Day 231: Black Flag

I don't profess to be a Black Flag expert. I don't know the name of every B-side. I don't know every city they hit on the 77 tour. I don't know what kind of guitar strings Greg Ginn used. I don't know Henry Rollins birthday. I was just a kid who was initially enamored by the culture and mystic that  Black Flag created. Later on, I was terribly influenced by the music, the recklessness, the rule breaking, and the fortitude. There was a time when I listened to barely anything other than Black Flag, and if I had not I'm not sure I'd be the person I am today. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing, although my personal take is that that's an entirely good thing, at least if grit and guts and self-pride and self-loathing mean anything, and I think they do. 

I have no proof, but I have a sinking feeling that Black Flag isn't a name that elicits the same kind of response and emotion in kids as it did in me. Of my kids, only one listened to Black Flag with any intent. I'm not sure any of them, however, have made a career of it like I did. That's not too surprising, though. Each kid has his or own mission to live out. Black Flag was beyond my kids, but it always makes me a bit sad when something important starts to lose its luster, especially when it still holds merit. I tend to feel disheartened when something I still have faith in loses its street cred, loses its name recognition among the population. 

I doubt many kids today know much about Chuck Berry or Little Richard. I'm sure they know even less about Bo Didley and Link Wray and Chess Records and Phil Spector and Berry Gordy and Winterland and Bill Graham. I doubt all the kids who are so into the 10,000 tangents of music that make up Indie rock today have listened to the Beach Boys' "Pet Sounds" and can make the connection between those beautiful harmonies Brian Wilson cooked up and their own beloved modern sounds. Such is life, though. I'm sure previous generations to mine felt the same way, believing my peers and I recognized the pure musicianship and talent of, say, Lieber & Stoller or any of the writers who resided at Tin Pan Alley.

Still, I guess what's important isn't the number of people who Black Flag or other bands remain relevant with today. What's important is the impact they had on individuals and what that impact meant. For me, the impact seemingly meant everything. Black Flag gave me the juice to get through days. It gave me the fire to fight back. It gave me an important connection to the outside world. It showed me music didn't have to be played terribly well or record expertly or sung by magical vocal cords to be meaningful or pure or towering. Black Flag also gave me purpose in the sense that I realized one didn't have to make a fortune or hold an office or be a community leader to have a voice and be able to use it. There are a whole lot of other avenues available that don't require a golden ticket to travel on to be able to do and say something of importance. Black Flag taught me you didn't have to be pretty, built like a brickhouse, or well connected to stand out. You could just be yourself and speak from the heart. Maybe the most important lesson I've ever learned.