Frank Gutch gave me my first fix. He was the owner of Scratching the Surface, a record store that opened just as us knucklehead kids were getting our punk rock wings. Frank was slightly older than us and a long time record store employee cum music geek (and I mean that in a most complimentary tone). No ego whatsoever, he was council to those of us that were, in a matter of speaking, outgrowing Creem magazine. He was into all sorts of music and seemed to have a special fondness for overlooked bands (Big Star, the Flamin' Groovies, etc.). And he was a stealth ring leader as well, offering, by way of encouragement, a sort of DIY transfusion. Having just opened his own record store, he was the bearer of the "yeah, you should do it" attitude that was the catalyst that prompted not only the first punk show in San Diego, but the first punk zine as well.
The zine I speak of was Substitute, a thin (16 pages) fanzine I put out with my friend Jaccqui Ramirez. Frank, writing as Izen Timothy Zorr, was given a column to write about whatever he wanted, and in magazine that was very "now", he chose to write about the Northwest sound of the mid-late sixties. The Northwest sound, the garage era in particular, was one he championed all the time, even naming his column "Boss Hoss" after the song by the Sonics.
All sorts of people contributed to early punk scenes, and while some contributions are apparent (and recognized), others are not. Amongst all the other ways Frank contributed to the early San Diego scene (and there's many more than listed), it was he who pushed the Wailers and the Sonics, absolute demi-gods of the Northwest sound, on us unsuspecting punk rock wannabees. And that is a long-winded way of saying, whenever I hear the Sonics, I think of Frank.
Which brings us to "Psycho." Listen to the whole thing or, better yet, consider it essential and download it. But do listen to the whole thing, particularly the fade out. See if you don't go running for a mop.
4 comments:
You are wrong about the ego. We all had plenty in those days. It must have been hidden beneath our passion for the music. Those were stressful but magical days.
Also, I was only co-owner. Lance Anderson was the real force behind the store.
Thanks for the nice words. Frank
That's right! I did forget to mention Lance. That said, you were the draw, with or without your well hidden ego. Are you still in touch with Lance?
Seriously, Frank, you gave me the encouragement a 19 year-old desperately sought. If you're ever in San Diego again, look me up. The strychnine's on me!
Tom - In a complete departure, I must note the remark in your profile about living in a stucco apartment building, an inescapable fact of life in Southern California. There is something linked between the Stucco Life and rock 'n' roll, cheap mexican food, bad TV, nagging dreams and itchy unrequited desires. Moreover, I think there is a portal, a pourous border if you will, that links all stucco apartments on a vertical plain, just as the same shaky iron-and-stucco stairs link all the denizens upwards. What do you think?
Barry! Lou Minati! I've been looking for you for a long time. How/where are you? I trust you heard about Tim, right? Old Man Liquor won.
My email, if you can figure it out from this, is:
my intials)(my zip code)@cox.net
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