Youth of America: The Punk No One Wanted, but Everyone Needed

I deeply identify with The Wipers, the musical project of Greg Sage that emerged in the late '70s. Sage founded the band in Portland, a place where few would have imagined the birth of an authentic punk sound. By 1977, the pioneers of the genre, like the Ramones and the Sex Pistols, had already signed with major labels. Fame came quickly: the Pistols recorded only one album before self-destructing, while the Ramones released short records with songs barely exceeding two minutes. Sage arrived late to punk, but he did so with a clear vision and his own rules.

The Wipers would not be a band of endless tours. They would only record in the studio. They released 15 albums in a decade, always with independent labels. Their songs, far from the punk standard, sometimes stretched to ten minutes.

I’ve been writing online for over 20 years. It was never about popularity. I write because I want to, about what interests me, and about what I rarely find in magazines, books, or the internet. My idea was always to do it with intensity and consistency—not like those online writers who publish once a week, every two weeks, or monthly. I wanted to write all the time. Without being boxed into a niche. Without predictable formulas. For me, writing is about unleashing imagination, curiosity, and creativity. It’s about going against the current. In an era where people prefer memes and short videos, writing a long post about an obscure topic might seem like a bad idea. But the process is what really matters.

In a way, Sage and I follow the same rules. He made the music he wanted to hear, the music he couldn't find around him. In 1981, he released Youth of America, his masterpiece. An album rooted in punk but venturing into unexplored post-punk territory. His songs were direct and monotonous, like those of the Ramones or Wire, but they stretched into hypnotic trances reminiscent of Can and Neu!’s krautrock. Youth of America wasn’t well received at the time. Punks didn’t want long songs; they preferred the immediacy of bands like Black Flag or Agnostic Front. And Sage, true to his vision, refused to tour. He preferred to keep recording in the studio.

It was an album ahead of its time. Post-punk had no space in the U.S. yet, and grunge—its natural heir—was years away from being born in Seattle, just miles from Portland. Taking Too Long, the album’s opening track, sounds more like krautrock or Wire than traditional punk. Sage hadn’t hit the gas yet; here, he was exploring atmosphere, mood—getting closer to the dark energy of Joy Division. Almost touching gothic rock. His sound was experimental and modern, more in line with what was happening in the U.K. than with any American band. A sound that, years later, would inspire Sonic Youth.

Can This Be marks the moment when Sage floors the gas pedal. In its mix of riffs and emotions, you can already trace the foundations of the sound that would later define bands like Hüsker Dü and The Replacements. Pushing the Extreme is defiant, dissonant. A hybrid of punk and gothic rock that in 1981 must have sounded alien. Sage seemed like a mad scientist creating music no one wanted to hear, but that many would love in the future. Was he ahead of his time? Maybe.

When It’s Over is simply extraordinary. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t just surprise—it shakes you. Sage was creating visceral, urgent music, but with a desperation that was incomprehensible at the time. His guitars sounded out of place in the punk universe, yet they struck a chord with certain listeners. Green River, The Melvins, and Nirvana—bands that emerged half a decade later—found a source of inspiration in The Wipers. Without knowing it, Sage was laying the foundation for the alternative rock that would dominate the '90s.

The album closes with the brutal Youth of America. No compromises. No brakes. The rhythms of Brad Davison, Dave Koupal, and Brad Naish are mechanical, unstoppable. Part of The Wipers' hypnotic power. And Sage—relentless. His voice, powerful. His guitars, furious, designed to demolish. In just ten minutes, Youth of America encapsulates the birth of independent rock in the northern U.S. Ten devastating minutes that no other punk rocker of the time would have dared to sustain.