In the fall of 1985, as a young exchange student in Kraków, I discovered Pod Baranami, the venerable cabaret on the Old Town Square. After listening to the lineup of folk singers a few times, I showed up with my guitar and asked if I could play some tunes. The soundman looked me over and said, “Sure. You’ll go on last.” When my set was over, a guy approached me and said he knew of a band looking for a singer. I asked, “What kind of band?” “Polish reggae and psychedelic rock,” he said. How could I resist?
David Rocks is now the leader of The Gincident, a Berlin-based, country, blues band.
Photo courtesy of Renata Sekudewicz.
I stepped into a small, smoky basement room and was met by a guy who looked to me like a grizzled old rocker (though I now know he wasn’t even a decade older than me). It was Andrzej Bieniasz, whom I would come to know as Pudel…
A week or so later, I took the tram to a youth club somewhere out among the bloky that stretch north of town. I stepped into a small, smoky basement room and was met by a guy who looked to me like a grizzled old rocker (though I now know he wasn’t even a decade older than me). It was Andrzej Bieniasz, whom I would come to know as Pudel, the musician and songwriter who recently passed away (20.01.2021). I was carrying my anemic acoustic guitar, expecting to play the folksy songs I’d been writing, but Pudel had other ideas. Since I didn’t have an electric guitar, my voice would have to be my instrument. The other guys were surprisingly well equipped, given the difficulty of importing anything into Poland at the time. I remember Pudel had a pretty nice Les Paul, and the other Andrzej (Potoczek) had a Gibson SG, if I recall correctly. Pawel, the bass player, probably wasn’t more than 17 at the time (Pudel dubbed him “Baby, ” but when he grew up he was hired as the bassist for the German heavy metal band Scorpions). Maciej kept the time on the drums, and various others came and went—a foretaste of the spirit of the crazy, unruly collective that the band would ultimately become.
Photo ©ourtesy of David Rocks.
Pudel had the kind of tightly curled hair that was cool back then, hence his nickname. But the joke was that the music he wanted to play was more Doberman, Rottweiler, or German Shepherd—gritty, dark, and moody, but with a playful, Dadaesque veneer of absurdity—much like Poland at the time. The two Andrzejs would come up with a riff and play it over and over while I sang whatever popped into my head. Eventually, the songs came together as the band worked out parts and my various lyrical ideas started to stick. The two I can remember today are Wyro Pudla and Adios Adidas, which Püdelsi went on to record with other singers and different lyrics. Most of what I sang was in English, but occasionally I’d write things in Polish, which the guys would correct for me. That’s how we wrote music: Organically, magically, and chaotically. But it worked. Within a few months we had a dozen or so songs.
Wyro Pudla
Adios Adidas
Pudel founded the band after the death of his close friend Piotr Marek. The two had put together Düpą, a psychedelic, goofball reggae band, and that was the inspiration for Püdelsi. But after Piotr killed himself, Pudel wanted the lyrics to reflect the loss he was feeling deep in his soul. Darker. Darker, he always told me. As I look back on my notebooks from the time, the lyrics in them are about as dark as any I’ve ever written.
We spent many hours arguing over what to call the new band. I can’t remember any of my suggestions, but among the names that were floated were Ludzie z Źuźlowych Hałdy (People From the Slag Heap) and Karton Żuków (Box of Bugs, but also a riff on the name of the WWII-era Soviet general—ejected because that connection would probably have triggered a reprimand from the Party censors, who were a real threat to our existence). In the end, we settled on Püdelsi, because it was Pudel’s band and always would be.
Kraków had almost nothing that could be called nightlife beyond Pod Baranami back then, so our first gigs were in youth clubs. They were crowded, loud, dirty, smoky. And they started around 5 pm and ended before 8, with little more than tea and Pepsi on the drinks menu.
Kraków had almost nothing that could be called nightlife beyond Pod Baranami back then, so our first gigs were in youth clubs. They were crowded, loud, dirty, smoky. And they started around 5 pm and ended before 8, with little more than tea and Pepsi on the drinks menu. That’s the way things worked in Poland at the time. Our best gig was somewhere in the center, where we got probably the largest crowd I’ve ever played for. The stage was wide, the crowd was eager, the band was wasted, and I was scared. Pudel said, “Don’t worry Amerykanin… you’ll do great.” And we did.
The stage was wide, the crowd was eager, the band was wasted, and I was scared. Pudel said, “Don’t worry Amerykanin… you’ll do great.”
But anyone could see that I was just an American kid passing through on a journey from nowhere to somewhere. Poland was a chapter, a curiosity to be explored before I continued on to whatever my real life had in store. After Chernobyl blew its top and I was jailed for simply attending a rally on May 3, I knew the clock was ticking down on my stay in the country. In the summer of 1986, I packed my bags and hopped a train to Berlin, then a plane to Helsinki, New York, and finally Denver.
Pudel and his band made their mark in that new Poland, first with Kora on vocals, then Maciej Maleńczuk, Szymon Goldberg, and others. I was just a footnote in their history, something like the Pete Best of Poland.
The rest of Püdelsi, by contrast, didn’t have the luxury of leaving, at least not yet. So they did what they knew how to do best—write and play frenzied, oddball songs. It was a sound and a mood that fit a country that just three years later would finally give the Communist bums the boot. Pudel and his band made their mark in that new Poland, first with Kora on vocals, then Maciej Maleńczuk, Szymon Goldberg, and others. I was just a footnote in their history, something like the Pete Best of Poland. I didn’t have a lot of contact with Pudel after I left; just a quick return visit or two, and a few phone calls over the years. But I’ll never forget the time I spent with Pudel and the guys—the guidance they gave me, the grit they showed, the kindness and patience they had with this Amerykanin. Dzięki, Pudel, za dobre czasy.
Comments
Very nice article by the Amerykanin!
I really enjoyed that. Thanks. I'm really curious about the 80's in Krakow. My first stop was in 1993. I fell in love with Krakow at the first sight of the Rynek, and I've felt that way ever since.
thanks... yes, it was a wild and yet very tame place in the '80s... a bit like living with your parents, as PJ O'Rourke once wrote...