I grew up in seriously unhip suburban Glen Waverley – hardly a hotbed of angst or simmering activism. It was, however, as dull as it is possible to imagine, and this drew me initially to skateboarding and shortly afterward, to punk music.
Over a fairly short space of time, my mates and I morphed from long haired, puka shell wearing surfer dudes (even this was a sham) to black stove piped, leather and stud punker kids.
Punk might have been spawned in late 70’s London, but we loved the pace, energy and screw you attitude that Punk Rock represented. Why should it matter that we were post baby boomer kids from the fringe suburbs?
We were true blue fans, and like our new idols, we tried our hands and had a bash ourselves. Some succeeded, most failed. It really doesn’t matter. It was a rush anyway.
Believe it or not, in 1980, you could catch the Zorros and Corporate Body playing a double header at the Exford Hotel on Russell street for $2 at the door. Fantastic, energetic and talented punk acts that would hang around having a beer with you after they’d finished their set.
In retrospect, I think it must have been a little difficult for these guys. They were the standard bearers for local punk and we expected them to put out constantly and keep coming up with the goods. We could be pretty severe critics, but luckily we had a few of the very best, right here in our midst.