The Saving Stroke of Punk Rock

On a beautiful March afternoon recently, I was curious to think what scholars of history might say about the period of time I happened to be born into. I was too young to ever experience the major cultural battle being fought in cities across the States. In 1978 (the year of my birth) the rift between Disco and the emerging Punk Rock scene was immense. It could have very well proved to be a defining moment in the history of modern society. Having grown up in the apathetic 90’s, I have some trouble imagining that period of national history. The whole decade left me with the impression that society had been made to run a gauntlet of surreal realities ranging from Vietnam to Watergate. What emerged seemed to be a natural result of the tumultuous period that preceded it. This past decade did see some armed conflict, which served as a real life arcade game to many in the military brass, and a full-blown presidential scandal; yet the end toll was much less severe than any circumstances that could have spawned a world of Disco. Many people remained so fundamentally bi-polar towards the tail end of the decade that a new social friction was born. This conflict did not cost any lives directly but can still be felt over twenty years later. This battle would be fought with guitars, drum machines, polyester leisure suits, studded leather, and reflective ceiling mirrors. Gone were the rallies, marches, nonviolent resistance, and activism that marked social unrest less than a decade earlier. In some ways it was a conflict that transcended music alone. It spoke of societal trends that still exist today. Not unlike any other struggle there were heroes and leaders on each side: Steve Rubella, Tom Petty, The Clash, Bee Gees, John Travolta. Some people that lived then still speak fondly of that period (mainly on nostalgic cable television programs dedicated to the topic). Others would want to forget that the seventies ever existed. Others have probably burned every picture of them during that decade.

The fortified kingdom from which everything Disco sprang was nestled in the heart of Manhattan. The pulse of the hip world came from a surreal night-club called Studio 54. It served as the embodiment of everything Disco aspired to be. Within its walls half dressed bartenders dispensed drinks, extravagant costume parties were held monthly, and a lucky cat could rub elbows with the hottest celebrities (Michael Jackson, Sylvester Stallone, or Mick Jaeger) on any given night. It became the next evolutionary step in the decadent club scene. The Matrix and Fillmore in San Fransisco, served in much the same manner a decade earlier. Each night, long lines of ordinary people assembled near the doors hoping to gain admittance. Through rain or shine people from all walks of life put their hopes and dreams towards receiving the affirmative nod from a bouncer. A world beyond most common people’s wildest hedonistic dreams often raged inside. Legions of celebrities, drug freaks, wealthy professionals, bi-sexuals, homosexuals, professional dancers, and much more awaited them. I am certain that a person of my motivation would have had the same likelihood of gaining entrance, as MTV hosting a three-part debate between Brittney Spears and Christina Aguilera on the philosophy of Descartes. Until recently I did not pay disco more than an occasional chuckle. I have begun to have creepy thoughts about what may have become of society had disco been allowed to flourish.