Pierre Bouvier is a very nice guy. The lead singer of pop-punk band Simple Plan is polite almost to a fault, with nothing but kind words for other bands, MTV, and even fellow French-Canadian Celine Dion. His band, favorites on TRL and radio for catchy tunes like "I'm Just a Kid" and "Perfect," is on a co-headlining tour with punks MxPx, who are just as pop, if not as popular. "I love MxPx. I always have," Bouvier says. "I think that [1998 MxPx album] Slowly Going the Way of the Buffalo is one of the best records I've ever owned. I think that they're a great band."
"Simple Plan's great," says MxPx bassist and singer Mike Herrera. He, too, is nice, although as a decade-plus veteran of the punk scene, he's a little rougher around the edges. Then again, his band is probably as well-known for its Christian beliefs as for its hooks, so he's probably not about to break into a vitriolic rant about hating the world.
When did punk rock become so nice? While it's great that Bouvier and Herrera are enthusiastic about their music and life in general, after talking to them I wanted to put on some angry music and remember what it was like when punkers were pissed off. Take what Bouvier has to say about Celine Dion, for example: "I think she's really talented, I think she's done great for herself, but I really can't stand her music." Perhaps fearful he'd come close to expressing a negative opinion about something, he adds, "I don't want to say anything bad about her."
She's Celine Dion, for Christ's sake! As a punk rocker, you should be contractually obligated to say something bad about her. But wait, there's more: Bouvier's just come from the studio, recording a brand-new song for the Scooby-Doo sequel. His band also had a song on the soundtrack to the first Scooby film, and recorded a version of the Scooby theme song for the updated cartoon series. "Scooby likes us, man," Bouvier says proudly. "We're tight with Scooby-Doo."
To review: He doesn't want to say anything bad about Celine Dion, and he's tight with Scooby-Doo. This is punk? I tell Herrera about his tour mate's equivocation and pose the question to the elder statesman: Does he think punk has gotten too nice?
"I really do," he admits. "Shows are so safe. Kids are so docile at the shows these days."
Punks: docile. Think about it.
"It's not dangerous anymore, that's for sure," Herrera adds. "I think the fact that it isn't dangerous is a good thing, because obviously we don't want people to get hurt. But I think there's something larger. It's a bigger picture, and it goes to the fact that [punk is on] MTV, and you can go now and get a spiked belt at your local mall, not even Hot Topic, they have them at, like, Claire's jewelry place or wherever. It's ridiculous."
The danger's gone, replaced with platitudes about puppy love and generic angst. "If you look at the lyrics that we had on the last record, obviously you might think that we're a bunch of depressed kids, but the thing is, we choose those moments to write about because they're inspiring," Bouvier says. And they strike a chord with teens, who identify with the self-pitying lyrics of songs like "God Must Hate Me."
But if God hates Simple Plan, He's sure got a funny way of showing it. They're second only to Blink-182 in the pop-punk pantheon these days, thanks largely to their savvy marketing skills (the band conceptualizes all its own videos, artwork and photo shoots and has its own clothing line— just like P. Diddy).
Herrera, the Christian, doesn't see God's hand in it, either, in Simple Plan's success nor his own band's struggle to get the same kind of notice. "It's not always just about the music or just about the live show," he says. "There's a lot more involved: There's timing, there's the record label, there's the management, there's everybody doing certain things." Not that he wouldn't take a little MTV airplay if it was offered: "It gets really annoying, the fact that they won't put a band like MxPx on there, for like three minutes, but they'll put some random person from the middle of nowhere, talking about how they want to become a cheerleader."
It's a safe bet Simple Plan doesn't share that frustration.
Herrera's still too nice to come off as bitter, though, and for all his readiness to lament punk's lost danger, his band's as slick and safe as any other. Ready to go put on a NOFX record and bash my head into a wall, I give Herrera one last chance to say something mean.
He doesn't hesitate. "I really hate Celine Dion," he says. "I can't stand her."