A lovable but particularly snobbish friend recently referred to a kind of rock ’n’ roll practiced in Fort Worth as “chud rock.” I snickered, thinking, “ ‘Chud’ definitely isn’t a word, but somehow I know what he means.”
My theory is that he’s talking about loud, melodic rock with bluesy elements, specifically The Hanna Barbarians, Foxtrot Uniform, The Frisky Disco, Rotten Roots, We’rewolves, and a few other similar-sounding bands that don’t seem to get much press beyond these pages. Of course, he’s also talking about bands that he grew up on and loves (or has loved) –– The Rolling Stones, Faces, The Stooges, The MC5, The Black Keys –– but we won’t tell him that.
The music can’t be the problem. Thick riffs, thunderous drums, high-pitched screams –– what’s not to like? No, for him, it must be a question of perceived authenticity. I guess today’s chud rockers, like their predecessors, are guilty of being young and (mostly) white while appropriating an African-American artform. I know, I know. I should have said, “Dude. The 1960s called. They want their complaint back.”