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”We Jam Econo” is Mike Watt’s D.I.Y. mantra that you can hear in a couple different Minutemen songs, referring to the band’s ethic of driving themselves, hauling their own equipment, and making music their own way. Essential viewing for fans of the Minutemen, and even those unfamiliar with the 80s American indie punk scene who would like to learn more, We Jam Econo is a revelation. The movie succeeds on the strength of some amazing live footage and interviews with the band during their peak, and Mike Watt’s candid, heartfelt commentary as he drives his beater van around San Pedro, visiting landmarks. Watching Watt perform with fireHOSE in the 80s and other later performances such as The Stooges reunion, he always seemed like a badass. Good natured, perhaps, but he played his bass like a coiled tiger, ready to attack. His occasional vocal parts often unleashed some pretty righteous rage. Here we see another side of Watt, as a doddering, sentimental nerd. And that’s the beauty of The Minutemen. Watt and d. Boon were unpopular history buffs who played together (badly) in the Bright Orange Band and the Reactionaries, and George Hurley was a blonde, buff surfer jock, who was open minded enough in 1979 to see these guys had something special. He would also soon grow the most amazing, bouffant floppety hairdo known to the 80s punk scene. Watt pointed out the tree that d. Boon fell out of when they first met at the age of 13 and said, “I was quite smitten.” More than a musical biography, We Jam Econo is also a kind of platonic love story, about two best friends who were unafraid to show their affection in a punk scene that was intensely macho and homophobic. Even Hurley played with a gay new wave band in San Francisco while on a brief hiatus from the Minutemen.
And like romantic lovers, Watt and Boon fought fiercely, mostly during the creative process. It was definitely a fruitful relationship, as they progressed quickly from kids who could barely play their instruments (Watt used a guitar with four strings at first, and didn’t even recognize a bass when he saw one up close for the first time), playing covers of Blue Oyster Cult, Creedence Clearwater Revival and The Who, to near virtuosos who had a handle a wide range of arty post-punk and even free jazz. Their moment of revelation was hearing punk for the first time, when they realized they weren’t alone, that there were other weirdos out there. Influenced by Captain Beefheart, The Stooges, The Germs, The Voidoids, Gang Of Four, Wire and The Pop Group, The Minutemen’s signature style quickly gelled and after just one gig opening for Black Flag, Greg Ginn asked them to make a record for SST. The result was SST 002, the 1980 Paranoid Time EP. This is the part of the movie where interviews with dozens of the band’s friends and followers come in. People like Ian Mackaye (then of the Teen Idles, later Minor Threat and Fugazi), Henry Rollins, Flea and Thurston Moore gushed about how they were blown away by its originality, really opening up the idea of what punk could sound like. I was surprised to learn that they had a friendship with Richard Meltzer, former lyric writer for Blue Oyster Cult, pioneering Lester Bangs-era rock journalist and flaming asshole. He even wrote nearly an album’s worth of lyrics for the band.
The respect and awe held for the Minutemen among their musician peers was nearly matched by the befuddlement and hostility displayed at shows, when closed minded audiences spit at them for straying beyond their idea of the “punk” formula of straightforward, hard fast tunes. But through relentless touring from 1981 through 1985, The Minutemen won over a devoted following through their fervent yet unpretentious politics, jaw-dropping musicianship, constantly evolving experimentation, and sheer heart and soul. While they believed that what they did was art, they didn’t think it should be held on a pedestal. Rather, it should be expressed in everyday life, and involve the audience. At a time when MTV and the hair metal scene in nearby Los Angeles was working to reinforce the notion of musicians as bigger-than-life rock gods, The Minutemen remained defiantly bluecollar, and fought against the notion of rock stardom by steadfastly retaining their D.I.Y. ethic.
Most agree their creative peak was 1984’s sprawling double album, Double Nickels On The Dime. They were inspired to go back into the studio and write another twenty-something tracks when they learned friendly rivals and labelmates Hьsker Dь had just completed a double album. Indeed, it rivaled Zen Arcade, Let It Be, even Purple Rain as the best album of the year. Some fans even claimed it was the best album ever. In a particularly endearing moment in an interview conducted shortly after the band completed their last album, 1985’s 3-Way Tie (For Last), d. Boon waxes philosophical about what motivates him, revealing a nearly hippie idealism in which their art will inspire every community they play in to sprout their own unique scene with many bands, a club and record label in every neighborhood.
The film handled d. Boon’s tragic fatal car crash on December 22, 1985 with subtlety, avoiding any melodramatic clichйs of feeding on Watt’s agony. He simply said it was a very dark, intense day for him and Georgie (Hurley). The documentary style and pacing of We Jam Econo is reminiscent of the 1993 documentary Half Japanese: The Band That Would Be King. It shares the same disarming earnestness and fanboy enthusiasm, but substitutes the Spinal Tap-like tongue-in-cheek absurdity with truly revolutionary, punk rock spirit. Boon would have been proud.
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I'm actually getting more curious about what Harry was like back then!...
