My Dinner with Polkacide

There's nothing wrong with a little fangirling

I got an invitation to speak at an academic conference in San Francisco.

“Uhuh,” I said to myself. “Right. I’m going to wait an hour in the security lineup at Newark airport, cram myself into an economy seat and fly 4000 miles and take an entire weekend to speak to 12 people for maybe 30 minutes.”

I started to compose my email response to the conference organizers:

Thank you so much for this generous invitation. I’m humbled by your request, and while I would very much love to attend, it is just a very busy time of year and I am already swamped with too many responsibilities.

Then, a sudden thought came to me: hang on. All of the members of polkacide still live in san francisco.

For those who need to brush up on who this is:

So I got in touch with them, saying: “Hey would you guys go for dinner and beers with me on a Friday in April?” A few said yes, including both singer Ward and legendary Clarinet player Neil, who wrote and sang the “Weiner Dog Polka”, the greatest polka-punk song of all time. They said we could go hand out at the Connecticut Yankee, a dive-ish beer bar up the hill from where they played their most legendary gigs in the 80s and 90s.

I immediately re-wrote my response to the organizers of the academic conference:

Thank you so much for this generous invitation. I’m humbled by your request, and I will absolutely attend your academic conference.

Aaaand CLICK. Sent. LET’S GOOOOOOOOO ACADEEEEEMIAAAAAAA

I gave my talk, hung out with my academic pals for a bit, and at lunch one asked me: “Any plans for tonight?” I decided to be honest: “I’m going to hang out with my heroes, a legendary San Francisco polka-punk band called Polkacide.” I don’t know how to describe to you how weird this sounded.

We only got one photo with a few band members, but here we are, me trying desperately not to fangirl or freak out:

Neil, Myself, Alistair and John

So many stories were told, and I just sat back and listened to them all. Most are just a little too spicy to share here. But the band’s origin story is too priceless to not share. I’ll get some details wrong. Who cares.

It was the early 80s. Neil and Ward were playing in a few large punk bands around the SF area. And Ward got a call from a local club, saying they wanted him to put together a show for their patrons. But there was just one unusual twist: the club was the San Francisco Club for the Deaf.

The club had been calling punk bands in for a few months for an obvious reason: many of the deaf and hard-of-hearing folks could actually pick up on the loud sound, experience it and move with it. But they had just one problem: many of the patrons were older, and didn’t like the look/aesthetic of the punk acts they’d been booking.

Ward phoned Neil and let him now what was up. Neil was into the idea of putting a big show together for the club, but when he heard the proviso about the older members not liking punk but still needing something loud, he blurted out: “What, should we make it Polka-punk instead?”

The idea struck both of them as so silly and excellent that they set about actually making it happen. The whole thing, I can tell in retrospect, had this youthful energy and creative, wild exuberance to it. “This is crazy! Let’s do it for that reason!” That’s why we have young people.

Neil worked in graphic design, and so he immediately made what has to be one of the 5 best band logos in all history:

And three months later, they had a (roughly) 11-piece, wild, chaotic band that played traditional polkas as fast as they could play them. They’d practiced up a whole set and finally managed to get everything together.

Then, three days before the gig, the club called: the gig was off, the club was closing. Sorry, goodbye. Can you believe this?

So they frantically called around looking for a replacement, and a local punk bill gave them a short set in between some of the other bands. And they blew the crowd away. People were shocked at how much they loved what was happening, and once the show really found its legs and added the “Polka Sluts” dancers to the troupe, they became a real local sensation.

This is such an inspiring story for me because I’ve had this same experience so many times. You walk into a club on some punk bill, and everyone’s decked out in their mohawks and patches and cool kid stompers and ready to hear some guy yell mumbly things about the government. And then a couple of hours later they’re all dancing traditional style in a giant polka circle and wondering why this is so much more fun than just punking out. I can just imagine what it was like to be at what was probably the world’s first polka-punk show.

The world took notice, and believe it or not, they soon got an offer to open for The Pogues at CBGBs in Manhattan. Holy SHIT. I’ve always sensed that the guys in the Pogues appreciated polka, even if it wasn’t cool enough to actually play at the time. But the Pogues manager only offered Polkacide—11 musicians plus dancers—$200 to travel from San Fran to NYC. Yikes. And thus my Dream Bill of All Time was scuttled. We do not live in the best timeline.

Anyway, stories and beers down, I bid the guys farewell, sent them on their way, and in the cab home listened to the final mixes of the three songs on our new album that feature John from Polkacide on horns. And then, a voice from the polka gods spoke directly to my soul, and I looked up how to buy 6 sets of black leather lederhosen online, clicking “purchase” with no hesitation.