After Me The Savage God

Rip It Up, Issue 5, 1 October 1977, Page 12

After Me The Savage God

Redmer Yska

Wellington will not forget the punks for some time. As ambassadors of the “new wave” they certainly got a reaction. Aesthetic objections aside however, the punks may have something to offer. Watching the “Wizard” whirl to “Anarchy in the UK”, the conflict between the sixties and seventies was never more apparent. Whether we like it or not the punks are 1977. We went to watch the Scavengers on the Tuesday. Using two guitarists, drummer and lead singer, the band makes a sound like a sawmill. The rhythms were basic and the songs short. No, they can’t play for pussy and the poses they struck were derivative. But their energy was true and refreshing. Watching “Living Sailor” and “Hello Ragnarok” at the Town Hall the same night, I saw paraded a tired, obsolete science, “an old bitch gone in the teeth”. Then I appreciated the mission of the punks. Wednesday night did get a little out of hand. The Suburban Reptiles al-

most had a riot on their hands. Yet, as with most of the "new wave” bands, the bravado and aggression is purely style. The Reptiles had the build-up but they fluffed musically. A female singer in a band like this is not a good idea. Especially if she can’t sing. And the saxophonist was worse than David: Bowie. Buster Stiggs spat out the required amount of venom, but , over reached himself in his indiscriminate hurling of Inat^jrumstick^pW^BOß^^H^^^ Punks are, in theory, unemployed, working-class youth, “fed-up with the strictures of an urban environment”. The irony is, of course, that none of our Auckland friends have ever been, : nor ever will be hungry. Last Wednesday the Reptiles angst was papier-mache. Theirs was a cold-blooded performance. Punk rock is, I think, something of a consequence. But it needs to keep a charn owe ™ ts own direction.