So....I'm working the phones for Elmer Clawson on behalf of the Seattle Police Guild in early 1982 selling tickets to their annual police circus. Wandering around the sleazy downtown core, I see a sarcastic poster for a good punk show. Nice big picture of George Bush Sr. on there (He was vice-president under Reagan.). Great hardcore band The Fartz headlining. The other bands listed were Silly Killers (Duff McKagan in there, for you G'n'R fans.), Malfunkshun (these guys morphed into Mother Love Bone) Extreme Hate, The Rejectors and Maggot Brains. Sounded like a good line-up, but it's at some place called Serbian Hall in South Seattle. I didn't have a car at the time, but I figured I could get there somehow.
It turns out the show is on payday, and I decide to involve some fellow phone workers who will be looking to party. I mention nothing about punk rock, I merely inquire if anyone would like to see six bands for three bucks, say it will be great fun... and can we get a ride down to it? The two victims taking the bait turn out to be Bud Fox and Larry Armbrough. Larry was a big Stooges/MC5/Seeds fan and guitar player so I figure he might appreciate the evolution in sound. Bud Fox was from a 'crime family' and grew up around stolen cars, dad's in the pen, sis just got out, etc. etc. When Bud was in high school, his dad used to rob pharmacies and give him pills to sell at school. His idea of rock to this point was Black Sabbath, but unfortunately he also thought the then-current radio stuff like Loverboy was sort of tolerable.
The night of the show comes and everyone has plenty of money; being a very temporary situation, that pay was untaxed by any state, county or municipal authorities . The under-the-table nature of the pay on the phones attracted a lot of workers who didn't necessarily want their whereabouts known. Anyway, the three of us have a ride lined up with one of the other workers; an older guy named Jon who was pretty crazy in his own right and bored enough to want a small piece of whatever kind of trouble we're heading for. It turns out Serbian Hall is about seven miles from the crappy motel that many of us are staying in.
Keep in mind that the punk dress code was pretty well in force by '82, although curious hippies and other fringe types were still tolerated in many cases. Bud had long red hair and a mustache and was wearing a torn ski jacket and flares. Larry looked like Jeff Beck in 1969.
We get dropped off in front of the Serbian Hall, which turns out to be a pretty basic school-auditorium type of building. Nice open space inside with wooden columns down to the floor like a county fairgrounds hall; decent-size stage. I assume it was normally used for Serbian folk dancing and the like; rented out to pick up a few bucks. A classic punk rock situation.
Inside the scene is mild, no bands playing yet. About 60% percent of the people are dressed hardcore; black leather jackets and mohawks or variations on the theme. Others sport a more individual but still rebellious punk style. The place is filling up and mics are being tested.
I must mention that Larry was a serious alcoholic; his first need was to establish a source. We all had a powerful thirst by then, and we'd spotted a small market about three blocks back when we arrived. I put in some money and Bud and Larry take off. I'm checking out the crowd and noticing there's wide range of ages present including some pretty early-adolescent looking kids.
Keep in mind this was a pretty bare-bones punk affair, and there's no concessions of any kind. Water in the bathroom to drink; otherwise you bring what you want. Bud and Larry come back with armloads of shortcases just as the first band starts up. We simply stacked up about a four foot pile of beer in the center of the area where we are standing and start chugging. If people come up and want one we give them one. In fact, the whole thing was quite friendly from start to finish as far as the folks attending. One goofball skinhead girl apparently didn't think my friends were 'correct', but merely pushed through the middle of us, screaming something about 'death to the landlord'.
The first band was Maggot Brains; good stuff! Next up was Extreme Hate, a thrash outfit fronted by a Samoan-looking dude who was to bear the brunt of the Seattle Police attack to come. They had a song about hating cops, and that didn't help them long-term. I saw the band at a different show a couple weeks later and the singer was still looking bruised. That time the cops came in and re-arrested him right after they started playing. By now we're getting some beers down and getting a kick watching the real young kids running around drunk on the one beer we gave them. Third up was Malfunkshun. Much has been said about the singer from this band regarding his later efforts, but all I remember clearly was that he had a very theatrical flair and was pretty 'Hollywood' for a punk singer. Good though, and definitely not a generic band in any way.
Now we were feeling the beer. As if on cue, up strides a young leather-clad mohawk lad; friendly-looking, if a bit spotty. He inquires if we would be interested in purchasing some 'pink hearts' at one dollar per. We all get a few and take one each. They weren't actual SKF bennies at that price, of course, but they were decent real amphetamine. Soon we are feeling very enthusiastic. My pals had never been to such an event, but were feeling good about it...very good, in fact. Next up was Silly Killers. These guys showed the metal roots prevalent in a lot of the better Seattle punk bands. Their channeling of Black Sabbath and Motorhead had Bud Fox exhibiting clenched fists and a knowing grin in no time. A very good set.
Between the Silly Killers and The Rejectors I witnessed a display of performance art that has left me wondering to this day. Bud Fox, drunk, high, and fired up by the near-Sabbatical riffage of the SK's, has gone up front and taken center stage!
While the bands change over the equipment on the stage behind him, Bud has begun a ritual. He takes out a five-dollar bill from the pocket of his wrecked blue ski-jacket and puts a match to it. As the fiver burns with mounting flame, he fervently recites some type of subversive litany into the mic! Unfortunately the sound man has turned down the mic between bands, so Bud's words are not quite loud enough to be intelligible to the entire auditorium. He gets a standing ovation from the punks up front!
Things are getting rowdy now as The Rejectors get things going. I go into the men's room to take a piss and notice one of the toilets is broken. I don't mean broken like the handle doesn't work, I mean one of the shitters has been smashed busted with porcelain chunks scattered and a ton of water on the floor. I wonder if there are any Serbians in the house available to take offense regarding the vandalism of their fine hall. Possibly.
The police show up; boys in blue from Seattle's finest. They are angry. The fearless Samoan from Extreme Hate goes head to head with a cop and gets his ass beat. Things are suddenly getting really crazy and a lot of people, ourselves included, get the hell out of there. We three manage to get to the sidewalk unscathed, some others aren't that lucky. We start walking fast from the area. Our number has grown by one; a young man escaping the riot has decided he will walk with us. The four of us now begin a philosphical debate regarding police, their necessity to society, anarchy and politics in general. This discussion will continue for about 5 of the 7 miles we have to walk back to Seattle proper; eventually our new friend will branch off toward his own neighborhood. We stop at a 7-11 for beer to drink as we walk; it's getting on past 1:00 AM.
By the time we get back to Aurora Blvd. the pills and beer have worn off and we are finally getting tired after three hours of walking. What a great adventure for the phonemen!
