
Punk was as middle-class as a Labrador in a Volvo. It was invariably the posher kids who abandoned Pink Floyd, Genesis and Yes
If you were born after 1970 and don’t remember punk, you’ve almost certainly been misled by people who do. You’ve probably been told – through countless paean-to-punk retrospectives, documentaries and newspaper culture pages – that it was a glorious, anarchic revolution that swept all before it. I can tell you first-hand that it wasn’t.
An unpopular opinion? Not here.
When Punk crossed over to North America I found myself confused by its appeal.
I grew up in a working class home, we we’re poor.
Punk seemed a ‘Let’s play dress-up’ celebration of poverty and futilty and not by any poor people I knew.
On weekends the girls from Oakville were to be found in downtown TO dressed fashionably “Punk” for a night out.
I get the honestly passionate adherents with much invested in fond memory.
It just wasn’t a flag I could rally round.
Today it all makes me think of an ersatz culture piece by CBC.