Corporate rock still sucks, and Black Flag is still the best antidote to the stage-managed Ticketmaster thralls headlining your local arena.

The seminal hardcore band set out on a major tour to mark the 40^th anniversary of ‘My War,’ a landmark of independent rock that saw Black Flag break all the rules they’d just codified scarcely three years earlier on their debut full-length. The My War 40^th anniversary tour hit Gas Lamp in Des Moines on April 26, and I made sure to get to the venue early enough to stake out a spot right next to guitarist Greg Ginn’s corner of the stage so I could get as close as possible to one of the true giants of underground rock and roll.

Mission accomplished.

My wife and I literally had to step aside so Ginn, who founded the band back in 1976, could make his way to the stage and remove his guitar from its road case. We spent the entire performance inches from Ginn, staring straight up at him as he swayed back and forth in front of his megalithic amplifier. I didn’t take the time to do a systematic head count, but the venue felt packed and was certainly near capacity, which is about 200.

Long story short, I sat at the feet of a punk icon for a $25 general admission ticket. The corporate rock industry just can’t compete with that kind of experience. Every week seems to bring a new wave of stories about outraged fans getting fleeced by Ticketmaster for Bruce Springsteen nosebleeds or whatever. Skip all that. Delete the Ticketmaster app. You can have a far more rewarding experience at your local rock club for a lot less money. I promise.

Black Flag performed two sets on the evening. The first consisted of the entirety of ‘My War,’ while the second set drew on the rest of Black Flag’s legendary catalog and included some of the greatest anthems in the punk canon. 

Mike Vallely, a professional skateboarder who now lives in Des Moines, has served as the lead singer for several years now. It takes serious focus and intensity to credibly channel the aggressive energy of Black Flag, and Vallely delivers. He contorts his muscular frame in time with Ginn’s twisted riffs and coils like a snake near the kick drum between songs as if replenishing his energy for the next number. Sweat rolled down his shaved head from the opening moments of the first set.

Obviously, anyone who takes on frontman responsibilities for a ‘My War’ anniversary tour is going to receive comparisons to Henry Rollins, who sang on the record. I wouldn’t say Vallely possesses the same combination of menace and charisma that made Rollins one of the most recognizable faces in the history of heavy music, but Vallely more than holds his own. 

But let’s talk about Greg Ginn a little more, because this stuff’s important. Not only did Ginn form Black Flag and mastermind the band’s direction through the decades, he also founded SST, one of the most important independent record label in the history of rock. At its height, SST was a cultural powerhouse that released some of the most influential rock music of the 1980s, laying the foundation for the Nineties alternative rock explosion. According to Jim Ruland’s “Corporate Rock Sucks: The Rise and Fall of SST Records,” Ginn burned some bridges and made some questionable business decisions, and SST today is little more than an online storefront for merch and reprinted vinyl. 

It’s my sincere hope that, despite the controversy Ginn generates in some quarters, he’ll get his due as one of the true visionaries of independent music. The sheer scope of the revolutionary music he helped to release as the founder of SST will melt your face. Soundgarden, Bad Brains, the Descendents, Sonic Youth, Husker Du, the Minutemen, the Screaming Trees and Dinosaur Jr. all spent time on SST and benefited from the label’s imprimatur. He played a crucial role in the DIY ethos that drove punk and indie music of the 80s and 90s, and he flouted the rules of the music business at every step in the process.

Take Black Flag’s first few records as an example. With “Damaged,” the band’s first full-length album released in 1981, Black Flag created a blueprint for hardcore punk that would inspire countless copycats across the country. And it’s easy to see why. Anthems like “Rise Above,” “Six Pack,” and “TV Party” deliver the fist-pumping speed, volume and aggression that define hardcore. Then, less than three years later, Black Flag would turn the loud-and-fast formula on its head with ‘My War.’ Or, more accurately, with side 2 of ‘My War.’

The first side of ‘My War’ delivers the kind of hardcore punk fans expected from Black Flag. The second side, however, gets considerably slower and weirder. Black Flag’s first official release, the Nervous Breakdown EP, features four songs with a combined runtime of just 5:23. Of the three tracks on side 2 of ‘My War,’ the shortest song clocks in at 6:02. That’s positively interminable compared to the band’s earlier output. The riffs churn downhill like a slow-motion avalanche. They’re brutal and unstoppable – and they owe more to Sabbath than to the Ramones. It’s no wonder the album proved polarizing among the punk scene at the time.

Side 2 of ‘My War’ opened new possibilities for the punk world, and its influence can be heard all over the Pacific Northwest bands that would take over the world in just a few short years. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say you can draw a direct line from Black Flag’s “Nothing Left Inside” and “Scream” to “Floyd the Barber” and “Sifting” on Nirvana’s ‘Bleach’ or pretty much everything on ‘Gluey Porch Treatments’ by Melvins.

Black Flag’s double-barrel sets at Gas Lamp last week showcased the impressive scope of the band’s development and vision. It was a little like watching the Beatles perform Sgt. Pepper’s in their brightly colored psychedelic regalia, take a 20-minute break and then come back onstage in black ties and moptops to perform “I Wanna Hold Your Hand.” Maybe that comparison is anathema to the punk purists of the world, but that would be in keeping with Ginn’s willingness to thumb his nose at punk strictures. Whiplashing between ‘My War’ and a second set of punk classics reinforces just how much Ginn wrote and rewrote the rules of underground rock.

What could be more punk?

If you’re anything like me, you compulsively read those end-of-the-year music lists to see what songs, albums and artists you missed the previous 12 months. I thought I’d do something similar, but rather than categorize everything by genre or rank everything one through ten, I just made up some categories so I can talk about music I liked in 2022 without having to worry about coherent organization or smooth transitions. I admit it’s kinda arbitrary. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.

BEST COWPUNK ALBUM

Sarah Shook & The Disarmers – Nightroamer

This album covers more sonic territory than either of Sarah Shook & The Disarmers’ two prior albums. As on previous efforts, Nightroamer boasts a handful of quality cowpunk country songs, such as the waltz-timed title track, that simultaneously embrace and subvert the conventions of traditional country music. But the pop earworm “I Got This” and garage rocker “Talkin’ to Myself” expand the musical palette and give the album a sense of growth and experimentation.

BEST TRIPLE ALBUM

Zach Bryan – American Heartbreak

Look, triple albums shouldn’t even exist. And double albums probably shouldn’t either, for that matter. But this one almost makes a believer out of me. After spending time with it, I’m hard pressed to find much filler among these 34 songs. And for an artist having a real moment on country radio, the production of this album is refreshingly understated, which only adds to its stark emotional impact. Many of the songs completely lack a rhythm section and leave all the emotional heavy lifting to acoustic guitars and Bryan’s impassioned vocals. If this album’s success foreshadows the direction of the country music industry, I wouldn’t complain. Well, that’s not true. I reserve the right to complain, but I’ll probably do it a lot less than I have these last few years.

BEST SPRINGSTEEN REFERENCE

Nikki Lane – “First High”

“First High” was the lead single from Lane’s excellent album Denim & Diamonds. The song tells Lane’s rock-and-roll origin story set to a greasy headbanger of a groove. The lyric “I tried cheering for the Wolverines/I took a shot at being pageant queen/But I wound up hanging with the punks at the park” encapsulates much of Lane’s appeal. She’s planted one foot in the world of fashion and glamour (see her collaboration with Lana Del Rey) while the other foot can’t help but slink off the beaten path with the leather jacketed rebels and misfits.  The Springsteen reference in question begins the chorus: “Take me back to the first dream/501 blue jeans tighter than goddamn Springsteen.” You need only take one look at the cover of Born in the U.S.A. to sense the energy Nikki Lane’s got on this song.

BEST MUSICAL TRIBUTE TO A ROCK CLUB

Drive-By Truckers – “Welcome 2 Club XIII”

Seedy rock clubs are my natural habitat, and the title track to DBT’s latest album drops the listener right into the middle of the local scene, complete with Foghat cover bands, girls with artificial tans and plenty of cheap coke. The tune pays tribute to a real club where DBT songwriters Patterson Hood and Mike Cooley cut their teeth with their first band, Adam’s House Cat. Here’s how Hood sets the scene:

“Welcome to Club XIII/All the usual suspects are acting weird/The bartenders can’t be bothered/We’re all glad you’re here

“The door guy’s got an attitude/The disco light’s obscene/The crowd is sometimes rude/Welcome to Club XIII”

I’ve spent a more than a few nights “acting weird” in joints like Club XIII, and I recommend it wholeheartedly.

SICKEST RIFFS AND GUITAR TONE

Marcus King – Young Blood

Something about the sound of an incendiary electric guitar played through a dimed tube amp just makes me start sweating, and I have to reapply my Old Spice every time I listen to Marcus King. Maybe you spotted King thrashing his Gibson ES-335 with Zac Brown during this year’s CMAs or caught his performance of “Hard Working Man” on the Tonight Show. If you did, you no doubt noticed his blues-rock guitar heroics and soulful vocals.

I can’t pretend there’s anything revolutionary here. But this album’s full of apocalyptic guitar playing and propulsive rhythms sure to steam up the lenses of your glasses.

Honorable mention in the sick riffs category goes to Larkin Poe’s Blood Harmony.

THE BEST COUNTRY MUSIC YOU’LL HEAR IN 2022 I DON’T CARE WHAT ELSE YOU LISTENED TO DON’T TRY TO CONVINCE ME IT WAS LUKE COMBS OR WHATEVER I DON’T CARE

Live Forever: A Tribute to Billy Joe Shaver

Billy Joe Shaver is among the very best songwriters in the history of American music. If you don’t believe me, ask Bob Dylan, who riffed memorably on Shaver’s “Willie the Wandering Gypsy and Me” in his recent book “The Philosophy of Modern Song.” (Dylan calls the tune “a riddle” that “seems to have ulterior motives.”)

This year, an all-star Americana cast got together to record new versions of some of Shaver’s finest compositions, resulting in Live Forever: A Tribute to Billy Joe Shaver. George Strait took on the aforementioned “Willie the Wandering Gypsy and Me.” Miranda Lambert turned in a stomping version of “I’m Just an Old Chunk of Coal.” And Steve Earle’s grunting and groaning vocal delivery was tailor made for the outlaw lament “Ain’t No God In Mexico.”

But I’ve got to talk to you about Willie Nelson’s version of “Live Forever,” which kicks off this album and is my favorite song of 2022. Nobody knows how many more years we’ll have Willie around. I hate writing that, but that’s just facts. So when he sings “I’m gonna live forever/I’m gonna cross that river/I’m gonna touch forever now,” it’s like a salve applied directly to my anxious soul. This is truly a generous song that can provide real comfort for those struggling with the fleeting nature of life. It’s not an exaggeration to say that listening to this song the first time was a spiritual experience for me and a highlight of my year.

Willie received a Grammy nomination in the category of best country solo performance for “Live Forever,” in addition to three other nominations. So let’s just all agree that he should win every award for which he’s nominated and make sure we take some time to recognize his monumental contributions to music and humanity at large.

NOTE: This is a repost of a message I wrote on Facebook on Nov. 4, shortly after Haggerty’s death.

One of the most courageous voices in country music went silent this week with the death of Patrick Haggerty.

Under the moniker Lavender Country, Haggerty wrote and recorded what is widely regarded as the first openly gay country album nearly 50 years ago. The songs on that album are empathetic, tough, funny and unflinchingly honest – just like the artist who created them. The album honored the musical conventions of traditional country music, but its subject matter was decades ahead of its time and so it vanished into obscurity until a 2014 reissue landed with an audience ready to embrace its message. Haggerty didn’t record a follow up to the original Lavender Country album until the release of “Blackberry Rose,” another gorgeous collection of queer country songs, earlier this year. Haggerty died on Monday at age 78 after suffering a stroke.

My path crossed with Haggerty’s on March 13, 2022, just as the tour for his new album was getting underway. An all-star troupe of queer country and Americana artists accompanied him on the tour, including Austin Lucas, Lizzie No and Paisley Fields. The tour was stopping at London Underground, a pub on Main Street in Ames that does not have a dedicated PA system. I was invited to play an opening set and was asked to provide a PA for the show. I was familiar with Lavender Country and knew Haggerty’s story since Lavender Country played the Maximum Ames Music Festival several years earlier in the wake of the successful reissue of the 1973 album. As a straight man, however, I wasn’t sure I was the right fit for an opening act, and I worried that I’d be intruding in a space that wasn’t mine. On the other hand, if the venue didn’t find a PA, the show couldn’t go on at all. That wouldn’t do, so I said yes.

But here’s the thing. I’m not a sound engineer by any stretch of the imagination. What I know about running sound, I’ve learned from running a PA at my own gigs. I know what works for me, but I’ve received zero professional training. The thought of running sound for Haggerty and his tourmates, who have played thousands upon thousands of gigs combined, sent my anxiety into overdrive.

I shouldn’t have worried. Haggerty and co. showed me great kindness and patience throughout the evening. I became instant fans of all the musicians on the tour and have enjoyed following their work in the months since.

As for Haggerty, his performance was spellbinding. London Underground is a small space. Musicians set up in a corner near the main entrance, meaning patrons pass within inches of the band as they come and go. With virtually no separation between the audience and the performers, Haggerty, clad in his trademark lavender cowboy hat and western shirt, stepped into the crowd and sang to members of the audience, making direct eye contact with them and even offering the microphone to fans who knew the words to his songs.

“I Can’t Shake the Stranger Out of You,” perhaps his best-known composition about the barriers to intimacy in queer relationships, took on deeper resonance for me as I watched people in the crowd sing along with Haggerty into his microphone, causing the entire room to get heavy with complex emotions. As a straight guy, I can’t say I’ve experienced exactly the kind of relationship dynamics described in the song, but the performance guided me into the emotional core of the song’s truth and made it universally relatable, which is precisely what great art does.

At one point, I expressed to Haggerty my doubts that I should be opening the show. He waved my reservations aside and insisted I play some songs. He even offered up his band to accompany me on some classic country tunes, a proposal I accepted with great enthusiasm. When we launched into the Hank Williams tune “Mind Your Own Business,” Haggerty grabbed a microphone and sang along with me. Later, he told me he would send me a list of classic country songs he loves so we could play an entire set together the next time he came through Ames.

Another memory I treasure from that evening was spending time with J.B., Haggerty’s husband of many years. While the band ate dinner in the back, J.B. and I sat together at a table near one of the pub’s few windows, watching people go by on Main Street. He was full of light and kindness, and he complimented one my original songs. That meant a lot to me.

Between sets, I got the opportunity to talk to Haggerty one on one, and I asked him why he chose country music as his preferred medium. He responded matter-of-factly that he loved country music deeply, that he grew up listening to country radio stations while working in the barn on his family’s Washington dairy farm. The sound of country music was simply woven into the fiber of his consciousness. I told him that it was the same for me. I told him I couldn’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t know the sound of Merle Haggard’s voice, and that something about Hank Williams’s songwriting took hold of me in elementary school and never let go. He nodded like I’d told him something he already knew.

I spent only a few hours with Patrick Haggerty, but those hours turned out to be highly meaningful in my life as a musician. I’m grateful I got to perform with him and to watch him perform. I’m grateful for his courage and talent. And I’m grateful for the exquisite country songs he left behind.

The sheer volume almost made me wish I’d brought ear plugs.

I’d read about how impossibly loud Dinosaur Jr. plays, most memorably in Michael Azerrad’s seminal ‘Our Band Could Be Your Life,’ but that didn’t prepare me for the experience. I’m not sure anything can. It was so loud, I found myself thinking for the first time in my life that a set of ear plugs might actually improve the experience.

The crowd at my back pinned me to the lip of the stage. Lou Barlow loomed directly above me, furiously wielding his bass. He was so close, I could read the set list taped to the stage at his feet. Emmett Jefferson “Murph” Murphy thrashed at his drums a few paces away, wiping sweat off his bald pate between songs. And, on the far side of the stage, J Mascis stood behind his trademark Fender Jazzmaster, a mountain chain of Marshall stacks behind him, punching a hole in space and time with hairy, Big Muff-drenched leads.

It was glorious.

The best part was that this show didn’t take place in an arena, or auditorium or club. Rather, it was in a remote barn, situated along a gravel road, in rural eastern Iowa. The venue, called Codfish Hollow Barnstormers, is a true Iowa gem. Seeing Dinosaur Jr., one of my absolute favorite bands, in such a distinctive setting ranks among the very best rock ‘n’ roll experiences I’ve ever had. And I’ve had my share.

Welcome to Rock Roads, a blog that will attempt to spotlight the unique elements that make up Iowa’s music scene and rock heritage, such as the Iowa-to-a-tee Codfish Hollow. The venue is located a few miles outside of Maquoketa, accessible only by gravel roads. Concert goers park in a pasture and then walk or ride a tractor-pulled shuttle to the barn where the show takes place. It’s difficult for me to imagine a more powerful musical experience than that late-July night in 2016 at Codfish Hollow, when Dinosaur Jr. nearly tore apart that old wooden barn in the Iowa countryside.

I plan to examine the many things associated with rock ‘n’ roll music that I sincerely and unabashedly love, giving them an Iowa-centric spin. This blog will take you on tours of Iowa’s dingiest rock clubs, help you navigate the state’s growing music festival landscape and highlight cool vintage guitars and the Iowans who play them. If it’s rock ‘n’ roll and Iowa, you’ll find it here.

So who am I, and why should anyone care what I have to say about the Iowa music scene? A brief introduction may be in order.

I’m a 33-year-old family man, communications pro and musician in Ames. I grew up in rural northeast Iowa and currently work at Iowa State University, where I write news releases and conduct media relations on science-related topics. I’ve got a wife and two children, ages 7 and 2. And I’ve been playing music, both solo and in bands, going back to my college days. But more than all of that, I’m a music fan on a lifelong quest to get as close as I can to the music I love. Thank you for joining me on that quest.

Recalling that Dinosaur Jr. show at Codfish Hollow brings back a few vivid memories. I remember getting so sweaty that my glasses slid off my face and I had to get down on my knees to retrieve them before they got stomped. I remember J Mascis telling the crowd that if anyone wanted to hear the lyrics over the roar of the instruments, they should probably go outside the barn. I remember briefly considering scrambling onto the stage after the encore to nab Lou Barlow’s set list before someone else beat me to it.

And I remember stepping back out into the cool country air after the show ended. It was a perfect, late-summer night, and my wife and I felt refreshed as we made our way back to the car. And maybe it was just the post-show buzz, but I remember thinking there was nowhere else in the world I’d rather be than in rural Iowa on a rock road.

Let’s make it loud, Iowa.