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. 

Punx Unite Assholes Die: Hardcore, Violence, and the Denver Skins. Part 2

My previous post generated strong reactions, including a couple of people contacting me who I hadn’t talked with in decades. They were upset about what I wrote. Most of my audience is somehow connected to the Denver punk rock scene during the 1980’s. The loosely defined ethos of punk has been my life long commitment, I signed-up in 1982 and never looked back. I’m hardwired to its’ philosophy, which is at times contradictory and escapes definition. What the hell does punk rock mean? There are as many definitions as there are stories. My intentions aren’t to re-engage or relive the past, to hurt anyone, or to take sides. I’m a product of my father, a storyteller.  I write what is relevant and meaningful to me, the full spectrum of it. The purpose of this project is to document a time and place 30 years ago.

For some, those years were glorious, for others it is a painful period growing up. No matter what I post, there will always be two-sides. Many of us did fucked-up things, hurt people, broke the law, and engaged in other antisocial behaviors. Not everyone lived long enough, either by choice or by circumstance, to reflect on what happened all those years ago. Some former punks and skins became religious/spiritual, or got heavier into self-medicating. Others simply walked away.

There is the present: spouses, children, jobs, and everything that comes with adulthood. During our teenage years we go through the process of figuring out our shit through making series of choices. There is no doubt we made bad decisions during that time, perhaps some we’d like to take back or some we would make differently knowing what we know now. We’ll never know. I don’t want to author something that might cause someone to lose their job, the way I wouldn’t smash windows and slash the van tires of a band who’s politics I didn’t agree with. Life is tough, nowadays most of us are just trying to put food on the table. The less bullshit the better.  

Punx Unite, Assholes Die was a song on Happy World’s second album. It was a response to the increasing violence happening at the shows in Denver. The guitarist of the band and later promoter, like most people in the scene just wanted to go see shows, play music and have fun. Promoters didn’t want to lose their deposit because some kid kicked holes into bathroom walls or took a marker and tagged the place. Even Oxnard’s (and later Denver’s) Aggression in their song S.A.T.C. (Slamming At The Club) sing “then came something to fuck up our scene, assholes who throw bottles to prove that they’re mean, kicking holes in the wall don’t mean that you’re cool, when the place is close you’ll know you’re the fool.”

Happy World. Original Photograph: unknown Ink drawing: Bob Rob Medina 

As the violence at punk shows was deepening nation wide, Maximum RockNRoll ran an article in Issue 14 Breaking the Silence on Gang Violence. It featured interviews with members of BASH (Bay Area Skinheads) alongside other punks and skins. The gist of the various articles stated members in scenes across the country were being marginalized by bullies though acts of aggression. The fanzine’s publisher, Tim Yohannan, felt the values of punk were being compromised by a handful of people who were going to shows for the sole purpose of instigating violence. The issue invited participants and observers from different sides to share their opinions and thoughts on the subject. Although the interviews brought the topic out into the open, the violence not only continued but intensified.

“I thought Punk was my calling, I thought I was in it for life. Then I’m at a show and there is all this in-fighting, it was really fucked-up. I’m thinking we should be fighting against society, the system, or whatever but not each other. I thought the violence at shows was just the stupidest shit. That is when I realized I didn’t need to keep going to shows. Punk stopped evolving.” This sentiment was stated by a longtime member of the scene and is shared by many former Denver punks I have spoken with when approaching them about my project. Most are happy to tell endless stories about this and that, but in the same regard don’t want to go on record or use their names in interviews. I respect their decision and privacy.

In the mid-90’s when I first brought up the subject of writing a book about the Denver punk scene, most people were readily excited to contribute. In my initial research I observed that all the stories were funny, centered on bands that came through town. Someone always had a cute story about the Exploited or G.B.H, which have their own merit. However, the stories lacked a pulse on what it was like growing up punk in Denver. To arrive at this point, hard questions had to be asked with serious reflections.

Our selective memories have blacked out some of the darker moments in the scene. There were wild nights of heavy drinking, drugs, fistfights, pistol-whipping all to the soundtrack of fast and angry music. The more secluded the venue was, like the Packing House or somewhere down on Larimer St., the more potential for a volatile evening. The main culprit was the increase in the number of skinheads. By 1985, they adopted a more gang like mentality. They had power in numbers backed by an aggressive demeanor and controlled the temperament of most hardcore shows. The skins were a pack of sorts, bonded in unity and ready to pound someone at the slightest incitement. The dance floor grew more gruesome; it became like a slugfest. The skins had a reputation of taking cheap shots at audience members trying to watch and enjoy bands. One person I spoke with said, “Sometimes it was hard to get into watching a band, I was constantly looking over my shoulder.” A few bystanders tried to hold their ground but more often than not were met with flying fists and all signs of dissonance quashed immediately. 

Crowd at a show. Original Photograph: unknown Ink drawing: Bob Rob Medina  

The music shifted and became secondary to what was happening in the crowd. In my opinion, the music ceased to be original and adopted a more homogenized sound to serve the punks and skins decked out in their uniforms. This might explain the mass exodus of the original Denver punks. “Why would I want to go to shows anymore, what’s the point of seeing your friends get punched in the face for having fun.”

One might ask why did people give up their power and let acts of violence become a staple at shows? Why did people allow violence to continue when hardcore/skinhead bands like Agnostic Front sang about punks and skins being “united and strong” together against the system? Many felt the whole unity thing was a charade, words without meaning or substance. The irony was that bullies within the scene were keeping their own kind down. From what, the same type of power we were fighting against?

Dr. Know (Big Slug) Public Service Announcement #1. From the fanzine 60 Miles North. Artist: Jamie Hernandez 1983. Collection of author.  

Any type of group, skins, punks, or whatever has a hierarchy just like society. How did we ever think it would be any different? Those who possess power will impose it on the weakest members of a group. When the bottom rises to the top, the cycle repeats itself.

Many of the former Denver punks easily point the finger at the skinheads for “ruining” the scene. It would be just as easy to condemn those who stood idly by and passively let it happen. Annie, author of Archy-Type Morality stated in one of her issues regarding the CH3/Samhain show where promoter Tom Headbanger was severely beaten that Denver didn’t have a Nazi problem. The problem was rooted in uncontrolled drug use and testosterone. Her angle was Denver had a cool little scene, but it grew into a monster because it didn’t keep itself in check.  

Archy-Type Morality Issue 10 gig review. Collection of author. 

Everyone wants to be at the top. Young impressionable punks witnessed the power the older skins had. Within a period of a couple of years, the number of flight jackets and Doc Martins swelled. The Denver Skins made their own t-shirts adorned with a giant iron cross and printed business cards stating “the few, the proud, the Nazis. It was initially an inside joke. People called them Nazis. Jello Biafra popularized the term “Nazi Punks"; it was a slight on the mentality that punks should be one big happy family. When in fact the origins of punk are all about individuality, questioning everything, including the mighty Jello. No offense to him, he only spoke his mind and others followed. I can see why the original skins wanted to distance themselves from any textbook punk definition. One of the Denver skins stated, “Why did everyone have fit into one of Jello’s little punk category?” When the skins carved out their own identity, some members of the scene labeled them as Nazis, and they embraced it.

Willig Comic fanzine Dec. 1983. Collection of author. 

When Black Flag rolled through Denver in 1984, someone gave Henry Rollins one of the Denver Skins business cards. He read it to the audience between songs and proceeded to tear it in half. He then called them weak and challenged the group asking to take on the toughest one. The audience went into a frenzy chanting anti-skin slogans. Where Jello failed, perhaps Rollins would succeed. Rollins wearing nothing but gym shorts jumped off the stage while the rest of the band and roadies stood at the edge waiting. Rollins stood face to face with one of the skins backed by his posse. Nothing happened other than an exchange of words. The music resumed and the Denver punks were offered a temporary refrain from violence that evening.

I find it a bit ironic that it took a punk celebrity to address Denver’s internal bullying. Concert promoter Razer stated that the punks got what they deserved for not standing up for themselves at shows, “If you act like a victim, then I’ll fuck with you!”

Thanks to Monica Zarazua and Ana Medina for editing help. 

Assholes Unite: Hardcore, violence, and the Denver Skins. Part 1

Circa 1984.

“Assholes Unite” was considered the self-proclaimed consciousness of the Denver Skins. That very slogan adorned by a giant swastika on the back of a repurposed white dress shirt belonged to a member of the group. The shirt was significant at the time, not only for its’ offensive in-your-face shock value, but it made a statement about the impending divisions within the punk scene.

An old punk relics. Artist: Bob Rob Medina 

Who and what exactly were the Denver Skins? I remember someone making a comment during a show at Kennedy’s Warehouse, “Those skins aren’t even from Denver, they’re from Aurora!” In the beginning, the Denver Skins didn’t hold overt racist or political leanings. It was a tight group of friends, mainly suburban teens with a lot of steam to blow off. They were typical in the sense that they drank, occasionally dabbled in drugs and identified with fast and aggressive music. Hardcore was their soundtrack to skating half-pipes and riding BMX bikes. I would argue that the prevailing attitude of the Denver Skins in its’ infancy stage came about as a reaction to the rules and ethos that punk was trying to establish.

Aurora Punks. Photo from the collection of Stuart. Artist: Bob Rob Medina 

The original Skinheads were a British subculture in the 1960’s that more or less faded into the background until punk rock exploded in mid-late 70’s. The resurgence of the skins splintered into two distinct camps; while both embraced the working class ethic and attitude, one faction held National Front (NF) leanings that paved the path towards the rise of nationalism and racism. The band Skrewdriver was one of the many dime-a-dozen British punk groups from the first wave in 1976-77. The band’s frontman, Ian Stuart (Donaldson) would later reform and reinvent the band in 1982. The new line-up seized the opportunity to be the center of the blooming white power movement that would infiltrate punk scenes globally. Denver would become one of those cities.

For the most part, the skins in Denver were tolerated. They did live up to their title of being "assholes" on the dance floor. One of their favorite tactics was jumping on the backs of unsuspecting people in front of the stage watching bands. There was a great deal of moaning about them from people within the scene. When the fanzine Lick It Up attempted to bring the joke band White Pride from St. Louis, it sparked quite a controversy. The skins had clearly carved out their own space in the scene and fostered an “us versus them” atmosphere that would linger for many years to come. In response to the White Pride flier, a group of punks authored an eight-page letter about the current state of the scene and calling for a boycott of the show. Jon of Citizen X printed and passed out his two-page response to the Boycott White Pride letter. Two of Denver’s weekly papers: Westword and Up The Creek picked up the story. San Francisco’s Maximum RockNRoll (MRR) reprinted all 8-pages of the original letter along with a letter from one of the author's Eliane. It was certain that once the news reached MRR, Denver’s punk scene would gain a reputation for being infiltrated by Nazis skinheads, which was hardly the case at the time.  

The flier that spurred the controversy. Collection of the author. 

Page 1 of 8, An Open Letter to the Denver Punks, regarding White Pride and the state of the Denver scene. I was handed this one evening at Kennedy's Warehouse. Collection of the author.

An excerpt from page 2. Collection of the author.

Excerpt from Jon (Citizen X ) "An open reply to the person(s) who wrote the boycott the White Pride letter." Collection of the author.

Excerpt from Gil Asakawa's Westword Article "As you reich it" Note the band's song titles and statement. Collection of the author.

With the skins gaining momentum and the closing of Kennedy’s Warehouse, older punks had become disillusioned with the changes in the scene and started dropping out and moving away. This was in early 1984, when most of the first wave of Denver’s hardcore bands such as Child Abuse, USA, White Trash, Frantix had all broken-up and moved on to start post-hardcore projects.

Circa 1981-83

Many punks from that first wave of Denver’s hardcore scene cite the Black Flag and the Circle Jerks shows at the Rainbow Music Hall in 1983 as a transitional period, the beginning of the end of the scene. Almost overnight there was an influx of hundreds of suburbanites with mohawks, buzz cuts, combat boots and leather jackets. The so-called punk look was taking shape and becoming more defined, verging on the concept of a uniform thanks to album covers, fanzines, and the mass media. I can certainly state that I bought into those aesthetics.  

Punk rockers Jeff, Tracy of A.S.F., and Jim hanging out at Kennedy's Warehouse. Original Photograph by Kat Parker. Artist: Bob Rob Medina

Most agree that the influence of skinheads and Oi music (a blend of pub and punk rock with working class sensibilities) influence on American punk and hardcore is a direct import from across the pond. The fashion (boots, braces, Fred Perry’s, shaved heads, fins, painted leather jackets, spikes, Creepers, etc.) was easily digestible for American kids looking for a uniform that would easily classify them as punk rockers or skinheads. New York and later London were clearly responsible for creating and defining a punk look. Little shops popped up all across America selling punk clothes and accessories. Denver’s version was Fashion Disaster. Some Denverites even made the journey to Los Angeles, to go shopping at places like Nana’s and Poseurs to get their fashion consumerism on. There’s no denying that the punk look was essentially a commodity that my peers and I subscribed to. In contrast, taking a peek back to early 80’s American hardcore, the bands and people at shows were more or less ordinary looking teens and young adults decked out in t-shirts and jeans sporting buzz-cuts. Point in case, Black Flag didn’t look like the Exploited.  

The looming violence

During the early eighties, punk was a threat. It attracted kids that didn’t fit in, to kids who were looking to be different, and to those that liked the aggression and violent aspect of the music. Hardcore punk didn’t start out as let’s sit around the campfire and sing Kumbaya. The music begged for a hostile reaction such as running around in a circle slamming into others in the pit and on the sidelines. The dance floor might consist of a handful of kids at a local gig or hundreds at a Dead Kennedy’s show. Larger concerts attracted more attention, thus drawing-in the curious and new, several that had their own interpretation of what it meant to be and act punk. The chaos and violence would soon be inevitable.

In many ways, punks were only united by their outcast status and taste for angry, aggressive, and loud music. Most participants in the scene weren’t out to intentionally hurt others. When people fell in the “pit” while slam dancing, others lent a hand to pick them up. It may sound like a contradiction in a room full of people running into one another, but there was etiquette to the chaos.

The slam dancing pit at Kennedy's Warehouse. Original photo by Duane Davis. Artist: Bob Rob Medina

Even punk icons like Ian MacKay and Henry Rollins got caught-up in the energy and violence of the music in the early days after their first trip to California in 1981. In numerous interviews, Ian cites a Circle Jerks show he witnessed in San Francisco where followers of the band drove up from Los Angeles and wreaked havoc on the SF punks.  The band’s followers, HB (Huntington Beach) Punks had a real appetite for violence at shows and on the dance floor. The show made a strong impression on the pair. The fury and intensity was nothing like they ever experienced. They returned back home only to introduce those violent characteristics to the Washington D.C. scene.

Violence wasn’t new to punk, it has always existed in one form of another. Skinhead violence was an outgrowth of what has been happening all along. The best way to define groups like skinheads, is a clique with a pack mentality. Early Boston hardcore band DYS (Department of Youth Services) had the backing of the Boston Crew, a group of hardline straight edge kids with shaved heads known to instigate fights at shows, mainly with people who drank alcohol. The song Wolfpack best illustrates this temperament: “A mini-army of angry youth. Wolfpack! Don't give us any shit Wolfpack! Or you're gonna get hit.” My friend Analen, an L.A. punk in the early 80’s wrote to me that she her friends were afraid of the violence in her scene. L.A. had “punk gangs” like FFF (Fight For Freedom), LADS (Los Angles Death Squad), and the Suicidals (friends aka family of the band Suicidal Tendencies). The aggressive dancing that Ian and Henry witnessed in 81’ by the HB Punks was just a preview of what was to come in many punk scenes across America.

The punk rock agenda

The older scene was mainly made-up of people who embraced a live and let attitude. They didn’t get into your shit and try define punk, much less dictate how the scene should be. One might describe the attitude as complacent. Race, gender, political leanings, and religion were rendered irrelevant. It was more about the music, being different. People coexisted. This was the prevailing attitude in the days before bands adopted agendas and got preachy and overtly political. The onset of hardcore changed all of that.

Divisions were inherently created as bands and fanzines started defining what punk rock was and wasn’t. The genesis of punk was that there were no rules and definitions. A contingent of the scene embraced this ideology and found itself in conflict with those that espoused a punk agenda. There were moments going to shows in Denver where the tension was thick between those who identified themselves as peace punks and those who were anti-peace for the sake of reaction and antagonism. The birth of the Denver Skins was a knee-jerk response to those wishing to impose an across-the-board punk identity.

To be continued.

Next post: Punx Unite, Assholes Die

Special thanks to: Nate, Evan, Jill, Mike, and Shawn, for the conversations and insights over the years regarding this topic.

Thanks to Monica Zarasusa and Ana Medina for editing help.