Although most punk histories pretend that there was no American punk scene outside of New York and Los Angeles in the early days, cities like Detroit, Boston, and Cleveland were just as hungry for something new circa 1976 as anyplace, and there were pockets of incipient rebellion all over the country, even in seemingly tranquil college towns like Bloomington, IN. It was there that a troupe of eight teenage musicians, led by a fanzine writer named
Kenne Highland, formed
the Gizmos, a proto-punk band heavily influenced by equal parts of
the MC5,
the Stooges, MAD Magazine, and the perpetual horniness of the teenage American male psyche. At a time when self-released D.I.Y. records were even more in their infancy than punk itself was,
the Gizmos released three EPs in two years, 1976's
The Gizmos and 1977's
Amerika First and
Gizmos World Tour. The band broke up after
Highland left town to join the Marines (stationed near Washington, D.C., he later formed the equally pioneering
Afrika Korps), but
1976-1977: The Studio Recordings reissues the 15 songs from the three EPs and adds 11 demos (including two previously unreleased songs) for good measure. In all honesty, these 26 songs are mostly for first-wave punk historians and fanboys: overall,
the Gizmos were a more dirty-minded version of
the Dictators (song titles include "Muff Divin'," "Pumpin' to Playboy," and "Gimme Back My Foreskin") with less of the '60s-derived pop songcraft than
Andy Shernoff provided for that band and more of a taste for semi-metallic stomps in the Detroit punk tradition. They had a bit of a
Velvet Underground fixation as well: the tongue-in-cheek "Ballad of the Gizmos" has a deliberate
Loaded vibe, down to
Highland's snarky
Lou Reed impersonation on the lead vocals. The less than optimal recording quality hardly detracts from the snotty teenage aggression and energy-over-competence attack, and the cover of fellow Bloomington native
John Cougar Mellencamp's "Boring" (with the man himself guesting!) is no weirder than
the Dictators' connections with
Blue Öyster Cult, making
1976-1977: The Studio Recordings an entirely worthwhile exercise in punk archeology that nonetheless likely has little appeal beyond that small cult.