Black Flag - The pirates of beach-punk

The setting is California in the second half of the '70s. The echo is that of the devastating performances by the Ramones, resounding like a call to arms through the endless sun-baked afternoons. The vast beaches, the menacing waves that surfers try to tame, Silicon Valley starting to teem with programmers and enthusiasts of computers and robotics: amid all this epoch-defining chaos, California punk lives out its definitive explosion.

In Hermosa Beach, guitarist Greg Ginn, fresh out of UCLA, decides to start a band, recruiting Chuck Dukowski (bass), Keith Morris (vocals) and Brian Migdol (drums). At the same time, Ginn and Dukowski also decide to found a record label: thus SST (Solid State Transformers) is born, destined to become the most important independent label in rock history. The "do it yourself" philosophy would soon reach its defining moment (to cite another striking example, in the early '80s Ian MacKaye - leader of the seminal Minor Threat and later the visionary behind Fugazi - would found Dischord).

Black Flag - the name Ginn chose for his creation - are, at first, just one of many punk-rock bands haunting the clubs of the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles. Here, shows almost always end up turning into full-blown brawls, complete with police intervention.

After a brief but intense breaking-in period, the EP Nervous Breakdown hits stores, catalog number 001 for SST. The year is January 1978. In 5 minutes and 10 seconds, Black Flag sweep away any trace of compromise, screaming to the world the anguish of being alive, and laying out all the essential traits of what would come to be called "beach-punk" - miniaturized, nihilistic punk, with an unprecedented "experimental" streak of its own.

Shortly after, Morris leaves the band to form Circle Jerks. He's replaced by the Puerto Rican Chavo Pederast, who takes part in the recording of the second EP, Jealous Again (1980). These are the days immortalized by Penelope Spheeris's documentary film, "The Decline Of Western Civilization". And just as immortal remain the violence and rage with which Pederast channels the sonic mines that Ginn and co. keep detonating relentlessly around his voice.

But the lineup changes aren't over yet: Pederast is replaced by Dez Cadena, who, however, decides to pick up a guitar instead, forming with Ginn one of the tightest and most devastating duos of the punk era. As the new singer, they then choose a guy who, during a New York show, had jumped on stage to sing along with the band: Henry Rollins, already the vocalist of Washington D.C.'s S.O.A. With Robo on drums (having taken over from Migdol after the release of Nervous Breakdown), Black Flag have by now become a perfect war machine, ready to leave an indelible mark on rock history. To do so, though, they need a record as seizure-inducing and poetic as only Damaged (1981) could be.

Besides being one of the greatest "punk" records of all time, Damaged is one of those imagined landscapes where you realize that, however abominably shitty it may be, life is still a wonderful thing after all. That's because in Rollins's voice, in Ginn's searing guitar runs, in the merciless, never-tamed rhythm section, you find anything but anguish or pain: you find the silence of your own room, the sunset encoding imperceptible scenes, and all that damn back-and-forth of memories gathering at the bottom of your soul, like a congregation of outcasts who haven't given up hope of pulling themselves back up one day. Damaged is all this, but not only this. It's also a punch in the gut for anyone who thinks "punk" is just noise and technical ineptitude. But anyone who hasn't turned their prejudices into an ivory tower to hide in knows that those two or three chords and those stone-crushing rhythms spring from a need more urgent and more real than any amount of intellectual navel-gazing.

The first shot is fired by the raging anthem "Rise Above", with the torrential, acid guitars of the Ginn/Cadena outfit. Rollins's voice announces itself immediately, powerful and assured, with no frills. "Spray Paint" is one of their classic "pocket-sized" punk numbers, in the miniaturized style that would later make the fortune of the Minutemen. "Six Pack", introduced by Dukowski's rumbling bass, is a chaotic, hyperkinetic slam-dance, skewered by Ginn's acid-tinged jabs. "What I See" is tangible proof that the rage running through these grooves is of the purest breed: it's the rage of someone with nothing left to lose (hearing Rollins's screams ride that stuttering gait has quite an effect; and who knows why certain images of urban guerrilla warfare in Genoa come to mind). And so, when "Tv Party" arrives, with its sarcastic streak and idiotic little choruses, you feel somewhat thrown off, only to conclude that it's just one more of their scathing tirades. Ginn's usual incendiary guitar and Rollins's ragged scream reignite the fuse, setting up the assault of "Thirsty And Miserable"; then comes the supersonic chaos of "Police Story" (with priceless, furious chord progressions) and the savage "Gimmie Gimmie Gimmie", which closed side A back when the compact disc was still a mirage.

Side B opened with another of their heart-pounding slam-dances, "Depression", with Ginn and Cadena more intent than ever on refining their synthesis of distortion and sweat. "Room 13" climbs atop a guitar that's by turns shrill and solemn, while Robo, on drums, pulls off a reckless stop-and-go. Ginn's extraordinary work becomes even more memorable on "Damaged II", where dissonant whirlwinds, distortion run wild and lightning-fast solos follow one another. His guitar burns like the California sun. "No More" and "Padded Cell" continue the work of emotional destabilization, while "Life Of Pain", introduced by faint Hendrix-like flavors, seems at first to lower its guard. Seemingly... The album closes with the psychodrama of "Damaged I", a genuine emotional tour de force for a Rollins who sounds like a caged animal (it's the only track on which he's credited as co-writer, and it's no coincidence that it's here you can trace the seed of his solo career). Over the drums' mid-tempo march, the man from Washington D.C. lets out his final moan: "Nobody comes in! Damage. My Damage. No one comes in! Stay Out!!!". What remains is a sense of utter, total desolation.

The greatness of Damaged lies in having elevated hardcore, once and for all, to the status of "generational outlook", having turned it into something like a "cinematic eye" permanently trained on that land on the brink of collapse that was California straddling the '70s and '80s. It's the very same California that sonic terrorists like Chrome, Mx-80 Sound or Tuxedomoon were dissecting in the dark of their own lairs.

After recording the album, the band signed a contract with Unicorn Records, a subsidiary of MCA. But the label refused to distribute the album, claiming its content was too vulgar and dangerous. Undeterred, Ginn decided to put the album out on his own SST instead. On the cover, a sticker was stuck on, ironically reading: "As a parent, I believe this is an anti-parent record".

The album received excellent reviews in the specialist press, while Unicorn sued SST and Black Flag. For the following two years, the band was forced to give up the use of their own name, but in the meantime decided to carry on touring in support of Damaged.

In 1983, Everything Went Black was released, a collection of unreleased material and alternate versions from the pre-Rollins era. That same year, SST also put out the anthology The First Four Years, which gathered together EPs and singles released before Damaged.

The legal battle with Unicorn came to an end when the label went bankrupt – and good riddance! Meanwhile, Cadena had left the band, taking Dukowski and Robo with him (the latter going on to join the Misfits). Rollins and Ginn, having brought in former Descendents drummer Bill Stevenson, recorded and released, again in 1983, the album My War, with Ginn splitting his time between guitar and bass. It's an unresolved record, at times even tedious. While the first side boasts a decent title track and a reasonably solid overall level, the second side gets lost in guitar virtuosity and nonsense that clumsily try to mask a worrying dip in inspiration.

The following record, Slip It In (1984), rekindled interest in the California band, who sought new avenues of expression through a fascinating synthesis of the most evolved hardcore and certain avant-garde echoes. The biggest influences, though, come from '70s heavy metal, especially bands like Black Sabbath and Hawkwind. Still, wherever the band falls short of its aims, what's left is a simple and not particularly rewarding rehash of classic hard rock tropes. Among the tracks, at least "Wound Up", "The Bars" and "Rat's Eyes" deserve a mention.

Family Man, released the same year, stands as one of the band's most experimental works. An entire side is taken up by Rollins' spoken-word pieces, here channeling the poetic exploits of Jim Morrison. The second side, meanwhile, features instrumental tracks in Ginn's new experimental style. The music is vibrant, exciting, and carries a certain "pop" sensibility, in line with what Husker Du were doing over in Minneapolis at the same time (further controversy was caused by the album cover, which depicted a man with a gun pointed at his temple, and his wife and children massacred at his feet).

Loose Nut is the first of three albums the band released in 1985. Compared to its predecessor, there's a clear drop in expressive tension, which only occasionally ("This Is Good", "Annichilate This Week") recaptures the fiery intensity of old.

Just a few months later, In My Head finally brought back the most genuine version of Black Flag. Dense, powerful and uncompromising, the sound finally seems to have shed the experimental trappings that had ended up burying the band's vitality. But it's only an impression, because shortly after comes The Process Of Weeding Out, which, while bringing back the experimental side, also ends up giving rock history a superlative example of jazz-punk, where Ginn's virtuosity finally finds a near-perfect blend with the rest of the band. The sheer violence and the rebellious, iconoclastic attitude of punk-hardcore are filtered through harmonic structures of clear jazz derivation. And Ginn and co. (including the excellent bassist Kira) can show off, without hesitation, just how skilled they are as musicians.

Just enough time to record a live album (Who's Got The 10 1/2?), and Black Flag's star stopped shining. It's 1986, and Ginn decides to explore his new musical direction further by forming Gone. Rollins, meanwhile, would go on to a solo career full of satisfaction and major artistic achievements. But that, as they say, is another story.

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