Why I started A Rebellious Noise

An American's odyssey through the glorious era of British pub rock, punk, and new wave

I’ve been meaning to get around to an introductory post, but haven’t had a chance until now. Welcome to A Rebellious Noise. My name is Chris Carnage. OK, maybe it’s not, but what the hell, The Damned drummer’s real name isn’t Rat Scabies! (Sorry, I should have issued a spoiler alert.)

As noted on the blog’s home page, this Substack is dedicated to exposing more American music fans to British bands and solo artists from the early 1970s through the early 1980s. Specifically, A Rebellious Noise focuses on pub rock, punk rock, and new wave (or post-punk).

I grew up in America, in the Boston area, coming of age in the mid-1970s, just in time to witness and experience the rise of punk and new wave music. As a suburban kid I hardly was Mr. Punk. Nonetheless, I did keep up with what was happening musically on both sides of the Atlantic, mostly through my yearslong subscription to Rolling Stone and what I would hear on WBCN, the hippest radio station (along with WBRU) in New England.

I also was, musically, an unabashed Anglophile. The British Invasion of the 1960s spearheaded by The Beatles had captivated me, far more so than whatever was happening in America. Not that I didn’t like American bands and solo artists — I dug Bob Dylan, The Byrds, The Doors, Creedence Clearwater Revival, the Eagles, and many more — but basically I spent the early and mid ‘70s hoping to discover the new Beatles. And I expected them to come from England.

To be sure, the U.K. produced some popular music superstars in the early and mid-‘70s — David Bowie, Elton John, and Queen come to mind — who recorded strikingly original material and whose live shows were spectacular for their day. Though I loved much of the music created by these mega acts, there was something about all of them that seemed distant and a bit contrived. I felt no human connection.

Granted, like me, Elton John was in his 20s and prematurely balding. Lifelong allegiances have been built on far less. Alas, Elton lost me by 1976 or so with the billboard-sized eyeglasses, cartoonish persona, and increasingly ponderous ballads mixed with weightless pop piffle. (He had a great live band, though, which I saw at Boston Garden in November 1974.) I wanted more of Honky Cat Elton; instead he was mocking us with Island Girl and Don’t Go Breaking My Heart, a pair of execrable tunes that topped the U.S. charts.

Bowie’s music (mostly) was a cut or two above John’s. It was more daring and provocative. Yet how could a relatively normal kid like me identify with Aladdin Sane and the Thin White Duke? I may have had my issues, but multiple personalities wasn’t among them.

Side note: I almost saw Bowie live in July 1974. I say “almost” because I had two tickets to his show at the Cape Cod Coliseum in Massachusetts. The plan was to drive down to the Cape with my girlfriend, get high, go to the show, get high at the show, and then have wild teenage high and drunk sex in some fleabag hotel room in South Yarmouth.

Sadly, when we arrived at the venue, there was nobody there, a situation made worse from being high. It turned out that Bowie had canceled the show because the sets he was using for his Diamond Dogs tour wouldn’t fit on the Cape Cod Coliseum stage. Even more sadly, there was no wild teenage sex, just a long, stupid drive home in my father’s deathtrap Ford Pinto listening to Chant of The Ever Circling Skeletal Family on a cassette tape over and over again. In retrospect, this may have been a turning point in my doomed relationship. With my girlfriend, not Bowie. Although him too! (Though Bowie won me back with Ashes to Ashes, which was too good for me to stay mad at him.)

The ensuing years were even less inspiring musically. As if the Captain and Tennille weren’t enough, disco was beginning to creep onto radio playlists and into the charts. Imagine eagerly awaiting “your time” in music, and it ends up being Muskrat Love and The Hustle. Was this my musical fate?

Sounds of hope stir the air

Then, sometime in 1977, I started hearing songs on the radio that embodied everything I love about music — fresh, inventive melodies, glistening harmonies, chiming guitar hooks, explosive choruses. One song was something about angels wearing red shoes. Another was all over the map lyrically — some kid cut off his right arm at a concert one night, a U.S. representative was engaging in shuttle diplomacy. While none of the verses made any sense, the chorus was simple, catchy, and unforgettable — “and so it goes and so it goes and so it goes and so it goes, but where it’s going no one knows.”

Still another song getting airplay in the Boston area in the fall of 1977 was about sex and drugs and rock ‘n roll. A fine topic! This song had jazz overtones, a British music-hall vibe, and was sung by a guy with a super-deep voice and a sometimes indecipherable Cockney accent. It was quite exotic.

And that’s how the ‘70s British music invasion of the U.S. began — slowly at first, and then all at once. Performers such as Elvis Costello (The Angels Wanna Wear My Red Shoes), Nick Lowe (So It Goes), and Ian Dury and the Blockheads (Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll) were all over the airwaves by late 1977 and into the next decade. Costello (with his band, the Attractions), The Pretenders, The Police, The Clash, and Joe Jackson were among the British punk and new wave acts that had substantial commercial success and visibility in the U.S. well into the ‘80s.

I loved all those bands, but I was a huge fan of Costello, who I saw live three times in a six-month period from December 1977 to May 1978, and another four times after that. I’ve also seen Nick Lowe twice (both times supporting Elvis). Though I never saw the other punk and new wave acts mentioned above perform live, I owned nearly all their early albums — The Clash, Give ‘Em Enough Rope, London Calling, Sandinista!, Look Sharp, I’m the Man, Beat Crazy, New Boots and Panties!!, Outlandos d’Amour, Regatta de Blanc, Zenyatta Mondatta, Pretenders, Pretenders II. I was a dutiful and enthusiastic music consumer.

Other U.K. bands of the era, however, while popular on their home soil, attained only cult status in the U.S. The Jam, The Damned, The Stranglers, Buzzcocks and many other musical acts charted regularly at home and in Europe, but went relatively unheard and unseen in the U.S. Which is a shame because the average American — including myself — missed out on some fantastic music.

The goal of A Rebellious Noise — the Substack blog and upcoming book — is to help American music fans discover (and rediscover) the British bands and solo acts from that vibrant and exciting era. I can’t believe what I missed the first time around, and I was paying attention! The good news is there are videos. Many, many videos. And that gives us an opportunity today to hear and see these bands in their pub/punk/new wave heyday.

Which is an amazing thing and something we all probably take for granted. Back in the 1970s, I couldn’t go on YouTube and pull up a video of Muddy Waters at the Newport Jazz Festival in 1960. Today I can. What I can’t do is pull up a video of David Bowie at the Cape Cod Coliseum in July 1974.

I’ve had a blast learning about Dr Feelgood, The Ruts, U.K. Subs, X-Ray Spex, and many other acts that were regulars on the U.K. charts, yet virtually anonymous in the U.S. I’m looking forward to discovering even more artists and songs and sharing what I find on this musical journey. I hope you join me.

As for what to expect, I plan to write one longer post each week, and maybe a couple of quick hits for anniversaries of significant events in British pub/punk/new wave annals. Most of the time I’ll include links to live performances because A Rebellious Noise is about the music and the people who created it.