Drunken Sex Still Sucks: A chat with Bob McDonald of Bum Kon

My love of Bum Kon is rooted in moments fixed into my memory. To clarify, my sentiments about the band are centered surrounding a time and place. Their music was the pretext, a portal for me into the Denver punk culture and all the growing pains associated with it. Perhaps I’ll be able to articulate my sentiments below.

I saw more than my fair share of times of Bum Kon up on stage blazing through their fiery set of songs. They were like a loose nerve ending anxiously flinging from one side to the other. Their energy sent your heart racing almost to the point hyperventilation. I don’t know how they did it, but they moved from one song to the next without the tempo falling apart. In retrospect, I feel sorry for people who only heard their Drunken Sex Sux 7” EP and the two following LPs: Bum Kon and Ground Round. The perpetual problem with the recordings of early to mid-80’s punk and hardcore bands was they didn’t fully capture the synergy between band, audience, and venue.

My first encounter with Bum Kon was in the summer of 83’ when they opened for Kraut and GBH at the Aztlan Theatre. The Aztlan was right around the corner from mis tios, tias y primas/os. It was in the heart of the barrio, not the ideal place to hang out after sundown. The sight of punks wandering around in that part of Denver generated strong reactions from the homies rolling down Santa Fe Avenue where the venue was situated. I overheard a couple of kids that evening talk about the “Mexican neighborhood.” It felt personal in a way since I belonged to both groups. Admittedly, it was funny seeing mostly suburban white kids rocking out in the hood. It felt odd being there. In many respects I was like everyone else inside, yet there was a strong personal connection to the venue. The Aztlan was a space where my family members saw movies back in the day. Traditionally the building served the Mexican-American community. Witnessing a punk show in that setting was my first bi-cultural experience. Walking in to see the bands, I felt neither here nor there.  

Flier courtesy of Trash is Truth. 

As a relative newbie to the scene, I mostly kept to myself that evening, snapping pictures of the bands and crowd with my Kodak 110 camera. Many of the punks dressed for the occasion in their band shirts and leather jackets, but the majority were sweating it out in shorts and t-shirts. Bob, the singer for Bum Kon wore his iconic smiley face t-shirt, an obvious hangover from the 70’s. The shirt struck me as ironic in many ways; it was a joke on punk fashion and a statement at the same time. The shirt made many more appearances, and the face was also included on their first recording; something I always associated the band with.

Another Bum Kon moment was the final night at Kennedy’s. Although the band didn’t play, I bought their 7” from one of the members. It was on the mind of everyone in the crowd that Denver was losing its only dedicated all-ages makeshift punk club. During the middle of one band’s set, there was a burst of spontaneous outrage with beer cans being smashed on the cement floor. The punks went ballistic kicking holes in the walls and smashing sinks and toilets. With water rapidly spilling onto the floors, Nancy, the owner of the club was hysterical and rushed around rounding everybody up and pushing people out the door. It was a sad moment for the scene and I somehow sensed it was the end of an era. The flier for that show depicted tombstones and perhaps foreshadowed the inevitable outcome of that evening.

Bum Kon at Kennedy's Warehouse. Original photograph by Valerie Harris. Brush and ink drawing by Bob Rob (Medina). 

My dad was due to pick me up at midnight. Since the show closed down hours earlier, I stood outside the venue in the dark and cold trying to hide myself in the doorway. During that era, downtown Denver was desolate and roaming with vagrants and Kennedy’s was adjacent to the Denver Rescue Mission. I had the record tucked into my jacket and I think the only thing that saved me that evening was my size. I had just turned 15 and obsessed over the possibility of what might happen to me. I never told my dad what really went down that night, other than the show ended early. I knew the consequences of full disclosure. It was a quiet drive back home.

By the mid-90’s I had sold off most of my rare punk records, including a couple that came out of Denver to collectors from all over the world. I needed the money at the time and had little emotional attachment to the material world. One guy in LA offered me $100 for my Bum Kon 7”. I entertained the idea, but in the end I couldn’t do it. It still sits in my box of 7”s. It will always symbolize the end of Kennedy’s with the duality of being a lucky charm of sorts. 

Bum Kon was a powerhouse on stage; they rolled through their set of songs like a passing train. The band evolved from hardcore/thrash beginnings to more of a technical metal sound never sheading their roots. The members: Bob McDonald: vocals, Erik Oberhausen: bass, Mark Thorpe: drums, Larry Denning (R.I.P.): guitar, and later Kelly Cowan: Keyboards, were all down to earth guys, always friendly and approachable. It was a shame they were barely known outside of Denver. And just in case you’re wondering, the meaning of the band’s name is: Go Crazy! as metaphorically stated by the band’s guitarist Larry during an Interview in Something Better Change fanzine. Never mind that it was Woo Bum-Kon, a Korean police officer who went on a murderous spree and ended the rampage by blowing himself up (and hostages) with two grenades in 1982. Thanks for the memories Bob, Erik, Mark and Larry.

Bob McDonald was kind enough to share his stories and insights about Bum Kon below.

In the summer of 1981, when my friend returned from visiting his relatives in LA, his cousin had given him a handful of cassette tapes with bands like Black Flag, Circle Jerks, Clash, etc. I was never really into rock music and actually preferred the soundtrack to Star Wars and my parent’s 8-track tape collection consisting of stuff like Charlie Pride and Mexican Rancheros. I was totally blown away when he played the tapes; it felt like music that was made especially for me. What was your first encounter with punk music? Did you automatically connected with it? Your first show experience? 

I had become bored and disillusioned with the type of rock music I had been listening to and that my friends were into; no longer feeling a connection to it. I began drifting away from my core group of friends the summer between junior high and high school, no longer interested in smoking weed, etc. Hearing Rush for the first time was probably the final straw, I had to find something else. I began listening to some more pre-70s/pre-psychedelic rock, and though I really enjoyed it, it just wasn't what I was looking for. I started hanging out with an Irish guy, a co-worker from Round The Corner Restaurant in Cherry Creek. He had records by English punk and new wave bands, along with Ramones and underground New York/Cleveland bands. I was hooked immediately. The two of us went to my first punk show together, which was the Ramones and Dictators at the Rainbow -I think it was 1979 (Handsome Dick Manitoba insisted that was the year when I met him several years ago). I also was listening to punk with my cousin John, who was visiting that summer from Lawrence, Kansas. He went on to form the Mortal Micronotz. 

Some might refer to your generation as the second wave of Denver punk, I usually call it the first generation of Denver hardcore and more aptly titled: thrash. You and others were a part of the group of kids that went to East High School that started bands. How did that scene unfold? Going to shows and listening to records, when did everyone decide: “hey, we should be doing this”?

During my first year at East there really wasn't much of a punk scene. Dan Dhonau (he was a junior), myself, two seniors (who didn't hang out with us) Lorraine Kennedy and Valerie Harris, plus some people at Manuel HS (Jenny Thero number 1). Dan and I started a band with a couple of other guys called Problem Youth and mainly played covers. We never left the basement. When my junior year started, some of my friends from jr. high had gotten into punk: Erik Oberhausen and Andy Monley, and Geoff Paxton (a friend from elementary school who had moved back to the area). There was a new group of sophomores, Johnny Meggitt, Tom Kennedy, Jason Smith, Chris Steele, Mike Serviola, Pete (can't think of his last name,) Jimi Griff, and probably others I’m forgetting. We all started hanging out at Tom Kennedy's house after school especially on days when Child Abuse practiced; the best punk band Denver had or will ever know. We all listened to Black Flag, Germs, DKs, etc. and goofed around. Being a small group in a rather hostile environment (toward punks), we stayed tight and together. I was no longer playing in Problem Youth as the band morphed to become Peace Core. Child Abuse, Peace Core, Frantix, White Trash, all these bands were infectious and everyone wanted to be doing something. As for me, every show and every record I heard made me want to be more and more involved. 

Early Bum Kon. Original photograph by Nancy Kennedy. Oil painting by Bob Rob (Medina).

How did Bum Kon form and what was the first show?

Bum Kon formed at the Husker Du matinee show at the Mercury Cafe. After they finished playing they asked if anyone wanted to come up and play. Erik Oberhausen and I jumped up, along with Mark Thorpe and Larry Denning. I remember playing "Louie Louie" Black Flag style. Afterwards, we all kind of looked at each other and were on the same page to start a band. I don't recall what our first show was, but woe to whoever played after us...

Bum Kon set list from an early Fort Collins show. Courtesy of Jeff Ross

There was always a close relationship between Bum Kon and the Frantix. You had the song: “Questions” they had, “New Questions” in addition to Bum Kon /Frantix beer cans references on your respective 7” eps. How intentional was that? How would you describe that relationship and the influence you had on each other?

Bum Kon and Frantix were all good friends and loved to play shows together. I don't think there was any connection between the two songs. The beer can thing was just a fun inside joke. It started with Rick's idea for a brand called "Crazy Beer," with the advertising slogan: Crazy Beer, it'll fuck you up!

Drunken Sex Sucks 7" ep insert.  

In reading early interviews, was there a competition between you guys and the Frantix on who could outdo each other in obnoxiousness to answering questions?

I don't recall a competition regarding who could be more obnoxious, but I think the whole scene in general pushed each other to outdo the next person in that regard. It was just a part of who we all were: a bunch of fucking punks. 

I have some photos I took of Bum Kon at the GBH/Kraut show at the Aztlan and you wore a smiley face shirt. I have seen you on stage wearing that shirt more than a couple of times. Was it your rabbit’s foot for preforming?

I bought the smiley face shirt at a thrift store and just really liked it. It was such a lame expression of that whole time, all the smiley face stuff that was everywhere set against the Reagan era, which was anything but happy. It became kind of an unofficial band logo (we used it on the label of the 7-inch). It was also light and comfortable and nice for playing sweaty shows. I recalling that being a horrible show by the way.

There are a few of what I think are some of the best photos of Bum Kon floating around taken by Nancy Kennedy. The particular show I’m referring to was in someone’s living room. What were some of the more unusual places the band played?

Nancy always got great photos. Her Misfits/Necros at the hospital are priceless-you had to have been there. I'm not sure about that living room (I know the photo), but would guess maybe at Nancy and Tom's. By normal show venue criteria we did play some unusual places, though at the time they seemed pretty normal to me. Among the more memorable:

The Packing House: A warehouse at a former slaughterhouse in north Denver.

Christians: Skid row, an alley off of Larimer St.

Larimore Dump: exquisite. 

The Dust Bowl: The basement of an art gallery off of Santa Fe, the floor was dirt, and when the punks danced, hence the name. My mom came to see us there once, but only lasted about two minutes, if even that. 

The Outhouse in Lawrence, Kansas: A concrete shack/building out in the middle of Kansas farmland. 

There were some gyms, a couple of awesome 3.2 gay bars…(3.2 is basically watered down beer, 3.2% ABV hence the name that was available in Colorado to 18 year-olds. ed.)

Flier by Headbanger and courtesy of Trash is Truth. 

Flier courtesy of Trash is Truth.

Is there one show/night for whatever reason that has been a permanent fixture in your memory? 

Opening for Motorhead at the rainbow on their 10th anniversary tour. We were treated like shit by the venue, had terrible sound, generally sucked, but got to meet and chat with Lemmy and of course see the show. Any night at Kennedy's.

Flier courtesy of Jeff Ross.

Nancy always reminded me as the soccer mom of punk. In what ways did she nurture bands and the scene?

She definitely was and was a huge influence on myself and I would imagine all of us. She let us hang out at her house, play music in the basement, stay there if there was trouble at home (or in a case or two, nowhere to go). She let touring bands stay there, most notably Black Flag and Minutemen. She fed people and joined in with whatever we were doing. She acted as occasional guardian so someone could get into a 21 and over show. She threw wicked elbows on the dance floor, but gave it her all so that we could continue to play music and have a safe place to hang out. This included sinking every bit of her money and energy into opening an all-ages venue for the scene with no thought for turning a profit or her own comfort (she lived there). Without Nancy and her contributions to the Denver punk scene it would never have existed as it did. There should be a statue of her, except she would just vandalize it all the time if there was. 

When all of the first wave of HC bands broke up, switched team members and went on to become something else, Bun Kon not only stuck it out, but also evolved. What was the secret to the longevity?

I guess we just liked each other. Also, there wasn't much to do in Denver. For me the shows seemed the same, though I would imagine later on the sets were longer and we may have taken a moment between songs, possibly not. I have very little remembrance of any show I have ever done in any band. 

How would you compare the band’s early shows to the Ground Round era? In your opinion how had the scene change and what do you think the band did to remain relevant?  

As the scene grew it changed a lot for me. I didn't care for the circle-style pit, seemed stupid and organized, compared to the atoms randomly smashing in to each other type of slam dancing before, so I no longer joined in. The scene had a lot of violence within itself, was factionalized and there seemed to be little community or care for others within it. I would not call a majority of what was going on in the mid-80’s punk rock. That said, there were also a ton of amazing people involved and there were still moments where great amounts of energy were expelled, and for lack of a better word, positivity.

I don't think we did anything to be relevant, we just played the kind of music that we enjoyed playing. In hindsight, I think we were actually trying to turn people off.

How did Duane approach the band about doing your first ep for Local Anesthetic?

He asked if we wanted to do it and of course we said yes! 

Bum Kon t-shirt. Courtesy of Jeff Ross

I can’t count how many times I’ve seen Bum Kon, you guys played out quite a bit, maybe that’s why you got so tight. I think right before the first LP came out, is when you started to hit your stride. At any time during the band’s career was there ever a serious attempt to tour other than one-off shows out of state?

Nope. There was Lawrence, Kansas. We played a disastrous show in Las Vegas; it could be a whole interview in itself. Nothing went right and we were miserable most of the time. The experience did strengthen the bond between us all greatly and introduced a character to the band; a mechanic named Zippy. Zippy was a favorite inside joke and many great impersonations from Larry. We also did shows in Fort Collins (The Grange!), Colorado Springs where one of the shows led to a local news story on punk rock. We also played a show at Colorado Mountain College in Carbondale on the western slope between Glenwood Springs and Aspen. There was Boulder as well.

If you didn’t move to San Francisco how much longer do you think Bum Kon would have continued? Did the band end at the right time?

For me the band ended at the right time. I don't think had I stayed I would have continued on much longer. Erik, Larry and Mark (and Kelly by that time), were really into super technical riffing and a more metal hybrid, and though I love that stuff, I was not really interested in playing it. Then again, with nothing else to do in Denver, it might be still going to this day. 

Twenty-five years after the fact, Smooch/MRR releases the full recording of the Drunken Sex Sucks sessions. How did that come about? 

Andrew Murphy who runs Smooch is a big fan of the Denver/Boulder music from the era and was a former Wax Trax employee. He worked with Duane and Big Bad Bob to release the Local Anesthetic compilation. Through doing that, they came across the tapes Big Bad Bob recorded for the 7-inches. I'm not quite certain exactly how MRR got involved, but I think it was some in-house maneuvering at Revolver USA where Andrew, Johnny Meggit, and a couple of MRR people were all working at the time. Andrew asked about releasing the material and Erik and I were into it. Erik did the great front cover art and I did the Woo Bum-Kon portrait on the back. 

Drunken Sex Sucks complete session, Smooch/MRR records 2008 Artwork by Robert McDonald

Shifting gears a little bit, why didn’t Denver see more of Bad Circus? What was the catalyst for that band?

Though I wasn't in Bad Circus (a common misconception, they were from Italy living in Denver, exchange students I believe). Denver saw more of them than it deserved as they were truly onto something much greater than the city could handle. The one show at Kennedy's should have been the only one, a great riot and a lot of fun to witness. I recall the second one where they backed up Jesus Christ, wasn't nearly as good.  

I was told the bad was formed by three non-musical band vocalists who were fed up with musicians calling the shots about what their bands back in Italy should sound like. They also felt it was important to school the American punks about how their own federal government operates, along with a few other basic civics lessons that didn't appear to have ever been learned by the substandard American school system of the time. I lost touch with them after they returned to Italy, but one of the members supposedly went into politics and was convicted of accepting bribes in the late '90s.

The news of Larry passing was a surprise and maybe even a logical outcome by his lifestyle choices. He was an amazing guitarist and you could hear his potential on the band’s early material. What were your thoughts when your first heard the news?

I was very saddened by Larry's death and my thoughts on the matter are my own. He was a great guitarist and a wonderful friend.

Early Bum Kon propaganda. Go Crazy!

Mark also left Denver and I heard some of his songs he’s been working on. Another friend ran into Eric at a supermarket in Denver. How often do you keep in contact with those two?

I am in occasional touch with Erik and saw him the last couple of times I was in Denver, but I don't get back there often.

Is there a place you feel sentimental about back in Denver?

If I’m sentimental about anyplace in Denver it is Nancy and Tom Kennedy's house. Aside from the core group of friends from East, there were also a lot of other people that hung out with us. There were girls, guys, some in school some not, and many from other schools (St. Mary's baby!). Nothing tops the times we had there and I remain thankful to them both for their unlimited and unwavering generosity, goodwill and support.

Bum Kon discography:
Drunken Sex Sucks 7" EP, Local Anesthetic Records 1983
S/T LP, Local Anesthetic Records 1984
Ground Round LP Sun Baked Records 1986
Drunken Sex Sucks complete session, Smooch/MRR records 2008

Special thanks to Monica Zarazua and Ana Medina for editing help. 

Headbanger: Denver's legendary punk promoter

Compared with the older kids in high school who were in bands and went to shows, I was low on the punk totem pole during my freshman year. At ninth grade orientation, a couple of the senior class new wave-y looking girls assisting the cameraman who was taking yearbook photos noted my new Kraut t-shirt. They asked if I went to the GBH/Kraut show a couple of weeks prior. They both giggled and said the older punks were going to beat me up. Great.

True, I did catch shit here and there from the older punks, but for the most part they tolerated me. One guy, Martin Day was exceptionally nice. He wore ripped jeans, a t-shirt, black leather motorcycle jacket adorned with a chain, perhaps a couple of spike studs, and punk band buttons. Martin knew a lot about bands and I tried to tag along his side whenever I could. One afternoon during lunch, he was having a conversation with the other punks about upcoming shows. Another punk in the group mentioned something about going to the “Headbanger” show that weekend. In my mind, I was thinking, why would punks want to hang out with headbangers; it was the unspoken rule that metal dudes totally sucked. Someone in the group had to clue me in that Headbanger was the name of the guy who promoted the punk shows in Denver.

Early Headbanger flier. Courtesy of Trash is Truth

That weekend I asked my dad to drive my friend Jimmy and I down to the show at the Packing House. I wondered if Headbanger was an actual headbanger. Before I totally understood what “irony” really meant, I had a pretty good grip on its implications. I thought the punkest thing anyone could do was call themselves something that seemed anti-punk. Jimmy and I paid at the door and walked into the space trying to guess who Headbanger was. Our money was on the guy behind the soundboard with longer hair, wearing a leather jacket, with a heavy fuck the world look on his face. He definitely looked like a road worn headbanger. We ran into Martin who was standing around drinking a beer with a friend. I asked him if that was Headbanger standing over there. He and his friend busted out laughing, “No, that’s Jimmy West of the Rok Tots!” (A couple of years later, Martin became the Rok Tots drummer.)

Martin later pointed out who the real “Tom” Headbanger was. He was nothing like I imagined. He had short hair, awkward mannerisms and made funny comments on stage between bands such as “don’t forget to tip your waitresses.”  Months later, I mustered up enough nerve to introduce myself to him at a show. I told him that I was an artist and that I could make fliers for his shows. He looked at me like I was crazy, but didn’t say “no” followed by he couldn’t pay me if I did. He stood there for a moment processing the idea and ended the conversation that maybe he’d get me into a show if I made a flier he used. I attempted a couple of fliers thereafter, but the drawings ending up the trash bin next to my desk.

Some Headbanger art. Collection on author

I always thought of Tom as more of a Denver punk celebrity. He seemed to have his hand in everything. He had conspicuous style that was signature of his fanzine and flier making. I always wanted to ask him if he was going for a car crash-pileup aesthetic by way of his haphazard approach of collaging his distinctive handwriting and borrowed (and sometimes drawn) images. He even dabbed in fronting the band Da Butcherz. He booked shows in the most unusual places: a junkyard, former car garage (Kennedy’s Warehouse), and everything in-between. The icing was his faux candidacy for the mayor of Denver. He was the poster child for embracing the Do-It-Yourself ethic, but more along the lines of: “Do what you can get away with.”

Tom Headbanger. Original Photograph: unknown Ink drawing: Bob Rob Medina

The most accurate way I would describe his personality on a public level is: a part-time smart-ass with biting commentary. I had a suspicion of those who didn’t like him were intimidated by his intelligence. In interviews he spared no one, calling people out on their ignorance or making far out statement about his knowledge of Nazism or his solutions to humanity. Either way, his outlandishness commanded further investigation. 

Headbanger's punk survey, a precursor to direct marketing. Courtesy of Jill Razer  

Tom was also daring, he possessed the instincts of a hustler by keeping one step ahead of systems that were in place or any person who tried to hinder his agenda. For glory or otherwise, his modus operandi was to make things happen. It was certain he always had a vision, a master plan for his undertakings. There was always a Headbanger story.

In the summer of 1985 I rode up to Boulder with a couple of friends to see a punk show at Gate 10 at Folsom Stadium on the CU Boulder campus. Gate 10 was hardly a club, it was a non-descript empty room tucked away on the side in one of the many entrances into the stadium. Someone had the foresight that it would be an ideal venue for live punk and hardcore music. Headbanger was running the show that particular evening.  

A couple of campus police officers arrived to investigate why loads of kids in leather jackets with crazy hairdos were hanging around the stadium. I stood off to the side and watched Headbanger skillfully explain to the officers that he was just a doorman hired to take “invitations” for the event. That was when two punks walked up to him ready to hand over a fistful of pocket change to gain entrance. As not to get outted for hosting and taking cash for a questionably legal show, he preemptively shouted out to the kids approaching the door asking them for their invitations. The pair stood there looking clueless, glancing down at their coins. He motioned for the kids to move over to the side. The campus cops nodded to one another and walked away wishing for something a little more exciting. With the officers in the distance, Headbanger gestured the kids to move forward. He took their money, stamped their hands, and ushered them inside the room. It was a trademark Headbanger moment.   

Finding places to hold shows in the Denver was a challenge. Tom was a master at it. When it came my turn to carry the torch and promote shows in the later part of the 80’s, I had many years of studying Headbanger’s strategies and techniques under my belt. Truth be told, we were hardly partners on crime. Our interactions consisted of friendly exchanges at shows. Yet, he was indirectly one of my mentors.

Da Butcherz. Original Photograph: Roger Morgan. Ink drawing: Bob Rob Medina 

I was fresh out of high school when I promoted my first show in 1987. I rented a VFW hall on East Colfax Ave. in Aurora and plastered Capitol Hill light poles with fliers. A year later I joined the Fraternal Order of the Eagles up in Thornton. The process for joining the lodge was buying a round of beers for a pair of old veterans camping out at the bar. They checked me up and down and signed off on my application. I did this all in the name of punk rock so I could book concerts in their dingy bingo hall. Count this as another trick of the trade I learned from Headbanger.

Tom inspired a whole generation of ad hoc Denver promoters: Razer, Brewer, Shane from Happy World, Becky from Lick It Up fanzine, and even the Denver Skins. Headbanger showed us that anyone with a little money and a lot of nerve could promote a show, make zines, or indulge in any wild inclinations to be creative within a music scene that had no rules or boundaries.  

As with almost every punk promoter, Tom had eventually ran his course. He, like other original Denver punks, either outgrew or became disillusioned with the growing violence within the scene. One fateful evening at the Packing House he was beaten to a pulp by a group of kids at one of his shows. He was done. He took his creative punk spirit and moved on to something different. He had a good run: creating something out of nothing for all of us who to went to his shows, saw his band, and read his fanzine. In the end, Tom left his blueprint for others to continue. His legend precedes him. 

Business card. Collection of Jill Razer 

Special thanks to Monica Zarazua and Ana Medina for editing help.