A Brief Historia and Uncertain Odyssey of the Salt Lake Underground

This article is dedicated to JR Ruppel, the flannel-clad trailblazer who put ink to paper, and an absolute bastard to track down (all out of love). Thank you for starting it all!

Listen, if you’ve been running warehouse parties since the early ‘90s, there’s a hearty chance you have a good understanding of SLC’s underground. Like a right-hook from a spiked, unwary hot chocolate, SLUG Magazine crept from underneath downtown’s asphalt on a frosty December night in 1988. No passing bystander thought twice of the stapled-together zine, nor did the handful of ragtag contributors that added their “outsider” insight. However, what unearthed was a sprawling subculture of young deviance only taken in by those who could find it. The raw, unadulterated, in-your-face lifestyle weaved a spiderweb threading through nearly every medium — music, art, fashion and philosophy. From hand-stitching punk patches into your jean jacket to tracking down an industrial rock show at a vacant garage downtown, each act was an iron fist revolution against the conservative ideals that Utah historically reinforced. “Having experiences like that really captivated our intention,” long-time SLUG Contributing Writer Ivar John Zeile says. “[It was] a moment in time where if you could get away with it, you’d do it.”

“Everything softened up so much that super hardcore stuff isn’t that hard anymore.”

However, the gustful winds of time have begun to change, and so has the culture. With advancements like the World Wide Web and social media like Instagram or (possibly, fingers-crossed, the now-defunct) TikTok, accessibility becomes more rabid. “Everything softened up so much that super hardcore stuff isn’t that hard anymore,” Raunch Records owner Brad Collins says. “It’s almost mainstream and it gets weird. You want to be an underground guy, but you can’t. It’s everywhere.” When the underground ventures to the light, how does one pump the brakes before getting burned? Put down the wax wings, Icarus, we must first look back…

The late ‘80s were prominent in this development by showcasing a jagged display of sights, and more importantly, sounds! Blaring sirens of all musical brackets (punk, metal, industrial, rockabilly, etc.) were stashed into reckless bars and warehouse districts to biologically transform into an organic atmosphere. “When [the show] clicks, it’s the most amazing high,” KRCL Executive Producer Lara Jones says. “I remember at Burt’s Tiki Lounge… when there were 30 to 40 people in there, you could feel the building inhaling and exhaling from everyone having a good time.” That venue, as well as Club DV8, Speedway Cafe, Zephyr Club and several others, introduced many young adults to a newly-founded collection of local bands.

“What matters is that any individual can find a home for their own thoughts and interests.”

As the ‘90s rolled in, the basement “Big Bang” began to evolve rapidly. “It was just a fucking blur of creativity in the early ‘90s — it exhausts me just thinking about how much was going on,” says Bill Frost, who initially wrote for SLUG under the moniker “Helen Wolf,” a deride jab at City Weekly’s misspelling of a blues singer’s name. “I think I was just existing off Jolt Cola.” Heart-pounding adrenaline soaked through the crevices as local bands like Dinosaur Bones and River Bed Jed climbed the ranks. As more bands came onto the scene, the freedom to create music without major label backing snowballed. “There were all these little pockets happening everywhere,” Frost says. “Before, you thought you had to go to Los Angeles or New York to make anything of yourself, but it turned out you could do this anywhere.”

Now, this article was meant to be a “back in my day” groan, and summarizing two decades of such a rebellious movement in one page is idiotic. However, the future underground is mutating in a pixel limelight. “The internet is good and bad,” says The Heavy Metal Shop owner Kevin Kirk, who’s seen the change firsthand. “It brings people in, but back then you had to get out to find out, you know?” That’s what the Salt Lake underground comes down to. No matter what Doc Martens go well with your bomber jacket. No matter what mainstream “TikTok darling” thrash album you’re hyper-fixated on this week. The “underground” is a sense of belonging to something bigger than yourself. “Maybe if [the scene] outgrows its origins, it redefines itself,” says Zeile. “What matters is that any individual can find a home for their own thoughts and interests.”

Huge thanks to Bill Frost and his band Magda-Vega, Ivar John Zeile, KRCL 90.9 FM, Raunch Records and The Heavy Metal Shop.

Read more to see what’s going on in the Salt Lake underground:
Ten Years of Strength and Sensuality at The Salt Mine
Hold On for Dear Life With Salt City Drift