All the Ska that's Fit to Print

Ska music changed my life. I know, I know. It's embarrassing, but true.

In 1997 I was in 6th grade. My favorite band was the Smashing Pumpkins. I had a poster from their "Tonight, Tonight" music video on my wall. My screen name was "SpForever2." It was my first screen name. Up to that point my music library didn't consist of much more than every Nirvana CD, a taped copy of Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness (complete with photocopied cover and liner notes) and an incomplete copy of a Ramones tape that I was too young to appreciate. That year the Mighty Mighty Bosstones hit it big on MTV with their video for "The Impression That I Get." About that time my friend Andy started talking about a new style of music called ska. His older brother Dwight sold me a ska "comp" (mix tape) for one dollar. It was called All The Ska That's Fit To Print Vol. 2. That tape started me in the right direction (I still remember most of the track list), but I still had a little more growing to do before I renounced popular music forever.

In 7th grade, Andy and I became friends with another young ska fan named Josh. He also had an older brother. Josh's brother didn't make mix tapes, but he did organize and promote shows. My first show ever was on the basketball court inside the Grand Slam sports complex in my town. Since Josh's brother was running the show, we got to come early and play basketball with one of the bands.

We, along with our friend Greg spent the first half of the show standing scared on the side of the band performing, directly in front of one of the speakers (around where the power forward would be standing), and having a great time. We moved after Greg knocked over a bottle of red Gatorade inside one band's guitar case. I had to leave before the last band took the court; my dad was waiting for me in the parking lot. The Smashing Pumpkins poster wouldn't last another week in my room after that.

Looking back, some of the bands at that first show were actually pretty good. Worthless, One Cool Guy and Edna's Goldfish (whom I missed at that show, but picked up a copy of Before You Knew Better before I left) have all held up over the years to some degree. I don't think that mattered to me much back then. I was standing in front a speaker so loud for half the show that it actually made me disoriented. I certainly couldn't have deciphered much of the music through the ringing in my ears. What really excited me back then was the energy around me, and the realization that this was something new and different from the mainstream. I had found music I could call my own.

Over the next couple years I would attend local shows at least once a month, usually at the Cheesequake Firehouse or Club Bene (RIP). I was young and impressionable. I bought into every ideal popular in ska music. DIY? Anti-Rascism? Unity? If there was a patch for it, then it was on my book bag in eighth grade, along with a patch and/or button from each of my favorite bands. I didn't realize that things ska bands were marketing didn't necessarily have anything to do with music. To this day I'm not sure why I proudly wore an anti-swastika patch in a predominantly Jewish, upper-middle class, and white suburb with no Nazis anywhere. Back then it made sense though. I liked to dance to music with horns, which was why I hated fascism, I guess.

During that time of my life ska seemed important. It defiantly stood in the face of the status quo. Ska was here to stay and it belonged to the kids. A year later I was listening to punk bands from Boston and some hardcore. I guess that's how musical trends work. The only music trend that ever lasted was rock 'n' roll. And the kids that loved Elvis in the 1950s complain about today's rock bands for the same reasons that they loved their rock 'n' roll back in the day.

Why the nostalgia trip? Tonight Reel Big Fish played at my university. Seeing them play while everyone danced took me back, but not as much as the opening band. Awful Waffle, from somewhere in NJ, may have arrived at my school in a time machine from 1997. The band's singer was actually wearing baggy khaki shorts that hung down below his ass and ended mid-calf. He injected every song with the cliche "pick-it-ups" and "hup-hup-hups" of the ska bands of yore. His lyrics had something to do with peeing on someone. I hate to admit it, but Awful Waffle was actually kind of fun. One thing I admire about ska above all other genres is that ska has never been about looking cool. Awful Waffle certainly did not look cool. They did get the audience to dance and smile, though.

Here's to the style of music that wore it's intentions on it's sleeve, and gave everyone in the high-school band a chance to look cool for a couple years.