Paris, you ain’t a f*&%ing punk, yah tourist! – NYC Punk Rocker, upon seeing Paris Hilton wearing a Ramones shirt, 2001
If you think about it, tax preparers – like you’ll find at Bourke Accounting – are akin to musicians: they have to keep time with the song they’re playing, they must have a working knowledge of the rules and structure and, most importantly, they have to know how to be innovative without descending into a world of chaos (and penalties). Think of it like this: there is a huge difference between Tekashi6X9 and The Jimi Hendrix Experience. One is irritating noise that is technically music, one is life-changing art.
In 1974, popular music was pretty much nowhere. We had the soulless arena rock of Queen (yeah, I said it), there was the wanna-be sensitivity of The Eagles and the sanitized, over-produced offerings of Steely Dan (not to mention the one-step-away from feminine hygiene jingles of Barbra Streisand). In 1974, popular music had no meaning, no emotion and all of the charm of damp toilet paper stuck to the collective finger of America.
And then, when it seemed that there would be no stereophonic salvation, four funny-looking guys with an obsession for bubblegum pop convinced an NYC bar owner to let them play. The Ramones had arrived at CBGB’s to save the day (and our souls).
What was interesting about The Ramones was that they didn’t sing about “bands on the run” or how “you ain’t seen nothing yet.” No, no, no, The Ramones gave us autobiographical ditties that, at first listen, were cute and energetic. However, there was nothing cute about the confessional song, “53rd and 3rd.” This song depicted bass-player Dee Dee Ramone’s experiences as a professional lover on a well-known Manhattan corner. As it turns out, Dee Dee had a love for pharmaceuticals and no desire to get a proper job. Also, the upbeat song “Beat on the Brat” was Joey Ramone’s observations based on his neighborhood, illustrating children running wild and parents with a penchant for corporal punishment.
The hippie protest songs of the 1960s advocated rebellion against unfair higher powers with an inclusive, “we love everyone” vibe. Punk rock wasn’t quite as optimistic. Punks knew that just saying you love everyone didn’t make it true. Punks were cynical, learning at a young age that “heroes” who espoused “all you need is love” were often the same men who mercilessly abused their nearest and dearest. Punkers were honest in their nihilism and belief that the world really was as bad as a hippie with a peace sign and a clenched fist. Punk rock and The Ramones didn’t sugar-coat to make anyone feel better.
While there is a depressing, truthful element to punk and The Ramones, there is also an idealism that suggests that we will get through this, too. The thundering bass, the simplistic, war-like drums, the staccato singing and the screaming guitars all prove that where there is life, there is hope.
Critics have accused punk of being sloppy, undisciplined noise. They’re wrong. Punk is visceral and primal, sure, but it’s also real. Punk and The Ramones are the auditory personification of the Id; there are some of us who will always prefer authenticity to commercial studio representations of humanity.
Bourke Accounting bookkeepers and tax preparers are the punk rockers of accounting. Bourke Accounting pros know what they’re doing, but they won’t pretty up their findings for anyone. If you want an expert to tell you the truth and give you real options to save your back account, come see a Bourke Accounting representative today. Gabba gabba hey.
Written by Sue H.