Go-Go Baby

Stage dancing for one of the greatest bands of the legendary East Bay punk scene, Sweet Baby.

I’ve always been interested in music that may not have perfect technique, but puts forward a bold, aggressive message and beat. Punk music was all this and more, sticking the middle finger to the failing society that had fucked up our existence.

In the mid-Eighties the East Bay punk scene was in full swing, and most of my male friends, as well as many of my female ones, were in bands. My closest girlfriends and I felt like losers because we were not in bands ourselves. Only Cybelle played an instrument, but no one played punk music on mandolin (although maybe someone should!).

I’m not a musician, but I am one of those shameless people who can’t stop moving their body rhythmically. It makes everything feel better, and it’s been the antidote to depression my whole life. I had a tough time convincing my parents, the ultimate rhythmless whiteys, that I needed to study dance. I took classes in ballet, then modern and jazz, but only as sporadically as my disorganized, broke parents could tolerate. So while I had some raw talent, I was never able to develop good technical skills. I became really interested in dance styles that didn’t require boneless, body-distorting technique, but did require good rhythm and boundless energy, like disco, then ska, and, ultimately, ‘60s-style go-go dancing. I copied go-go moves off any obscure videotapes I could find (which is what you had to do before the internet). This dancing developed into a thrashing, double-time punk rock style that helped work out the frantic level of trauma-induced tension I held in my body.

My besties Cybelle, Sonya, and Kim were also very much into the go-go dancing/punk combo, which we were convinced we had made up ourselves. While other kids thrashed in the mosh pit, my girlfriends and I were in front of the stage go-go dancing like hookers on speed.

Enter the band Sweet Baby. Sweet Baby (originally Sweet Baby Jesus), an incredible pop-punk band, was comprised of four guys, and Sonya and Kim knew two of them. Dallas and Matt were students at UC Berkeley and had started the band on something like a dare. They were different than most other guys in punk bands in that they were scholars, not drop-outs. I was in college too, and their punk/scholar vibe appealed to me greatly.

Dallas and Matt were the core lineup, with bass and drums being played by various other members throughout the band’s existence. At the time we met Sweet Baby, the lineup was Dallas on vocals, Matt on guitar, Richie on bass, and Sergie on drums. All their songs – every one – were about girls, and Dallas and Matt wanted some cute girls on stage. Their stage energy was already amazing – they had been compared to the legendary Detroit proto-punk band, the MC5. Cybelle chickened out, but Kim and Sonya and I eagerly joined. We would finally be part of a band.

Dallas and Matt were thrilled about the participation of three multiethnic babes. Sergie and Richie, not so much. Maybe they thought a punk band should not have dancing girls. Whatever the reason, they acted insecure and passive-aggressive. While Dallas and Matt treated us like their new best friends, Sergie and Richie barely spoke to us.

The main venue and spiritual home of the East Bay punk scene was the club 924 Gilman Street. Gilman was an all-ages straight-edge club (no drugs or alcohol allowed) in an industrial section of Berkeley, but its vibe was anything but sober. Graffiti covered every wall and surface, and violent moshing by the audience accompanied every show. Because Sweet Baby possessed a van, we got around the straight edge rule by just drinking beer in the parking lot before going in.

A lot of bands were coming up at the time, including Operation Ivy, The Mr. T Experience, and Rancid. There were these younger kids from Pinole who called themselves Sweet Children, but changed their name because it was too similar to the more popular band, Sweet Baby. The name they landed on was Green Day.

Sweet Baby collaborating with dancers seemed to start a punk rock trend. It was reported that the Butthole Surfers included a female dancing member after catching a whiff of Sweet Baby’s stage action.

Though I don’t remember all the shows we participated in, I remember a lot of driving in Sweet Baby’s van, cramped with all their equipment, through swaths of Northern California. Us girls cracked jokes and played road trip games with Dallas and Matt, while Sergie and Richie quietly seethed in the back seat. Their attitude kind of bummed me out. Having dancers was making Sweet Baby’s shows all the more exciting and memorable. The fact that I had been in elementary school with Sergie and his twin brother, and had attended their 6^th birthday party (they had a clown), only served to annoy him. But the show must go on.

One weekend evening we vanned it up to a show at University of California-Davis, located on former farmland near Sacramento. The college was presenting the iconic band the Meat Puppets, with Sweet Baby opening. I knew suburban UC Davis would be square, but I had no idea how square. The music venue was filling up with co-eds in polo shirts and dock siders. Why were they here? Did they just go to any musical performance the college put on, because Davis was so boring?

Myself, Sonya, and Kim ready for action

It was time to mount the stage. Sonya and Kim and I had worked up some new choreography, which we debuted as the first song screamed from the amplifier set to 11. We bumped and grinded, stomped and shook, and ended up on the floor of the stage, beating it with our fists. It was all pretty innocent, but looking out, I noticed that the preppies of UC Davis appeared stunned, and only, like, two people were slam dancing. One song came after the other with no breaks, and by the time the whirlwind of the set was done, we were exhausted but pleased that we had put on the best show we could. The shock on the faces of the squares once we ended was both gratifying and dispiriting.

While the Meat Puppets played their set, the members of Sweet Baby hung in the back, drinking beer and watching the show. I had never seen the Meat Puppets live before, and their loud psychedelic punk was quite epic. After the show, they left the premises fairly quickly, as any kicks were clearly to be had elsewhere.

A couple of days later, a review of the show appeared in UC Davis’ newspaper, The California Aggie. The writer of the review had evidently taken Women’s Studies 101 very seriously. They barely mentioned the Meat Puppets, obsessively focusing on how Sweet Baby was a misogynistic band that “degrades women” with their stage dancers. I was offended. Us dancers had made up the act ourselves. We rehearsed ardently, making sure our timing was flawless. Was it suggestive? Maybe a little – we were young women with firm bods who danced with abandon. But was it anti-feminist? As a lifelong feminist and daughter of a dyke, I did not agree. We did not think of ourselves as only supporting the boys; our act could stand alone. We were sex positive, while the writer of the review was clearly an uptight herd animal who thought even a playful expression of female sexuality must be sexist. Go suck a lemon.

Dallas and Matt thought the review was hilarious. “Any publicity is good publicity,” they said, laughing their heads off.

Which may have been true, because a national tour was arranged by Sweet Baby’s record company not long after. They couldn’t afford to take the dancers, and I wouldn’t have been able to take off work or school for that long anyway, but they had our blessings to blow the minds and ears off the rest of the country – which they did.

After the national tour ended in 1989, Sweet Baby disbanded. Dallas and Matt furthered their studies, and Sergie and Richie joined other bands. I heard that one or more of their songs had been used in advertising. Here’s one that was used for the TV show Queer Eye for the Straight Girl, whose script also steals the name of Sweet Baby’s album, It’s a Girl.

I don’t know where Matt is now, but I understand Dallas is a theological historian at Bowdoin College. Dallas, if you’re reading this, hit me up!