Two Punks, One Grob

The Sundance Channel has been replaying its series, One Punk Under God, which focuses on Jay Bakker, the son of Jim and Tammy Fate Bakker. After the Bakkers' very public downfall in the late 1980s, Jay ran into his own difficulties--among them, an awareness of the too-common hypocrisy and destructive self-righteousness among certain Christians and Christian organizations. Jay also developed a drug problem.

Nowadays, Jay is clean, and he's come to terms with religion--at least, he's come to terms with God. He's shed conservative notions of Christianity; arguing that "Jesus is the Savior, not Christianity," and "religion kills," Bakker embraces and encourages a non-toxic, inclusive Christianity. The Younger Bakker's image of Christ presents Jesus as a loving redeemer who accepts people for who and what they are--regardless or lifestyle or religious affiliation. Jay Bakker's church--called Revolution--meets at Pete's Candy Store (a Brooklyn bar), and the group welcomes everyone. Take a look at Revolution's site. It's an admirable effort at unity and acceptance.

On another note, the heavily tattooed, pierced, and bearded Bakker looks significantly like a man named Terry Grob, who sported much the same look, albeit without tattoos and piercings, in the 1980s and 1990s. Terry Grob was a punk promoter ("Grobal Productions") of the highest order: he went above and beyond "normal" promotional duties to publicize and aid numerous struggling bands in the pacific northwest. Terry was sincere, take it or leave it; this means that the man could be too direct, too honest--and he could be offensive. He was poor (he saved and saved money to open his own club. He carried a huge wad of cash in his trouser pocket). People gave him boots when his own pair began to fall apart. He didn't drink, nor, to my knowledge, did he engage with the drug scene, but he did love his chocolate milk and cigarettes.

Terry had epilepsy. He used to have to leave his own shows if a band used strobes or similar lighting effects. Sometimes he'd get outside in time and he'd just kick around, smoking cigarettes and throwing overly-suggestive comments at nearby women (a breast man all the way, Terry could get pretty obscene if he wanted to).

I moved away for a few years, and I lost contact with Grob. I saw him last in 1997 or 1998. In late 2000, someone emailed me to let me know that, during a show, Terry had experienced a seizure he didn't survive. Friends, colleagues, and scenesters attended memorials for him in Portland and Spokane.

Terry was one of a kind--a man without hypocrisy, sycophancy, staged aggression, or mock outrage. I miss him like mad.

(a musician's remembrance of Terry here; an obit here)