What sonic marvels await us in the newly envisioned world of yesteryear? What euterpean miracles grace the ear in Doctor Tsoundpounder’s Hall of Audiophonic Joy? What, in rough speech, is the sound of steampunk? It’s an uneasy question, certainly, with no clear answers (though one on which there is no shortage of opinion). So in the spirit of glorious democracy and shouldered weight of collective and civil discourse, allow me, your humble narrator, to put forth my own thoughts on the matter.

Before we go further, however, we’re going to have to discard the pretense. While the styles and fashions of the salon and the idle rich of Victoria’s empire are perfectly acceptable, we should dig a little deeper. There is another side to the coin of popular perception, one that is dirtier, more primal, and more compelling to the rough-hewn themes of steampunk. Let us look, not at some glamorous world of soft gaslight and social gatherings, but rather at the cogs that drive the machinery of society: the working man, the lower classes, and the people of the sooty, steam-choked streets. Let us put the punk into steampunk. To do that, we must first define our boundaries.

According to Wikipedia, that great cultural archive, Steampunk is defined thus: “works set in an era or world where steam power is still widely used—usually the 19th century, and often Victorian era England—but with prominent elements of either science fiction or fantasy, such as fictional technological inventions like those found in the works of H. G. Wells and Jules Verne.” It goes on from there, of course, but that’s a good definition for us to start with. Certainly it has the ’steam’ part covered, if not the actual ‘punk’ element. It’s all right, we can add that.

The ‘punk’ in steampunk is a sideways reference to the literary movement from which it grew—cyberpunk. Dystopian, rebellious, and absolutely focused on the street, cyberpunk dealt with criminals, wage-slaves, and how the rest of the world survived in a society dominated by the corporate uberwealthy. A quick glance at popular steampunk, however, shows a decided turning away from this aesthetic—concentrating instead on stories of colonialist glories and grand adventure. There are exceptions of course, but too often, the street level roots of steampunk are ignored in favor of a romanticized, egalitarian view.

So what, to return to our original question, is steampunk music? Ask about, and a few names will float to the surface again and again. Seattle’s Abney Park is perhaps the most commonly mentioned of those, and they certainly have the look that typifies steampunk: clad in tattered finery, goggles proudly perched on their heads. Their music regularly conjures the themes we’ve mentioned, dealing with clockwork dolls, steam engines and airship pirates (indeed, the band’s persona is that of a ragtag airship crew). Their sound, however, holds more closely to traditional new wave / post-punk sensibilities of the 20th century—heavy on electronica and synthesizer.

San Francisco’s Vernian Process relies even more on electronics to focus their sound, and creates a rich tapestry with touches of industrial weight to dirty up the edges. Much like Abney Park, their music explores the themes of steampunk lyrically but sound-wise would not be out of place in any mix of New Wave revivalist music. I enjoy both bands a great deal, but if we are looking for the sound of steampunk, I think we can extrapolate a little from the supposed image of society and find new and unexpected options.

Returning to our definition, we see a world re-envisioned from Victoria’s England. But when we work with the anti-establishment ‘punk’ origin of the genre, we start looking for the sounds sought out by the working man, the anarchist, and the criminal. Not for us the refined sounds of the salon or the opera house—these are the sounds of the soot-clogged bar, the protest march and the steerage compartment.

Courtesy of a poor economy and a population explosion, the Irish fled to British working towns in the 19th century and formed a cheap, exploitable labor force. Because of this, it’s a reasonable assumption that our hypothetical working man could have Irish ancestry. The raucous exuberance of the Celtic punk movement seems a perfect fit for this hard-working citizen, tired of seeing the British nobility fattened like leeches off his labor. The Tossers (from Chicago, IL), Flogging Molly (Los Angeles, CA) and the Dropkick Murphys (Quincy, MA) all mix the style of Irish traditional music with the dirty, angry sound that reflects that desire for rebellion. The Young Dubliners (Los Angeles, CA) have a cover of “The Foggy Dew” that continues the original’s call for uprising against London, while changing the sound from mournful ballad to outraged call-to-arms. Black 47 (New York City, NY) consistently visit themes of uprising and antiestablishment sentiment in their lyrics and refuse to shy away from politics, revolution and anarchy.

The Decemberists (Portland, OR) offer a more broadly focused folk origin to their music, mixing accordion, guitar, organ and melodica into a sound that feels both modern and archaic. Named after the Decemberist uprising of 1825, they concentrate on a type of musical storytelling that borrows from historical events around the globe. They have a folk, at times almost sea-shanty style that would feel at home on the fringes of Britain’s colonies or in an unlicensed cabaret in the heart of Manchester, and a contagious lyricism that makes them feel accessible to everyone.

Perhaps the sound I most associate with steampunk is that of traditional instruments being used (and abused) to produce non-traditional sound. Rasputina, a cello trio out of Brooklyn, NY has made a name for themselves by intermingling 19th century themes (including the Mutiny on the Bounty, and the Year Without a Summer) with a unique sound. They convince, sometimes through torture, their cellos to do things outside of the norm.

Similarly, Matson Jones (Fort Collins, CO) uses two cellos, drums and an upright bass to produce a plaintive, urgent sound. While not as focused on themes of bygone years, the group’s music often contains a level of bitterness and ragged refinement that might resonate well with the jaded and dispossessed. Combined with the ragged edge of the cello-driven sound, their music feels right at home alongside the other bands listed here.

Emilie Autumn, a classically trained violinist, turned to the punk world when her views on individuality and self-expression in classical music clashed with the establishment. Like Rasputina, she takes the violin in unexpected directions, and combines it with harpsichord and other instruments to create a sound that blends classical, jazz, punk and metal into an admixture all its own.

While there is plenty of room for more airships and adventuring nouveau-riche under the tattered umbrella of steampunk music, it must be remembered that the society itself is built on the toil of those it chews up and destroys. What is the sound of steampunk? It is the music that captures the sounds and emotions of the street in a world where the non-working wealthy oil their engines with the sweat of the working man. It is rebellious, folksy, and easily accessible, with sounds that fire the blood and fuel the spirit. Most importantly, it is the music on the common man’s lips as he fouls gearing with old shoes, and rises against the establishment. Punk is a critical element of steampunk, just as it was for cyberpunk, and its music should reflect that.

About the Author

J.C. Hay writes, knits, and sometimes writes about knitting from a secluded location in the middle of the United States. J.C.’s novella Hearts and Minds is available through Samhain Publishing, while short fiction can be found in Twelfth Planet’s Aurealis-nominated anthology New Ceres Nights, and Apex Magazine. Part-time film snob and full-time foodie, J.C. spends too much time pushing friends into new experiences and not enough time updating the web site www.jchay.com.