The Cowboys “Supermarket” / “Teenage Life”

Not to be confused with The Clash’s “Lost in the Supermarket”—which came out a year earlier on the London Calling record, and is one of the wimpier Clash songs I remember—kind of a disappointment from “the only band that matters.” I don’t mean to always pick on The Clash—they were a great band (my fav at one point)… but their name is dumb. Now, The Cowboys—that’s a fucked up punk rock band name—a very good one. And The Cowboys’ “Supermarket” song is better—it’s a pretty great song—I probably like it better now than back then—this is a song that’s aged well (unlike the other side, “Teenage Life”—which is nonetheless nostalgic). It’s a reggae-tinged pop punk song about the middle-American middle-class dream—Ohio, the middle of the country—1980, when things were looking grim (had we only known…). Malls were still thriving, and rebellion might have been choosing not to get a “square” job, and not watch the TV shows on the three major networks. It’s kind of a weird song, really. “Up top in a supermarket”—what’s that mean? Am I hearing that right? I never thought about it. Is it from the point of view of the little kid in the grocery cart—those funny little seats? I remember riding in the grocery cart—pulling things off the shelf. My mom would keep me quiet with a Mad Magazine. I probably rode in those things up to an inappropriately old age—but I’ve never heard a song about it before. It’s got some great lines: “Beautiful music is everywhere, hey, hey I’m lost in space,” then, later, “You can’t learn until you learn to listen, but I can’t sit still, is that real?”

It’s funny how we don’t use that term, “Supermarket,” anymore—even though some of those big ones are bigger than ever. Though—maybe I’m wrong—maybe it’s a regional term, and in some places they use it. Or maybe it’s what people say in the suburbs. But I can’t remember the last time I heard someone say, “I’m going to the supermarket.” These days, it’s nothing to celebrate—I usually face it like a grim task—I go to the “grocery store,” and generally it’s a nightmarish hell. I used to know a couple of guys who worked at grocery stores (back around when this record came out), and I like to remind people (particularly younger people) how that used to be a really good job. Supermarket jobs were union jobs—and you could get married, have kids, buy a house and a car. Or you could work third shift, overtime, sleep all day, and save enough money to start your own recording studio—or buy an island with a lighthouse.

The other side, “Teenage Life,” is a pretty typical sounding punk song from the time—it’s fast, noisy, guitars wailing, and it sounds like it’s running downhill into oblivion—one of those end of the world punk songs. “I sit home and watch TV, nothing satisfies me.” Even if you’ve never heard this, if you’ve heard punk rock, you’ve heard it. It’s got a dropped in guitar solo, and it wears out its welcome quick enough. But like I said, nostalgic. It’s funny to hear non-teens doing a song about “teenage life”—though I don’t suppose they were far removed from being teens. I believe these guys were all a year or two older than me, and I was 20 when the record came out—on Tet Offensive label, which was the record label of The Offense zine (which I used to read all the time and write asinine letters to). It’s got a seven-inch paper sleeve with a degraded pink square on the cover (like it was some unknown red object, photographed and blown up a million times). Plus, some typed info, from a broken typewriter, that’s purposely illegible. It’s non-self-congratulatory and very punk rock.

I eventually knew a few members of this band, in Columbus, Ohio, who were all very nice—very cool guys—including Pete Stackelberg, who passed away in the Nineties. Brian Emch may or may not have played on this record, but he was in The Cowboys at some point, and later played with the Royal Crescent Mob—another great band from Columbus. The singer, Billy Lee Buckeye, used to write for The Offense (very good, funny stuff)—I’d seen him play acoustic at one of the local “Nowhere” music festivals—pre-Cowboys, I believe, and I was instantly a big fan. Later, using his real name, Mark Eitzel, he played with the Naked Skinnies (their record, reviewed in these pages, was also put out by Tim Anstaett/Offense Magazine), and that band moved out to San Francisco. Later Mark Eitzel started American Music Club—one of my favorite bands ever—and I saw them play, and him play, over the years, approximately once a decade. Lately, I’ve seen him play twice in Milwaukee (pre and post pandemic) in those intimate living room shows (most recently about a month ago). Of all the punk rock people I knew (or kind of knew) I feel like he went the furthest—into other realms of music, I mean—not just success. But in some ways—say, seeing that recent, live, solo show—and now he’s maybe 64—and he’s still punk rock in the best way—and he continues to be inspiring.

12.15.23