Pure Punk Picks
The Ballad Of Johnny Burma – Mission Of Burma
With some slashing, sustaining chords and some carelessly bashed rhythms, “The Ballad Of Johnny Burma” sprung forth in the late seventies, in the early Boston punk scene, courtesy of Mission Of Burma- one of the best and most influential punk bands from their time. And their influence exceeded the local boundaries.
Along with Human Sexual Response, these were the two bands that Andy and I first followed together, locally.
“I said my mother’s dead- but I don’t care about it. I said my father’s dead- but I don’t care about it. It happens anyway. It happens anyway. We’re on the edge of Burma.”
This song contains a lot of the roar, the raw energy, the danger and excitement of the early Boston punk scene.
There’s a lot in this song that reflects the intelligence and awareness within the scene. But also reflects the wild abandon, the nihilistic risk, the joy and passion that is willling to gamble it all- that doesn’t look or care about the next day.
“I saw my baby twist. She twists the night away.”
I still feel all the emotion, desire and energy that this song expresses.
But I also feel the art, the freshness, the power, the importance that I felt in the early shows we witnessed, later reflected on their recordings.
Yes, there’s a convoluted instrumental bridge that makes me think of the band Yes- “No!”- that leads into the final part with a primal scream-
“I saw my baby twist. She twists the night away.”
Makes me think, kind of that Chubby Checkers song- you know, “Let’s Twist Again.”
“Do you remember when we were really twisting?” Or maybe- when we were really twisted? Drunk and stoned.
Back to this song:
“And then I heard her say, and then I heard her say, and then I heard her say. Well, that’s the way I like it. Well, that’s the way I like it. I like it too much.”
I have some bad habits that I like too much. Like drinking too much, staying up too late, laughing at the shit show current news events I see, while I laugh when I know I should recoil in horror.
But no one is perfect.
But I believe the passion in this song is.
The garage/punk energy of this song is, as well.
The wild, nihilistic oblivion that is alluded to in this song is a perfect example of what I experienced, what everyone was experiencing in the early punk scenes.
But hearing it now, you know- I still feel the crazy, intense, frantic creativity emanating from this song.
I sense and feel its power, its energy and its purity.
Mission Of Burma broke up in the early eighties but did a reunion show on Landsdowne Street maybe fifteen years ago and recorded a few more albums and did several more shows.
But standing in the crowd of that first reunion show, with maybe a thousand other people. Where years ago, I saw them many times, in a club with a dozen people or so, was so surreal to me, was like a dream, was like something I would have never imagined.
And when they did “(That’s When I Reach For) My Revolver”, popularized by Moby’s version at that time and the reaction of the crowd. It touched me, it made me cry.
I cry often, now, at the punk shows I attend. I’m always very discreet about this. Part of the reason I cry is because I can’t imagine I survived, that I’m still alive and still somehow, a part of it- and another is, I can’t imagine that punk is alive and still exists.
And a part of it is that I can’t believe that I’m experiencing something so great and wonderful as what I’m experiencing.
My father’s dead, a long time ago. My mother died, just last year. And to tell you the truth, I don’t care about it.
And I’ll be gone, eventually- but I don’t care about it.
It happens anyway. It happens anyway.
But the pure, truth and emotion and art and poetry expressed in punk- the overwhelming thoughts and desires that grabs you by your throat, by your heart, by your motherfuckin’ balls or genitals or whatever else you have down there will never…never…never… ever die as long as there is life.
And that’s the way I like it. (Didn’t KC and the Sunshine Band sing this?)”
And I don’t care or give a fuck that I like it too much.
(Slimedog)
