A/N: I don't own Catcher in the Rye or none of the people/characters/places.
The Origin of Punk
Well it's the late 60's and it's been ten years since you have heard from me. You have missed a lot that has happened in these past ten years. I've got kicked out of every school since Pencey. None of the colleges wanted me. That's fine with me because all of them are all filled with phonies and clones of one another anyway. I decided not to further my education. My parents weren't too happy with that. So they did what any other "concerned" family would do and kicked me out from their house. Looking back, they never liked the shit that followed me day in and day out, me hanging with the "wrong crowd" of people, and my strong views. They didn't want me to ruin their oh so perfect reputation of being the picture perfect family. I've always realized that I was the black sheep of my family.
That's what I hate about society and it's norms. Conformity is a psychopath. It takes the individuality of a person and rips it to shreds making the person a clone. Who would want to give up everything in order to be a clone? That just doesn't make sense. Whoever would want to be a clone and conform is just a stupid phony moron. It's the worse idea that ever came up in history. If you have met one "popular" kid then you've met them all. All of the "popular" kids are all the same. They are all phony morons that don't care about the underdogs who they think are just "weird/different", as they see them as to be . Look at me, I don't fit in with anyone and that's fine. I'm the underdog. I'm a nonconformist anyway. I walk to the beat of my own drum. I would rather kill myself than give up my individualism. I stand above the crowd, not in the crowd. This goes along with my other anti-authoritarian, DIY (do it yourself) mentality, nihilism, and anarchism views, but I'm sure you don't want to hear about them right now.
My story though isn't about my beliefs, its about how I found out about "punks" and how I discovered that I was one. It was at a night club a couple years ago. I decided to talk to a couple guys that didn't look like phonies from what I could see. So I went over to them, introduced myself, and offered them a drink. Ronnie Sohl, a medium-sized guy with dark brown poofy hair that was wearing ripped jeans and a black blazer, was carrying whiskey. While the guy, David Richards, another medium-sized guy with black spiky hair that was wearing skinny jeans and a T-shirt that says "Fuck the Clock" on it, next to him was holding a tall glass of straight up vodka. We chatted over our alcohol and found that we have many of the same views. I thought that I was the only one with those views until that night. I'm glad that I met them. I noticed that David had needle mark on his vein in his left arm. It wasn't until after our conversation that I realized that David was a druggie, most likely a heroin addict. We spoke about bands mostly, like The Who, The Kinks, The Rolling Stones, The Velvet Underground, and The Sex Pistols. Luckily both of the guys were in a band and just happened to be looking for another band member, a new rhythm guitarist. They told me they were a well known local band; I have never heard of them before though, and by the end of the night I couldn't ever remember their band name.
We decided to bale from the club after declaring that the music basically sucked. We went walking in the darkness of the night towards their current residence. We spent the walk talking about the fact that only a few clubs in New York had good music, clubs like the ones Ronnie and David played at. Ronnie said that they played garage rock, but David said that they were punk. I had never heard of the term "punk" used before I met them. I asked David what the fuck was "punk" and he said that it was who we were and along with the views that we shared. Ronnie asked if I played an instrument. I told him that I played the guitar. We got to their "home" , the run down Chelsea Hotel, where I was coincidentally staying at also. We said our goodbyes after David invited me to see them play the next day and to bring my guitar.
The Chelsea Hotel didn't have creeps like that other hotel I stayed ten years ago. The Chelsea Hotel had musicians, artists, actors, writers/poets, and photographers that were just trying to catch a break. I've met a lot of them: Janis Joplin, Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Patti Smith, Robert Mapplethorpe and Jim Morrison, to name a few. Janis and I were good friends. We always have been since I started living here. Bob Dylan gave me one of his guitars and autographed it. Jimi Hendrix taught me some riffs on the guitar. Patti Smith happens to be an awesome poet. She introduced me to performance poetry, Rimbaud, Blake, Woolfe, and St. Mark's Place downtown. I guess that Robert was Patti's photographer. Jim Morrison is something else. Getting back to my story, I went to see Ronnie and David play at the CBGB Club the next day and thought they were really good. Ronnie was on the bass, David was on lead guitar, and there were two stand ins for the drums and the rhythm guitar. After the gig, Ronnie asked if I wanted to join and play something. In the next five minutes I was up on the stage playing My Generation by The Who. They liked how I played it and the crowd loved it. I was officially in Basket Case. The name was fitting for me because I am a basket case, as you can see.
We were an underground band, not mainstream; and we toured for months at a time in the local area. We had a huge following of fans from across the city. We were basically the first punk band that started the "Punk Movement" in New York City. Years past and more punk bands formed. People came up to us after the gigs and sad that they could relate to the lyrics. I think that's why "punks" and "punk bands" started popping up everywhere. I realized that I wasn't alone and that a lot of people actually have the same views as me. I found my place in the world and it only took me 26 years. They were called, as David says it, Punks.