We previously introduced you to the terminology-ridden world of scam rap, where artists incorporated scam stories into their rap style, thereby creating a niche within its own audience. Such hybrid genres and subcultures essentially help keep the overarching movement intact. A similar case is that of folk punk—a hybrid between two revered music genres birthing iconic artists and influencing listeners since time immemorial.
Folk punk is the fusion between folk music and punk rock. The subgenre combines acoustic instruments and personal lyricism of folk music with anarchist learnings of punk rock to curate a unique music style and environment for listeners.
Well known for its minimalist and anarchic nature, the music often includes washboards providing rhythm rather than drums, with acoustic guitars as standard. The music may additionally feature folk instruments like banjo, double bass, ukulele or brass. Vocals are either sweet and melodic or nasal and extreme metal-harsh, both of which are sung off-key and juxtaposed in one song.
Often described as ‘low-tech punk’ and ‘do-it-yourself’ by critics and fans, folk punk takes the appealing elements from both folk music and punk rock to mold them together and conceive unconventional sounds with powerful lyrics.
Folk punk dates back to the 1970s when proto-punk bands like The Velvet Underground and T. Rex were influenced by folk artists such as Bob Dylan, Donovan Phillips and The Fugs. However, it wasn’t until the 1980s that the subgenre truly gained traction.
Folk punk was popularised in the early 1980s by The Pogues in Britain and by Violent Femmes in the US. While the genre has amassed mainstream success pretty recently, much of its credit goes to Plan-It-X Records of Bloomington, Indiana. The label was established in 1994 with the intent of articulating anarchist and DIY ideals as an alternative to capitalist art, music, and ways of living.
For artists, this involved making their own band merchandise, like patches or buttons as well as selling books, art, and music at little to no profit. For consumers, it meant getting a shot at living a ‘freegan lifestyle’—a no-waste lifestyle which included eating food that has been thrown out and residency at a community with little emphasis on private property.
Plan-It-X Records, through its music, ideals and praxis stood at the intersection between anarchism, class and queerness. An “archetypal Plan-It-X” artist had a low, gruff voice as they speak-sing while guitars, fiddles, kazoos, or trumpets play in the background. The label essentially helped unite the geographically isolated punk communities with common goals—thereby opening up a broad window for artists. It gave bands the freedom to choose between upbeat sound with banjos and violins or a more solemn approach with acoustic guitars and pianos without boxing them into a specific aesthetic.
Lyrics are what makes folk punk unique and powerful. Similar to punk music, folk punk tends to be quite political with a focus on the radical left and anarchist side of the spectrum. Fixating on ideas of poverty, anti-capitalism, childhood and religion, artists engage with “radical queerness” through their lyrics and aestheticism.
Folk punk appears as an entire movement favouring social justice while standing up for the oppressed, homeless and marginalised. Nihilism, smoking, drinking, depression and squatter life are common themes as artists reject mainstream norms “in a world obsessed with lies and appearances.” Such emotional rawness with open disregard for musical ‘rules’, instead favouring self-expression, makes the movement a fitting listen in today’s world.
Folk punk is deeply embedded in anti-profit and DIY culture. Spray-painted merch, self-recorded albums and a general preference to avoid the profit-based music industry altogether are trademarks of the subgenre.
A symbol commonly used in the folk punk music scene is the ‘anarchy heart’. Originating in North Florida, the anarchy heart is similar to the anarchy symbol except that instead of the A being set in a circle it is set within a heart. The heart symbolises the message that ‘love is freedom’ while the A within an O stands for ‘anarchy is order’.
Folk punk fashion is further described as “crust punk with a bit of rural farm labourer mixed in.” “Watch out for tats, piercings, gauges, jorts, rat-tails, whiteboy dreads, dyed hair and cut-down Discharge shirts,” wrote a fan on Quora. “Also, bare feet and homeless guys with dogs.” Filth is labelled as the “signature cosmetic” of folk punk. In terms of album art, it seemingly resembles “the kind of pictures a 14-year-old would have drawn in the ’80s for their D&D campaign.” “They miraculously make it work somehow,” concluded the fan.
Celtic punk fuses traditional Irish, Welsh or Scottish folk music with punk and rock sounds. Popularised in the 1980s by The Pogues themselves, common themes in Celtic punk music surround politics, Celtic culture, identity, heritage, religion, drinking and working-class pride. Instruments featured in this subgenre include bagpipes, fiddle, accordion, mandolin, and banjo.
Anarchist punk dips into the ‘protest song’ heritage of folk music to focus on anti-capitalist and anarchist political messages. Disassociating themselves from established anarchist currents, bands under this subgenre often support animal rights, anti-corporatism, labour rights and the anti-war movement. They focus more on their aesthetic that encompasses the entire creative process—from album covers, right down to their concept art—rather than their musical delivery.
Also termed ‘unfolk’, the subgenre rose to fame in the 1980s as a reaction against the remnants of the 1960s folk music scene. With the purpose of mocking its perceived seriousness, artists of the genre observed the “rules” of music only to deliberately break them. In recent years, the anti-folk scene has found fewer venues in London with the closure of 12 Bar Club and Buffalo Bar, such as the annual Anti-Folk Fest hosted at Nambucca.
The concept of self-care has become such a prominent feature of the modern age that it’s not unreasonable to wonder if self-care has, in fact, mutated into self-obsession. An entire micro-industry enabling and encouraging us to take better care of ourselves has emerged in recent years, flooding the market with apps and books and kits and newsletters penned by Gwyneth Paltrow that, among many other things, extol the dubious benefits of vagina steaming. But while self-care is often dismissed as a symbol of neurotic millennial era narcissism, there is, arguably, a political undercurrent to the practice.
According to the New York Times, “self-care peaked in search interest popularity” to a five-year high in the week following Donald Trump’s traumatic election day victory in 2016, which, in the words of the New Yorker, gave rise to a “grand online #selfcare-as-politics movement” powered by “straight, affluent white women” who were “feeling a new vulnerability in the wake of the election.” And while some would frame this as a retreat away from political turmoil into solipsistic self-indulgence, feminist writer Audre Lorde once argued that “caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation and that is an act of political warfare.”
The viability of self-care as a political act is up for debate, but there can be no doubt that its recent faddishness is a consequence of our current political climate. Since the late 1970s, western governments have reneged on the post-WWII social contract and increasingly sought to transfer the responsibilities of the state onto the individual. Where once Britain’s National Health Service used to promise cradle to the grave care, repeated spending cuts by conservative governments have rendered it barely functional. For most of the past decade, the sole purpose of U.S. Republicans has been to strip its most vulnerable citizens of the meagre protections offered by the Affordable Care Act, preferring to let them die than diverge from conservative orthodoxy. The welfare state has been increasingly replaced by a hostile state that attempts to instil dogmatic self-reliance in its citizens by slashing away at the social safety net. Self-care might be traditionally seen as a lifestyle choice for moneyed eccentrics, but for some people it’s increasingly becoming the most accessible form of care available to them.
Now, I’m not suggesting that the self-care boom is a direct response to the erosion of the welfare state or a conscious substitute for universal healthcare, but I do think that it is a natural byproduct of the neoliberal agenda. It has been repeatedly implied over recent decades that fiscal prudence will always be prioritised over the lives and wellbeing of the public. With this sort of message trickling down from the top, I think it’s only logical that a society would develop an ever-present, latent fear of being unwell; a sort of unconscious hypochondria that makes it susceptible to private sector hucksters who peddle all-encompassing wellness solutions that, either implicitly or explicitly, promise to stave off costly physical or mental illness. I don’t want to sound like I’m advocating against self-care—because I’m sure that it’s a good habit to adopt, generally speaking—but ignoring its political subtext is precisely how we come to subconsciously internalise the values of the status quo.
Where the burden of care used to be shouldered by the state and the community, self-care places the onus onto the individual. It encourages us to turn our gaze inwards and to obsess over our own wellbeing, which, as a result, feeds the kind of rabid individualism that’s so fetishised by the conservative right. I get the uncomfortable feeling that meditation, breathing exercises and mindfulness apps are just a New Age spin on that old right wing mantra about pulling yourself up by your bootstraps—no wonder self-care is so popular in corporate workplaces where employers prefer to peddle neo-hippy agendas by equipping their employees with the tools to endure the stress that their business model places on them instead of changing the working conditions that are the cause of the problem. That’s my qualm with self-care: it only massages the symptoms of the predicament, rather than cutting away at its roots.
That’s not to say that self-care should be abandoned: the British journalist Laurie Penny makes a convincing left wing angled argument for self-care as a coping mechanism that helps with the “impossible effort of getting up and getting through your life in a world that would prefer you cowed and compliant.” So accept that employer-subsidised mindfulness course or yoga classes if you’re offered them, but don’t forget to get together with your co-workers and agree to walk out the minute the work day ends instead of compliantly accepting unpaid overtime as a norm. Self-care might be a good coping mechanism, but it’s certainly not the solution.