Story and Photos by Greg Ritter
We’re not tourists; we’re punk rockers on the road to rediscover the classic Richmond punk band, Honor Role.
But, what we first imagine as a fast downward spiral to debauchery and decadence in Raleigh, North Carolina, turns into a political awakening—punk ain’t quite what it used to be, boys and girls. The young Turks of the late seventies and early eighties are becoming the status quo of the nineties.
My guide for this excursion is Dwain Curd (veteran punk rocker, frontman over the years for various Richmond bands like Graven Image, Sordid Doctrine and the Kenmores) who, when I pound on his door to pick him up at nine a.m. this particular Sunday morning at the end of August, is nursing a massive hangover. So this becomes the first order of business—take the edge off Dwain’s morning blues, an act best done by a visit to that Richmond standard, Joe’s Inn, for their weekend brunch special.
After appeasing Dwain’s stomach demons, the trip begins in earnest—almost. First, we waste the requisite twenty minutes making snack stops at Safeway International and 7-Eleven, picking up a notebook to transcribe the journey’s events in, plenty of caffeinated beverage (because I can’t drive long distances unless I’m wired) and, for Dwain, a liter bottle of Heineken to sacrifice to the stomach demons on the trip. However, the aforementioned Heineken is not equipped with a handy twist-cap and your intrepid travelers are not equipped with a handy bottle opener. (Here’s a hint, Germany: if you’re going to sell magnum bottles of beer in the U.S., at least put a twist-off cap on them. I have visions of winos wandering the streets with a bottle of Heineken, trying to bum a bottle opener off passersby.) Dwain resigns himself to sharing my six-pack of Coke and we’re off.
The interstate between Richmond and North Carolina has to be one of the more boring stretches of real estate in Virginia, matched only in its dullness by the lack of decent radio (although we did manage to catch Golden Earring’s “Radar Love” and revel in that classic road song). Soon after we cross the state line, we make a pit stop at the North Carolina Welcome Center.
The Center is populated with one stuffed fox and two stuffy young women who give us a North Carolina map. We also pick up tourist brochures (even though we’re not tourists; we’re punk rockers) with catchy titles like “Tweetsie Railroad” and “Ghost Town in the Sky” and “See Cheese Made.”
Unfortunately, we did not have a chance to see cheese made in North Carolina. Once you’re off the interstate and on Route One, though, the road to Raleigh is fraught with sin—roadhouses advertising topless dancing and massage “studios” with “all-girl staffs” abound. Unfortunately, we did not have a chance to see this either.
Our hosts in Raleigh are Lilla Taylor and her husband Craig Dean, friends of Dwain’s from graduate school. Unlike Dwain and I, these are people who have taken their graduate degrees and actually forged a career using them. Well, Craig has. Lilla had at one point, but of late she has been concentrating on helping out her brother, Wayne Taylor.
Wayne himself is a veteran of the punk scene in Raleigh, but his aspirations have carried him beyond putting out a single on 7” vinyl. Wayne and his partners are opening a pizzeria called Lily’s. The business is running on a delivery and carry-out basis until the interior is finished, and offers far-out pizzas with every kind of cheese, crust and topping combination under the sun. But, more impressively, Wayne, that skinny punk rocker, is running for mayor of Raleigh. And the Honor Role reunion? Part of a mayoral benefit concert for the candidate.
We arrive at Lilla and Craig’s house, put the Heineken in the fridge to chill, and force them to entertain us. We’ve got several hours to kill before they have to go help set up for the concert, so we jet down to Lily’s Pizza in Lilla’s Volvo where I meet Wayne Taylor for the first time. Let me tell you, he doesn’t look like a mayor to me. Tall, thin, wearing jeans, a t-shirt and Doc Marten’s—the requisite punker uniform—and smoking like a chimney. This is the next mayor of Raleigh? But, goshdarn it, when he starts talking he sounds like a mayor (or a politician, at least). Almost all the talk is of the campaign, and almost all the talk is upbeat as well. This surprises me most: Wayne actually intends to become the next mayor of Raleigh. I expected this whole mayor thing to be some kind of gag, a good excuse to have fundraising concerts, but Wayne is determined, serious and organized. The man wants to be mayor of Raleigh, and the more time you spend with him the more you believe he’s going to do it.
Wayne and his partners are busy, so Lilla and Craig cart Dwain and I off to Cup of Joe’s, a local coffee house that has the same aluminum and Formica decor as The Corner in Richmond. It looks like even the same people work there. We kick back for awhile and relax with cappuccino before heading down to the Rialto Theater to help with the sound system load-in.
Parked outside the Rialto when we arrive is the Wayne Taylor for Mayor Official Campaign Vehicle, an ancient Ford Econoline van painted a bright orange. Wayne has his name stenciled on the van and a revolving yellow light sits atop this monstrosity. Wayne’s serious, but at least he’s still irreverent.
The Rialto is the kind of venue that Richmond really needs. A movie screen drops in front of the stage from the ceiling, so by day or slow weeknight it shows alternative films, but on the weekends they roll up that screen and, presto, instant concert hall. We get there not long after the sound guys have shown up, and are instantly recruited to roll the monitors in. Honor Role and the Richmond scenesters have started to show up.
Honor Role is slightly peeved because, although they’re headlining, the names of the other Raleigh-based bands who are playing, Dish and Superchunk, are in bigger letters on the marquis. This problem is never resolved. And of course, the mayor-to-be is right in there, pushing amps with the rest of us. The soundmen quickly lose patience with those of us who aren’t soundmen, so Dwain and I, slackers that we are, beat a hasty retreat from the load-in scene. Lilla drops us off at the apartment of Randy and Carey (more friends of Dwain’s) who are charged with making sure we’re fed. The feeding trough of choice today is SubConscious, a kind of hip sub shop where the food is cheap and the helpings are big.
Our stomach demons having been appeased by meatball and Italian subs, we are whisked back to Craig and Lilla’s. Lilla is already down at the Rialto playing hostess, but Craig is at home. A couple beers and an hour or so of corny Fox television (“The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr.”—I give it two thumbs up only because it stars the guy from Sam Raimi’s “Evil Dead” movies) numb us sufficiently to head down to the show.
The doors don’t open until eight, but we’re friends of the mayor-to-be so we get to pass by the lined-up North Carolina teens and slip inside. Frankly, by this time of the day, Dwain and I are pretty beat, so when Dish takes the stage after a brief intro by Wayne, I catch a nap in one of the Rialto’s cushy seats. (Dish is an okay band, but it’s typical college radio stuff that I don’t mind sleeping through. And loud music makes a great lullaby—Hüsker Dü is great to go to sleep by.)
I rouse myself from slumber to appreciate Superchunk, a band that’s a favorite here in Richmond. They admit to playing together for the first time in several months, but I can’t tell any difference from when I saw them here in Richmond. Superchunk, almost heroes in Raleigh, packs more people in the pit than Dish, but it’s the turnout for Honor Role that really surprises me.
I remember Honor Role having a big following many years ago, but I expected the young Raleigh scene to be saying, “Honor Role? Who’s Honor Role?” Either Honor Role’s fame has endured over the years or there was a serious publicity machine at work because the crowd flips over Richmond’s favorite old punks. And, on a more aesthetic note, I’d forgotten how frightening Bob Schick’s voice is; sort of like Johnny Rotten meets Minnie Mouse. Even though Honor Role had a warm-up show two days before at the Metro and there’s some obvious roughness to the playing in Raleigh, they still put on an ear-ringing show that does their tradition proud.
Honor Role does one short encore, then Wayne steps back on stage to bid everyone goodnight and encourage them to register to vote. It reminds me that I’m not just at a punk show, I’m at a political fundraiser for a serious mayoral candidate in a major Southern city. And—fer crying out loud—Honor Role just left the stage. I have trouble fitting the two concepts together and, suddenly, I feel old, like my parents must have felt when Beatles songs started turning up in car ads.
Time marches on, things change, and ever so gradually the fringe and the center exchange places.
And, oh yeah, instead of doing the intelligent thing and crashing our exhausted selves at Lilla and Craig’s, we leave after the show and drive to Richmond, barely staying conscious enough to get back at 4 a.m. But, hey, that’s okay...because we’re not tourists, we’re punk rockers.
