Winnipeg Punk Menno

At some point in my grade 10 year — generated, if memory serves, by the unexpected results of one of my mother's haircuts — I determined I was “punk.”

Winnipeg, 1981. I didn't know any punks personally, which was an asset — I could define “punk” on my own terms. I began collecting records.

I started, naturally, with the Christian Rock version of punk. Barnabas' first album was a lot of fun, and surprisingly accomplished, musically speaking. Aesthetically speaking, their attire raised the inevitable question: how much more punk can you get than bubblegum-coloured trousers?

Answer: none. None more punk.

The Canadian Bible Society also sold a few select British oddities that seemed to fit the bill — evangelical coffee-house acts with punk names like Ishmael United, The Bill Mason Band, Andy McCarroll & Moral Support, Rev Counta & The Speedos (another Ishmael project, it turned out). I listened to all of 'em.

At some point, though, I had to gamble my after-school bus-transfer and seek out Winnipeg's Pyramid Records.

Mid-winter. Cold (understatement). Tiny, second-floor room in the bowels of the Exchange. Filled with actual punks, reverently thumbing through the stacks while the snow and sand slowly dropped off their Army Surplus boots and pooled on the hardwood floor.

Import album pricing was a touch dearer than the Christian stuff I was buying, so I was mostly there for the magazines — Slash, from Los Angeles was especially cool (more girls, for one thing). As for the music, Pyramid introduced me to punk I genuinely enjoyed listening to — it was the minority, to be honest, but it was there. X, The Gun Club, The Blasters — the entire roster signed to Slash Records, more or less. L.A. Punk.

This was NOT the punk scene in Winnipeg (which existed, pretty much as described). The stuff I liked was a little too twangy, or bluesy, or . . . well, take The Blasters, for instance. How was that even punk?

Over the next 35 years I was pleasantly educated in the larger punk scene — examples here, here and here — but even today my most romantic association with the genre is centered in Los Angeles, 1979. Why, that's the era and locale Barnabas originally hailed from!

As did The Flesh Eaters — who have re-formed, with their original line-up, and are hitting the road for some select locations. Dave Alvin, Bill Bateman, John Doe — yikes. These are guys whose individual post-punk projects are still a matter of deep personal interest — including Steve Berlin, probably the only Rock 'n' Roll sax player I can say that of.

It's lovely Chris D. still has his voice. Sounds like it's lovely he's breathing a-tall — recovered sobriety is a beautiful thing. I Used To Be Pretty is a great album title for grizzled veterans, and A Minute To Pray, A Second To Die retains its happy-making powers, even after all these years. But I don't see a road-trip in the tea-leaves for yours truly. Unless they show up in Winnipeg. Who knows? It could be the last surviving members of Winnipeg's REAL punks might show up for it.

Post-script: huh. Looks like even the guys who got punk rolling can't even agree on "what is punk?" And hey: turns out Pyramid Records was owned and operated by one Don Unrau — now there's a name that's as Mennonite as Jereewen und Schmaunt (pork cracklings and cream)!