Pick it Up

Remember ska? The skankers dancing like marionettes with strings attached to their joints, the wacky choreographed horn sections, the rapid-fire reggae riffs? In 1994, groups such as No Doubt and Goldfinger introduced the venerable genre (it predates reggae) to eager young fans, who embraced its perky pace, undulating bass lines and brassy melodies. Suddenly, area punk groups were recruiting trombone players from their high schools’ bands, changing their names from something like Brutal Conflict to something like Ska-Na-Na and nabbing near-weekly gigs at Kansas City all-ages venues. The Daily Grind lined at least five dates a month on its calendars with checkerboard patterns, and a steady stream of nattily attired teens would show up for each of these ska showcases, even if they weren’t familiar with any of the acts on the bill.

In 1995, the Gadjits, a trio of brothers with a middle-schooler’s median age, played its first few shows in this welcoming climate, opening for established acts such as Let’s Go Bowling and covering the kings of ska/punk crossover, Operation Ivy, at nearly every gig. By the time the Gadjits released its debut disc, 1996’s Da Gravy on Yo Grits, on its own JoCo Ska label, a veritable local scene had cropped up, including Bill Wennington Fan Club, Kile, O’Phil, St. Louis’ MU330 and Columbia’s Secretaries. Lollapalooza named Mighty Mighty Bosstones as its ska delegates, and the Warped Tour welcomed numerous other Specials-like guests.

Skanks for the memories. Six years later, the Gadjits have a modern sound, and the group’s members have traded in suits for stylish yet casual attire and ska’s smooth groove for garage-rock’s untamed soul. Reel Big Fish now plays to real small crowds, the ailing Save Ferris ponders unironic fund-raisers and even Gwen Stefani‘s band has had its doubts, experimenting with new-wave sounds. Former “skacore” outfits are reverting to their punk roots, sending their laid-off horn sections marching back to traditional bands. Ska’s signature label, Moon, folded, citing eclipsed sales, and without any other record companies picking up the slack, Two Toned package tours have gone the way of swing-dance nights.

“As far as I know, there is no ska scene any longer,” reports Tom Meagher, who, as a DJ for Columbia’s KCOU 88.1 , hosted a ska-centered radio show during the ska revival’s peak. “The network of fans who used to turn out for any band with the letters s-k-a in its name is long gone. There’s still a healthy punk-and-skinhead scene whose members head out to an occasional ska show, but when there’s no ska bands touring, it’s hard to keep up or care.”

However, a few groups on the local front inspire hopes of a rude-boy awakening, continuing to churn out cotton-candy-coated carousels that temporarily drown out their genre’s funeral dirge. Ruskabank, who played last year’s local Warped Tour date, and the Sloppy Popsicles, El Torreon’s resident skankers, maintain that ska’s demise is greatly exaggerated. Or, as the Toasters‘ singer Rob “Bucket” Hingley told the Pitch in 1998, “The people who are telling me ska is dead never knew it was alive in the first place.”

Hingley refers to the casual fans and industry insiders who identify ska only with its short-lived stay in the commercial spotlight rather than with its rich, decades-old history. Even its longtime supporters suffered when mainstream ska crashed, though.

“When a lot of the mid-’90s ska fans moved on, the network that was in place across the country that helped make ska get so big fell apart,” Meagher says. What’s more, the remaining fanbase is aging. “If you went to a ska show at the Daily Grind in 1996, the average age of the audience members was sixteen or seventeen. There isn’t that youthfulness to many of the shows these days,” he says.

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Ruskabank singer Dave Studnicka has a positive spin on America’s love-it-then-leave-it affair with ska. “I think it was affected positively,” he argues. “There are still people who don’t know what ska is, but there would be a lot more if it weren’t for the popularity it had in the mid-’90s. It will just take time for the next wave — pun intended — of widespread popularity.”

Studnicka has reason for his optimism. “We have seen a definite following still alive not only in this area but around the Midwest,” he notes. And Studnicka is as qualified as any local musician to report on the heartland’s musical trends. In the next two months alone, Ruskabank plays Manhattan, Topeka, Emporia and Linsdborg, with a Pitch Music Showcase gig at McCoy’s on April 4 serving the KC audience.

The Sloppy Popsicles’ itinerary is less diverse (the group’s next three shows, Friday, March 29, April 12 and May 5, are all at El Torreon), but the band members have encountered rock-steady support as well, though not without some initial skepticism. “There’s an antiska thing going on now,” admits guitarist Lindsey Miller. “People think it’s a really easy form of music to play, and they blow it off. But once they come out to the shows, they realize it can be challenging.”

For ska itself, the challenge is detaching itself from the opportunists-turned-has-beens who cashed in on the genre’s popularity without respecting its history. In 1994, political punks Propagandhi responded with the timely lines Ska sucks/The bands are only in it for the bucks.

“The popularity of the genre led to a saturation of mediocre-at-best bands trying to just fit in or get noticed without knowing what the hell they were doing,” Meagher says. “Hopefully, the bands that are still around are stronger for having that experience, and natural selection only took out the weak.”

The remaining groups will need those survival-of-the-fittest skills, because the pool from which they could draw listeners has essentially been cut in half. During skacore’s brief reign, when groups that fused horn melodies to punk tunes could count on the full support of two thriving fanbases, mixed-genre concerts took place often and without incident. However, since these genres are no longer joined with a hyphen, such pairings can be disastrous. The current Victory Tour, which includes ska stalwarts Catch 22 alongside much heavier hardcore acts, has led to heckling and interaudience flare-ups. Yet without enough active ska bands to ensure a full evening’s entertainment, groups such as the Popsicles must compromise to get shows. The Sloppy Popsicles Friday, March 29, show at El Torreon is billed as “punk vs. ska,” with the sextet’s alleged opposition coming from touring bands the Gonzos and Dr. Swabby. But no actual competition is involved, and there is no animosity among the acts or their followings.

“There’s rude boys, and there’s more punk-type people at our shows, but I’ve never seen them clash, though I can imagine it happening,” Miller says.

“We love to play shows with very diverse crowds, and the response we get while playing with nonska bands is encouraging toward music in this area,” Studnicka adds.

But with the punk fanbase no longer guaranteed to attend, ska show organizers have attempted to form new alliances, with promising results. The jam-band crowd, populated in no small part by the type of weed-worshipping hippies who pack reggae fests, has begun to discover ska’s rhythmic charms and danceable grooves.

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“As people who really love traditional ska find themselves alone, there’s more openness to bringing in people they never would have considered in the past,” Meagher says, noting that Dipsomania, the classic reggae/soul showcase he presents at Coco Loco on Monday nights from 9:30 p.m. to 2 a.m., often attracts a healthy granola contingent.

Dipsomania’s drawing power (the no-cover-charge event regularly attracts crowds of more than 100 people) proves that there’s still a market for old-school ska. That should be welcome news for the Sloppy Popsicles as the group moves away from its punk-influenced roots into more traditional territory. (It should be noted that the Gadjits made a similar transition before moving out of ska altogether.)

And the ska depression holds backhanded benefits for its local representatives: an uncluttered landscape and an opportunity for national attention; a new generation of youngsters for whom ska is an unfamiliar novelty; and, perhaps most important, an opportunity to play a crucial role in restoring ska’s dignity. At this point, there’s only one thing to do with a genre that so many fans and musicians have dropped — pick it up, pick it up, pick it up.