JERRY JERRY & THE SONS OF RHYTHM ORCHESTRA
W/ The Wild Rose Revue
Fri, Sept 3
New City (10081 Jasper Ave)
Call 429-CLUB for info

Punk musicians: they look pretty cool, but you wouldn’t want your daughter marrying one. Good thing for you, buddy, that Gerald Woods, AKA Jerry Slag AKA Jerry Jerry, is already married, with five kids to show for it. Married–and still slugging it out in the punk trenches. In fact, he’s been a dog soldier in the rock wars since he started out, managing the Rock ’n’ Roll Bitches in the late ’70s. "I was the worst manager on earth," he sighs over the phone. "Eventually, I started getting up on stage, and then we put Jerry Jerry together as a fuck band at the end of 1980."

That’s 24 years, more on then off, that Jerry has led his group of fellow travellers through the mash up of gospel, surf, punk, rockabilly, and blues classified as Sons of Rhythm Orchestra music. 24 years! Do the math: the initial Orchestra’s lineup started when Jerry was 20 and already a veteran of the embryonic Edmonton scene. He’s been playing longer then some local musicians have been alive. "I remember when [then-aspiring-actor] Callum Keith Rennie, myself, Ken Mackay, and Dale Davis were the punk scene, and that was it. Dale was in the Diefenbakers for one show, but he passed out before they went on, so that was it for him. He was the worst smelling guy in town for a long time."

Tick-tick-ticking in his head

Time marches on. Rennie got to play a punk rocker in Hardcore Logo, while Jerry experienced the real thing, including record deals, tours, brushes with fame, a parade of day jobs. By the time punk broke in the early ’90s, the ground rules had been set for commercial success: nobody gets in except for derivations of Nirvana and West Coast pop/punk. The driving imperative of most original punks, of course, has nothing to do with this, so they motor on, oblivious to how they’re viewed, still hewing to an irreverent and completely sideways view of the world. Jerry now copes with the intricacies of life, kids, illness, and the realization that things haven’t quite panned out the way we thought they would; most everybody gets to that point eventually, and it’s a mortifying experience, whether you’re a middle-aged punk rocker or a house mom.

"I’ve been thinking about it lately," Jerry admits. "I don’t know how connected I am to the real world in general. I just like to put a positive, energetic spin on the horrors of life, which includes," he closes self-mockingly, "aging ungracefully. I guess people must like that, since they still come out to hear us. Besides, hell, there’s the UK Subs–who were just in town–they were doing exactly the same thing and that guy was in his 50s [front man Charlie Harper is 60]. I guess I do have kind of a young mentality in that I’m kind of shocked at how much time has gone by. But then life does pass rather quickly. I assume it’s going to get harder [to keep playing] as the decades pass."

Particular way of thinking

Or maybe it just comes naturally when the kick drum rumbles through your chest and whiskey flows in your veins. Who knows? We have models such as Keith Richard and T-Model Ford as case studies, but these set us off on the usual debate: nobody can really agree on whether it’s a spirit or a sound. How do we define punk? Can Charley Harper still lay claim to it? How about the new wave of pop punkers that have automatic entrée into the charts but who still brandish their credentials because they have a defined sound? It’s an argument that won’t be settled any time soon. But for the purposes of this article, let’s name a few avatars of the punk spirit that you might not have thought of. Like Richard, who hasn’t changed one damn bit from the bad boy he’s been all his life. Or T-Model who, at 80, dictates, "Each town must supply their own women." P-Funk originator George Clinton. Merle Haggard (and, before his passing, Johnny Cash) who told Nashville where to go when snubbed over the past decades. And finally, Jerry Jerry, who was there at the beginning and was always a punk at heart.

"I always thought we were," he affirms, in a slightly bemused tone. "It always peeved me that we were never considered a punk band. But apparently we weren’t all that time, so what can you do?"

Nothing, except continue down the path of righteous rocking until the body dictates you must rest.

"It’s crossed my mind a few times that I’m taking up space from somebody else that wants to get on stage," he acknowledges. "Hell, other people have kept me off stage; and if Styx wants to come back and people want to see them, that’s fine, too. I guess this [playing with Jerry Jerry] could still fit under the moniker of trying, although, honestly, we’re not trying that hard. I guess that might be one of the reasons we get to stick around."

That, and because he offers hope to the young, who must surely be led by example.

"Especially if you’re being encouraged to drink by an old reprobate such as myself," Jerry adds. "I’ll keep doing it until I keel over. And if people stop coming, I imagine we’ll just do it in a basement somewhere."