By Jacob Katel
By Laurie Charles
By Nate "Igor" Smith
By Abel Folgar
By Kat Bein
By Jacob Katel
Describing the blazing rage that is Didjits' music is sort of like debating legalization of marijuana. It used to be semi-hip to be a suspected pot puffer, and the argument about the weed's status, both legislative and moral, was considered a worthy topic. Things change. Back in the olden days - the Sixties and Seventies - most people who proffered an opinion on reefer did so without having a clue as to the difference between dirt weed and Thai sticks; the shit was on the fringe. In modern - or is it post-modern? - times, elementary school squirts everywhere have a comprehensive familiarization with drugs of every ilk pounded into their little minds. We all know now.
The "war on drugs," the Republican Era repression, the shifting of generations led to a closure of discussion in many corners. Drugs - no distinction allowed - are bad, bad. Maybe you fire up an innocuous hooter in the evening to get in the mood for some Didjits rock, and maybe you feel that's no big deal. Wrong! You are financing the slaughter of innocent civilians in South America. You are facilitating the spread of crack by filling the coffers of the Colombian cartels. You are the problem.
Or maybe I'm just paranoid. After all, you can't get within smelling distance of the Supreme Court if you ever even joke about toking, but Bill Clinton breezed right along even after admitting that he tried to smoke herb, but couldn't figure out how it's done.
Didjits singer-guitarist Rick Sims figures it's down to the individual, as if individuality still existed. Smoking RJ, and the perceptions that practice engenders, he says, is all relative. "It depends on who you are," he says. "Either people don't give a shit, or think I'm uncool or that I'm really cool. It's different if you're working somewhere that does drug tests on the employees. But I can do whatever the fuck I want."
Sims doesn't consider the political ramifications significant, but it's not so much that he's self-centered or lackadaisical. Nah, it's priorities. "If you're gonna get behind a cause that matters," he says, "NORML is at the bottom of the list. If they wanna get behind something, they should write songs against child molesters, child abuse. Rapping about the right to get high is one thing, but to put all your effort into that...I'd rather just stash it and try not to get busted."
Maybe the times are changing again, and not just because rock stars can get away with misdemeanors. High Times has become more political than party. The pro-buddage campaign gears itself toward legitimacy - hemp seed oil as fuel! - rather than repeating the fact that sparking spliffs never will bring about the downfall of civilization, and if folks want to fire up, it's their right, or should be, at least in a society that permits Cisco and Everclear to be sold over the counter to anyone with a fake ID.
Certainly the times have changed for rock and roll. The youngbloods who were on the cutting tip in the genre's infancy are now as old as stone, and they're still out there making money, if not worthwhile music. Bruce Springsteen is married with children. For many reasons, rock can no longer be considered anti-parent material. Parents - grandparents - were born into a world where rock was already established. Revolution is passe.
So I'm a bit surprised when Sims is offended by a question about his core audience. "Jesus Christ," he responds. "For young people? It always has been. Like me, I'm 30, I still want to hear what I play, obviously. Young kids obviously dig it. Others think, I'm old so I have to change. Your girlfriend or boyfriend doesn't get into it, it was a phase of life that I'm out of now, so I'll listen to the Grateful Dead." The Dead might be a bad example, considering it's one rock outfit that has somehow remained cool - or uncool - for centuries. The Dead is either consistent or stagnant. "If you're really out to do it," Sims goes on, "you go out to have fun, or live it, rather than trying to sell records. [Dinosaur rock bands] are just sucking everything out of a name. They're not making good music any more, the heart's not in it."
So what happens when Sims and his cohorts - brother Brad on drums and Doug Evans on bass - reach the age of Mick Jagger and Roger Daltrey (both of whom are 48)? "Who knows?" Sims says. "I don't know. When we hit our 50s, you'll have to ask us then."