It’s perhaps this level of near-invisibility O’Regan managed to cultivate with his subjects that made him the ideal candidate to hit the road with some of music’s most legendary stars, traveling the world with Bowie, Queen and the Rolling Stones, among others, throughout the ’70s and ’80s.

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It’s true, many photographers will tell you, that key to success in the role is an ability to blend into the background and know your place among the stars. “I had an arrangement with David that if I wanted pictures [with other stars], instead of me asking if they would pose with him, David would ask because he knew that way they would never refuse,” he remembers.

Through employing these tactics of subtlety, O’Regan has amassed one of the most enviable portfolios in music photography history, capturing some of the industry’s most beguiling forces, such as Kate Bush and Amy Winehouse, at pivotal moments in their careers.

This year O’Regan is marking his 69th year in the business with an online exhibition aptly entitled 69 Days. On view at West Contemporary Edition’s site, the show includes a number of classic and previously unseen works from his repertoire of stars, including Bowie, Mick Jagger, Freddie Mercury and Bob Marley. 

The works will also be available to buy as limited-edition prints, with a percentage of the proceeds going to London’s Great Ormond Street Hospital Children’s charity GOSH, allowing music fans the opportunity to get onto the art collector ladder at an affordable price.

Following the exhibition’s opening, we sat down with the photographer to chat about some of his most enduring images and to learn more about what was happening on either side of the lens on the fateful days they were taken.

Amy Winehouse (2007)

[Denis O’Regan/West Contemporary Editions]

I used to shoot Coachella because a lot of the artists from the U.K. would be lower down the bill in America because they hadn’t yet broken, so Amy was on at least the third stage at the back of the field. She was on her way up at this point — it was the era of her cut-off denim shorts. I just like the pose here, showing her tattoos, and her finger to her mouth that shows her engagement ring, which was a big story at the time. It doesn’t look like a live shot, but it is. The performance was good, but it was the beginning of that phase where she became noticeably thinner than would be attractive, I think. It was before I think she started to really fall apart later on.

David Bowie, Madonna, Billy Idol and Sam Kinison (1987)

[Denis O’Regan]

This was backstage on his Serious Moonlight tour at Madison Square Garden in ’87. Madonna actually tweeted this photo when David died, which was quite flattering. That’s Sam Kinison, a wild comedian who only lasted a few more years, I think. He was great friends with David. Sometimes when I was with David in the room, he would just phone up Sam, and they’d have this off-the-charts crazy conversation. And then of course you have Billy Idol, looking pretty good there, I think. He’s taller than people think he is.

Bob Marley (1980)

[Denis O’Regan/West Contemporary Editions]

I’d flown out to Jamaica to photograph him and some other people appearing at the Reggae Sunsplash Festival. I arrived with the journalist to the hotel lobby. She went up to do the interview, came down and told me to go up and do the pictures. So I knocked on the door, and he goes, “What do you want? I ain’t doing no pictures.” He obviously hadn’t been told I was coming. I got really annoyed, so I said, “Look, I’ve flown 5,000 miles to come down here, and you’ve kept me waiting in the lobby for two hours.” All his friends were in the room. It had been a real party atmosphere, and it just went silent. Then he paused before saying, “Eh, do all the pictures you want!” He loved the fact that I’d taken him on, which wasn’t even really the plan. I was just seething that I’d made such a trip. He was in a really good mood after that and invited me out to a beach party with his son, Ziggy, and the whole clan. This [photo] was on the way. That’s his yellow Volkswagen Kombi van, and he had this coconut. They were all chopping up coconuts in the room.”

David Bowie (1983)

[Denis O’Regan/West Contemporary Editions]

This was in Australia. It was about seven months into the eight-month tour, so we knew each other really well by now. The dressing rooms were all port-a cabins. There wasn’t much in the way of luxury. He just parked himself on a chair in the last embers of the day, as the sun went down before the show. Because I was around all the time and had total access, to him I wasn’t really there. There was a select group of people in the touring party like security, wardrobe, makeup, me, the accountant, the manager who moved around with him, and we were basically invisible. We were like part of the furniture. So the fact I was taking pictures as he was having a little snooze made no difference to him.

He loved being photographed. I wanted to shoot David in a big way, so when I saw he was doing a tour, I approached the producers, one of whom had worked on the Rolling Stones tour I worked on the year before, and said I wanted to do it. They said I had to come up with a proposal to pass on to David, so I suggested we do a book, and the advance would recoup the cost of taking me around the world. David was very into the idea of the book. He loved the idea of being documented all the time, in ways that he’d never been seen before. Now people are used to the number of pictures of David that are around, but prior to this, he had been quite enigmatic. No one had ever documented him day after day.

David Bowie (1983)

[Denis O’Regan/West Contemporary Editions]

This has sort of a Blade Runner feel to it. After the tour had ended, there was an additional trip to Southeast Asia, which was documented for a short film. This was taken in a Singapore shopping mall at night. We were just wandering around. David stood there, and I grabbed the shot. It was featured a lot in the Moonage Daydream film. When the director [Brett Morgen] spotted this image at a David Bowie convention I was at a few years ago, he was in shock because he’d been working with the film footage of this scene for years.

When I arrived on the tour, all I’d known of David was this thin, white Ziggy Stardust character, very removed, very cold and enigmatic. When I met him, he was the opposite — warm, funny, inviting. And he wanted me to cover him as much as possible. The entire tour, it was all, “Take this, take this. Shoot this! Let’s do this. Where’s Denis?” Not what I expected.

Mick Jagger and David Bowie (1987)

[Denis O’Regan/West Contemporary Editions]

Mick tweeted this shot after David died. It was taken at Bill Stickers, a club in Soho. It was the after-party from the Glass Spider tour show at Wembley Stadium in 1987. It’s just two old friends having fun. It’s part of a sequence where they were chatting, I arrived, David goes, “Here’s Denis,” and he laughed. Then within a minute, a paparazzi photographer came in through the blue window. David got up and walked across that table to grab him. I grabbed David to hold him back, and that guy got thrown out. So it went from this laughing moment to almost a fight in minutes. A few years ago, that photographer held an exhibition in Norfolk and included a photo he must have gotten before he was thrown out. 

David really didn’t like that side of fame, with paparazzi and whatnot. He was wealthy, but he didn’t really live like a rock star. He often drove himself around, and on tour, he always wanted town cars. He would send back a limo if it showed up, as it just wasn’t the way he wanted to live. He was very low-key.

Freddie Mercury (1986)

[Denis O’Regan/West Contemporary Editions]

I wouldn’t usually show my equipment in the background of photos, but Freddie decided he was going to sit down on my camera case here, so I had no option. You can see his little notebook. He was making notes for a folk song he was going to sing at the show that night in Budapest. This was on his terrace, overlooking the Danube [River]. You can see one of the bridges on the end of the terrace, and in the background, inside the room, is Brian May rehearsing and their manager, Jim Beach. It was just a relaxed period in the afternoon. He wrote some of those lyrics on his hand so that when he did the Freddie thing onstage with his arm out, he was actually reading the lyrics of the song. It went down well with the fans. 

They were one of the rare bands who always stayed behind backstage after a show. Most acts would leave with a police escort and be in the hotel within half an hour. Queen would always stay behind to socialize with each other and have dinner at the venue. I didn’t see him as much socially as the others because afterwards, the rest of the band would go their way, and because he was gay, so he would go out to clubs. The band knew that. I think it’s why they used to stay at the venue so they could all hang out before separating. It must have been difficult living a double life, but it didn’t come across because he was always happy and fun. He’s the sort of person who was lonely and needed people around him all the time. He had his coterie who lived virtually at his house in London, and they were always there. He didn’t like being away from home. He was sweet and very soft and shy offstage. Outrageous at times, but shy. There were two people, really: Freddie Mercury, onstage, and Fred, which is what everyone really called him. He referred to me as Doris, which I didn’t know, but Brian told me after he died.

They really lost America when they did the “I Want To Break Free” video, which was based on Coronation Street. We all thought it was funny, but the Americans really didn’t. It went right over their heads. That was the end of the Queen in America. And he said, “I’m not going to go back there and work my way up again.” They’re one of the only bands that were so big around the world that they almost didn’t need America.

Kate Bush (1980)

[Denis O’Regan/West Contemporary Editions]

This was taken at her record company. I asked her to stand with a light behind her, which was kind of unusual, and she asked why. I said, “I prefer to shoot into the light.” From then on, every album she released, she used to leave me a copy with a message saying “Keep shooting into the light.” That was very sweet. I did once tell her I had a bone to pick with her: It was the fact that she didn’t allow photographers to capture her first tour, which I really wanted to shoot because, to me, she was a female David Bowie. The closest any woman came to him in terms of songwriting anyway. When you look at her hits, they could have been released 40 years later and not sound dated. She was that far ahead. She’s another performer who’s particularly extravagant and outgoing onstage but shy in person. Bowie, Freddie, Kate — they were all quite shy.

Kylie Minogue (1998)

[Denis O’Regan/West Contemporary Editions]

An album had been recorded of covers of Cole Porter by Elton John, Robbie Williams, Kylie, Paul McCartney and other big people. There was a concert in the Park Lane hotel, and a few of them appeared at the concert, like Elton John. I did a deal with OK! magazine to set up a studio backstage and grab these people to do a big spread. My assistant said that Kylie Minogue was in the audience. So, he went out and brought her back, so these hadn’t been planned at all. She was very sweet about it and good at being photographed — she just got straight into posing. I have to say that I did some work for her in post, as she obviously wasn’t prepared to be photographed. She definitely had some lipstick and stuff on, but I brightened her eyes a bit, which were decidedly bloodshot, as she’d probably been partying.

Mick Jagger (2002)

[Denis O’Regan/West Contemporary Editions]

This is at Slane Castle; you can see the stage just ahead. Mick’s dad was a keep-fit instructor. He grew up training. I know he’s trained every single day with a private trainer for the last 30 years because I know the trainer. That’s why he’s as fit and skinny as he is. He’s got the same waist he had in his 20s. It’s just ridiculous. So before the show, he would go through a series of exercises — this is one of those. I like it, of course, because he’s got “MICK” on his back. I just thought it was funny. Mick and Keith were interviewed once for a Martin Scorsese film, and they were asked what they do on the day of a show. Mick says, “Well, get up, go for a run, do my exercises, buy some fruit juice, etc.,” and Keith just said, “I get up.”

Mick was awaiting the opening music that preceded “Ladies and gentlemen, the greatest rock ‘n’ roll band in the world, the Rolling Stones.” As the scrim opened, Mick jogged to the front of the stage to the opening bars of “Under My Thumb” and the roar of the crowd.

“I was under VP Records for over 10 years, and there was a battle for me to get out. I’m finally emancipated,” Spice says of the album over Zoom from her home in Jamaica. For Spice, Emancipated is about her legacy. “My fans have been journeying with me for over a decade. This is not just a project but something that is me — authentic dancehall music,” she explains.

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Getting to know Spice through her Caribbean sound is like being thwacked in the eardrums by a slam-dancing assortment of electronic instruments and sonic jolts. In Spice’s “Clap Clap” music video — the opening track on Emancipated — dancers move seamlessly through traditional Jamaican dancehall moves like daggering, the bogle and even some freestyled creations. “Jamaica has so many different dances,” Spice laughs, combing her lengthy acrylic nails through her lavender hair. “We take everything and make a dance out of it.” Right now, she says, there’s a new dance called “breadfruit,” where locals buckle their knees together and move their hips left to right, calling in other dance partners.

The movement in Spice’s latest video isn’t far off from the energy she flaunts on global stages in front of thousands of gyrating fans. Flying from Tobago, Jamaica to the East Coast leg of her 10 tour, Spice — in a pearlescent bodysuit — performed with superwoman stamina at an outdoor arena in the pouring rain while attendees thrust their umbrellas in the sky. “I was in the mud with them jumping in the water!” the St. Catherine-raised singer exclaims. That energy explodes when she’s facing a crowd. “Sometimes it’s as if I metamorphosis into a different character or persona because I sometimes don’t know that person onstage,” she adds.

Although Spice has always been in love with entertaining, the singer admits she and her five siblings came from “humble beginnings.” Her heated affinity for music was triggered by her dad — it’s what bonded them. And before Spice’s father passed away when she was 9 years old, she enjoyed watching him sing and dance in his spare time. In a “Rasta” (Christian-converted) household, Spice was exposed to an array of Caribbean and spiritual music, and her dad’s fondness for local favorites like Bob Marley and Dennis Brown influenced her. By 17, Spice affirmed that she was a natural-born performer who would always have all eyes on her. “Everything started for me because I used to turn our education into songs,” she says. “People used to come to me to learn the songs. I used to knock on the school benches, and I got popular. Then, someone introduced me to a man who had a festival in Jamaica called Sting.” 

With serendipity at her door, Spice tackled her first onstage performance at Sting in 2011 in her hometown of Portmore, St. Catherine. The multiple encores following her set sparked the beginnings of an early, devoted fanbase. Two decades later, she’s seen it all come full circle performing around the world. “Being on tour now is a humbling experience for me,” she remarks. “I go to so many different countries where fans come backstage to speak to me and need a translator because they don’t speak English. For me, that is mind-blowing because you speak Spanish or you speak French, and you’re singing my songs word for word. How is that even possible?”

[Photo by Spex Photography]

That’s why Emancipated, Spice’s first album as an independent artist, feels so meaningful. It’s representative of how far she’s come as an artist — one who has never forgotten where she’s come from. For Spice, Emancipated is a safe space that returns to the artistic freedom of her roots and homes in on the cultural spectacle of dancehall music. “Bake A Man” is a satirical old-school dancehall club banger that’s the soul of Spice’s album, showing how she hasn’t steered far from her Caribbean heritage. She experiments with her voice more as well, from bigger-sounding vocals to accentuated pronunciation and speed, which can be heard on the tropical party ballad “Same Mouth.” “Tape Measure” and “Pop Off” blend trap with dancehall, giving each track a firing beat drop. The album’s nine tracks boast Spice’s versatility as she continues to claim the throne as dancehall queen. She refrains from using Jamaican Patwa (a type of slang) to deliver a more “standard English” album so more people globally can comprehend her lyrics. Ultimately, Spice’s Emancipated breathes an unexplored progressive spirit of dancehall that’s still conducive to heated breakdancing anytime, anywhere; onsetting a renewed era of the veteran genre.

But Spice’s takeover has been a long time coming, with star power behind her. It was only last year that she made history as the first true female dancehall artist to be nominated for Best Reggae Album for 2020’s Grammys with her debut LP, 10. That nomination helped instill the conviction she now has as an independent artist. Moving forward, Spice hopes Emancipated will help others see how she’s leading the future of dancehall music. “If you are a fan of old-school dancehall, there’s going to be a song on Emancipated for you, and if you are a new fan of dancehall, there is definitely going to be a sound on [Spice’s album] for you as well,” she says. In Spice’s world, everyone is welcome as long as you dance to the riddim of the beat.

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“F*CK SOCIETY” shows the Nebraska-born singer-songwriter Sk8 go even deeper into his pop-punk sound. The track itself is direct and unrelenting. The lyrics call for living life the way you want, no matter what anyone says – or whatever the consequences might be. 

With the song’s direct and defiant chorus, SK8 and Sueco declare “Fuck society/You can’t tell me what to fucking do/Fuck sobriety, I’m gon’ sip this 1942.” The lyrics are set over a bouncing guitar riff, reminiscent of Early 2000s pop-punk mainstays Blink-182.

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The music video for “F*CK SOCIETY” is chaotic, with several scenes showing SK8 and Sueco causing pure anarchy in the middle of a meeting that quickly goes awry. In the nearly two minute long video, the words “Sober Society” appear draped behind the makeshift stage they have created in the dull conference room setting of the video. We also see flashing numbers on the screen of a fictitious self-help phone line. 

Eventually, the rambunctiousness of the performance causes the older adults, or symbols of authority in the meeting, to join in on the fun. They accept the anti-establishment message of the song. All in all, the video is a perfect visual representation of the song and though it tackles some serious subject matter, the collaborators infuse the topic with energy.

What was the first live show you ever attended? 

The first live show I ever attended was a Big Sean concert on his Finally Famous tour in middle school. It was in Omaha at The Waiting Room. I think there were around 500 people there.

As a kid, what artists/band posters were on your bedroom wall? 

I wasn’t a huge band artist poster on the wall type of guy, but I had Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley paintings on the wall. Other than those two, it was all basketball stuff because I used to be a hooper back in the day.

 Who is your biggest musical inspiration? 

My biggest musical inspiration would have to be Anthony Kiedis from Red Hot Chili Peppers. He’s one of my favorites – or Kurt Cobain. There’s just something about Kurt Cobain. I really just enjoy his melodies and his music. Super legend. One of those two, but probably Anthony Kiedis.

How long have you been making music, and how did it start? 

I started making music when I was 13 years old. Just started by writing melodies and raps in a notebook to beats that were popping at the time. I think I passed out my first mixtape as a sophomore in high school. It basically just got started from being really interested in music and artists and listening to a bunch of different varieties of music.

What is your dream collaboration? 

Dream collab would be with Red Hot Chili Peppers. That’s definitely the dream.

 What does a typical day look like for SK8? 

A typical day with Sk8 is you wake up around 9 a.m. or 10 a.m. usually, get on some phone calls with the team and talk about music and anything that has to do with the business and get that out of the way. Then I get into my creative state and it’s either going to the studio, where I’ll be at the studio from 2 p.m. to 2 a.m., or it’s chilling at the crib with the homies in the studio. Really, it’s just being in the studio creating a bunch of music and having a good time.

What would be the first song you would show to someone who has never heard SK8? 

If they didn’t know Sk8, the first song I’d play them would actually be an unreleased song that’s coming out with Good Charlotte called “Outside.” It’s a very proud moment of my career and I’m super excited to get that one out. There are a couple other ones on the project. There’s one that’s unreleased that is really one of my favorite records ever and it’s called “Broke Boy.” 

 What would be your dream tour lineup? 

Wow. Dream tour lineup? That’s always tough. I think it’d be cool to mix hip hop with rock. It’d be cool to have the Red Hot Chili Peppers. It’d be cool to also have reggae too. It would be sick to do a reggae-hip hop-rock festival. That’d be tight.

What can we expect in the future? Plans for an album, tour, etc? 

We’re dropping the album next month and I’m super proud of it, super excited. It’s my best work yet. It has a mixture of some older artists with some newer artists and it’s a mixture of trap and rock – it’s just super authentic to me and my sound. That comes out next month so I’m super excited about that. I just dropped a single with Sueco. Moving forward just looks like we drop the album and then we get on the road and really just connect with the fans. That’s what I feel is most important: dropping the music and then going out and connecting with the fans. It feels like they’re really starting to connect with these new songs that I’m dropping. Hopefully by spring or summer, we’ll be going on tour.

If you could sum up Sk8 in one sentence, what would it be? 

“Authentic.” I just am who I am and I’m proud of that.

You can watch the video for “F*CK SOCIETY” below. 

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As the mix of punk power chords and propulsive dance rhythms swells around her, singer Aimee Interrupter leads the 50 dancing souls through “Take Back The Power,” an anthem speaking truth to power: 

What’s your plan for tomorrow?
Are you a leader or will you follow?
Are you a fighter or will you cower?
It’s our time to take back the power

And in four minutes, the Interrupters reestablish a long-known truth: Ska, especially when mixed with punk rock, is a great source of power and inspiration. It’s the voice of oppressed people everywhere. It’s a rallying cry that has a great, danceable beat. It takes your cries of rage and converts them to shouts of joy.

It began as Jamaica’s original indigenous pop music in the late 1950s, born of accidental inspiration leading to an exciting new rhythm. When that rhythm slowed down, reggae was born. In the late ‘70s, punk-inspired musicians in the U.K.—both Black and white—looked back to the original ska era as musical fuel for a new sound fusing the two styles, 2 Tone.

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A few years later, American hardcore and punk musicians seeking ways to inject some roots and swing into an increasingly white punk sound led to a ska-punk sound that eventually went commercial in the ‘90s, as such outfits as No Doubt and the Mighty Mighty Bosstones followed Green Day and Rancid into the charts. (Rancid, themselves, also drew from ska’s ever-flowing well.) The Interrupters are merely the most recent manifestation of this tradition, asserting their primacy as they play huge American sheds, warming up the Hella Mega tour with Green Day, Fall Out Boy and Weezer.

Welcome to Alternative Press’ brief guide to ska’s history. Please enjoy our custom Spotify playlist, Alternative Press Presents Ska Essentials, as you read.

Jamaican Origins: “Madness? I call it gladness!”

“I’m about to explain/That someone is using his brain.” The singer flashes defiant over a herky-jerky rhythm, born of 1950s New Orleans rhythm and blues. It could almost be Fats Domino, if it weren’t for the fact that this music is tense, displaying none of his easygoing gate. The year is 1963, the singer is Cecil Bustamente Campbell—better known as Prince Buster, one of the fathers of ska—and the tune is the much-covered “Madness,” which later named one of 2 Tone’s most beloved groups.

Jamaica acquired a thirst for New Orleans R&B in its 1950s heyday, as its citizenry began acquiring portable radios in the wake of World War II. U.S. “clear-channel” stations of 50,000 blasted the rolling rhythms of the Crescent City across the island. Crafty entrepreneurs built enormous sound systems, with powerful amplifiers and huge speaker banks that pounded bass frequencies into dancers’ solar plexuses.

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Sound system operators such as Buster, Clement “Sir Coxsone” Dodd and Duke Reid, running short on proper hits from Domino, Lloyd Price, Huey “Piano” Smith and other Louisiana R&B masters, needed to generate their own homegrown versions of the sound. Local musicians inadvertently accented the off-beats—one and two and three and four—rather than the two and four. Driven home by upstroked guitars, this came to be called “ska,” in emulation of those guitar accents, according to the original ska era’s greatest session guitarist, Ernest Ranglin, of the almighty Skatalites.

Prince Buster took to performing himself, creating some of ska’s best-known standards: “Madness,” “One Step Beyond” and “Al Capone.” Other future reggae stars ascended in the ska era, including Toots And The Maytals, the original Wailers (Bob Marley, Peter Tosh and Bunny Livingston) and Jimmy Cliff. Imported to England, it became so popular that the BBC filmed a 40-minute documentary in 1964 at a Kingston dance. This Is Ska depicts ecstatic audiences dancing to Byron Lee And The Dragonaires as they backed Buster, Cliff and the Maytals in live performance.

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This same package, with Eric “Monty” Morris substituting for the Maytals, played the New York World’s Fair this same year. At roughly the same moment, Millie Small had the first international ska hit with her harmonica-rocking remake of Barbie Gaye’s 1956 record “My Boy Lollipop.” But as Black American music transitioned into soul music, Jamaican music followed, slowing into its rocksteady phase, then cementing into what we now know as reggae. But ska was far from dead.

2 Tone: Rudie Meets Punk Rockers Uptown

Punk rock was just the air freshener the stale ‘70s needed. Problem was, it was hardly funky. Rock ‘n’ roll had always drawn from Black music—Elvis adding twang and a shot of speed to rhythm and blues, the Rolling Stones pouring rocket fuel down the throats of Chuck Berry and Muddy Waters, etc. Johnny Ramone actually huffed that he wanted to “remove any blues” from the Ramones’ version of rock ‘n’ roll.

Thankfully, English punks grew up with Trojan Records’ hardcore reggae hits pouring from their transistor radios. Thus, it was natural that reggae became the Black rebel music of the U.K. punk scene. Johnny Rotten gave it his tacit endorsement on London’s Capital Radio, and the Clash filled out their first LP with a six-minute, pogo-rockin’ reinterpretation of Junior Murvin’s “Police And Thieves.” But in 1978, Joe Strummer and crew reached back past reggae to its dawn, with a B-side cover of Toots And The Maytals’ immortal “Pressure Drop” that welded Mick Jones’ iron-fisted power chords to a sped-up ska rhythm.

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Roughly at this time, Clash manager Bernie Rhodes took on a mixed-race band from the West Midlands called the Coventry Automatics. Sending them on the road with his star clients, the band rolled back into Coventry from tour with a head full of ideas and inspiration. Soon, the renamed Specials were decrying Rhodes’ business practices over a reworking of Prince Buster’s 1964 “Al Capone” called “Gangsters,” released on keyboardist Jerry Dammers’ 2 Tone label.

One month later, 2 Tone Records released “The Prince,” an ode to Prince Buster by London’s Madness, an all-white crew with similar ideas. Soon, 2 Tone became the name of this movement of sprawling bands shooting ska full of punk aggression, within a monochromatic aesthetic—Black and white musicians, black-and-white checkerboard graphics, natty black-and-white suits patterned after the dapper rude boys that were ska and bluebeat’s original audience. 

The Specials, Madness, the Selecter and Birmingham’s the (English) Beat’s positivism was infectious and more accessible to average British youth than punk. 2 Tone also effectively deterred the National Front’s bitter racism. The sight of halls rammed to the rafters with Black and white youth dancing to the Specials as they decried “Doesn’t Make It Alright” was glorious. 

Third-wave Ska: Rudie Invades The USA

America had been resistant to ska’s contagious rhythms. Small’s “My Boy Lollipop” owned U.S. Top 40 radio for part of 1964, but that was it. The Specials invaded our shores twice, even destroying Saturday Night Live with wired, explosive performances of “Gangsters” (Neville Staple brandishing a toy machine gun) and “Too Much Too Young.” Madness trekked over soon after. But the appeal was strictly underground. 

Third-wave ska asserted itself in American environs from 1981 onward: The Toasters in New York City, the Untouchables and Fishbone in Los Angeles, the Mighty Mighty Bosstones in Boston. At roughly the same mid-’80s moment Subhumans singer Dick Lucas formed the U.K.’s ska-tinged Citizen Fish, and a group of hardcore-loving teens from Berkeley called Operation Ivy mixed ska rhythms into their thrash bombs.

They became a sensation at 924 Gilman Street, then the world over. They paved ska punk’s path for the next 30 years, as similar-minded bands erupted across the ‘90s’ face like especially virulent acne: Berkeley’s Dance Hall Crashers, Solvang’s Mad Caddies, Gainesville’s Less Than Jake, Reel Big Fish from Orange County, Detroit’s Suicide Machines. Then Op Ivy’s Tim Armstrong and Matt Freeman formed the Clash-esque Rancid, becoming huge after Green Day finally knocked the door separating punk from the Top 40 off its hinges. Soon they detonated the power-chord ska of “Time Bomb” all over MTV, hourly.

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“Time Bomb” had the same commercially liberating effect for ska-inspired punk bands as Green Day’s “Basket Case” had for melodic punk bands. Next thing you know, Los Angeles grunge also-rans Electric Love Hogs gave themselves a spiky-hair-and-bondage-pants makeover, renamed themselves Goldfinger and blew MTV to bits with the pogo-ska hit “Here In Your Bedroom.” Anaheim’s No Doubt channeled the end of Debbie Harry-esque singer Gwen Stefani and bassist Tony Kanal’s relationship into a potent song cycle called Tragic Kingdom that’s sold 16 million copies to date.

But Long Beach’s Sublime’s sold 17 million of their self-titled LP, released one month after leader Bradley Nowell’s death by overdose, thanks to such massive radio smashes as “Santeria” and “What I Got.” And after dancing their way across America’s punk clubs for 15 years, the Mighty Mighty Bosstones went mega with blast-chord anthem “The Impression That I Get,” which surely gets played at sporting events to this day about as often as “Blitzkrieg Bop” or “Rock And Roll Pt. 2.” Ska-punk had gone outernational, with the type of commercial momentum that sustained it well into the new century.

21st Century Ska: Rudie Can’t Fail

Ska has largely been absent from the charts in the millennium, yet appears as strong as ever. Many of the leading lights of third wave ska and ska-punk remain active to this day, including Rancid, Fishbone, the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Less Than Jake and Reel Big Fish. Amy Winehouse recorded standards by Toots And The Maytals, the Specials and the Skatalites for The Ska EP in 2008, while rival Lily Allen teamed with various permutations of the Specials at various high-profile U.K. gigs, until their classic lineup (minus Dammers) reconstituted for the group’s 30th anniversary.

A version of the band still tours and records to this day. Then in 2012, ska/reggae legend Jimmy Cliff released Rebirth, his first LP in eight years. Produced by Armstrong, it pushed Cliff back even beyond his The Harder They Come days, to his ‘60s stylings. He even pulled a very 1964 ska performance of Rancid’s “Ruby Soho” out of the veteran.

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Armstrong has also been involved with this century’s finest ska-punk band, the Interrupters, producing their records and releasing them via his Hellcat Records imprint. (He also absorbed them into the membership of his side-project, Tim Timebomb and Friends.) Comprising the Bivona brothers—Kevin, Justin and Jesse—and charismatic spitfire vocalist Aimee Allen (aka Aimee Interrupter), the Los Angeles four-piece are the embodiment of the rebel spirit of both ska in its prime and the Clash. They’ve managed radio hits in “She’s Kerosene” and “Gave You Everything,” owing as much to their knack for huge chorus hooks as to their mix of chainsaw guitar and propulsive Jamaican rhythms.

They are the most rousing, sky-punching live outfit currently working the world’s clubs and halls and anthems such as “Take Back The Power” broadcast strong messages of liberty and unity. Such is the power of ska done right, especially when merged with old-school punk rock. If anyone can inspire positive rebellion and serve as a fierce, righteous example to young and old, it’s the Interrupters. When firing on all cylinders, they’re a band to believe in.

In the midst of the run, band frontman Nick Hexum found time to connect with Alternative Press. During the conversation, he spoke of the band’s passion for making music, described the deep bond 311 has created with their fans and took readers behind the scenes of their tour.

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It’s hard to believe, but the band recently celebrated their 30th anniversary. In early 2020, they announced a tour celebrating the milestone. The band would have traveled with Incubus and Badflower, stopping in 36 amphitheaters along the way.

Unfortunately, the COVID-19 pandemic delayed the run. During our conversation, Hexum described the period as a major turning point, divided by a “BP and AP, Before Pandemic and After Pandemic.” He further remarked that the break gave him a chance to reevaluate his priorities. “I feel like that was a time to look inward and decide what to do with the rest of my life,” he says.

Even so, Hexum wasn’t content to simply reflect. He and his bandmates developed an innovative streaming platform, allowing them to connect with fans despite the disruption to live music. Hexum also developed a number of personal projects, including the “Do Stay Home” sessions with his family and even workout videos via Twitch.

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Now, at long last, the group are able to get back on the road, offering fans a chance to make up for lost time.

The band have also developed a number of streaming opportunities connected to the run. 10 shows will be available for livestream. The innovative streams will feature full live-concert production and soundboard audio, as well as behind-the-scenes footage showcasing life on tour. Fans can also purchase discounted four-pack tickets, merch bundles and more.

Details on the livestreams can be viewed here. Tour dates and our interview with Hexum can be read below.

It’s amazing to think that 311 have been around for 30 years. How does it feel to look back on that milestone?

Our mindset is that getting to do what we love, what we would do anyway as a hobby, to get to do it as a career is such an honor and a privilege. It’s really not about how big you can get at one certain time. It’s about how long you can enjoy the process of what you love. I am so proud of the longevity and so grateful to our fans who have supported that. We’re just turning the page into a new decade. There really is a BP and AP, Before Pandemic and After Pandemic. Everybody’s lives are going to have that marker, like when you move to a new town or whatever. It’s been an interesting time to take stock and now in this next chapter of life focus on what brings us the most joy, which is writing and performing. 

I don’t think many bands could last so long without such a devoted following. 311 is one of those bands I think of as having a truly die-hard fanbase. What does that kind of connection with your fans mean to you?

I get such satisfaction. I get such a kick out of hearing stories of people that tell us that our music got them through difficult periods. To me, that’s a human-to-human source of strength that transcends any kind of business arrangement or whatever. I live for that, and I love that so much. On a creative level, to know that we don’t have a lot of pressure that maybe some more pop-leaning artists have, where you’re only as good as your latest hit. We basically can just make albums for our core, and it doesn’t really matter how good mainstream perception goes. That just goes back to saying thanks to our fans who are so dedicated to us. The feeling is mutual. We’re dedicated to them as well. 

The other thing I’ve been thinking about is what 311 have meant for music. We’re reaching a certain distance from the ‘90s, which saw this explosion of very eclectic artists. It’s really interesting to look back. 311 were definitely ahead of the curve in helping to push rock to a more sonically diverse, musically open-minded place. What made you want to make music like that?

It’s hard to say exactly why we are so eclectic and so diverse. I do think in the late ’80s, early ’90s, I heard these bands like Fishbone, Jane’s Addiction, Chili Peppers, Faith No More that were just doing whatever they wanted. With the punk-rock intensity, but not with a thrash sound. It was funk and ska and acoustic and metal. If you just take those four bands right there, there’s just so many different styles. All artists are just standing on the shoulders of giants. I have to give props where props is due and say that we were turned on by that hybrid music scene. Then, we took it further in our own direction.

You’re in the middle of a big tour, which comes after more than a year of disruptions to live music. What are your feelings about getting back on the road?

A lot of pent-up demand, both from ourselves and the fans. You just feel this sense of relief, like, “Oh yeah, we’re back. We’re back to rocking. We’re back to seeing the smiling faces. We’re back to feeling that love.” I’m glad we came up with different ways to fill the gap with the streaming shows, and I was doing my own series on Instagram. I’d [have] “Do Stay Home” sessions, and then I started doing Twitch stuff. It’s good to know that if there’s another pandemic, we have a lot of different things to do, but there is no substitute for a live rock ‘n’ roll. So, it’s this huge euphoria. 

You mention livestreams. When the pandemic hit, I think some artists took a break or focused on other projects. But you chose to do some really innovative projects in this period.

We wanted to give our crew some work to do, for one thing, because they rely on us. It was great how our stage crew learned all this new technology. There is a lot of technology that goes into doing a good livestream. I tell one of our managers, it’s like we told you to go learn Icelandic in four months, and you did it. It was an exciting challenge to do the livestreams. For me, when I was doing the “Stay Home” sessions, [I was] doing uplifting songs with my kids, like “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley. There was so much fear and anxiety, like, “Are we going to die? Are we going to be broke?” Everybody was just very worried.

To give people a little kernel of hope, that’s something powerful that music can do. I wish I would have thought of the Twitch stuff earlier because that was a lot later on in the pandemic. I was like, “Hey, if I do a workout on Twitch, would you guys join me?” It was like “Hell yeah!” That turned into my Saturday morning workout thing that I did for 17 weeks in a row. Then I posted those on YouTube so people can follow along if they want to work out with me. I do a lot of stuff. I do it to the beat and have cool music, so it’s different than other workout classes.

Now that you’re touring again, you’re continuing to use the livestream format. Can you tell fans what to expect from these shows?

We’ve done one so far on this tour, and it seems like the fans at home really loved it. We’re changing up the setlist more. A lot of people are getting a whole bundle, so there’s going to be a good diversity of songs you’ll see from one stream to the next. [We’re] digging deeper in the crate. A couple of nights ago, we played songs we haven’t played in a long time, like “Still Dreaming” and “Tranquility.” More random songs. Our fans has been a little bummed that we have done a couple co-headlining tours and we didn’t have as long to play. It was more of a mainstream set when you’re going up there and sharing the stage half-and-half with the Offspring or Dirty Heads. Now, you have a little bit more freedom to dig deeper and know that this one’s more for our core. 

I wanted to follow up on something earlier. You mentioned the pandemic triggered a kind of BP/AP shift. What does AP look like for you?

I feel like that was a time to look inward and decide what to do with the rest of my life. I had some different things going, getting involved in the cannabis business and stuff like that. Now, I realized that basically what I want to do with the rest of my life is spend time with family and write music—and that’s it. I think this was a time for me to recognize and reset my priorities. I still love cannabis, but there’s only so much time in the day.

311 tour dates:

08/21 – Camden, NJ @ BB&T Pavilion
08/22 – Farmingville, NY @ Long Island Community Hospital Amphitheater at Bald Hill
08/24 – Bridgeport, CT @ Hartford HealthCare Amphitheater
08/26 – Portland, ME @ Thompson’s Point
08/28 – Boston, MA @ Leader Bank Pavilion
08/29  – Holmdel, NJ @ PNC Bank Arts Center
09/01 – Baltimore, MD @ Pier 6/MECU Pavilion
09/02 – Virginia Beach, VA @ Veterans United Home Loans Amphitheater
09/04 – Wilmington, NC @ Riverfront Park Amphitheater
09/05 – Charlotte, NC @ Hops & Hogs Festival*
09/07 – Indianapolis, IN @ TCU Amphitheater at White River State Park
09/08 – Lincoln, NE @ Pinewood Bowl Amphitheater
09/10 – Chicago, IL @ Huntington Bank Pavilion at Northerly Island

09/11 – Milwaukee, WI @ SummerFest^
09/12 – Waite Park, MN @ The Ledge Amphitheater
09/15 – Maryland Heights, MO @ Saint Louis Music Park
09/16 – Sterling Heights, MI @ Michigan Lottery Amphitheatre at Freedom Hill
09/18 – Cleveland, OH @ Jacobs Pavilion at Nautica
09/19 – Cincinnati, OH @ The ICON Festival Stage at Smale Park
09/21 – Alpharetta, GA @ Ameris Bank Amphitheatre
09/22 – Jacksonville, FL @ Daily’s Place
09/24 – West Palm Beach, FL @ iTHINK Financial Amphitheatre
09/25 – Tampa, FL @ MIDFLORIDA Credit Union Amphitheatre
09/28 – Austin, TX @ Moody Amphitheater at Waterloo Park
09/29 – Irving, TX @ The Pavilion at Toyota Music Factory
09/30 – Kansas City, MO @ Grinders KC

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10/02 – Morrison, CO @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre
10/03 – Albuquerque, NM @ Isleta Amphitheater
10/05 – Salt Lake City, UT @ USANA Amphitheatre
10/07 – Bend, OR @ Les Schwab Amphitheater
10/08 – Seattle, WA @ WaMu Theater
10/10 – Sacramento, CA @ Heart Health Park
10/13 – Phoenix, AZ @ Ak-Chin Pavilion
10/15 – Irvine, CA @ FivePoint Amphitheatre
10/16 – San Diego, CA @ North Island Credit Union Amphitheatre
10/17 – Berkeley, CA @ Greek Theatre
10/29 – Boulder, CO @ Fox Theater
10/30 – Denver CO @ Ogden Theater
10/31 – Estes Park, CO @ Stanley Hotel

* Iration and Iya Terra not appearing
^ Iya Terra not appearing

Drummer Hugo Burnham resembled a skinhead thug in his 1460 Dr. Martens and Number Two crop but is now a university professor. He locked in with bassist Dave Allen on a series of muscular funk and disco grooves—hardly expected beneath Gill’s anti-guitar heroics. Jon King practically crooned his erudite polemics atop this angular clang, occasionally tooting the melodica he picked up from dub master Augustus Pablo. And the entire band indulged in the instrumental dropout and abrupt silences of dub reggae in their arrangements, elements as startling as any other in their arsenal.

The original Go4 lineup only lasted four years, a period chronicled in a new, crucial box set ‘77-’81, for Matador Records. With Gill’s brusque, staccato guitar bursts silenced by his death Feb. 1, 2020, the remaining three from the original quartet decided it was time to anthologize their brief history. First two LPs Entertainment! (rated his 13th favorite album of all time in a list in Kurt Cobain’s journals) and Solid Gold are remastered from the original analog tapes, sounding like they had a shower, a shave, two cups of coffee and a cigarette. There’s also a frighteningly taut concert album, Live At American Indian Center 1980, accurately reflecting how delightfully jarring they were to fresh American ears. Additionally, there’s a 90-minute cassette included of demos and outtakes, a collection of non-LP singles and a 100-page hardbound book detailing their history. 

Thanks to the miracle of Zoom, Alternative Press was able to speak with King, still a U.K. resident, and Burnham, currently an associate professor at Endicott College in Beverly, Massachusetts. The pair were relaxed, jovial and self-effacing in their humor, frequently laughing and finishing each other’s sentences. We begin as King recounts a fateful backstage meeting with future Ministry leader Al Jourgensen.

JON KING: He came backstage when we were in Chicago years and years and years ago, when he was 15. Then he came backstage at a festival years and years and years later, and he was very generous and complimentary. He said to me, “If it weren’t for you…? You taught me how to set up Ministry.” And I was shocked I’d given anybody any good advice ever in my whole life. The other shocking thing was I’d been friendly with someone backstage! [Laughs.] 

I think you’ve helped out a lot more people than Al. Older folks here in Austin, Texas, talk about how Gang Of Four played Club Foot the night Ronald Reagan was elected. And you guys were pissed, as anybody with any sort of decency would have been. It went right into your performance.

KING: The really terrible thing is that Reagan is now a really attractive character with really sensible policies. [Laughs.] He’s now a dangerous liberal. At least he who shall not be named is now out of office. There’s that.

BURNHAM: I do remember that night very well. Mostly after the show. Austin was always a lot of fun.

I’m very happy seeing the music coming back again through this box set and seeing this thing being assembled with love and care. It feels like we need the original Gang Of Four more than ever, now.

KING: Every era needs someone to say something or other about what life is like. I was talking to a journalist the other day, and he referenced that I’d said I thought that “God Save The Queen,” even though it was an amazing, great, fun single, was musically boring. Not to say that I didn’t and don’t still have huge affection for that thing. It brings back the time. But it didn’t, strangely enough, say as much about the time as, say, Miles Davis’ Kind Of Blue said about life in that time in America. Or Robert Johnson. I think there are acts out there now. But as it said in the book, we were pretty involved in stuff.

BURNHAM: We were. We were involved before we were a cohesive band. It was a very fractious time. We were art students—and other students—in a Northern city that was really falling apart in some ways, not unlike the rest of the country. The Labour Government had really messed things up, opening up doors not just to the Tory Party under Margaret Thatcher. But that whole election, far-right groups like the National Front and the British National Party ran legitimate candidates, which was mind-blowing. So we were against this. We couldn’t help but be against this. 

KING: We spent a lot of time on the back of trucks at demonstrations and playing. It’s one of the things that’s very different now to then. It’s the absence of that type of thing. I haven’t been aware of that type of thing for a long time. Having huge numbers of people turning out, it becomes a carnival of progressive ideas. You get to entertain everybody by getting a flatbed truck and getting some generator on the back and making a noise. Then there’s that group sensibility we all had. We were all involved. It wasn’t a commercial activity, and I don’t think it made any difference to anyone’s music sales. But the idea of the Anti-Nazi League and Rock Against Racism was a really big thing at that time. 

And for a young punk-rock kid of the time, it was easy for me to relate to Gang Of Four because I’d already had the example of the Clash. And very famously, Greil Marcus referred to you as the “thinking man’s Clash.” It is easy to see that you were what the Clash would have been, had they gone to university other than art school.

KING: Well, actually I went to art school in university! [Laughs.] I think it’s hard to understate what art school meant because you had a lot of time to yourself. There’s very little structured teaching. When I look back, I think I only had six hours per week of any kind of interaction with a member of staff. The rest of the time, you’re left to your own devices. So it’s hard to think of a British band, from the Rolling Stones through to whatever, who didn’t go through art school. Practically all of the punk scene went through it. Paul Simonon, for example—classic art student and a great bass player. 

BURNHAM: Glen Matlock. You can find at least one member of every English band, pre-punk as well as punk, who was in art school. Because you had the time to create art, to play and drink and rehearse. 

Tony James very famously said, “You’d get your grant at the beginning of the year and buy an amplifier.”

BURNHAM: [Laughs.] Yeah! Right! What we did was get out grants at the beginning of the year and drink it. Then we’d go steal our amps.

KING: Yes. That’s actually true. Leeds was a very unusual place, which is, of course, why we went there. It was an A-list concert venue: Led Zeppelin, Bob Marley, Paul McCartney, the Who, Roxy Music. The Stones played in the refectory hall.

BURNHAM: “Refectory” is English for “big bloody dining room.” [Laughs.] 

KING: The Stones played to 1,000 people in the refectory. Led Zeppelin played there. I saw Bob Marley there. Hugo and I were both there. It was a dream come true. These are the acts that would be headlining these days at Glastonbury. Not only was that on the A-list tour itinerary, [but] down the road was the Polytechnic, which is a more outcome-oriented place to study. They also had an art department. It was only half a mile away. They paid even less attention to what anybody did. Green Gartside, who obviously formed Scritti Politti, I always have a joke about his attitude to concept art, which he somehow connected to his course: He just laid in bed until 3 o’clock. [Laughs.] 

BURNHAM: Leeds Poly, which is now called Leeds Beckett University, had its own venue which was quite a lot smaller. Again, it was like a gym and a dining room. But that was where the Anarchy tour played—the first place they were allowed to play without being banned. The acts that came from there during our time there: Frank Tovey, [aka] Fad Gadget, Marc Almond…

KING: Scritti Politti, Mekons, Delta 5. We all sat in this pub… 

BURNHAM: In between the two… 

KING: The two places. So the venue at the Polytechnic, I think, was about 500, wasn’t it, Hugo?

BURNHAM: Yeah, it was quite a bit smaller, maybe 300 or 400.

KING: But we saw things like the Stiffs Greatest Stiffs tour there and Jonathan Richman…

BURNHAM: No, no, no, the Stiff tour went to the university. The Poly was the Ramones with Talking Heads…

KING: Oh yeah! The Ramones and Talking Heads are playing about a 400-capacity room, which is quite lovely. We saw the Sex Pistols, the Clash, the Damned and the Heartbreakers for one pound, which back then was the equivalent of two dollars. Even though this is obviously in ancient times, it’s now like seeing those four bands for about six bucks. It was a great learning place because you’d watch all the bands. Before we were a band, we were all mates. But you saw them all and saw how they approached stagecraft.

Like Jonathan Richman, for example, did a completely unamplified show. Which is a difficult thing before 400 people. You could hardly hear a thing. [Laughs.] But he was in complete control of the crowd. It was a really interesting way to approach it. The quieter he got, the more you had to pay attention to what he was doing. The other extreme was the Ramones. When they were being quiet, [it] was that nanosecond between one song and then the other.

We caught up with storied photographer Atiba Jefferson, who shot the WILLOW cover at Milk Studios. Few people exist as comfortably in the space between photography and culture as Jefferson. His multifaceted career has defined the skateboarding world for decades, with appearances in Thrasher, Slap, Transworld and a range of other major magazines. He was also a staff photographer for the Los Angeles Lakers, capturing pivotal moments in the careers of Shaquille O’Neal and Kobe Bryant. But whether he’s working on collaborations with Supreme and Converse—or capturing personalities from King Krule and Lil Wayne to James Harden and LeBron James—Jefferson always remains immersed in music.

Read more: Photographer Sean Murphy recalls shooting blink-182, Green Day and more

In this interview, Jefferson detailed his early journey into music and the posters that adorned his walls. He also talked about his biggest inspirations, his process as a photographer and his five favorite albums.

You’re a beyond proficient skater, but you also play a little piano here and there, and you hoop. Growing up in Colorado, what were the posters on your walls as a kid, and were you into all this stuff from a young age? What was motivating young Atiba to go out and do all this ill stuff?

Yes, I play piano [and] started at 21 because of Ahmad Jamal and Bill Evans. [I also] hoop, but it’s not pretty. [Laughs.] The posters I had were all over the place—Steel Pulse, Bob Marley, the Police, U2, Samhain, Dead Kennedys, EPMD and tons of Thrasher mag photos. I grew up in a small town [called] Manitou Springs. My mom has great music taste, from reggae to soul. Then skateboarding taught me punk and hip-hop.

What was the first live show you can remember attending? 

My first memory was [when my] mom took me to see Peter Tosh. Then my first non-local punk show was ALL and Big Drill Car. I was blown away.

You’re super well known for your skate photography and your ability to capture professional athletes in the most candid manner. But you’re also a serious music head—what was the first show you can remember taking photos at?

I brought my camera to [a] Quicksand show but have no photos of it, [and I’m] so bummed. Jawbox and Seaweed I have photos of and also Pharcyde and Common in 1994. 

Who inspired you to get into skating and photography? What photographers would you recommend we check out?

I am still always inspired by so much new skateboarding and photography, but old-school Spike Jonze and Chi Modu, R.I.P., and skateboarding Ray Barbee, Natas [Kaupas], [Mark “Gonz” Gonzales and] Kareem Campbell. New-school photographers [you should check out are] Sandy Kim, Shaniqwa Jarvis and Petra Collins. Skateboarders [you should check out are] Kader Sylla and Tyshawn Jones. 

What music do you like to have on when you shoot versus when you edit? 

When I shoot, I like the energy up, so hip-hop or the Clash [or] Specials. When I edit, [I listen to] lots of jazz or new age. 

When is Atiba Jefferson going to start making music videos? 

I have done a handful for Dinosaur Jr., Turnstile, American Football, TV On The Radio [and] Soccer Mommy. A new one for Bonnie Prince Billy and Matt Sweeney just dropped. I only like to do them if I’m into the artist. 

Top five albums?

Bad Brains Rock For Light, Miles Davis Live In 1958, A Tribe Called Quest The Low End Theory, Cocteau Twins Milk & Kisses [and] Johnny “Hammond” Smith Gambler’s Life, but check out the new black midi [Cavalcade] and Joyce Wrice [Overgrown]. [They’re] two of my favorite records this year.

Is there anything new that you’re working on that you want to shout out? 

I’m working on a furniture collab with Modernica. I need to finish a book. [I’m] creative directing with Joe Jonas and DNCE. I have a solo record [that I’m] working [on] with Jon Theodore and Nosaj Thing in 2022. [There is] lots of stuff with Canon cameras, [and I’m] going to the Olympics to shoot and shooting for Thrasher 24/7.

This interview originally appeared in issue 395, available here. 

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Rocket To Kingston created an immediate sensation all over the world with its release. The initial vinyl pressing sold out within days, and the website’s declaration of a repress doesn’t appear to be any closer to reality. It’s available via every good streaming service, YouTube and can be digitally purchased and downloaded via Guerilla Asso’s Bandcamp page. No one seems to know who the mad scientist is who created Kingston—the label certainly isn’t coughing up the info. Whoever the mystery artist is, they deserve some sort of award. What could’ve easily been a shitty novelty record is really the 21st century’s first righteous restatement of the deep connection between reggae and punk.

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Reggae was natural for punk to mine as inspirational fuel, just as earlier rock ‘n’ roll eras gleaned ideas and energy from blues and R&B. Many Black listeners embraced the rebel sounds of a genre that itself would pave the way for hip-hop in the 1980s. In the U.S., only Millie Small’s1964 ska breakout “My Boy Lollipop” and Desmond Dekker’s 1968 early reggae classic “Israelites” penetrated popular consciousness. The U.K. had been primed by indie powerhouse Trojan Records since 1968, building huge hits importing such stellar Jamaican records as Bob And Marcia’s “Young, Gifted And Black,” Dave And Ansel Collins’ “Double Barrel,” and Toots And The Maytals’ “Pressure Drop.” The Tighten Up budget compilation series also helped cultivate British tastes, introducing the music to a generation of white listeners. The rise of Bob Marley And The Wailers and the soundtrack to Perry Henzell’s 1972 Jamaican gangster film The Harder They Come helped reggae gain dominion worldwide, especially in the U.S.

First-wave English punks, likely possessing more than a few scratchy Trojan 45s in their record collections, had reggae in their blood. The social justice poetry of Marley especially granted a moral authority to the more politically charged U.K. bands, while the graphic design of albums like Prince Far I’s Under Heavy Manners lent punk a few ideas, as well. Don Letts, a first-generation British Rasta managing punk haberdashers Acme Attractions, spread the influence with his reggae mixtapes for the shop. Once London’s first dedicated punk venue The Roxy hired him as house DJ, he bolstered spins of the paltry number of punk records then available with heavy doses of dub (reggae’s original remix sound) and the rootsiest Jamaican sounds. U.K. punk was ready to get fully dread. Here are the 10 crucial events in the reggae/punk connection.

The Clash: White Riot in Teenage Babylon

If Letts’ DJing infected punk with reggae-itis, the Clash were Patient Zero. No punk band used reggae more to bolster their rebel credentials, beginning with their 1977 debut album’s rock-up of Junior Murvin’s “Police And Thieves.” Bassist Paul Simonon grew up in a heavily Jamaican neighborhood, learning his instrument by practicing to reggae records. Lead guitarist Mick Jones’ arrangements brought upstroke guitars and dub dynamics (i.e., instrumental dropouts, incorporation of space and silence, deep echo) to the nonstop pogo party. Singer Joe Strummer’s lyrics infused reggae’s righteous poetry into his leftist rants. This went far beyond lacing Trojan standards as “Pressure Drop” with distorted punk power chords or collaborating with legendary Jamaican producer Lee “Scratch” Perry on early 45 “Complete Control.” It led to incredible fusions such as “(White Man) In Hammersmith Palais,” arguably the best Clash song.

Johnny Rotten plays reggae on Capital Radio

July 16, 1977: Independent London radio station Capital Radio and its star DJ Tommy Vance invited Sex Pistols mainman Johnny Rotten down for an interview and to spin records from his personal collection. It infuriated manager Malcolm McLaren, who’d crafted an image for the Pistols as dangerous, imbecilic thugs out to destroy everything, especially rock ‘n’ roll. Instead, alter ego John Lydon showed up, Rotten occasionally peeking out to lash out here and there, especially at other punk bands. Still, Lydon’s general, disarming message? “I like all sorts of music.” He queued up everything from Captain Beefheart to Tim Buckley to Neil Young. Especially prominent? Much reggae, which he announced he’d grown up with: Augustus Pablo’s crucial dub plate “King Tubby Meets The Rockers Uptown,” Peter Tosh’s ganja anthem “Legalize It,” Culture’s “I’m Not Ashamed.” Especially poignant: his selection of Dr. Alimantado’s “Born For A Purpose.” “Just after I got my brains kicked in [i.e., he was attacked twice by royalists bearing knives and chains in the wake of “God Save The Queen”], I went home and played it,” he explained. “There’s a verse in it: ‘If you have no reason for living, don’t determine my life.’ The same thing happened to him. He got run over because he was a dread.” Lydon took deep inspiration from Alimantado’s cry of defiance. As surely did many a British youth tuning in that day.

Bob Marley records “Punky Reggae Party”

“Punks are outcasts from society. So are the Rastas,” reggae king Marley told Sounds journalist Vivien Goldman in the summer of 1977. “So they are bound to defend what we defend.” She’d just played the Clash’s rendition of “Police And Thieves” for reggae’s biggest star and influential producer Perry, who had produced Murvin’s original. Both quickly understood the similarities of the cultures and what punk was learning from reggae. Perry’s response? He produced the Clash’s anti-record business single “Complete Control,” then returned to Marley for his own “Punky Reggae Party.” Amid a roll call of U.K. punk icons—the Damned, the Clash, the Jam—and such reggae stalwarts as his own Wailers and Toots Hibbert’s Maytals, Marley proved he understood the similarities between punk’s struggles to the rastas’: “Rejected by society/Treated with impunity/Protected by my dignity/I search for reality.” Marley granting his imprimatur to the new scene was all the license many needed to join the party.

The Punky Reggae Party goes Outernational

From here, the reggae/punk virus exploded. U.S. punk poet Patti Smith found the same motivational juice in reggae as her U.K. counterparts—wearing Rastafarian T-shirts onstage, incorporating the rhythms into such songs as debut LP Horses’ “Redondo Beach.” Smith and her guitarist Lenny Kaye made the connection explicit in ‘77, providing a four-years-later U.S. release of DJ Tapper Zukie’s deep, mysterious, murky Man Ah Warrior LP on their Mer label. Letts, meanwhile, managed the proto-riot grrrl outfit the Slits, whose singer Ari Up eventually adopted dreadlocks and spoke in Jamaican patois. Their choice of producer when they finally recorded their debut LP, Cut? U.K. dub master Dennis Bovell. Generation X’s second 45, glam-punk stomper “Wild Youth,” was paired with B-side “Wild Dub”—the same song remixed with dub’s vast silences and echoes, singer Billy Idol toasting at the end, “Heavy, heavy dub/Punk rockers!” British activists Rock Against Racism reacted to the rise of the neo-fascist National Front attempts to annex the punk scene by promoting high-profile gigs pairing such British reggae bands as Steel Pulse and Misty In Roots with artists such as Generation X, the Clash and Sham 69. Ireland’s Stiff Little Fingers appear on British soil bearing such a heavy Clash influence, they’d pepper sets with their own punky reggae covers, such as Marley’s powerful “Johnny Was.” Second-generation punk leading lights the Ruts emerged from London in 1979 with the most powerful reggae fusion yet: steaming punk anthems utilizing rasta language, including “Babylon’s Burning”; pure reggae skankers such as “Jah War”; guitarist Paul Fox’s extensive use of an echo unit, to lend his playing dub textures. Then there was the Police, who became massive worldwide with a highly commercialized version of the reggae/punk crossover. Reggae was now fully part of punk’s vocabulary—musically, visually, spiritually and linguistically.

Post-punk: Art-Punks Born In Babylon

Come 1978, several bands materialized who felt liberated by punk’s smashing of rock ‘n’ roll cliches but wanted to utilize an exploratory vocabulary, rather than three-chord pogo-rock. This frequently meant reggae techniques becoming more firmly incorporated into what was ultimately dubbed post-punk. Public Image Ltd.—the post-Pistols home of Rotten, now reverting to his Christian name of John Lydon as he sued McLaren—were among the first to employ this musical language extensively. Jah Wobble’s booming, hairy basslines sounded torn directly from various dub plates, as was the band’s production, especially on second LP Metal Box. Gang Of Four incorporated dub’s heavy use of instrumental drop-out and space into their arrangements, not to mention singer Jon King’s homages to Augustus Pablo’s three-note melodica hooks. Bristol’s Pop Group used similar dynamics to shocking, violent effect, especially on epic, gorgeous debut single “She Is Beyond Good And Evil”: “My little girl was born on a ray of sound,” singer Mark Stewart howled. All these band’s individual expressions of love were their rays originating in Kingston.

2 Tone: Punk meets ska, goes nutty

While post-punk represented the art school absorption of the punky reggae party, a more proletarian manifestation of these principles was required. An embodiment of the dissolution of racial walls was especially crucial. The advent of 2 Tone was exactly the ticket: mostly mixed-race casts wedding punk basics with reggae’s peppier ancestral sound, ska. Witnessing the Black and white—in both racial makeup and palette—late ’70s rude boys of the Specials bouncing around, resembling the ultimate manifestation of what the Clash wrought with their punked-out “Pressure Drop,” was an awesome sight. And there was more where they came from. The Selecter, fronted by the ferocious yet warm Pauline Black, felt even more dread and threatening than the Specials. Then there was Madness, the rare all-white cast in 2 Tone, who owed as much to music hall and Ray Davies’ mid-period songwriting as Prince Buster, eventually the most successful pop group of the bunch. It was all too brief a moment, but 2 Tone’s echoes resounded through the years in the most interesting of places.

Bad Brains destroy Babylon

Four Black youths from D.C. playing jazz and funk converted to punk rock in 1977, leading to Bad Brains’ helping spawn punk’s most ferocious strain: hardcore. Attending a Bob Marley And The Wailers performance the following year, they felt the fire of his righteousness and convictions. Come 1980, Bad Brains were full-blown rastas, able to stop on a dime from performing the most savage of hardcore assaults to skank into the heaviest, deepest live dub. These weren’t dilettantes dabbling in Jamaican culture. Bad Brains’ rasta-fication came from a profound place, their message ultra positive and righteous. Many responded, leading to ripples through punk history as off-center as the ones 2 Tone created.

Operation Ivy and Rancid prime the Sound System

Years after hardcore peaked and thrashed its way up its own backside, a Berkeley outfit were tearing up Gilman Street—home of American punk’s fourth wave—with what sounded like 2 Tone wed to thrash rock. Named for the U.S.’ eighth set of nuclear tests, Operation Ivy released one album, Energy, with a long tail of influence, both via such untamed rockers as “Knowledge” and prescient skankers a la “Sound System”: “Contained in music, somehow more than just sound,” singer Jesse Michaels snarled. “This inspiration coming and twistin’ things around.” Breaking up two years later, guitarist Tim Armstrong and bassist Matt Freeman eventually formed Rancid, who seemed to want to pick up the Clash’s old punky reggae mantle and give it a polishing for a new era. Solid senders such as “Time Bomb” from 1995’s …And Out Come The Wolves proved Rancid were now the punky reggae party’s full-time hosts.

Second-wave American ska punk mash the nation…and the world

Meet the American children of the Specials and 2 Tone. Just as it took punk’s fourth generation—Green Day, Rancid, Offspring, etc.—to bring it into the mainstream once and for all, a third wave of ska punk finally commercially legitimized that sound. The biggest was likely No Doubt, whose romantic breakup chronicle Tragic Kingdom became ska-punk’s Dookie. Gwen Stefani’s Debbie Harry-like star power and such glorious punky reggae hits as “Spiderwebs” made the band mega worldwide. Specials singer Terry Hall even granted them his implied endorsement, making a cameo in their “Sunday Morning” video. Sublime, meanwhile, created a huge posthumous splash (following leader Bradley Nowell’s 1996 overdose) via their self-titled third album and its massive, reggae-drenched hits such as “Santeria.” Then Boston’s Mighty Mighty Bosstones, at it since ‘83, busted radio and MTV wide open with the anthemic “The Impression That I Get,” possessing a precise, dynamic mix of skanking verses and power-chord choruses. It drove fifth album Let’s Face It into platinum-hood and still sounds powerful to this day. 

Punky-Reggae In 21st century Babylon

Besides the Bobby Ramone project, the most predominant 21st century manifestation of punky reggae appears to be ska punk. Every town in the U.S. seemingly has at least one outfit bouncing up and down to amped-up Skatalites rhythms. Los Angeles’ Interrupters are the most omnipresent manifestation of the sound these days. Centered around charismatic singer Aimee Allen (aka Aimee Interrupter) and the three Bivona brothers—Jesse, Justin and Kevin—operating instruments, their three studio albums demonstrate that they’re both raw and tuneful enough to be the ska-punk Joan Jett & The Blackhearts. Singles such as “She’s Kerosene” are instant classics, and they even have the imagination to recast Billie Eilish’s “bad guy” as a credible power-chord skanker. The punky reggae party is in no danger of dying down, with bands like the Interrupters on the case.

Because punk rock is essentially social protest music, even at its least political, the most significant weapon in the ‘70s punk singer’s arsenal was conviction. You didn’t need to be Luciano Pavarotti. In fact, that may have worked against you! But if you can deliver your message in as ferocious a manner as the human voice will allow? Then you’re practically Elvis!

Read more: 15 bands who are crucial to the history of noise music

Also, remember that punk was meant to shatter rock ‘n’ roll’s cliches. This was especially true in the case of your band’s vocalist. Forget every classic manner of seizing and arresting an audience’s attention. Disregard having all the balletic grace of, say, Mick Jagger. These factors might actually be detrimental to your presentation. It’s almost better displaying how scared you are to be up there. That can create a great sympathy with your audience, most of whom are probably as big a bunch of misfits as you are. If you’re brave enough, invert all the posturing and preening of your regulation rock frontman. That would be miles more entertaining! For that matter, how arrogant is the concept of the “frontman?” Wouldn’t being a woman in front of the band be the most subversive act of all?

The idea of punk rock was to disrupt the ‘70s rock party and replace it with something more vibrant and subversive. Therefore, you must have the most off-kilter, gripping singer you can find. Here are 10 of the finest vocalists ‘70s punk rock ever produced.

Iggy Pop

CLAIM TO FAME: The Stooges, solo

SIGNATURE MOVE: If the story of punk begins with the Stooges, it stands to reason that Iggy Pop is history’s first official punk singer. And unlike many who gripped the SM57, the former Jim Osterberg could really sing. He was capable of a subterranean croon worthy of Frank Sinatra, which was a clear influence on David Bowie. (It also got Pop his 1971 Columbia Records contract: Manager Tony DeFries reportedly brought him to Clive Davis’ office, where Pop crawled across his desk singing Tony Bennett’s “The Shadow Of Your Smile” until the label head uncomfortably agreed to sign him.) But he also possessed a tonsil-shredding shriek that proved most influential upon every punk vocalist since. Possibly more important was his off-center showmanship: James Brown or Mick Jagger turned kamikaze pilot, beginning with torso-twisting tribal dancing, mostly shirtless, then launching into human missile forays into the fifth row. Or walking on the hands of the audience and anointing them with peanut butter. Or diving onto broken bottles, emerging with his chest shredded to ribbons, pumping Type O. Pop definitely took his own song “Open Up And Bleed” to heart.

BEST HEARD ON: Raw Power

Joey Ramone

CLAIM TO FAME: Ramones

SIGNATURE MOVE: Joey Ramone was born for punk rock. Awkward, gangly, a social outcast, struggling with OCD in a day when such conditions were misunderstood and penalized, the former Jeffrey Hyman took what many would have seen as handicaps and turned them into his strengths. By donning that black leather jacket and locking a death grip onto a mic stand, he rendered beautiful what the outside world saw as ugliness. Then, there’s that voice. Ramone really could sing. Though he later developed an effective growl, his main move upon opening his larynx was a baritone croon wrapped in the distinctive phrasing of Ronettes legend Ronnie Spector: “Ah cyant stahp thinkin’ ‘bat chew.” Bold, especially in an era where chest-baring macho rock singers didn’t dare betray feminine qualities. 

BEST HEARD ON: Rocket To Russia

Patti Smith

CLAIM TO FAME: Patti Smith Group

SIGNATURE MOVE: When she entered public consciousness as New York punk’s first poet, Patti Smith was inventing the form. No one had done this before, let alone imagine what a new-breed female performer would do or be. Her role models appeared to be mostly male: There was something of Jim Morrison’s hypersexualized, poetic shaman in Smith’s presentation. Yet, there was also the teenage Jersey girl who grew up in the ‘60s, singing into her hairbrush in her bedroom and aping what she saw Jagger doing on Shindig! last night. But her biggest role model was Bob Dylan, rock’s first and greatest poet-cum-highly-expressive-nonsinger. What most heard as pitchy became her phrasing. That warble could drench “Because The Night”’s lyric in every drop of sweat left in the sheets from last night’s love-making or turn “Gloria”’s opening shot—“Jesus died for somebody’s sins, but not mine”—into a weapon, destroying Roman Catholicism. Smith’s voice, lyrical or vocal, was an eloquent instrument.

BEST HEARD ON: Horses

Richard Hell

CLAIM TO FAME: Television, Heartbreakers, Richard Hell And The Voidoids

SIGNATURE MOVE: Richard Hell, alongside Smith, imbued NYC punk with poetry and romance. He also set the precedent of creating a new punk identity for one’s self and invented much of the culture’s original sartorial (cruelly slashed yet stylish clothing, held together with safety pins) and tonsorial (cruelly slashed yet stylish hair, spiked up with grease and dirt) chic. Early band Television built the stage at CBGB and initially set punk’s classic musical mode: noisy, high-energy, angry garage rock. Hell writhed about onstage like an exposed nerve, raw and throbbing, perfectly illustrating his angular warble of a singing voice and his unnerving lyrics. He may sit alongside Pop as the prototype punk-rock singer. 

BEST HEARD ON: Destiny Street

Johnny Rotten/John Lydon

CLAIM TO FAME: Sex Pistols, Public Image Ltd.

SIGNATURE MOVE: Who spiked his hair and tore and safety-pinned his T-shirt first? Hell? Or Johnny Rotten? Cynics believe Sex Pistols manager Malcolm McLaren returned from presiding over the last-gasp New York Dolls’ affairs and gave John Lydon a Hellish makeover, thus creating Johnny Rotten. Even half a glance at the timeline suggests Rotten more likely arrived at some of the same stylistic conclusions on his own, in that odd international synchronicity that pervades early punk. But aiming his tonsils at the audience like an Uzi and firing off some of the most ringing verses rock had heard, before or since? That’s Rotten’s alone, along with clinging bug-eyed to a mic stand like Quasimodo, dancing like a white ragamuffin Bob Marley, completely dismantling every established mode of fronting a rock band. It was highly inspirational, watching this surly 20-year-old kid flick two fingers at the world, refusing to entertain.

BEST HEARD ON: Never Mind The Bollocks, Here’s The Sex Pistols

Joe Strummer

CLAIM TO FAME: The Clash

SIGNATURE MOVE: Joe Strummer, lynchpin for English punk’s first people’s band, the Clash, was less a singer than a beautiful ranter. He possessed a gruff, guttural voice capable of vast expressiveness, and his lyrics were street poetry of the highest order. He felt a deep connection to American roots music—honky-tonk country, gutbucket Chicago blues, rockabilly, the rollicking R&B of New Orleans—which the Clash eventually absorbed, after they got over their initial Year Zero indictment, “No Elvis, Beatles or the Rolling Stones in 1977.” And while he channeled punk’s vast reservoirs of rage, Strummer’s ultimate gift was his empathy, generosity and love for humanity. It added depth to his contempt for the corporate and destructive. Strummer and the Clash humanized punk.

BEST HEARD ON: London Calling

Dave Vanian

CLAIM TO FAME: The Damned

SIGNATURE MOVE: The Damned’s Dave Vanian was also the rare punk vocalist who could really sing. Like Iggy, Vanian could croon. We’re talking Bing Crosby-level, baritone warmth. Contrast that with Rat Scabies’ chaotic, Keith Moon-esque drumming and the crashing guitar chords of Brian James, and then Captain Sensible. That tension helped make the Damned one of the most musically exciting bands of the Blank Generation. Plus, his interests extended to 1920s tango records, as well as early Hollywood. Hence, he brought all the high drama of film noir and German Expressionist cinema to his stage persona, not just Bela Lugosi as Count Dracula. In fact, there was much Rudolph Valentino to the way Vanian handled a mic as anything else.

BEST HEARD ON: Machine Gun Etiquette

Chrissie Hynde

CLAIM TO FAME: Pretenders

SIGNATURE MOVE: Let’s face it: Chrissie Hynde is the Pretenders. True, the original lineup was a world-beater rock ‘n’ roll band, bringing punk’s edges/drive/aesthetic to the mainstream without losing credibility on either side of the fence. But it’s always been about Hynde’s brilliant songs and that exquisite voice. Her seductive purr—clearly rooted in girl groups of her ‘60s youth, as well as the emotive power of Dusty Springfield—can express great vulnerability or lash out biker tough. Hers is an extraordinary instrument, filled with great emotional depth. Factor in her no-nonsense rocker persona and solid rhythm guitar work and it’s obvious she should enjoy the same reverence by modern women rockers that Joan Jett enjoys.

BEST HEARD ON: Pretenders I and II

Poly Styrene

CLAIM TO FAME: X-Ray Spex

SIGNATURE MOVE: Poly Styrene may have been the least likely member of British rock royalty ever, but Styrene saw freedom in the Sex Pistols, including the freedom to be exactly who she was, reinventing punk in her own image. (Which really was the initial idea.) Hence, it didn’t matter that she wasn’t exactly Beverly Sills. Her lyrical critique of a plastic, consumerist Britain that worshipped television advertising and synthetic materials was delivered by a high-pitched yelp capable of both excoriating power and great warmth. It made her one of the most celebrated figures in punk history.

BEST HEARD ON: Germfree Adolescents

Penelope Houston

CLAIM TO FAME: The Avengers

SIGNATURE MOVE: The howling consciousness of San Francisco’s Avengers, Penelope Houston possessed a snarl that could cut diamonds. Yet, it remained tuneful and in key at all times. Which leant a moral authority to rebel couplets such as, “Ask not what you can do for your country/What’s your country been doing to you?” Or, “You say, ‘Don’t go! Don’t go!/Don’t go to Babylon’/Well, hey Joe, I’m already there!” That this vicious verbiage spewed from a not-unattractive teenager was supremely threatening to traditional rock machismo, as well as a society that felt “little girls should be seen and not heard.” Houston should be as iconic as Johnny Rotten, for all these reasons alone.

BEST HEARD ON: Avengers