By Leah Freeman

CORNER JUST ABOUT anyone who boasts about their musical broad-mindedness, and they'll invariably admit to liking "everything but country." It's the genre everyone loves to hate. It's so old ... so sincere. You can't very well stay aloof and cool while linking elbows and kicking up your heels. But somehow, whether driven by the simple thrill of the forbidden or a desire to declare independence from the pretense of popular music, the local underground has adopted country as its bluegrass/roots cause. Cringe all you want – country is the new punk.

The popularity of acoustic folk revivalists like M. Ward and Devendra Banhart has made it safe to go back in the water as far as Americana is concerned. But while this breed of gentle crooner sings calmly about love and beards, down in the more rustic Mission District spaces such as Balazo Gallery, CELLspace, and even the 16th Street BART station, there's a serious hootenanny going on. Following the success of friends the Two Gallants, local kids like the Trainwreck Riders are eschewing pop posturing and allowing themselves to indulge in what feels natural to them musically. That just happens to be a very loud and exuberant blend of old-time country music and old-school Bay Area punk rock. From the remnants of the latter scene, a new underground has risen.

Boys named Sue

Lead guitarist Andrew Kerwin explains how growing up listening to cowpunkers Dieselhed and the Meat Puppets led to a fusion of styles in his own music. "It's not like, 'Let's go hunt this down and do this music.' It kind of calls you, and then in reaction, you go do your own thing."

The band and I discuss these and other hybrids like the Dead Kennedys and the Pogues in a garden grotto at Bernal Heights' groovy Wild Side West. It's a maze of leafy arches, dimly lit by strings of Christmas lights. The next grotto over harbors a chorus of baby boomers who cluster around a guitar and make their mark on my interview tape with numbers from My Fair Lady and an aborted attempt at "A Boy Named Sue." It's the perfect environment to talk about homegrown bands.

Vocalist Pete Frauenfelder lauds the joy of playing authentic music with like-minded musicians: "That's why I think the music turns out the way it does.... That's what gets me into hearing these bands and also being motivated with our own music. It's a unique sound that gets produced out of that. These people are looking at this music, and then they're producing it out of their own experiences. Which are real, which are something they have that's personal, and at the same time, they're not forgetting their influences."

Up-and-coming pop musicians, take note: there are greater things to be gained from music than money. You can't put a price on real friendships. Frauenfelder recalls past shows in BART stations as his fondest musical memories. "That's where we were really able to establish connections with people, because we were playing for free, and we were playing outside on a beautiful day, and people could come to these shows, brown-bag it, get high, and really have a good time." Andrew Kerwin's brother, drummer Steve Kerwin, describes the ideal West Coast tour as "garages only," and his sibling agrees: "Basically, if you know a band or not, if they're playing at a BART station or the park with you, you know they're coming from the same attitude as you."

A veteran of the hardcore scene since age 16, Andrew has flirted with fame and fortune playing guitar for All Bets Off, but, he says, "That's not why I play music." What really matters, Frauenfelder adds, is that "people are dancing and getting drunk and, like, being merry – that really makes it all. My ambition is to build those relationships up and to have a reputation where, if you hear us, you know you're going to want to dance, tap your foot, and go crazy, rolling on the floor and, like, getting naked." He laughs. "We're not there yet. But someday ..."

Hard to pin down

And precisely how is this feat accomplished? The Riders collaborate to infuse three-minute, Ramones-like songs with a bass line that's easy to imagine played on a jug. It's not – a series of guest bassists (currently, Forrest Lawrence from All Bets Off) completes the traditional lineup of guitars, bass, and drums. Frauenfelder starts with a simple Johnny Cash-style guitar melody, Andrew adds a second, wilder melody line above it, and punk fan Steve does his best to trick them into playing faster by pushing the rhythm section. The result is a catastrophically loud and unabashedly joyful sound that makes the kids go wild but that even the band members themselves are at a loss to pin down, stylistically. "I think we're really into music that has its own personality," Andrew explains.

Vagueness can be beautiful: in the emerging local scene, there's no uniform sound and thus plenty of room for creative freedom. Shitstorm singer Wu Li Leung admits he doesn't necessarily pay attention to the so-called scene and its development, if such a thing does exist at this stage – the lesser-known area bands such as his are "kind of the junior class" in it, and inwardly focused.

Although the Trainwreck Riders, the Two Gallants, Full Moon Partisans, Cow People, and Shitstorm are all related and have played with each other in some form or another for years, each band has its niche. Two Gallants hone in on early-20th-century folk and blues, while the lesser-known Full Moon Partisans and Shitstorm have a Gypsy twinge, a result of ties to Soviet post-punk in the former and expert use of the fiddle in the latter. Perhaps the different styles find their common thread in a shared spirit of train-hopping vagrancy. Call it hobo rock. The bands are prone to member-swapping and collaboration. For instance, newly formed Cow People are backed by the drummer from Shitstorm, Frankie Rose, a singing talent to rival Patsy Cline.

And in some cases, the audience is just as involved in the music as the bands are. A Dec. 16 show at CELLspace saw members of Shitstorm passing around a sack full of washboards, pots, pans, and huge spoons with which to bang them. Members of the crowd were happy to join in and provide a screaming, faux rhythm section. At shows like that, the bands don't so much perform for the crowd as with it.

Which brings us to the crux of the matter back at Wild Side West, where Frauenfelder asks permission "to go off on a rant." Given the choice of looking for someone more professional to record their debut (expected to be released by the band in February), the group could only imagine working with itinerant bass player Lawrence, who also recorded their demo as well as music by the Two Gallants, among others.

"We really wanted to keep it in the family and surround ourselves with people who were also committed and had, basically, investment in our band, people we trust and who are coming from the same place as us," Frauenfelder explains. "We figured, no matter what happens, if we keep San Francisco as our home and keep the people we love around us, it's going to automatically be positive. We've come to that conclusion after meeting amazing people like the Two Gallants, who just inspire us, and people like Forrest, who is willing to record the album for free.... And to be honest, I think that's why we're successful as a band. I think people can see that energy and that connection, and that's why they're attracted to come see us."

It's a rare thing indeed when a music community takes such good care of its members and expresses such a strong, shared passion for what they do together. The Bay Area likely hasn't seen such a phenomenon since back in its punk heyday, before bands like Rancid and Green Day became international pop sensations. But it's only a matter of time until the blossoming new local scene takes off for hardworking musicians like Frauenfelder and the Trainwreck Riders. A little passion and energy are all that are needed, he concludes, and "then you're ultimately going to be proud of it and have a sense of yourself."

Punk is dead. Long live punk.

Trainwreck Riders play with My Revolver Jan. 22, Last Day Saloon, 406 Clement, S.F. $5. Call for time. (415) 387-6343.