The 500 - #225 - American Idiot - Green Day

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by Los Angeles-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. 

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Album: #225
Album Title: American Idiot
Artist: Green Day
Genre: Punk Rock, Pop Rock, Concept Rock
Recorded: Three Studios in California

Released: September, 2004
My age at release: 39
How familiar was I with it before this week: Very

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #248, dropping 23 places since the 2012 list.
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Jesus of Suburbia

Like many people of my vintage who did not have older siblings, my first record collection belonged to my parents. Nestled among the Nana Mouskouri, Elvis Presley and Mario Lanza records were a small assortment of soundtracks from movies and musicals. Some came from films I had seen -- The Sound Of Music, Oliver and Mary Poppins. Others were from unfamiliar sources -- Saturday Night Fever, Fiddler On The Roof and My Fair Lady.  Regardless, I loved them all and spent many Saturday afternoons doing school work or sorting hockey cards while listening to Chaim Topol as Tevye the Milkman sing If I Were A Rich Man.

Fiddler On The Roof album cover depicting Tevye the Milkman.

It's a bit of pop-psychology on my part, but I think this is where my love of concept albums, particularly those composed in the 1970s, was born. There is no consensus from music critics on the definition, but a "concept album" typically refers to a record that, much like the songs on a soundtrack to a musical, contains individual tracks that hold a larger meaning collectively than they do on their own. Generally, the meaning is communicated through a theme or central narrative.

An assortment of concept records, including a few of my favourites.

In 1979, as I was starting to develop my teenage taste in music, I discovered two records that supercharged my passion for the concept album and made me a fan for life of the respective creators. The first was 2112, a 1977 release from the Canadian progressive-rock trio Rush. Side one features a 20-minute, seven-part rock suite about a dystopian, collectivist future ruled by a cabal of virulent priests who outlawed individualism and creativity. It was the kind of content my 14-year-old brain craved.

Album cover for 2112 by Rush.

The other record was The Wall from British progressive-rock group Pink Floyd (#87 on The 500). At the time, this two-record epic meditation on war, loss, addiction, isolation, celebrity and fascism was almost too much for me to comprehend. In fact, I spent many hours throughout high school trying to understand all its subtleties. In retrospect, that time might have been better spent on my studies but I regret nothing.

Album cover for Pink Floyd's The Wall.

Throughout the ‘80s and early ‘90s, concept albums remained an important part of my audio diet. Others released before 1980 could be found in used record bins, such as The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway (Genesis, 1975), Thick As A Brick (Jethro Tull, 1972) or Tommy (The Who, 1969, at #96 on The 500). More were released as I hit my 20s, including Misplaced Childhood (Marillion, 1985) and Operation: Mindcrime (Queensryche, 1988). The complex musicianship and clever, political, emotional and socially charged lyrical content synced with my disaffected, socially-critical early-twenties mindset.

Album cover for Operation: Mindcrime, Queensryche.

Then, around 1990 and in my mid-20s my interest in concept albums waned. My appetite for themes of rebellion, unrequited romance, tragedy and social commentary, so robust in my youth, began to shift as my taste in music broadened and perspective matured. By 2004, when Green Day's American Idiot was released, I believed the concept album was a relic of the past. Moreover, with the release of the iPod and a variety of other digital music players, it seemed the "album" itself was dead as a standard packaging of tracks.

2nd Generation Nano iPod playing Jesus Of Suburbia,
from Green Day's American Idiot (2004)

Indeed, in 2004-05, I was teaching Grade 8 students, many of whom owned one of the small, digital music players on the market. Their focus was on individual songs rather than albums. These 13-year-old music fans regarded vinyl records and compact discs as prehistoric media of their parents' generation. Then along came American Idiot, the seventh studio record from California pop-punk trio Green Day, and changed everything for them...and me.

Green Day are (l-r) Mike Dirnt, Billie-Joe Armstrong & Tre Cool. 

Seemingly overnight, the fashion in my classroom shifted. Sure, there were many still sporting a hip-hop look, with closely cropped Eminem-styled haircuts, oversized baggy pants that hung below their boxer short waistbands and flat-brimmed baseball hats turned comically sideways on their heads. However, some (particularly the girls) began sporting skinny jeans, untucked black button-down shirts, beanie hats, studded chokers, red ties and Converse sneakers. And, of course, Green Day concert T-shirts -- especially after May, 2005, when the band performed at the John Labatt Centre in my hometown of London, Ontario.

Green Day Fashion for teens (circa 2005)

Rest assured, this then-39-year-old teacher did not adopt the punk-rock ensemble...mid-life crisis aside. However, like many of my students, I obtained a copy of the entire record, not just a few tracks, and for the first time in more than 15 years, I was emotionally invested in a concept record. In 2005, I even bought the CD and DVD, Bullet In A Bible,  featuring a live performance from their American Idiot U.K. tour.

The punk-rock opera features a narrative set in the shadow of 9/11, the Iraq War and the presidency of George W. Bush. The protagonist is a disillusioned teenage slacker, dubbed the Jesus of Suburbia. This anti-hero describes himself as "a son of rage and love", surviving on a "steady diet of soda pop and Ritalin", looking for meaning in a world where he feels he cannot trust the media or government.

In many ways, the themes on the record line-up nicely with those concept records I loved in my teens/early twenties -- 2112, The Wall, Misplaced Childhood, The Lamb and Operation:Mindcrime. However, listening to American Idiot when I was 39 failed to inspire the same revolutionary, nihilistic energy of my youth. The angry, romantic outsider that I used to be had been replaced by a calm, professional adult staring down his 40s. Regardless, I embraced the record and enjoyed seeing my young students connect  with its message of moral, political and social outrage. Most of all, I enjoyed watching them head toward their high-school years, inspired by art the same way I had been two decades earlier. That time when fascination with Fiddler On The Roof turned passe I discovered that music and lyrics could be complex narratives, shaping and lasting a lifetime.

The 500 - #340 - Damaged - Black Flag

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by Los Angeles-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. 

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Album: # 340

Album Title: Damaged

Artist: Black Flag

Genre: Hardcore Punk

Recorded: Unicorn Studios, West Hollywood, California

Released: December, 1981

My age at release: 16

How familiar was I with it before this week: One Song

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, #487 - dropping 140 places

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: TV Party

Punk rock was not my scene in high school, but I dipped a toe in the pool. There was a small contingent of "punk rockers'' among the student cohort and when we interacted in class, or out on the smoking patio, it became apparent they were bright and incredibly nice. 

Saunders Secondary School (London, Ontario)

One weekend a guy named Pete, affectionately known as Punker Pete, invited me to a party. In anticipation of the event, I tried to "dress the part" -- slicking back my longish mop of rocker hair along the sides while spiking it up in the middle. I think I was going for something in-between Johnny Rotten of the Sex Pistols and a Stray Cats style pompadour.

Johnny Rotten (Sex Pistols) and Brian Setzer (Stray Cats)

I donned my green army jacket bought from a military surplus store in downtown London, Ontario and adorned it with a sad collection of safety pins cobbled together from my mother's sewing drawer. Tight black jeans were de rigueur in 1983 -- and the one fashion statement punkers and rockers seemed to agree on was painfully tight pants.

Novack's - A London Landmark (1939-2012)

In retrospect, my choice of apparel was awful, but to my surprise no one said a thing. I was simply accepted as one of the partiers. I was further surprised to see many familiar faces from school not part of the punker scene. There were preppies and kids who played in the school band with me, plus several art-hall students and a bunch from drama class. I was expecting Rock and Roll High School and it ended up being The Breakfast Club.

The music was a mix of pop, punk and new wave (Talking Heads, The Pretenders, The Specials, The Jam). However, the crowd eventually gathered in a large room at the back of the house where Punker Pete and his friend Chester pulled out acoustic guitars.

They played about a dozen songs, most unfamiliar, but I did recognize a couple from The Clash. They even played the song Unchained, from rock band Van Halen. They laughed as they played and, at first, I thought they were mocking the rock and roll hit, but, no, they were playing earnestly and laughing at their own improvisations, good or bad.

Looking back, I hadn't attended a "punk rock party" that night. Rather it was a get-together with a collection of sociable people who enjoyed hanging out, drinking beer and hearing music -- only some of which was punk.

It was also around this time that I first heard the name Black Flag. Of course, I had seen the band's iconic logo long before I ever heard a track -- a simple design comprising four thick black vertical bars sandwiched between the word "Black" above and "Flag" below just slightly offset.. To me, there was something menacing about it. The logo's designer, Raymond Pettibon ( the brother of Black Flag's founder and guitarist, Greg Ginn) has said, "If a white flag means surrender, a black flag represents anarchy."

The iconic Black Flag logo by Raymond Pettibon

Coincidently, I began to hear the name Henry Rollins being associated with the band. Black Flag would only play a small part in my personal history, but Rollins has become, and continues to be, an important part of my pop-culture ethos.

Henry Rollins, 1981, singing for Black Flag

Black Flag’s debut album Damaged is notable for the arrival of Rollins as the lead singer. Before then, the hardcore punk band from Hermosa Beach, California, had been performing for five years and had released two Extended Play (EP) records (1979 and 1980). Rollins remained with Black Flag for five years before forming his own group, while touring as a spoken word performer.

Promotional poster for an early spoken word performance

It was around this time that Rollins began to appear more frequently on my radar. Indeed, Rollins’ songs were regularly played by kitchen staff, usually at closing time, in restaurants where I worked. Rollins also began to host television programs and had a small, but memorable role in the 1994 film, The Chase.

My friend Jeff introduced me to Rollins’ spoken word releases in the early 90s. I was hooked by his smarts and his long, free-form, storytelling sessions, which highlighted his wit, wisdom and, perhaps most importantly, compassion. Rollins was discussing racism, homophobia and justice reform long before these social issues entered mainstream conversation among the "woke" generation.

In 2008, Rollins brought his Recountdown Spoken Word Tour to London, Ontario, and I picked up tickets for my wife and I and pal Billy as a birthday gift. We had prime, third-row tickets, almost dead center. On the night of the performance, Rollins waxed and rambled for nearly two hours -- discussing his seven-day adventure aboard the Trans-Siberian Express from Moscow to the border of North Korea. It was a journey that included two days during which he struggled through a remorseless case of food poisoning as the train whisked through the Ural mountains.

My ticket stub for the Henry Rollins show

They say no favour goes unpunished. Jet-lagged after rushing to the show following a business trip to India, friend Bill fought a valiant battle with consciousness throughout. I am sure he would have preferred tickets in the shadowy recesses of the concert hall, not bathed in the spotlight that illuminated an animated and effusive Rollins who occasionally glanced curiously at our trio -- Billy's head bobbing like a punch-drunk fighter.

Postscript: Punk rock was not my scene in high school, but Henry Rollins has become part of my world over the past 35 years. I remained casual friends with Peter, who invited me to that party. He also became an educator, spending time in Japan (where he met his wife) and in Alberta. He currently works as a Principal with the Waterloo-District Region School Board, about 100 km west of me. He still plays music and he's still a really, nice guy.

Pete (foreground) playing in 2010