Michelle Cruz Gonzales’s “The Spitboy Rule: Tales of a Xicana in a Female Punk Band,” is one of the best rock memoirs I have ever read. It honestly portrays much of what made the 1990s punk scene beautiful, and much of what made it ugly, too. But what really makes this book great is how eloquently, and passionately, Gonzales writes about how it shaped her own personal growth and identity as a working-class woman of color.
First, some of that beauty. $5 live shows. DIY performance spaces and organizations like Gilman Street, Klub Komotion and Epicenter Zone. The political activism. And, of course, the raw energy of bands like Spitboy. Mimi Thi Nguyen’s preface does a great job of anchoring the book in its historical context (e.g., Gulf War, Rodney King, and the rarity, even in the San Francisco Bay Area, of an all-women, anarchist feminist band). Which brings us to some of the ugliness. In spite of the leftwing politics of so many of the bands, and fans, it was still a straight, white, male-dominated scene. Sexism, racism, and homophobia were always present, sometimes overtly, and other times subtly, in the form of “colorblindness,” or the uncritical exercise of privilege.
Many of us were, in fact, very self-critical. But we were also young and inexperienced. Sometimes we came up with good analyses and effective solutions. Other times, well… Let me share one of my favorite parts of the book, when Spitboy is playing in Washington, D.C., with members of Bikini Kill in the audience. Before their set, a tall guy comes up to Gonzales and asks if the men have to stand in the back of the room, like they were told to do during a Bikini Kill set. Irate, Gonzales announces to the audience that men do not have to stand in the back. “We’re not a riot grrrl band.” The room goes silent. So, Spitboy’s lead singer, Adrienne, follows with “Please don’t block a woman’s view; don’t stand in front of someone who is shorter than you are. Just use common sense.”
The first time I experienced the men-in-the-back rule, I willingly complied. The mosh pit was notoriously dominated by big, aggressive dudes, and sometimes outright bullies. And even though I considered myself a feminist, I am tall and probably quite often blocked the view of shorter people without even realizing it. So, it seemed a fair and reasonable compromise to me. However, Spitboy’s less authoritarian message would have really resonated with me, and would have been a much more effective reminder for well-meaning big guys to pay better attention to our oversized footprint.
One of the most powerful chapters in the book is titled Race, Class and Spitboy. It highlights how easily a person from a marginalized group can become invisible to those around them, even when those people are friends, and even when they, themselves, have leftist politics. In one scene, Gonzales introduces her bandmates to her working-class abuela, in East Los Angeles. The band is uncharacteristically quiet and awkward. No one asks her grandmother any questions or tries to get to know her. One of the bandmember’s has a bemused expression similar to the expression she had when Gonzales explained that her two siblings have two different dads, both different from her own dad. Reading this now, I think, what’s so hard to get? Her mom was poor. They lived on welfare. Her dad was abusive. They had to leave him. Tragic and traumatic, but not uncommon, especially for working-class women. Yet somehow this was perplexing to her middle-class bandmates who hadn't experienced such things. I saw some of this same kind of perplexion, or obliviousness, growing up, when many of my middle-class peers assumed my best friend, was working-class and Xicana, was middle-class and white, like them, somehow overlooking the clue in her surname.
This invisibility becomes even more glaring, and ironic, when a white riot grrrl accuses Spitboy of cultural appropriation for naming their 3rd album “Mi Cuerpo Es Mio.” But reflecting back on this incident, Gonzales gains some important insight, too. That her own anger at being accused of racism by a riot grrrl “who couldn't tell a person of color when she was looking right at one,” was actually a mask for the sadness she felt because people didn’t see who she really was, and that she had allowed that to happen.
There are many other moments like this in the book, but you’ll have to pick up a copy and read those for yourself. Likewise, if you want to know why they called themselves Spitboy, or what the Spitboy rule is. You won’t be disappointed. It’s a great book, with lots of rare fliers and posters, as well as stories of touring and performing that range from humorous to frightening. But one last thing I’d like to say in closing is that it’s tragic that Spitboy didn’t get to open for Fugazi, at San Francisco’s Fort Mason Center, on May Day, 1993—a regret that was referenced twice in the book, once in the preface, and again toward the end. The significance is that Fugazi was a band that meant a lot to Spitboy, and to so many of us in the DIY punk scene. Also, because it was such a seminal show. I was there. I was the guy doling out free condoms to anyone who asked, doing my DIY part to stop the spread of HIV. I also gave a speech at the beginning of the show about the Haymarket martyrs, and the anarchist history of May Day. It was a fantastic show, and a great moment in my life. But if Spitboy had played, it would have been one of the greatest punk shows ever.
Review of “Tales of an Inland Empire Girl,” by Juanita E. Mantz Pelaez
“Tales of an Inland Empire Girl” is a beautifully written, edgy memoir by Juanita E. Mantz Pelaez. It’s the story of good girl’s downward spiral, from a studious bookworm into an angry, drinking, trouble-making punk rock teen, and her redemption that follows. It’s the story of a working-class family, struggling to make ends meet. Of a Mexican-American mother, stressed-out and emotionally volatile, working two jobs to support her family. And an alcoholic father (el gringo boracho, as her mother’s family refers to him), disabled from years of demanding physical labor, with a head full of unfulfilled and broken dreams. It’s the story of Juanita’s life, unraveling as she and her two sisters navigate growing up amidst the trauma of their parents’ constant fighting, and their mother’s frightening outbursts.
The book opens with a scene of their father dying on the crapper, after almost choking to death on fried fish that Juanita buys him on her way home from the airport. It sounds horrifying and sad, and it is. But it is written with so much humor, tenderness, and love, that I can’t stop reading. In fact, the only thing that keeps me from finishing the entire book in one sitting is my need to get some sleep before I have to proctor final exams to my high school students the next day. Yes, this scene is an ending of sorts, but it is also a masterful opening to Mantz’s story, written from her perspective as an adult who has become a successful lawyer in spite of her troubled childhood. It lets us know there’s a happy ending for the author, and it sets up perfectly the rest of the story, portrayed through her eyes as a child.
One of the things I love about this book is how, in spite of her parents constant fighting, she still sees their beauty, like her mom's bee hive hairdo, or her dad pulling out his false teeth to make the kids smile. And how, in spite of her mother’s explosive rage, she knows there is a “nice mom” in there who comes out from time to time. I remember having feelings just like this from my own childhood, my fear of my father’s explosive rage and how, like with Mantz’s mom, it was like walking on eggshells trying to avoid the numerous triggers that could set him off, but also knowing that underneath it all there was a loving, sweet, and even nurturing parent who cared deeply for me. This comes out brilliantly when her mother rips the principal a new orifice for allowing one of her teachers to use corporal punishment on her. And it leads to my favorite line from the book: “I may not be the good girl anymore, but at least I'm the bad girl with a bad ass mom."
The scene from the book that resonated most with me was when Juanita arrives at her Honors English class after a sleepless night listening to her parents fight with each other. She arrives too late to get a front row seat, like she prefers, and is forced to sit in the back, with her poor vision and ratty back pack, and an illicit copy of Judy Blume to distract her. So many times, as a high school teacher, I’ve had the quiet kid who hid in the back and tried to become invisible because the horrors at home were too overwhelming and they were too tired, stressed, and traumatized to be able to interact with me or their classmates. How many times I wondered what those horrors were. If there was something I could do to help. Or, if the most helpful and merciful thing I could do was to let that student continue to be invisible and at least have an hour of peace. Sadly, Mantz does not even get to enjoy peace in this scene, but you'll have to read the book to find out why.
“Tales of an Inland Empire Girl” is about much more than growing up with an abusive parent. It’s also about sibling rivalries and jealousies. It’s about class, and race, from the point of view of kids, who feel it, even if they don't have the precise words to describe it. Her youngest sister, Annie, for example, is light-skinned, with straight hair, like their dad. Strangers think she's a white girl. And her parents treat her as if she is the “good” daughter. Juanita is dark-skinned and curly-haired, clearly Chicana, and she regularly feels the disdain and racism of neighbors, strangers, and even teachers.
The book is also about Mantz’s close relationships with her twin sister, Jacky. I really enjoy how they always fist-bump and say “Wonder Twin powers, activate!” like Zan and Jayna, from the Hanna-Barbera television show, “The All-New Super Friends.” I had completely forgotten about this show until I read this book, which was filled with so much other nostalgia from my own 1970s-80s Southern California childhood, like Shasta cola, the notorious D.J. Wolfman Jack, and the oh-so-trendy dittos pants the girls liked to wear in those days. Her close friendship with Jacky, and with her girlfriends, help her make it through the difficult times. So does reading. There are always piles of books on her floor, and constant references to her favorite childhood stories.
As she gets older, and finds herself spiraling into ever more rebellious and risky behavior, music becomes another savior. Her favorite bands are The Smiths and The Cure and she writes beautifully of what they mean to her growing up. I was fortunate enough to be able to share the stage with Mantz at the Punks With Books book-reading event at Avantpop Books in Las Vegas on Memorial Day Weekend this year (along with Michelle Cruz-Gonzales, James Tracy, Jason Lamb, Paul Prescott, and Billy Bragg), and hang out with her at the Punk Rock Bowling music festival. I asked her why The Smiths were so popular among Mexican teens of our generation. She thought it was because Morrissey’s brooding ballads seem so familiar to them, like Mexican corridos, a connection that makes perfect sense to me, but that I doubt I would have been able to identify on my own.
I highly recommend “Tales of an Inland Empire Girl.” It is funny, clever, sad, and full of insight. And the poems at the end are really good, too. “Father O' Mine” (parts I and II) and “Dad's Eulogy” really struck a chord with me, in part because I lost my own father recently. But mostly because Mantz does such a great job portraying her father in this book that I really felt like I knew him, missed him, and needed the closure these poems provided.
"An estimated 90,000 Kenyans were slaughtered in the Kikuyu uprising while just over a thousand were hanged on a portable gibbet. Some 160,000 were detained in internment camps where torture was routine.
"One of Britain’s victims was US President Barack Obama’s paternal grandfather, Hussein Onyango Obama, who was arrested in 1949, and tortured by having pins inserted under his fingernails."
Kitson brought to Belfast his experiences in Kenya, fighting the Kikuyu Land and Freedom Army (exotically dubbed the “Mau Mau” by the British) in the early 1950s where he honed a practice of using “turned” or “converted” rebels into “counter-gangs”.
"The battle of the Bogside was an important catalyst for change, triggering a determined British government intervention that ended the unionist monopoly on power. But it also marked the beginning of 30 years of violent conflict that would claim the lives of more than 3,600 people and bring untold suffering."
Anybody ever hear of Atomic Suplex from Croydon, UK? This album '14 Inches of Fist' is from 2015, and I'm just hearing it today for the first time. EVERY track is a ripper. This is a SOLID garage/punk record. I mean, damn! 🔥
So Corinne Bailey Rae went full #PunkRock on her last album of amazing modern #jazz#music, and frankly I dont think we talk about it enough as a society. lol.