My introduction to the word “punk” started with my mom, who used the term to describe kids who seemed like they were up to no good. The definition was later expanded when I caught reruns of Ashton Kutcher’s hit reality show, “Punk’d.” As it turned out, punk could also mean hilariously pranking celebrities on tape.
A wonderful book called “Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk” came into my life in 2015 — NOT because of “Gilmore Girls." Thank you very much!!!!!!!
Sorry about that. I took a second and have since calmed down. Anyway, punk was never the same. It was suddenly a type of music steeped in history that I could read stories about and generally nerd out on.
I got into proto-punk through stories of The Velvet Underground chilling with Andy Warhol. I learned about how Nico loved to stir the pot while getting some of history’s finest songwriters to write for her. I realized that while I would love to see him perform in 1967, I would be absolutely terrified to meet Iggy Pop in real life.
I even began to like punky punk, a term I just coined for music I would never play in the car with my parents. The Ramones, The Clash, Dead Kennedys, Sex Pistols. Was I becoming … a punk?