This is about the fucking record Strike Under - Immediate Action. Dude.
1981.
I ran across this record during a Record City visit, not knowing jack shit about what I was purchasing for FIVE DOLLARS. That was the going rate then for records. I know. Outrageous. Yep. I was a suburban boy in a suburb.
The plain brown cardboard sleeve and the slapdash Sharpie marker scrawled "Strike Under" on it was calling me.
After all, some local band getting a RECORD in a store to begin with was enough of a credential for me to throw my lawn money at - regardless of what it was. Support the scene, right?
Well, what it 'was' again changed my way of thought about things I oughta listen to.
It was revelatory that a record could just 'appear' with nothing but a fucking Sharpie marker. I mean, “Who does that?”, with a smirk and casual hand toss over the shoulder.
Had I realized how often I would listen to this record, it was not evident from me simply tucking it under my arm and continuing to page through the stacks. I should have bought that cool looking Stiff Little Fingers record, that Bad Brains record looks cool, too, but I went with the Buzzcocks instead. Record City did have a pretty dee-cent selection. Record stores in my area were Sounds Good, Flipside, Musicland - all franchised, I think. Or not, what do I know about record distribution networks is about zilch. However, I didn't even have a Peaches nearby, which by my friends’ accounts was the shit. I wasn't aware of Wax Trax nor the notion of mail order, so Record City was it. And when there was something that even remotely looked like Alice Cooper I would get it. The particular avenue that notion puts you down can be odd and curious, and yet being cognizant of the adolescent budget, ultimately pretty selective.
So, when the needle dropped on this record that simply said "Strike Under" in black marker, I had no expectations. As far as I knew, this could have been those haircut kids down the street. Turns out, I wasn't really very wrong about that. Evanston, Lincolnwood, Glenview, Northbrook - did it really make a fucking difference? I knew there were suburban kids with a remarkable amount of energy & attitude and seemingly directionless in an appealing way. Maybe it's those guys?
Anyway, I hauled this home with a few other things that will likely come to my memory in time, and hadn't really thought about the value sidling along under my arm.
"Interesting, this HAS to be good" I thought as I put it on.
When the needle dropped, the RPM was 33, which I thought was dramatic - after all, slow dirges were sort of in my repertoire at the time. "Oh shit, 45. Right!" - and then the hypnotic bass kicked in. There were no credits I could read, but now I know that's the unique Pierre Kezdy groove - muscular. Tight. The epitome of no-shit 'Chicago Guy'.
Let's start with "Saturday Night Disorientation", shall we? What is this? Surf? Punk rock Ventures? Then the vocal. I vividly recall the snarl. Drop down and kick it. "Tomorrow morning I will just not get up". This is ingrained in the current brain to such a degree that I've forgotten that it was from this song. It's not about laziness, it's about personal choices; the ultimate testament to "Ahem. Fuck you - I do what I want.”
Whether or not it's ironic, I distinctly recall upon first listening, Context came up next as my Mom decided that it would be a great time to vacuum. Never understood what compels parents to barge into their children's rooms when they are clearly trying to expand their horizons with punk rock, but my Mom was one of those. Not too long previous, we had watched the Phil Donahue show together, and one morning that -I do not recall for sure- I was 'sick' we saw the famous episode with the punk rockers and a bunch of clearly concerned parents. I was enthralled and immediately understood the confrontational aspects of how having a contrary attitude would make nervous nannies out of the suburbs. I understood that being 'punk' wasn't looking funny or trying to commit crimes, it was understanding attitude and how it related to your own personal reality and how to respond to all the shit. It could be bad, it could be good. The point was not to be a center of attention, it was to pay attention. Things have always been fucked up, that never changes. Punk rock was a way to point it up a bit. Plus it’s fucking music, you idiots. Context, man. Context.
Anyway.
Flip the side and the dense groove of "Closing In" comes in hard. Oppressive and surfy - the antithesis of The Ventures, yet equally precise. My first impression? "Uhhhhrg - play it again". The song’s sweet suffocating surf epitomizes the idea that sometimes a cool wave is not all that. Of course I'm saying that in retrospect, but it's smothering surf and stands up to this day. If a wave were crashing down upon you, this is what it would be like. Tubular.
Then there's Elephant's Graveyard, which likely has far too many in-jokes for me to ever understand, but the dandy riff interplay keeps it humming. I could play this on repeat for a while.
Who did I play this record for? Anyone? Not likely anyone but my sister, who was literally putting a Shaun Cassidy poster on her bedroom wall with those little pushpins. I suspect the jump from Andy Gibb to Strike Under was likely pretty daunting. Ah well. Let weird brother be weird brother and slowly back away.
I don't recall Immediate Action initially coming across as anything other than "Boy, this sure seems fast!" Likely one of the first Chicago 'fast' songs that I can think of, predating AOF, Out of Order, Savage Beliefs and likely set a certain speedometer in place. Even the Effigies weren't this fast yet. Actually, they never did get that fast. Not a dis, but fact.
The thing is, buying records on a whim is not so much a skill as it is just dumb fucking luck. The right record store, the right time, the right rack. And just enough coin. Fuckin’ changes lives.
© 2024 Bryan Hepkema
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