The Palookas were a band I was in from the Fall of 1997 until about January of ‘99. I wasn’t there when the band started – they were in New Richmond, Wisconsin and I was still living in Fargo – but they wrote a few songs and got the ball rolling. When they played a basement show at the infamous Perot House in North Fargo late that first summer, I knew it was only a matter of time before I joined up.
My brother Matt became known for his drumming later, but The Palookas was where he cut his teeth. When you listen to the recordings, you can certainly pick out the mistakes – if that’s your thing – but that would betray the fun. As an inside joke that lasted the duration of the band, the mistakes – all of them – became the norm. Matt played live what he fucked up in the studio. Why not!
Justin was a guitar player who really had no business playing guitar – and he was perfect. Slick sounding guitars do no favors for beer-soaked street punk. Nothing says “I don’t give a fuck” like actually not giving a fuck. Justin rang out sloppy, out of tune power chords on that cheap white guitar like it was nobody’s business. I think we only had one guitar solo in two years, so not really knowing how to play worked out just fine.
I think Chris started out on stand-alone vocals, but then moved to bass and vocals when the original bass player quit. I have no recollection of who that original bass player was, but that’s neither here nor there. After I joined, Chris went back to just singing and writing most of the lyrics. He was a great front man. There was always lots of energy, humorous tough-guy posturing, and snotty attitude.
I played bass. When I moved back to New Richmond, I took one look at Chris struggling to play bass and sing at the same time and said, “Nope. I’m your bass player now.” That was that. Soon after we had a shitty boom-box demo recorded (The Fall Brawl demo, if anyone has a copy, get in touch), and were playing shows all over the region. Shows would often break out into bloody and destructive wrestling matches, with chair shots, blading, and property damage becoming the norm. What a life.
I’m not sure if Old Milwaukee is an album or a collection or what. A few of the songs ended up on our split seven-inch with Minneapolis’ Degeneration, but the rest remained unreleased. A cover got printed somehow and some CDs were burned, but I don’t think it was ever considered “official.” Well, now it is, I suppose.
These songs were recorded at a random studio somewhere in Minneapolis in the fall of 1997. We drove there after Matt, Chris, and Justin got out of school one day (that’s High School, in case you were wondering). We recorded and mixed them in about four hours. The engineer thought we were crazy. He said he’d never had a turnaround so fast on that many songs before that he’d even consider putting his name on (I forgot his name). He was strangely impressed.
The haste of that whirlwind session is on full display in the songs, but I didn’t care then, and I certainly don’t care now. I love these songs. I’m proud of them. We knew they were 100% ridiculous when we wrote them – that’s why we wrote them. Our game plan was to be the most stereotypical, idiotic, derivative street punk band on the planet. The only bands that beat us at our game were the ones who were equally dumb but took themselves seriously. And none of them had any songs about wrestling, so they can fuck off.
The Palookas rule O.K.
James is a writer, skateboarder, record collector, wrestling nerd, and tabletop gamer living with his family in Asheville, North Carolina. He is a member of the Southeastern Film Critics Association, the North Carolina Film Critics Association, and contributes to The Daily Orca, Razorcake Magazine, Mountain Xpress, and Asheville Movies.