Lately, I’ve become obsessed with two words that, when combined, seem to perfectly amass all that is right in this world: staunchly authentic. They were used recently by Sean Penn to describe the nature-on-steroids feeling of Alaska, but the words have been stuck in my head, and I think they evoke an all too fleeting kind of honesty and meaning we must wade through the muck to find here in this world.

Those two words give new meaning to a humdrum life in which most of us resign ourselves to, believing we have little control over the events of the day, that there’s less and less that we know as we grow older. Staunchly authentic—these words describe what it means to stand the test of time, to stand in stark contrast to whatever destroys, to stand up even when you’re being kicked down. It’s old world in the new, remaining true to its core, while able to survive and keep greatness alive. Staunchly authentic does not bend, and that may or may not be stupid. All we do know is where the line is drawn. And what threathens to blot it out. These are no doubt thoughts the mind indulges when confronted with massive glacial mountains that have been around forever and are now melting away. These are the thoughts that, for me, have been prompted by getting to know the Mekons and Jon Langford.

I realize that is a rather lofty sentiment, to compare a band to something as massive as Denali, but considering the ways in which the music industry conducts itself, it’s our job to give credit where credit is due. And this time it’s for the Mekons, who have found their way to a happy home over the course of their 30-year career—a feat that is rare and worth exploring from the UK band least likely to. Things weren’t always good for the Mekons. Their political and idealistic approach to making music wasn’t designed for the easy road. They have been very direct about the music industry and have never relented on their beliefs. They have survived both ups and downs with major labels and alcohol-soaked habits. With songs glazed in a truthful cynicism, their purist approach to their own musical evolution has seen them through it all and somehow kept the Mekons making music that organically comes from within them. They’ve stayed honest. They’ve stayed staunchly authentic.

For the uninitiated, the Mekons got their start during the late ‘70s heyday of first wave British post-punk bands in Leeds, along with the likes of Gang of Four and Delta 5. The band took its name from a British sci-fi comic called Dan Dare, and the Mekon was the evil arch enemy of Dan Dare—each issue the Mekon would try out a new plot to conquer the Earth. The band itself was originally a bare-bones post-punk group (that apparently couldn’t play very well) and found that success in the music industry would be wrenched from them almost as quick as it appeared, even though that kind of success wasn’t what they ever intended for themselves in the first place. Their sound also transformed from three-chord punk to including inflections of traditional English folk, synth-pop, and eventually Langford and company became enthralled with the American country music of Merle Haggard and George Jones, among others. They are credited with creating postmodern country and western—a blend of Gram Parsons’ innovation, leftist punk ideals, and minimalist country.

The Mekons recently celebrated their 30^th anniversary with a bus tour connecting two secret shows at two venues during one night in Chicago. I was there to go along with them as they celebrated, happy and healthy at this point in their journey, having found a good home with Touch and Go Records. And it’s worth noting the love the band and label share for one another. This is a rare thing, especially as we see signs pointing to the death of the record label. The Mekons should be viewed as one very positive example for the rest of the industry, and perhaps this interview shines some light on that. The night started at a highly regarded venue in the middle of a warehouse district of Chicago called the Hideout. There, greeting the stage, were many friends to sing along on songs, with surprising guest appearances from Will Oldham and Chris Mills. For this leg of the night, all proceeds went to Doctors Without Borders and even the band members paid to get into the show. Afterwards, the Mekons and fans left the Hideout to board MTA buses (even surviving a mass transfer) taking us to a gritty punk rock dive called the Mutiny. This show was free, and it most certainly was a mutiny as an army of Mekons fans took over the bar for a raucous, drunken show featuring old and new songs, old and new fans, and old and new musicians: this time Oldham, Mills, and Ted Leo took to the stage. People were going nuts. The Mekons have diehard fans. I met people that came for the bus tour from New York and Toronto, but I heard folks came from the South as well. Everyone sang along, mini pitchers of beer in hand like some scene out of a movie—a sweaty, jovial camaraderie hung in the air—all hinged on the gloriously loose-knit music of the Mekons.

Weeks after, I spoke with Langford over the phone about the Mekons’ 30-year career. I was particularly curious about what worked for this highly inventive and idealistic band in terms of a record label along with the frustrations and revelations of how a band goes about getting their music out to the public. He was genuinely friendly, talkative, and outspoken, if not a tad bit ribald in his humor. This is a man that has seen it all when it comes to the music industry, and this interview was an opportunity for Langford to honestly share his wisdom, both that which is inherent and that which has been gained from going through the music industry’s mine field.

This year the Mekons released Natural, an odd and hushed record fostered largely in part by their surroundings—they holed up in the English countryside drinking whiskey in the night, tapping into the strange energy to be found there. They even renewed band vows in a remote stone circle on a hill.

Crawdaddy!: Describe what the music industry was like when the Mekons first got their start in 1977, and also what the band’s approach was to getting the music to the fans:

Jon Langford: What’s the best word? I would say that the music industry was remote and we didn’t have any fans, so we had no clue how you got music to people. It seemed like you had to be in this exclusive club to put records out. The first gig we played, the tour manager for another band said “I’m startin’ up a record label, and I want you to be my first record.” And we said, “Ahh, okay.” (Laughing) It was amazing, you know, we were up in Leeds and he was in Edinburgh actually, and we thought you had to go to London… we didn’t even have a demo tape, we hadn’t gotten that far at that point. It was kind of fortuitous, but it was that sort of time, 1979, which is where weird things just happened. The music industry itself has really nothing much to do with this, but we could find ways of making it. The DIY thing was pretty huge.

Crawdaddy!: How did growing up in Leeds shape the band… what’s the main inspiration for the songs?

Langford: No one was actually from Leeds, but we all went to art school there. A lot of the songs were about… we thought it was important that the songs be about kind of regular experiences. The punk thing started and there was a lot of chest beating about, you know, smashing the system. And, I really liked the Sex Pistols… and I really liked the Clash but it was a bit… they were already on a major label and playing big shows and it was all a lot of bravado. Half of our songs were really about being in Leeds, not being in a riot. The Clash had the song called “White Riot”, which made perfect sense if you were kind of, you know, the cool, white, London punk who wanted to show solidarity with the black kids who were rioting in the Notting Hill Riots [1976], which is what the song is about. It became a “Born in the USA” kind of situation, where it’s a good song, but by the time it made it up the M1 to Leeds the kids in Leeds were thinking, “White riot?”—(laughing) it sounded like some kind of fascist anthem. Which we thought it was kind of a clumsy thing to do perhaps, with the best intentions. After that, we came up with a song called “Never Been in a Riot”, which was about us being art students.