"No matter what becomes of it, art is local to a place and to a person, or group of persons, or just what's in the air despite how vague that sounds. It happens somewhere, not everywhere." - Robert Creeley Why Bother?

The local is the watershed and reservoir of art, the whatever is real in our expressive lives. When the pipes of the mass media and established styles go dry, we look to it for renewal. It's the level at which young poets start little magazines, where the latest nuances of the American idiom are given a reading. But young musicians have nowhere to go for feedback other than private parties or the corner bar. Usually, if they're lucky or good enough, a handful of fans support them while they pay their dues and bounce new works off the wall to test their strength. Sometimes the buried treasure of a local scene surfaces and a number of new bands can enjoy the excitement and critical atmosphere of a regular, local audience.

The bottom-line economic struggle these last 25 years in America has been between the corner grocer, butcher or record shop on the one hand, and the computerized invasion of the supermarket-corporation on the other. Slick packaging and homogenized product are so very attractive and so few have been able to resist, that the success of the Safeways in music, mattresses, and meat has been almost total.

This historical shaft has had its effect on the attitudes of whole generations. Young rock bands barely on their feet want media hype of their "sound" and "act" before either have had a chance to develop. Backbiting, wise-ass cynicism and neurotic dementia grip the scene like a case of the crabs. The relative success of one band frustrates scores of others who haven't "made it," but talk about the awful market system disappears in a minute when commercial goodies get dangled. There's a rich man coming, don't drop the pants of our soul...

So the relative health of the New Wave scene in Denver comes as a surprise relief. Blessed with a showcase like the one and only Malfunction Junction, and a headstrong army of fans, which grew up around the flowering of the Jonny III, a crowd of new bands has plugged in since fall. Some of these are hardly worth mentioning in the same breath with the usual criteria of musical togetherness or polish. But at least three of the new groups are spreading ripples of power and/or authenticity and, in the process, underline the value of the local:

THE VIOLATORS were almost embarrassing when they first began playing the Junction a few months ago. Undeniable talent and potential were there but they had so much to learn, especially about one another. Vocalist Tom Pop was just a shy kid, on and off stage; the bass and drums were hardly beginning to jell; only lead guitarist Shawn McNary had enough obvious experience and confidence to rip it up. Did they even belong out there? Wouldn't a few more rehearsals be a better idea? Week after week of highs and lows, flashing movements and muddy sound, and the vital crash course of Public Exposure have all added up to something else. As of March 1979, the Violators are hot.

Rich Barry (bass) and Steve Dryer (drums) are a hydraulic power unit that Shawn McNary can afford to ride and push with instead of help along. The development of this intense support system at the hart of the band has freed McNary's guitar into whole new areas of possibility. And when you realized that they're barely shifting into third gear as a band, the future can only mean greater moments to remember.

Although the Ramones-Sex Pistols energy of the Violators is a real kick, it wasn't until Tom Pop blew up and later simmered down into a serious vocalist that this quartet was on its way to a really compelling sound. Early on, Tom was the perfect example of an awkward stage pose, an Iggy doll that walked, talked and smeared itself with chocolate. But his sense of what goes as theater and what is merely stupid self-punishment has gotten sharper. And best of all, his voice has taken on a world more of strength and confidence.

There are still clinkers to iron out, and it's a question whether Tom Pop's spectacle of danger can happen night after night with continued honesty. But with Shawn McNary now taking personal charge of the sound mix, and with the chops of the rhythm section blazing brighter and brighter, the Violators are truly the new band in town.

THE CORVAIRS were barely two weeks old when they opened for the Jonny III at Wax Trax's going-away party last November. Most everybody was impressed. When they opened for the Jonnies a month later at Malfunction Junction, they were shockingly improved. When you think that guitarists Phil Gammage and Miles Dada and bassist John Cormany all share writing chores as well as vocals for the band, the potential for a terrific variety of sound and feeling is there at ground level. This has been realized with songs like their super-fine "T.V." and some exciting covers of Buddy Holly material.

Phil Gammage has the kind of straight-ahead provocative stage presence that makes you sit up and listen; John Cormany (formerly of the Ravers) is your basic working class hero, a solid musician right to the core; and Miles Dada can belt out "Oh Boy" with the best of 'em. The band has had problems, but they certainly weren't owned to a lack of talent. At one point, the energy and motivation departments seemed to lag and their original drummer was trying to play catch up more than anything else.

Recent changes include a new drummer (simpler and solider by all reports) and a period in the wood-shed to work out the aches and pains that all bands get into sooner or later. Look to their April gig at the Junction for a comeback.

THE GUYS are neat. Four raving Jonny III fans who just decided to leap into the pool, they come across with so much pure fun and breathless determination to play the music that they're irresistible. Aleta Haas (guitar), Cherri Morris (bass) and Cleo Ortiz (drums) haven't been playing their instruments for very long and it shows. Jo Ann Gogue has only been singing for a few weeks. But like writers who get close to the pulse of feeling their first time out, these four young women are taking advantage of one of the beauties of the local: they're putting themselves right on the line, honestly and completely. And with none of the sex teasing or phony toughness of the Runaways, or the inside-out pretension of some "feminist" or "avant garde" rockers. When Jo Ann Gogue sings "Wild Thing," there's an emotional flutter in her voice that must be half stage fright and half real conviction; it's as real as a first day of school. The rest of the sound is clean — a lot of care and hard work has gone into the ensembles, and yes, they do rock out.

Audiences at the Malfunction Junction love the Guys. It's exciting to see the band committing themselves to new music. Their name, from the habit of women calling each other "guys" even when there are no guys anywhere around, is another truth.

"At some point reached by us, sooner or later, there is no longer much else but ourselves; in the place given us. To make that present and actual for other(s), is not an embarrassment, but love." Robert Creeley