Revisiting the bizarre career of Jello Biafra

Nothing screams punk rock louder than ripped denim, raw vocals and an unapologetically volatile frustration with the “man.” No one brought this to the US with the same success and political charge as the Dead Kennedys — they were the quintessential punk outlet. Frontman Jello Biafra embodied the “punker” image and message to an unmatched degree.

Born in Boulder, Colorado, Biafra allegedly took up an interest in both rock and politics from an early age. As he told the Denver Post in an interview, much of this is attributed to his upbringing. “If there was a race riot on the news, [my parents] would explain to me at age 5 or 6 what was going on and why racism is wrong,” he said. And since, Biafra has been combining his goofy, angry attitudes into a sort of punk-like in-between.

His band name itself is a reference to the Kennedy killings, and is “designed to bring attention to the end of the American Dream and the beginning of the ‘me’ generation,” as Biafra said in a 1982 interview with MuchMusic. His stage name—an ironic combination of the popular American snack, Jell-O and Biafra, a short-lived African country—is meant to push this same kind of political fervor, contrasting the concept of nutritionless American consumerism with the mass starvation he claimed was rampant in African countries.

Everywhere he seemed to go, Biafra found a way to stand up for himself, going against the grain in every sense of the phrase. In 1979, the same year he and guitarist East Bay Ray formed the Dead Kennedys, Biafra founded the record label Alternative Tentacles for fear that major record labels would be too controlling of their controversial music. The slogan of the label, “tormenting the stupid,” is a perfect summation of the rebellious perspective through which Biafra views his place in the world. In a similar vein, Biafra said in an interview with the San Francisco Chronicle that “I had no musical talent except my voice and my terrible attitude,” a testament akin to the mindset of many punk rockers at the time.

1979 quickly became a characteristically bizarre year in the bizarre life of Jello Biafra. In addition to forming his band and starting his record label, the artist-turned-ironic politician began a mayoral campaign for the city of San Francisco, imitating a famous Jell-O ad by using their slogan, “there’s always room for more Jello.” His platform, which was written on a napkin during a Pere Ubu show, includes a requirement that businessmen wear clown suits, a ban on cars citywide, and a proposition to mount a statue of infamous political assassinator Dan White and forcing the Parks department to sell eggs and tomatoes with which to pelt the statue. The most bizarre part of this campaign, however, was its success; Biafra came in fourth place, raking in 3.79 percent of the vote (which, considering the circumstances, was unexpectedly impressive).

As Biafra’s music grew, so did his political fervor. The same year Biafra lost his campaign, the Kennedys released “California Über Alles,” a mockery of former governor Jerry Brown. “I will be Führer one day,” Biafra wrote from the spoofed perspective of Brown. “I will command all of you/Your kids will meditate in school.” He continued to combine ridicule with politics, ripping on figures like Diane Feinstein and, more recently, Barack Obama and Donald Trump.

Things got weirder for Biafra as his career progressed. In 1986, his house was raided by authorities who were responding to a complaint issued by the Parents Music Resource Center, the censorship-touting villain shared by rock and hip hop alike. According to the complaint, the Kennedys used a graphic poster with penises for their 1985 album Frankenchrist, and were distributing inappropriate material to children. Thus began a lengthy legal battle about obscenity and censorship. Although the battle ended in a stalemate with a hung jury, the label still suffered substantially from legal fees. And so, in Biafra fashion, he started the No More Censorship Defense Fund, a benefit made up of his group and other punk rockers. Rebellious as he may be, it is difficult to deny the unexpected proactivity of punk.

Despite the Kennedys reaching notoriety in the history books, legal battles broke up the group in 1986. Biafra subsequently began a solo career of spoken word, in which he similarly combined humor and ridicule with some more serious political messages. Since then, he’s released 9 spoken-word albums that are better categorized as long and humorous rants than traditional bodies of music.

In 2000, he made a reappearance on the world stage after the Green Party drafted him as one of his nominees. Although Ralph Nader won that nomination by a large margin, the drive Biafra had to get as far as he did speaks to the dynamic power of punk rock. It’s not just a genre; it’s a movement, and Biafra certainly helped ensure that.

Article by Alice Markman