Came across this cool article about Ricky and the Pukes. I saw them at the Sleeping Lady Cafe around 1983 and it was something else. He ate about three large pizzas and puked into a bucket which he proceeded to throw all over the audience. I had heard he had committed suicide shortly after the show. The rumor at the time was he hung himself with a circle of chairs around him and videotaped it...but the below article by Gordonzola from 2004 explains it all. Another cool article about them is here:
https://marmysz.wordpress.com/2017/07/06/the-pukes/
The death of Ricky Puke
I don’t know why it took me so long, but I finally got the CD from the punk rock zinester super-group Astrid Oto. The dreadful and exciting thing about memories is that you never knows what will trigger them. I opened the liner notes and got smacked in the head.
"Bringing New Meaning to DIY" concludes with the suicide of Ricky Puke in 1984. Don’t worry, no one out there is expected to know who he is. The Pukes were the pride of the Marin County punk scene*, banned from every club in the Bay Area because of Ricky’s vomit on demand during "You Make Me Sick". They were even profiled in one of those "What is the world coming to?" articles in the local paper filled with the even-then boilerplate "shock" quotes of the Point: "Your generation of generic corporate culture and rich, hedonistic ex-hippies will kill us all in World War 3." Counterpoint: "These kids are sick and need to be beaten and sent to work camps" variety.
There’s a picture of The Pukes included in the liner notes; people I haven’t seen for a long time. The guitarist from my high school who never talked, hid her face with her hair, and gave her back to the crowd the entire show.** Out of shyness not attitude, but it worked that way too. Uncharacteristically, she’s looking right into the camera for the photo.
Actually one of the few people I remember her talking to was my old friend Rachael. Rachael and I and Ricky’s sister*** tried to form a band once. I hadn’t thought about that in years, not even when I was trying to dredge up every last memory of Rachael when she died last year. We played in my parent’s bedroom for an hour before we gave up. I had a medium crush on Ricky’s sister but we were both shy and awkward and about 16. Then her brother died.
Ricky died on a rainy winter night. He was going to school at State and his scooter wouldn’t start, so his teacher said he could spent the night in the classroom if he didn’t tell anyone. Sometime during the night he hung himself. I remember rumors of it being an auto-asphyxiation accident, but that was as trendy an urban myth as the gerbils-up-the-butt thing at the time. It held some weight though because no one really wants to believe a friend committed suicide.
Aaron Cometbus **** describes it much more poetically in the song:
"Rickey from The Pukes with a can of spraypaint
breaks into a gallery in the middle of the night
paints ‘this is art’ then kicks out the chair
and in the morning they find him hanging there."
I’m not sure I’m up to the don’t glamorize suicide vs. the honor and martyr our fallen friends debate right now. I find both schools of thought compelling in different ways. Leaving friends and family devastated is a fucked up and cowardly thing to do. Aaron’s lyrics point to a bigger picture though, including the parameters of possibility in this world, and frustration with trying to change and create. Those were certainly matters dear to Ricky’s heart and obviously on his mind at the time of his death.
Aaron’s writing, which I love, is all about myth-making. It’s about the continual rediscovering that our lives are meaningful and that we don’t struggle, or die, in vain. It’s about creating a broad culture of resistance and support. It’s about romanticizing being in shitty situations sometimes because they can pay off in ways that safer choices don’t. It’s about taking the experiences of others around you and melding them together with yours so both of you can feel part of something bigger.
There’s myth-making in the abstract and myth-making when you know someone and see their real life. Ricky’s death in this song is the culmination of a punk life, a final symbolic act. In real life it was also a waste and a tragedy. The song doesn’t ignore that. The chorus, after all, is "Doing it yourself, that’s what it’s all about / You put some hope in your heart and have to rip it out." Sometimes we risk and lose.
But then I can also see my friend Ron, who died in January, being martyrized in a punk song too, though not by Astrid Oto. He was living a punk rock lifestyle and taking chances. But really, the way he died was just stupid. When to honor and show the best, and when to scream at the corpse? It’s one of death’s trickier questions.
Ricky’s face is partially scratched out in the liner note picture. Who scratched it out? Why? Dislike? Angry reaction to his death? I never really knew Ricky, but my oldest friend was their roadie who eventually took over singing duties when he died. The band tried to carry on his "message" but that never works unless you have a "message" like AC/DC. My friend couldn’t puke on demand anyway, so momentum was lost and the band eventually fizzled out.
And for the life of me, I can’t come up with any of their lyrics. *****
*UXB probably should claim that title. They actually had a song on the "Not So Quiet of the Western Front" compilation and caused a jock vs. punk riot at my high school during a lunch time concert in 1983 or so. Oh, the days when punk was a threat. . .
**She had a very distinctive name that sounded like a fake punk one but wasn’t. I just did a google search and the only hit I got was for a yoga instructor in England. I wonder . . .
*** This is definitely not her but they do share a name.
****Someone else who would have been a good example for my last post about scenes turning on their successful members.
*****I’m still mad a Lali Donovan for "borrowing" my Pukes demo tapes and never returning them.
"Bringing New Meaning to DIY" concludes with the suicide of Ricky Puke in 1984. Don’t worry, no one out there is expected to know who he is. The Pukes were the pride of the Marin County punk scene*, banned from every club in the Bay Area because of Ricky’s vomit on demand during "You Make Me Sick". They were even profiled in one of those "What is the world coming to?" articles in the local paper filled with the even-then boilerplate "shock" quotes of the Point: "Your generation of generic corporate culture and rich, hedonistic ex-hippies will kill us all in World War 3." Counterpoint: "These kids are sick and need to be beaten and sent to work camps" variety.
There’s a picture of The Pukes included in the liner notes; people I haven’t seen for a long time. The guitarist from my high school who never talked, hid her face with her hair, and gave her back to the crowd the entire show.** Out of shyness not attitude, but it worked that way too. Uncharacteristically, she’s looking right into the camera for the photo.
Actually one of the few people I remember her talking to was my old friend Rachael. Rachael and I and Ricky’s sister*** tried to form a band once. I hadn’t thought about that in years, not even when I was trying to dredge up every last memory of Rachael when she died last year. We played in my parent’s bedroom for an hour before we gave up. I had a medium crush on Ricky’s sister but we were both shy and awkward and about 16. Then her brother died.
Ricky died on a rainy winter night. He was going to school at State and his scooter wouldn’t start, so his teacher said he could spent the night in the classroom if he didn’t tell anyone. Sometime during the night he hung himself. I remember rumors of it being an auto-asphyxiation accident, but that was as trendy an urban myth as the gerbils-up-the-butt thing at the time. It held some weight though because no one really wants to believe a friend committed suicide.
Aaron Cometbus **** describes it much more poetically in the song:
"Rickey from The Pukes with a can of spraypaint
breaks into a gallery in the middle of the night
paints ‘this is art’ then kicks out the chair
and in the morning they find him hanging there."
I’m not sure I’m up to the don’t glamorize suicide vs. the honor and martyr our fallen friends debate right now. I find both schools of thought compelling in different ways. Leaving friends and family devastated is a fucked up and cowardly thing to do. Aaron’s lyrics point to a bigger picture though, including the parameters of possibility in this world, and frustration with trying to change and create. Those were certainly matters dear to Ricky’s heart and obviously on his mind at the time of his death.
Aaron’s writing, which I love, is all about myth-making. It’s about the continual rediscovering that our lives are meaningful and that we don’t struggle, or die, in vain. It’s about creating a broad culture of resistance and support. It’s about romanticizing being in shitty situations sometimes because they can pay off in ways that safer choices don’t. It’s about taking the experiences of others around you and melding them together with yours so both of you can feel part of something bigger.
There’s myth-making in the abstract and myth-making when you know someone and see their real life. Ricky’s death in this song is the culmination of a punk life, a final symbolic act. In real life it was also a waste and a tragedy. The song doesn’t ignore that. The chorus, after all, is "Doing it yourself, that’s what it’s all about / You put some hope in your heart and have to rip it out." Sometimes we risk and lose.
But then I can also see my friend Ron, who died in January, being martyrized in a punk song too, though not by Astrid Oto. He was living a punk rock lifestyle and taking chances. But really, the way he died was just stupid. When to honor and show the best, and when to scream at the corpse? It’s one of death’s trickier questions.
Ricky’s face is partially scratched out in the liner note picture. Who scratched it out? Why? Dislike? Angry reaction to his death? I never really knew Ricky, but my oldest friend was their roadie who eventually took over singing duties when he died. The band tried to carry on his "message" but that never works unless you have a "message" like AC/DC. My friend couldn’t puke on demand anyway, so momentum was lost and the band eventually fizzled out.
And for the life of me, I can’t come up with any of their lyrics. *****
*UXB probably should claim that title. They actually had a song on the "Not So Quiet of the Western Front" compilation and caused a jock vs. punk riot at my high school during a lunch time concert in 1983 or so. Oh, the days when punk was a threat. . .
**She had a very distinctive name that sounded like a fake punk one but wasn’t. I just did a google search and the only hit I got was for a yoga instructor in England. I wonder . . .
*** This is definitely not her but they do share a name.
****Someone else who would have been a good example for my last post about scenes turning on their successful members.
*****I’m still mad a Lali Donovan for "borrowing" my Pukes demo tapes and never returning them.
http://theseagypsyphilosopher.blogspot.com
Ray Jason - I've always wondered what happened to the man I watched as a kid juggle axes while eating an apple. He used to perform at the Marin County Fair and other SF events during the 70s and 80s. Man could he entertain a crowd. Now he lives on a boat and writes a blog....see above.
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