You know
what? I just finished tracking some of the filler
on London
Calling. Fuck the Clash.
Let’s talk
about the late, great Jam Master Jay instead.
Maybe that
was my Punk Moment. (I’m not one of
those for
who punk changed my life – seventies hard-
rock riffs
have always meant more to me.) Hearing
Run-DMC
for the first time in 1985 while in a suburban
Chicago
strip mall parking lot, waiting for my mom to
come out
of the store. I was flipping through the cool
radio
stations, and heard metal riffs with Hendrix-esque
solos.
Over the noise two guys were yelling raps –
dissing
Michael Jackson and Kool & The Gang, while
proclaiming
themselves the “King of Rock.” That was
the title
of the song and I soon saw the video: Run and
DMC
breaking Beatles busts and nodding in appreciation
to a TV
showing founding rock forefathers like Buddy Holly.
Now that’s
punk. Better beats too. I mean, I’m very
happy that
English punks hooked up with rastas and
bonded
over their oppression. But for me, Run-DMC
and Jam
Master Jay combining metal and rap – the
music of
white and black American underclasses – was
the sonic
thrill of a lifetime.
Goddamn
that deejay made my day.