore, businessmen should be required to wear clown suits between the hours of nine and five. That was the one the corporate media jumped on, and it got all over the world.
His fiancé on his arm, and wearing his campaign wardrobe, a seven-dollar suit from a Geary Street pawnshop, plus shoes a friend gave him for formal occasions. They’re serviceable, but a bit large, Biafra says. The candidate, who won’t tell his born name, would be a joke except he’s too smart.
Jello Biafra, the lead singer in the punk rock group the Dead Kennedys. He held a press conference at City Hall. He then went on to do what he calls “shaking babies and kissing hands.” He also went on a whistle-stop tour through parts of San Francisco today on a BART train. No telling how he’ll do in the elections, but his philosophy is summed up in his campaign slogan, “There’s always room for Jello.”
—CBS 5 (KPIX-TV) newscast, 1979
Jello Biafra:
Only then did it occur to me, how the hell do you run for mayor? Luckily in San Francisco, if you don’t have enough petitions you just raise money and buy your way on the ballot. I was getting discouraged. Dirk said, “Wait, don’t give up. You have no idea what could be done with this. We’ll throw a benefit, we’ll raise the money.” That’s where Dirk really came in. I had just turned 21. I had no idea what I was doing.
Sheriff Mike Hennessey:
I can remember being at a big venue someplace in Nob Hill at a candidate’s night, and introducing myself to him, and saying, “I’ll bet I’m the only one here who has your 45 ‘California Über Alles.’ ” He kind of looked at me and he said, “Well, I’m glad you do!” And we became casual friends because we’d run into each other all the time. It wasn’t a complete lark. Whether he ever felt he would win or not I don’t know, but he really worked hard at being a candidate and made very entertaining presentations.
Klaus Flouride:
Hennessey put himself in a very strange position of endorsing Biafra. It was just such a quirky thing to have the sheriff coming out and saying, “Yeah, my vote’s going for Jello Biafra.” He loved punk rock shows.
Sheriff Mike Hennessey:
I recall going to a law enforcement conference in Phoenix, Arizona, and getting the local alternative newspaper, and finding out that Suicidal Tendencies was playing in Phoenix. So I put on jeans and a T-shirt and took a taxi there. A couple of kids in the crowd came over and said, “Are you a cop?” I had a mustache, and shortish hair. Obviously the oldest person there. I told them a half-truth, I said, “Well, I’m a lawyer.” Which is true, I am a lawyer, but I didn’t want them to think I was spying on them or something. I was just there to enjoy the music.
Jello Biafra:
I never went door-to-door, or worked with grassroots to make it a more serious candidacy. Dianne Feinstein is seen nationally as this old-school liberal, but she had far more in common with Margaret Thatcher. She was a mean, hateful witch who didn’t even bother to hide her contempt for the disadvantaged. She had that same kind of hatred for people of lesser means that you’d associate with Nixon or Cheney. Or Gavin Newsom. Richard Hongisto, when he was on the Board of Supervisors, even called her a cop groupie. Not only did she turn the cops loose to beat the crap out of gay people and punks and cholos and African-Americans, she even had a police radio in her limousine that she listened to for pleasure.
Shaking Babies and Kissing Hands: Jello Biafra for Mayor
Max Volume:
I gave him a ride to his debate with Feinstein. It was pretty hilarious. And by the way, Dianne Feinstein is a fucking cunt. Nothing bad enough can happen to her.
Jello Biafra:
After Dan White gunned down George Moscone and Harvey Milk in cold blood, Feinstein became acting mayor, and made a deal with Quentin Kopp, who also coveted the mayor’s chair, that she wouldn’t run in the regular election if he’d vote to make her acting mayor. Of course she lied, and Kopp was furious and it was a real knockdown drag-out blood feud between the two of them in the ’79 election. Neither one of them were pleased that me and the guy that came in third helped force them into a runoff.
Lars Frederiksen:
Jello running for mayor, sweeping up the stairs at City Hall. When he had the vacuum, “I’m gonna clean up the streets.” I remember that shit. Channel 7 news, man.
Jim Jocoy:
I remember watching him debating with the other three or four candidates on TV, with the moderator asking questions. He was wearing this funky, pseudo kind of formal wear, he wore a tie.
Klaus Flouride:
Biafra was theater trained, you know. And he knew how to use it.
East Bay Ray:
He’s a good performer, and he’s also very, very good at making, I call them bumper stickers. Taking a phrase—like, instead of saying “complacency,” he writes the lyrics to “Holiday in Cambodia,” which is about a college student with a five-grand stereo. Bumper stickers, like “Police Truck,” or “Let’s Lynch the Landlord.” That’s really great. But the problem with some in the punk audience, is they thought we were writing the Bible.
Klaus Flouride:
There were people in places where English isn’t their first language, like Portugal. “Kill the Poor” went to number four, something like that. Taking it literally.
East Bay Ray:
We weren’t trying to tell people what to do. We all have our own political beliefs. Our thing was to try to get people to think.
Klaus Flouride:
Eighty percent of the songs were like getting inside some sort of crazed psychopath’s head and trying to figure out what made them think that way.
Joe Rees:
I went to every one of the damn shows. Jello, my god. He wouldn’t shut up. He was obviously a very prolific writer, very astute. That’s what really attracted me to the Dead Kennedys. But he always made you a little nervous. It was difficult to talk to Jello in those days.
Larry Livermore:
In 1980 a friend of mine tried out to be their drummer and I took him to their practice. I had been up for about three days so I lay down and went to sleep behind the bass amp. But I remember waking up in the middle of this saying, “Hey, these guys really can play.” They were really great musicians. You just couldn’t tell in those days because the sound wasn’t good. East Bay Ray: We played in Washington D.C. downtown. It was some rental hall, audience was like 500 people, and the cops came in, and said, “Okay, you got too many people here, you have to close the show down.” I said to Biafra, “Tell all the people to sit down.” And so Biafra said, “Everybody just sit down.”
Klaus Flouride:
We sang the songs a cappella.
East Bay Ray:
It was like a classic sit-in. You had to realize in the middle of D.C., these were like white kids. There’s a 99 percent chance that they were the sons and daughters of politicians. So they didn’t want to call a SWAT team to come in.
Jello Biafra:
The second of the two shows we played there, some rather infamous people from D.C. showed up by the names of Ian and Henry. They’d brought barber clippers and began shaving people’s heads by the side of the stage while we played.
Ray Farrell:
Dead Kennedys and Black Flag were separate from most bands. Those two bands encouraged kids all over the country to book their own shows. They started to help build that network of places. Basically, those two bands got the promoters of the ’80s started by explaining how easy it is.
At the same time, I saw the Dead Kennedys in some small VFW hall, encouraging the audience to pull the toilet out of the fucking bathroom in the name of anarchy. Those were the early days, but that’s the kind of shit that would go along with that.
John Marr:
After the first few years, it was no longer hip to go see the Dead Kennedys.
Dave Chavez:
Their music was New Wave, surfy, kind of accessible. It wasn’t hard and mean and angry, even though Jello was doing his best to hold up his end. It was the other guys in the band that wrote really—how would you put it? Very wimpy music.
Steve DePace:
Early on, Will Shatter didn’t like Jello, and didn’t hide it either. I mean, told him to his face, “You’re an asshole.” One time I was at a show, and Jello was standing right in front of me. Jello turned and said, “Hey, what’s up with Will Shatter? What’s his problem with me? Why does he fucking hate me? He’s always giving me shit.” Blah blah blah. I took all this in and I looked at Jello and said, “Well at least he doesn’t preach.” And he was, “I don’t preach! Blah blah blah blah, I don’t preach!” And what does he do? Fucking preaches! That’s his gig, man.
James Angus Black:
There wasn’t supposed to be a bunch of egos in the punk scene. The bands and the people are one and the same. Your band played, and then you were a regular person. I never voted for Jello to be mayor. I didn’t vote for Jello to be king punk rocker.
He acts like he invented punk rock in San Francisco. He was just a part of it. He really thought he was going to be the benevolent leader of us, and we were all going to follow in his footsteps. Most of the kids involved in that scene had enough of people telling them what to do. They just wanted someplace to hang out and get high and listen to music, and have fun and forget about all the bullshit for awhile. And here came Jello, “
Wha wha wha
, you shouldn’t be doing that, you should be more political.” He was just another authority figure.
John Marr:
They attracted a lot of suburban kids. “Let’s have a punk rock night out—let’s go see the Dead Kennedys.” The hardcore punks didn’t like it. But they played some of their best shows for audiences like that. Suburban morons really brought out the best in Biafra.
Murray Bowles:
I always thought it was funny, because Jello would have these diatribes against jocks and even songs against jocks, and yet they were the one band out of all punk bands that had all the jocks at their shows. If you’re an athlete in high school, you’re programmed to be self-confident. You can basically do anything you want. So you went to Dead Kennedys shows. And if you were a misfit, you naturally went to Dead Kennedys shows. But all the people in between were sort of worried about their reputations and not quite sure whether punk rock was cool. They would stay away. So you ended up with punks and jocks at the venue.
Jello Biafra:
When the surfers and the skaters picked up on punk and started coming to the shows, we all thought it would be great to finally take this to high schools and teenagers. But some of them brought their high school hang-ups and jock bullshit with them.
It got to the point where at 10th Street Hall shows, specific people, not all of whom were kids, were getting up onstage for the express purpose of getting a running start, jumping off the stage and punching somebody in the back of the head. The same people were doing it again and again.
People out of the crowd said to me, “Is anybody gonna do something about this?” I thought, well, if I don’t say something then nobody will. So I wrote “Nazi Punks Fuck Off.”
We debuted the song at a 10th Street Hall show that was a little later so people could go see Throbbing Gristle at Kezar first. The crowd went wild in two directions. The people who were sick of the violence were really happy somebody got up and said something. Then the people who it was aimed at of course reacted violently. Sure enough, some dude got up onstage afterwards wanting to argue with me, and he had on a swastika shirt that said “White Power” on the front, and “Niggers Beware” on the back. I couldn’t have asked for a better example of what it was we were trying to fight. Nazi skins weren’t there yet. It was just people acting like a bunch of fucking Nazis.