Underscore, our new feature series that surveys undervalued artists, eras, and scenes of the musical past, kicks off with a deep analysis of Portland punks Wipers by Nick Sylvester.
My dad knows these guys. In fact, they’ve collaborated musically in the past. Greg Sage is (from what I remember) a strange, slightly eccentric genius of a dude. I remember him being around here and there when I was a little kid. I have a lot of early, random punk rock memories, like watching my dad’s band (The Stiphnoyds) practice in a basement with big headphones on as a toddler, and going to shows at Satyricon and the X-Ray Cafe in Portland.
Anyway, The Wipers and their music are so interwoven in my childhood memories that I’m always surprised and thrilled when I remember that they existed to the rest of the world, too, at least to those cool enough to discover and appreciate their music. Maybe some people have memories of taking roadtrips in a Buick listening to Journey at full volume and I do too (I’m looking at you, Mom!) but I also have these awesome memories of my dad’s vinyl collection and of driving back and forth between my rural hometown and Portland with my father, maybe in his seafoam green Volkswagen bus or one of the old Subarus he had listening to punk rock. He would teach me about Oregon geological history, like the Bretts floods, about politics and current events, why 1968 was the worst year of his life, or whatever else was on his mind that day. We’d stop at Burgerville and I would always get a root beer.
I’m not sure if all these were intentional lessons or if he just rambled the tale of the day unaware that the words would stick with me for years afterward but either way I’m glad we had those weekend drives. When I grew up enough to have a driver’s license and a car I started taking the trip to his house and back on weekends myself, and sort of missed those drives we used to take, even the ones where we ran out of gas.
