A little while ago, I was in a CD store in Toronto when I heard a Black Flag song. This is a band I have neither heard of nor thought about for years, though like Minor Threat, who I wrote about some time ago, they were a huge influence on me. Not, mind you, that I ever saw them, nor heard a song of theirs on the radio, nor even had a decent idea what they looked like. All I knew about punk came from late night CBC radio shows, and third hand magazines from Los Angles and London. Hardcore punk was a difficult and obscure faith in my youth, a faith that offered few rewards and many hardships.

I kind of wonder now how I ended up in the small punk scene that thrived in St. John’s during the 80s. Where I lived, I was pretty much a one-man fan club. Lots of guys liked heavy music, but AC/DC was more their cup of tea, with Motorhead for the extremists. Being a terminal rebel helped me chose my course, as did deciding quite early on that I was not going to succumb to the inertia of high school life. In retrospect, I took a pretty decent shot at being the school freak. I once spent two years growing my hair a good two feet, in an era where pretty much everyone else had short layers, in the process earning myself a fairly grim reputation. During one school Halloween dress-up day, I turned up dressed as Jesus, with my clobber including a robe, bare feet, and a  crown of thorns made up of some branches I broke off an alder on the way to school. Amazingly, there was no trouble. In retrospect, I think my teachers just felt sorry for the sad lunatic. It is not a well-known fact, but Sean and I went to the same high school at the same time, although we never spoke one word to each other. Nonetheless, many years later he mentioned that even he remembered the Jesus costume. Oh dear.

Having a rudimentary grasp of the guitar, and owning a small amp, I decided to start a band, which I bullied my new recruits into calling the Reckoning. Glen Collins was the lead guitar player; he is a serious jazz guy now. The drummer was Todd Baker, who for some reason we called Junior, (though no one else did). Todd had no interest in punk whatsoever, but was very laid back, and kind of played drums. For true irony, our first gig featured Barry Canning singing lead. Like Todd, he had no interest whatsoever in playing in a punk band, but he was the only guy we knew at the age of 15 or whatever it was who had the balls to sing lead. Also, he had just registered at our school, and had nothing to lose by associating with our shitty little band. Though Barry and I have crossed paths continually over the years, that was the only time we have ever played together.

That was it for gigs for years after that. We never had the gear or the chops to play the hits of the day. Eventually, I talked the other guys into turning the Reckoning into a hardcore punk band. I knew that the local punk bands were doing all ages shows, and it looked like something we could actually play, with our limited skills, equipment, and fake IDs. I had a few hardcore records I had ordered through the mail. Around the same time I met Pat Janes on a bus stop, (another man whose career has often crossed mine), and he made me a mix- tape from his collection. From that one cassette, and my three compilations, the Reckoning learned a dozen songs. These included Black Flag’s ‘Police Story’, an absolutely furious thrasher, DOA’s full-on ‘Fucked Up Ronnie’, and the Exploited’s ‘Army Life’, a classic oi sing-along. The line-up had shrunk to me, Glen and Todd. I sang lead and played bass, largely because no one else had turned up capable of doing either.

The Reckoning gig I recall the best was at the Grad House, sometime in the mid-80s. Ourselves, Tough Justice and the Riot and someone else shared a four band bill. We were considered fairly novel, as all the other punks (except Pat) lived downtown. The show did about $150 on the door, which was a fortune. Unfortunately, someone looking for leverage for his crowd surfing put a foot through the pool table, and after the PA bill came in, the show was severely in the hole.  That minor problem aside, I remember being delighted with our performance. Our one original, (’Brian Peckford’, - chorus: Brian Peckford, Brian Peckford, Brian Peckford: go to hell!) had gone over so well we did it twice. Later that night, Glen’s dad made the long drive in from Sesame Park and picked us up while everyone else was arguing over who was supposed to pay for the pool table and the PA. As no one knew how to get hold of us, and we lived in the comparative Siberia of Kilbride, we got away without paying up.

Glen and Todd got fed up after that, but I forged on ahead. Many false starts later, I had a band with Lewellyn Thomas and Roger Price called Section 17. This was 1989, I think. We spent weeks writing songs and rehearsing for an all ages Halloween show at the Club 301. After the gig, the other guy in the band, whose name I have forgotten, quit, so we had nowhere to rehearse, and that was that. And thus ended the band, and my punk career. I gave up altogether after that. I sold Clark Hancock my giant sized 250 watt Traynor amp, and started playing fiddle.
Regardless, I still love Black Flag. Henry Rollins is a bit too post-modern for my taste these days, but as a teenager, he burned like a comet. DOA have utterly refused to grow up, and more power to them. The Exploited are waaay beyond politically incorrect, but their sing-along bellow still crops up in my writing.  And should a request for the Circle Jerks ‘Live Fast, Die Young’ make its way from a dark and rowdy audience some night, I will be ready.

I have not forgotten the words.