Author's note on Punk Rock
Punk rock is not a musical genre. Punk rock is not even as simple as a state of mind. Punk rock is an energy of total interrogation. Born out of New York CIty in the wake of the collapse of the hippies, it spanned the world on Tom Verlaine’s guitar and Patti Smith’s back and John Cale’s violin. Some of the Brits got it but mainly Mark E Smith. The rest wanted to be Chuck Berry with cheaper amplifiers and swear words. Punk rock is not about swear words. Punk Rock is not about class war. Class war only ever feeds into structures. Punk rock dismantles them. Class war wears swastikas and communist flags with equal irony. Punk rock is not ironic. Punk rock wasn’t born on housing estates. Punk rock was born in art schools. Punk rock was never about redistribution of wealth. It was about savaging the idea of money. Punk rock was never stupid. Punk rock was never graceless. Punk rock moved like a gazelle, read book after book after book and looked at every single kid in class at school and knew they were wrong and dared to tell them.
Young men with broken hearts have always flirted with suicide. All over the world now young boys, broken hearted and horny are bringing others down with them. The passengers on their planes. The kids in their class. The shoppers at the mall. Maybe they should listen to Metallic KO instead.
The truth is I only ever called my play Punk Rock because Tom Stoppard called his worst ever play Rock and Roll and in so doing, denigrated the art form I love more than any other. He peppered his play with a soundtrack right out of the Rolling Stone’s Greatest Albums Ever Made. This was a gesture so execrable that I thought to myself, “If you’re going to have rock and roll Stoppard, I’m going to have punk rock.” It just took me a few years to realise what I meant.
Simon Stephens
