CHAPTER 4

GROUP NAME

Before one takes the photograph, the group’s name must be determined.

Though actually underestimated, the name is the most important aspect of the group. It must be conceived before a single note is struck, and before the group is even convened, so as to ensure that it embodies a pure ideal, something to strive for. It must not be muddied by the paucity of the group’s abilities or the predictability of their reference points.

The name must be agreed upon before inception of the group, or it will be a compromise, a nuisance which will stymie and eventually suffocate development. The group with a name agreed upon by committee will be like an ugly, misshapen, and unloved offspring which one feels obliged to lug about despite unremitting antipathy toward it.

Like the institution of marriage or the robes of a sacred order, the name joins group members in a blood pact of the sort that the CIA, the Marine Corps, and the Mafia purport to have for their own initiates—but can never replicate. For while those organizations are comprised of dull bureaucrats, yahoos, and sociopaths sanctioned by the government to murder for money, a rock ’n’ roll group—for all its silliness, bathos, and misguided clothing choices—is paradoxically one of the last noble gestures left for a humankind imprisoned by consumer culture. Noble because money is rarely a feature in the life of the group. Paradoxical because, while the group could be seen as an exponent of consumerism, its members are typically unpaid.

The name is the most abstract aspect of the group, a holy totem with an esoteric meaning apparent only to its constituents. Witness the Masons, Elks, Eagles, Order of the Eastern Star, FSLN, CFR, M-26-7, Bureau of Surrealist Research, Satan’s Slaves, Bolsheviks, Bohemian Club, Lettrist International, BP, KGB, Murder Inc., Latvian Rifle Brigade, Union of Militant Atheists, Society of Militant Dialectical Materialists, Hell’s Angels, or Barnum & Bailey’s. The name has otherworldly power if it’s configured properly. It is therefore jealously guarded by groups who employ lawyers to protect their claim to one or another title.

When one christens one’s group, a particular concern is how the name looks when it is written. Is it properly symmetrical? Should it be? Is it an anagram? Has it more than one meaning? Does it mean something offensive or silly in another language? Does it cause embarrassment when recited out loud? If you wince or pause when asked, “What is your band called?” then it is not an identity that should be inhabited, at least not by you.

 

 

The powerful associative effect of names is often misunderstood. While fondly thought of, mammalian names are a mistake—unless one chooses a mythical beast. A wild animal is a graceful creature that needs no clothes or grooming to look spectacular, and your onlookers—their expectations heightened—will inevitably be disappointed by the oafish onstage display of whatever crew of humanoids you’ve managed to muster. “Oh dear,” they will say, “they are nothing like wolves/foxes/etc.” If one hangs such a name on one’s group, one is raising the bar too high.

Male groups with “Girls” in their name have a similar problem. In literature and film, the “girl” represents the reader’s/viewer’s pure self-image. The audience is supposed to identify with the “girl,” who is innocent, brave, just, artless, attractive, and clever (e.g., Chihiro of Spirited Away, Pippi Longstocking, and Dorothy Gale from The Wizard of Oz). Film noir is predicated on the opposite idea—that audiences like to identify with cynical, morally bankrupt, been-there done-thats. These roles are typically played by middle-aged men with five o’clock shadows (Humphrey Bogart, Glenn Ford, Robert Mitchum). Most groups now resemble the stars of the noir genre, physically if not sartorially. Bands with “Girl” in their name are almost invariably these kinds of hairy and less attractive men. As a rule, then, males should avoid group names with “Girl.”

Conversely, “Beatles,” while being a bit of wordplay, is also the name of a bug. Since humans consider themselves smarter, taller, and more attractive than insects, the name “Beatles” stunted initial expectations and helped propel that group to dizzy heights of notoriety. “Stones” was similar. A rock is an overlooked and ugly thing without much of a brain. The name “Stones” was a clever bid at achieving sexiness—which worked.

And so it goes. The words “Zombies,” “Them,” “Cramps,” “Funkadelic,” “Germs,” “Drifters,” “Black Flag,” “Stooges,” “Gories,” “Parliament,” and “Orlons” have strange, scary, even grotesque associations, though the groups thus christened are well regarded. “Kiss,” the “Eagles,” “Black Eyed Peas,” “Bread,” and the “Fleet Foxes” have fond, furry associations but are disliked—even despised—by discriminating people, regardless of whatever arbitrary commercial success they may have managed.

As the world gets smaller, the naming process becomes more rife with potential lawsuits or hurt feelings due to redundancy. Once, it was fine if one’s group had the same name as a cumbia group from Peru. No one would know. It was an irrelevancy. Now, due to the computer, the evidence is glaring and indisputable. Yet—like the names of children or sports teams—the focus shouldn’t be on originality but on the power of the name. Like a mantra that a holy figure bestows upon you or the spirit-animal monikers of certain First Nation peoples, the name has to resonate shimmeringly and believably around its subject.

When creating a name, there might be a list that is drawn up, added to, and subtracted from. You may as well surrender the entire venture if this method is used, as the project is destined for folly. The name has to appear in a dream or a revelation. Some effective name-generating strategies, however, could be: inducing fever, eating mold, enduring a sweat lodge, running until exhausted while being chased by police, autoasphyxiation, ayahuasca, or temporary insanity.

By consolidating the name before the group is recruited and then presenting it to the participants as the organization they will be joining, you will avoid all the fuss and bogus pretenses of “democracy.”

Note: A “group” is different from “musicians.” To simply make music, one needn’t and shouldn’t take a group name unless one is prepared psychically to be involved in the struggle for the very soul of culture and history. Music can be made without an aggregated group name. People like Ludwig van Beethoven, for example, successfully made music without having a group. A group is different from the prehistoric pastime of composing music—a group is attempting to physically embody some sort of ideal. While a group like the Sex Pistols were a teenybop appropriation of gay, leather, and fetish culture, a group like Huey Lewis and the News are a succinct manifestation of the breezy middle-class postcollegiate jock archetype of the 1980s.

Whether this was intentional on the part of the respective groups is unknown, and also irrelevant. A group serves this function whether they intend to or not. If you choose to take a group name, then you should determine the worldview you desire to set forth. This identity can be based on anything: sports, film, a book, a board game, a TV show, a pair of pants from three hundred years ago—anything, as long as it’s not music.

A group based on the idealization of other groups or a style of historic music is a doomed endeavor. Bands that only refer to other bands or genres of music are fated to be imitations, which strive toward some ideal they can never attain. Groups which focus on outside forces are free from the burdensome realm of music and the rules and conventions it imposes.