If you asked me what shaped my approach to consulting, I’d be able to offer up a long list of thought leaders, mentors and friends who made significant impressions on what I know about myself, about people and organizations, and about the skills and tools that make for effective engagement.
I’d probably also want to talk about punk rock. Years ago, I wrote a blog post about punk rock consulting (Lessons in Leadership, Culture and Change in the Mosh Pit). And every time I pull my Doc Martens on and head out to facilitate another conversation about strategy and change, I think about Verbal Assault, or the Clash, or Bad Brains.
Over the past few years, it seems all the bands I saw in local clubs, interviewed for my fanzine, or whose albums I played at the University of Richmond’s radio station (when I was in high school, because that’s punk rock) are releasing new music and touring. And to varying degrees they look like they’ve fully turned the corner into middle age, or worse.
Late last month, the death of a seminal punk rock musician here in Richmond gave me pause. Bob Schick was just about to turn 60. Hearing that he had died made me reflective about the people and cultural touchstones that shaped my journey. Bob never knew just how oversized he was to me.
Bob’s impact on music was also oversized. With his bandmates, he carved out a unique space in music and culture. His authenticity, integrity, kindness and commitment to craft resonated.
Bob moved to Richmond from Indiana in the early 1980s. We were never friends, but I knew Bob since his early years as vocalist slot for Honor Roll. The band’s rich, guitar-centered rhythms were intense and melodic, and anchored by Bob’s distinct voice and tone. His lyrics were beautiful, and raw, and punk.
“Someday I’ll forget/what was so important/Someday I’ll forget exactly what the reasons were for wanting to be different/and for wanting change/Someday I’ll think those ideas were so radical and strange.”
Somewhere along the line – maybe with the release of “The Pretty Song” in 1986 – they reshaped the way alternative music sounded. North Carolina-based Merge Records, home to bands like Superchunk and Arcade Fire, summed it up in a recent remembrance of Bob:
You could have a band this good, this unique, and they’re from the South? They made a huge impact here in NC and beyond. Bob’s voice and words and fierce stage presence pushed Honor Role’s music out of the hardcore tropes of the time, and their records still sound like no one else.
I met Bob during an interview with Honor Role in a booth at a Hardees on Broad Street near VCU. Barely out of my tween years, I was interviewing the band for an early issue of a ‘zine I published, The Only Alternative. Over the years, I mostly saw Bob when he was on stage, or behind the counter at Plan 9 Records (where he worked until his death last month). He was always ready with a quick grin and nod of the head when I walked into Plan 9 or passed him on the streets.
Bob went on to perform with other bands – Coral and the Dynamic Truths both provided different showcases for his talent – but he was just Bob from Honor Roll to most Richmond music lovers.
When I reflect on my formative years – hanging out in local clubs; hosting my radio show; publishing zines and writing reviews for newspapers – it’s easy to see how the authenticity, DIY approach, sense of community, and innovation of punk rock in the late 1980s shaped my consulting philosophy.
Even now, I can still see Bob on stage at Rockitz on Laurel Street in his black jeans and untucked Oxford shirt, leaning into the mic stand and clutching a cigarette. His voice and lyrics pushed the boundaries of hardcore punk, creating a sound that was uniquely his own and resonated deeply with audiences.
Bob was a punk rocker. And an amazing lyricist. He was passionate about music. But mostly, Bob from Honor Role was kind and he was friendly. I’ll always have Bob’s music tucked away in my brain, and I’ll never stop looking for his quick grin behind the counter at Plan 9 Records.