As punk rock soldiers into its third decade, the once-vital movement finds itself in a strange place, having been disarmed and homogenized into a limp, underwhelming brand name. It's easy to look back on punk's birth more than 30 years ago-- when its mere existence was a revolution in itself-- and wonder how we got to this point. All of which makes the relentless soldiering of the Buzzcocks even more noble, as they continue to tour and record in the face of a music business destined to leech the last ounce of passion from the genre they helped to define.
Few groups born in the chaotic early days of British punk left a more prominent influence on the modern scene than the Buzzcocks-- who concocted a sweeter, more potent mixture of melody and angst than their contemporaries-- defining a careful pop/punk formula, which for better or worse, continues to echo in today's mall punks.
Thirteen years into a reunion ignited by the 1990s alternative boom, the Buzzcocks continue to defy both expectations and age, and with 2006 marking the 30th anniversary of their first demo recording, the band has once again returned, armed with their latest full-length LP, the bristling Flat-Pack Philosophy. We recently sat down with legendary guitarist Steve Diggle to talk about the state of punk, musical legacies, and strangely, the last days of Kurt Cobain.
Pitchfork: The Buzzcocks are originally from Manchester, as are Joy Division, the Fall, the Smiths, and the Stone Roses, among others. What do you think it is about that cold industrial climate that's bred so many great British bands?
Steve Diggle: It's still kind of got a village mentality about it in a way. And especially in the early days, there wasn't much to do. When a lot of those bands started there was plenty of time to sit and look at the light bulb. And I think that people develop things out of that, it makes you kind of have a self-realization about yourself. That's what got a lot of people thinking about that first explosion of punk. Manchester gave it a vibe, a starting point, and then that kind of hip mentality grew.
Pitchfork: Musically, there seemed to be a hunger for something new during the mid-to-late 70s. How did that desire manifest itself into the punk scene?
SD: The thing was, the musical landscape was dead. There was really nothing happening, and nothing relevant to the modern world. I mean it was 1976 when we started, and the progressive rock bands like Yes and Emerson, Lake, and Palmer were all sounding tired, and seemed to have run their course. They were singing about mushrooms in the sky and whatnot, and we were coming up to a million unemployed in this country-- which was a first-- and there was no excitement anywhere. We were 20 then, and we needed to question our lives, and make music that was relevant to our lives. So the mushroom bit, you know, "being away with the fairies" didn't mean anything. What we had to do was punk rock music.
Pitchfork: It's been romanticized throughout the years, but what were those early days of the British scene really like? How did that first crop of UK punk bands define their sound?
SD: When we started there wasn't a true definition of it in Britain. We started two days before the Clash-- and the Sex Pistols had only done two gigs-- so there was no yardstick to measure it by. All we had was the first Ramones album, and that inspired all of us. We knew the Ramones were out there, and we obviously had the Velvet Underground and Iggy as well on the American side, but on the British side we didn't have anything.
So that New York sound inspired us. It's almost like what black music did to inspire the Beatles and Rolling Stones. The Dolls and the Ramones-- it was an urban street music. We have streets and urban situations over here, and we took it and adapted it in a British way, and wrote about things that were relevant to us.
Pitchfork: What about the UK punk scene itself? Because the country is so concentrated, were all the bands friendly with each other? Did it feel like you were a part of a tangible movement?
SD: We were really good friends with the Sex Pistols, because we'd seen them in London, and said, "If you come to Manchester, we'll put a show on for you, and we'll open up for you." That's what happened, and then we did some of the dates on the Anarchy tour with them. Then Joe Strummer was hanging around, I met him, and then we did the White Riot tour with the Clash.
So particularly those three bands, we were all working very close together with each other. The Clash, the Pistols, and the Buzzcocks. And writers and photographers sort of all gravitated, and it went from there really. Then, as you know, it's got a long history now. And we're actually still good friends to this day. I mean I still see Mick Jones around London, and I remember doing the first tour with the Clash!
Pitchfork: Did you ever think the music and the messages would resonate for so long?
SD: No. It was all meant to be immediate, direct, and for the moment. You didn't know what was going to happen. There was no time to wonder whether it was some kind of career or if it was going to last forever, or what it would mean in 10 years. It was just like "We've got to make this point and make it now." You can't calculate or pontificate over art-- it has to be done instantly and spontaneously.
It is amazing. If you put our records on that we made all those years ago, they still sound as fresh. At the time, we got in the studio, banged the singles out, and away they went into the charts. When you look back at them now, the strength of the Buzzcocks was in the songs and the songwriting, and I think that's what's carried us through.
Pitchfork: The guitar sound and the riffs you developed played a huge role in keeping those initial singles so fresh and vital. Where did that sound come from?
SD: That just came from our limitations really, working in the dark. The thing about the Buzzcocks is, as soon as the four of us got together in a room on the first day I just knew there was chemistry there. That just happens occasionally with bands, and it all came naturally to us. We all had a uniqueness about us that kind of worked when we all got together. We just reacted off of each other, and that gave it the Buzzcocks sound.
Pitchfork: Your songwriting was unique too, because even though you had the DIY ethic with your approach, the lyrics weren't so much about rebellion and politics as they were about great pop songs. Did you feel any pressure to be more political or topical with your songwriting?
SD: I think we are political in some ways, though. I wrote "Why She's the Girl from the Chain Store", which was inspired by Henry Miller. In Black Spring, he says, "Forget Marilyn Monroe, forget James Dean, everybody in your street is a hero." So I made the local store girl the hero in that. And then I spoke about Bernstein's language barrier, which says the language spoken at home is different than the language in the classroom to working class people. I put that into the lyrics of one of Joe Strummer's favorite songs, "Autonomy", which is about self-realization. So we had a bit of politics in there, but we didn't do that finger-pointing stuff.
Pitchfork: One of your best songs is "Running Free", which came right before you broke up in the early 80s. It seems really unfortunate in hindsight, because new wave was starting to hit big, and you could have had some real crossover success. How frustrating was it not to be able to capitalize on that?
SD: We kind of got burnt out around that time, because we moved into a different area with those last three singles, and the record company was putting pressure on us, going "These are a bit weird for the pop charts." Like "Running Free", I bought an old keyboard from somewhere and thought, "We've got to have this on the track now, be a bit more experimental."
In a way, because we were all a bit exhausted, and we'd taken a bit too much drugs-- the cocaine and all the rest of it-- it got very rock and roll. You know, wild times, American girls-- we did a lot of partying, and I think it kind of got to us in the end. And in a way it was kind of a relief. We realized we needed a rest.
Pitchfork: I've always been kind of unclear on this. Was there a definite end to the group at that time?
SD: It was kind of weird, because we didn't do a farewell tour or anything like that. Initially we said we'd have six months or maybe a year off, and then it just got to a point where we needed to get away from each other for a bit. I think we just kind of got burnt out and lost our way. Then Pete [Shelley] went away to do some demos, and did electronic albums. So we did our different things, and that was it. And to be honest, the boat went far out to sea-- I didn't think we'd ever get back.
Pitchfork: So then how did the reunion come about?
SD: I had this band, Flag of Convenience, and I was playing in Paris and Berlin and stuff, and the promoter billed it as "Buzzcocks F.O.C." Our agent was over there at some convention, and said, "Hey are the Buzzcocks back?" And I said, "They've billed it as Steve from the Buzzcocks, but it's Flag of Convenience." So that was kind of the catalyst that got it back, because he said, "Well if you guys want to do a tour of the States again..."
Pitchfork: And how did that initial reunion go?
SD: We hadn't been together for about six, seven years by that point. I'd seen Pete about in the club or a bar here and there, or maybe John Marley, I'd seen him around. But we all physically hadn't been in one room together for years. And I forget where the first gig was now, I think it was maybe Boston or somewhere, and there was this fantastic crowd, and this fantastic greeting for us. And it all came flooding back, which was amazing. And away we went from there. We got back and did the American tour, and we ain't stopped since.
Pitchfork: The reunion really seems like an extension of your early work too, and not just a cash-in. For a band with such a legacy, how careful were you to make sure you were coming back together for the right reasons?
SD: Initially, we were just going to do that tour of America and leave it at that. Then the whole world wanted us to play. So we thought, "It ain't us cashing in." And it extended from there. And each time we've done a tour, it's always been with a new record, so it ain't been like just regurgitating the old stuff to make money. I mean, we've never done it for that anyway. We always said if it doesn't work, we'll stop, and if it does, we'll carry on. We do it for the love and the art.
Pitchfork: What was it like when you started writing together again? With such a different social climate, did you have a clear goal as to what you wanted to accomplish lyrically?
SD: When you're writing you're affected by everything that's going on around you. Even if the songs sound similar to what we wrote in the early days, you can't write the same. It's a different time now. There were no mobile phones, no computers, when we started writing those early songs. But like Stockhausen said, we're all just antennas that pick things up. We're still inspired by what we see and what we hear and what goes on around us. That's how we do it.
Pete writes about what he thinks, and I write about what I experience. But there's no strict criteria. I mean, it's kind of what we pick up, you know? We have dealt with a lot of different subject matters. I mean, if you listen to our lyrics, there's a lot more wisdom than the Green Day kids are writing about, you know? We write the songs we believe in, which might not always be successful sales-wise as writing some pop stuff. But If we wanted to write some cheesy fucking pop song, then we could make money a lot easier by doing that, you know what I mean?
Pitchfork: Speaking of people like Green Day, what do you think of the current slate of punk bands that have sprung up over the last decade?
SD: I think punk is such a huge umbrella now. And fair play to bands like Green Day and stuff, you know, they've been inspired when they were really young by us and the Clash and things, but it comes from a different well. When we started, punk to me was the Clash, the Pistols, and the Buzzcocks over here, and in the States it was the Dolls, Iggy, and the Ramones. We invented our style, just like the Clash did and the Ramones did. But the bands that have come later, some of them you see tend to just ape what went on before, where I'd rather them do their own thing a bit more with it.
Pitchfork: It has to be a double-edged sword, because I imagine you're proud that so many bands over the past 30 years have been inspired by your songs.
SD: Yeah, we've had all kinds of people at our gigs, from REM and U2 and stuff, the Pearl Jam guys, to Kurt Cobain and Nirvana. It's a massive compliment, I never thought when we started out we'd be inspiring people like them.
I mean, I was with Kurt in the weeks before he died. I couldn't believe it, he said to me he loved "Harmony in My Head", you know? And I told him that I smoked 20 cigarettes to get that sound because I'd read that John Lennon smoked a load of cigarettes on "Twist and Shout". And Kurt loved that.
Pitchfork: Wow, so you were with Kurt right at the end?
SD: Yeah, we did that last tour with them.
Pitchfork: What was he like to be around during that time?
SD: He was a nice guy. He said, "Will you come and play Europe with us, we're doing all these stadiums?" So we did Portugal and France and Spain and everything. It was like the last 11 days or so, and he was kind of okay. But it was weird, there was about 50 people working for them, all these people putting up lights and computers and everything.
And it was cool on that tour, but there was no Courtney on that tour, you know? So we hung out, and he was very humble. There's some personal things I can't tell you-- what he told me-- but I got on really well with him. It was kind of nice when we sat there on the bus having a few chats. I still owe him two grams of cocaine!
Pitchfork: Oh yeah?! Do you want to elaborate on that?
SD: Well the first day, I went to his bus, knocked on the door, got on, and he said, "Do you want to take it with you?" I said, "I'll do it with you guys!" So I emptied the wrap, he went upstairs in the bus, I chopped it all out, none of the band wanted any. So I said to Dave Grohl, "Do you want some?" No! So I did a line. Pat Smear? No! The roadie? No! So I did it all, and when Kurt came down I forgot about him! He said, "What happened to that coke man?!" I said, "Shit, I've done the whole fucking lot, nobody wanted any down here, I forgot about you Kurt!" So when I get up there to heaven or hell, wherever he is, I'll have a couple of grams in my coffin to give to him. God bless him.
Pitchfork: Looking back on it now, was there was any indication that he was disturbed enough to take his life?
SD: He'd go up and down a bit, depending on how many drugs he took. I guess if he was on heroin and stuff he might be a bit troubled the next day, but generally he was okay, you know? When we left them in France, they went to Rome the next day, and he said, "I'll see you in Brixton." And of course he tried to kill himself in Rome, and then he flew out the next day, back to Seattle and [the next month] he shot himself. I thought, "I've just left the guy, and he shot himself..."
Pitchfork: Speaking of mortality, punk has also suffered it's own share of major casualties lately-- with Joe Strummer, and Joey, Johnny and Dee Dee Ramone. How does it feel to be one of the last original punk bands still going?
SD: It is kind of weird being the last gang in town. I mean, who knows, the Clash may have reformed, but poor old Joe...And of course the Pistols don't really get together much, and the Ramones are not here anymore. We're the sole survivors. When we first started, it was a three-week project to support the Pistols, and we didn't know what we'd be doing after that. We thought if we got a few more gigs then we'd be doing a bit of music and making our point. But I didn't in my wildest dreams think we'd be doing it all these years. It has been a full way of life for me, and for Pete.
Pitchfork: So now the ultimate question is, 30 years after it came to life, has punk accomplished anything near what you hoped it would have when you first joined the Buzzcocks?
SD: A lot of people [in the U.S.] used to say punk really didn't change anything, but I think it did. It was an intangible thing, not a visible thing. It took us through to a new phase of music and a way of seeing things. It took me a long time to come to that, because at first I thought nothing's really changed. The sky's still blue and all that kind of thing, but I think within people it has left something in their souls. Many of that initial audience are in key positions now in life, and the way they do things has been inspired by punk. When I've met people that work in any walk of life they say, "If it wasn't for punk I wouldn't be doing it this way." I think spiritually, it did change the world a lot.
Pitchfork: Is there any way to quantify what punk has meant to you?
SD: It's given me strength not to be frightened of things in the world, you know? Punk gave me the strength to think, "Yeah, you can stand up and be counted, and do what you want in life, and not be hoodwinked by it all," in a simple, very general sweeping way. It gives you a sense to question things, and be positive, and open up. And that's what it's done for me, to realize you don't have to worry about people in power in society-- in terms of how they can pressurize you and steer you in ways. It's made me fearless.
Pitchfork: And does that still hold true in 2006?
SD: I mean, if you go in a cake shop over here, they have a certificate to say somebody can sell you a cake, you know?! It's like, that mindset over people still exists everywhere you go. And it's music that opens your mind to questioning stuff like that, it's not just simply entertainment-- and I think it does with a lot of the audience that listens to it.
I have a lot of chats with the people in the audience after shows-- many people come to talk about their lives-- it's like they have their own Buzzcocks world. That's what's really inspiring about our music, and in the end, I'd love to think that if there's one thing about us as a band, we've been very inspirational to ourselves, and our audience, and to other bands.
