Jason Pettigrew

I remember the moment. It was earlier in the Noughties and my then-wife and I had recently moved into another apartment in Lakewood, Ohio, one that was strategically located between a great pizza place and a sweet record store. I was tired of moving boxes and I was sleeping in waay past 1 in the afternoon. The phone rang and like any bear with a sore ass, I picked it up, grumbled something resembling “hello” and waited. 

It was my niece. Turns out that she had to prepare a paper for some kind of popular culture class. The topic was punk rock, and she figured her cool uncle (the guy with more compact discs and records than actual friends) could help her out. She explained to me that she was beginning with Green Day as the inventors of the genre.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, I went from 4 mph to 70 like the arcing Tesla coil one usually finds in retellings of Frankenstein.  Yes, the word “No” is a complete sentence. But when I made the first break on the billiard table in my brain, I filled the pockets (and the holes in her presentation) with all the big punk fulcrums from NYC and the UK, and a railway line of other artists and cities that helped define the p-word for the last 35 years or so. (If you need context, this chat occurred sometime after 9/11, but maybe five years before Warped Tour hit its stride.) I’m glad I don’t have those conversations anymore because I always feel I’m leaving something out that’s vibrant to me, and I’ll get chastised by friends or downright scooped by youngsters who have spent more time on Wikipedia than afternoon hardcore matinees.

Well, guess what? I’m talking about it again: This summer, 33 ⅓ authors Kevin Dunn and Michael Fournier have teamed up to promote their installments to Bloomsbury’s rockin’ canon. Dunn’s book on Irish-punk bedrock Stiff Little Fingers’ Inflammable Material delves deep into the dynamics of the unrest stemming from The Troubles in the early ‘70s. SLF’s punk prowess was definitely a life or death situation, a claim that really doesn’t apply to anybody who used the toilet (sans stalls) at CBGB. Fournier’s take on The Minutemen’s Double Nickels On The Dime is a sociological study through a fan’s diamond-hard, crystal clear prism. The history of the trio portends a cultural sea change that would seep into America’s underground-rock consciousness and continue to bob its head up, decades after that band’s tragic dissolution.

And me? I’m just gonna get on my I HATE CLASSIC ROCK soapbox and rant about how Ministry changed the game choosing to remain sonically bracing while keeping all the receipts. (If you want to hear how I landed on Dunn and Fournier’s radar, see “The Road Leads Where It’s Led” from the Road Stories section of the site.)

So yeah: Three authors, three advocates for three groups of punks.

If you’re in the city during the second weekend of July, come hang out with Messrs. Dunn and Fournier and myself at The Big Idea. We’ll start speaking around 5pm on Saturday July 11 about the process of submitting to 33 ⅓, and the massive inspiration behind the books (among other topics) before opening the floor to your questions and observations. 

And I solemnly swear not to complain about the missing stretch of the Parkway West…