Introducing ... The Passionistas

Postmodernists are extremely concerned with death.

Not the deaths of individuals, but the death of institutions and mediums. But not death in terms of not existing, for institutions and mediums can go on in their dead state for some time. In the case of art, art is not dead in the sense that it is no longer happening or no longer good; art is dead in the sense that it does not have to look any certain way. Anything can be art and subsequently, art is also nothing. While classmates who read the same theory alongside me found this somewhat nihilistic, I always took it to be rather empowering. In the late seventies, the Sex Pistols applied such theory to music. Though instruments were often out of tune and singer Johnny Rotten never attempted to keep a note, they inspired a movement and laid a foundation that is still followed today. The subsequent movement (deemed "punk") carried on through the decades, and though the music never sounding quite the same and didn't have the same impact, it lived on through illegal art, record scratching, underground press - constantly taking new shape when one form became irrelevant. When Frank Black reconstructed the three chord pop song in the late eighties, it brought about a similar feeling of empowerment - music didn't have to sound any certain way, and anyone inspired could call themselves a musician. And thus, you were not bound to live any kind of life but the one you wanted for yourself - at least that's how it probably felt.

And from this same cosmic energy perspired by Black and Rotten, comes another set of empowered/inspiring individuals with an aesthetic that is anything but dead. The Passionistas are a San Francisco four piece (sometimes just two or three) with a sound that you could compare to whichever little known late seventies punk act you wish to make the comparison to. Yet while I would be the first to argue that the band adheres to an actual "punk" ethic, the band is thankfully not lost in ripped black jeans and Misfits patches sewn into thrift store leather jackets. The band has in fact found solace in the sounds of Beyonce, the Game, Lil' Wayne and Timbaland, minimalist artists who've been the real barrier breakers while traditionalists were busy writing them off. Which leads us to God's Boat - a punk rock record inspired by modern hip hop and R&B produced by a multitalent who mostly listens to Echo & the Bunnymen and obscure old stuff.

Kelley Stoltz caught one of the band's early shows and picked it as one of his top five live moments that year. "They play the way musicians can't," he wrote in San Francisco's Guardian, and he meant it in the best possible way. Subsequently, Stoltz produced their debut, bringing his homemade magic to a band who much preferred to record in their basement. In April, I filmed Stoltz for our video podcast series. That episode would later reach the eyes of the Passionistas who then contacted me, sending a copy of God's Boat along with a book of brilliant, child-like art. I contacted the band, we dined over soup and discussed several possibilities for their episode. After a series of phone calls and emails, one thing was clear - we certainly had more here than could be contained in one episode. And so it is with great pleasure that I present the next step in the New and Used Records Video Podcast series - a recurring show, chronicling the present day trials and tribulations, as well as the history, of the Passionistas. This should be coming your way very soon.

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