I’m a sucker for an anthology. Short work requires a certain balance of delicacy and force that long-form writing can work around, and the curation process of selecting, collecting and presenting those pieces is its own truly under-discussed art form. It’s something that I love to do, and I especially enjoy experiencing thoughtful examples of it from others.
Enter Black Punk Now (October 2023 from Soft Skull Press).
From cover to cover, this labor of love is a delectable example of the form. Like the relationship between punk and rock, Black Punk Now both challenges and advances anthologizing, from the interweaving of fiction and nonfiction and the eclectic array of contributors to the throughlines tying things together and the aggressive visual punctuation-cum-interpolation.
The contributions of editors James Spooner and Chris L. Terry are delightfully balanced, resulting in a volume that is as engaging to look at as it is to read. It tilts a bit academic in tone, which is both 100 percent to my taste and entirely appropriate to the subject matter at this moment in history. No approach to examining the distinct space that punk music occupies in the Black community (and that statement’s reciprocal) is left untouched.
Especially effective is “No Whites on the Mic,” the interstitial roundtable of “femme organizers of new Black and brown punk festivals” conducted by Samm Saxby. Co-editor Spooner’s portraits of the participants (along with his portraits of each contributor that introduce each piece) anchor the collection like an ambitious and successful bass line. The questions are insightful and engaging, and the answers contextualize the rest of the work, pushing back against the urge to define like a singer surfing a crowd.
My “in” for having an excuse to review this collection comes nearly at the end, just before the section labeled “Outro.” Former Iowan (now Texas-based) Dr. Joanna Davis-McElligatt offers up an illustrated coda, “10 Commandments of Black Punk According to Matt Davis.”
Matt Davis, an Iowa City punk rock icon (Ten Grand) and brother to Davis-McElligatt, died at 26 in 2003. The presentation of his philosophy here is achingly beautiful, featuring drawings of the siblings as children and teens as well as thoughtful religious imagery and commentary. And his words themselves are an unforgettable summary of the ethos of the collection.
As he says in commandment 5: “We all die, but we don’t end.”
Music historians will be citing this collection for decades. Educators will be leaning on its accessibility to engage students. But most importantly, Black Punk Now is the sort of collection that young punks will read for inspiration, deconstruct for practice and internalize for generational wisdom. Like the best punk rock, and the best anthology work, it is authoritative while remaining elastic and inviting conversation.
This article was originally published in Little Village’s January 2024 issue.
