To casual observers and critics alike, punk was considered a flash-in-the-pan genre, just another degenerate subculture that would fade quicker than a searing, loud-as-hell album after turning off the electricity. Unfortunately for them, punk was more permanent and corrosive, like rust gnawing on the chrome empire of music. Thomas Tarbox Kiersted, known to wear his signature flannel shirts and pink converse, was at the forefront of that genre in Houston in the early 1980s. His sudden unexpected death has left the community reeling.
Punk produced a dizzying array of styles and manufactured output, whether amateur fanzines chock-a-block with interviews and scribbles spewed out of Xerox machines or homemade tapes unleashing an endless barrage of noise across the world. But the most preferred transmission, the weapon of choice, was the 45 rpm 7-inch single. And the Degenerates, who first emerged in 1979, created an epic slice of that early punk output in town. Releasing their self-titled platter in 1981 (later re-issued as part of a larger LP by the Italian label Rave Up Records), they were buzzsaw punks primed for total action, though still financed by the drummer/vocalist Wade Driver’s father.