Love for music, rebellion and the love for my partner

david1170
May 12
6 min read

For decades, Bill Sassenberger has been a vital figure in the American punk underground, championing independent music through his label and store, Toxic Shock Records. In this interview, Thoughts Words Action punk-rock blog caught up with Bill to talk about the legacy of his record store, the evolution of Toxic Shock as a label, his recently published book, and the music that continues to inspire him. From vinyl to zines, and punk rock to personal stories, Bill offers a rare glimpse into a life steeped in DIY ethos and relentless passion for the scene.

You describe your journey with Toxic Shock as “a story of love, loss and loud music.” How did those three forces shape your identity, not just as a store owner, but as a person?

Love is what kept me focused. Love for music, rebellion and the love for my partner. Losing my wife and other family members had a huge impact and was instrumental in getting me to writing the book, as I was looking back on my personal history and wanted to document it. Loud music was always the soundtrack to my life and I have the tinnitus to prove it.

In an era of corporate dominance, you and Julianna took a radical stand: no major label releases. What did that decision cost you, and what did it give you?

I'm sure it cost us some customers and bigger financial gain, but it gave us the inspiration to discover other great music that was under the radar of the majors and in our opinion was equally important if not better than known bands like the Clash. We developed a reputation as purveyors of truly underground artists and we wanted to share this with others.

Toxic Shock wasn’t just a record store, it was a cultural beacon. When did you realize that what you’d built was more than just retail?

From letters we'd receive from mail order customers who told me I was a lifeline to another world, to our walk in traffic, it became apparent that we were offering some kind of alternative to boring pop culture. Locals could seek refuge from the sometimes outright hostile world of conformity outside. The store built a sense of community in that not just records were bought, but ideas were shared and band members found each other. In the pre-internet days, crucial information like gigs and new venues were discovered via flyers and such that were found at our shop. I still to this day, hear from these people, who tell me how Toxic Shock would shape their future in different ways.

From Pomona to Tucson, you lived through multiple lifetimes in DIY punk. What changed, and what stubbornly stayed the same, about the scene?

The shifts I noticed came when the CD format was forced on the consumer and the majors started signing bands in the late '80's and the audience for some bands got much bigger. The early '90's brought the Nirvana and Green Day phenomena, who's roots were in DIY culture, but massive money was now driving the numbers. The emphasis wasn't so much on the underground community, as it was before, but it still existed. What stayed the same through the years was a general distrust of authority figures and government, at least with the majority of music fans who were attracted to punk.

Your book is full of patchwork memories, triumphant and bittersweet. Which memory, above all, still plays like a song in your head?

Valentine's Day 2012 is a day I'll never forget. Julianna was doing her best to recover from her stroke from two months earlier and we spent the day reflecting back on our lives together and the series of events that led us to moving to the desert city of Tucson. Our bond was strong, as was our love for each other. That day was coincidentally Arizona's 100th birthday as a state.

Running an indie label alongside a store sounds like a labor of love and chaos. What was the wildest or most unexpected artist experience you ever had?

That would be difficult to narrow down, but in 1987 getting the Hickoids an opening slot with the Butthole Surfers in L.A. was one. Going on a West Coast tour with Sloppy Seconds in 1989 was another. Several road trips with Italy's Raw Power in the late '90's and 2000s was an experience I'll never forget.

Looking back on nearly four decades of DIY hustle, what do you wish you had known when you first opened the doors to Toxic Shock?

To set aside a few copies of those now really rare records that we were selling like crazy and bury them in a dark cave somewhere.

What was the role of geography in shaping your story, from Springfield to Pomona to Tucson? Did each city bring out something different in you?

Different cities had their own quirks and subcultures. I was born in Springfield, but I was an infant when we moved west, so I don't remember Elvis Presley. Ha Ha. Music varied from city to city. What was considered punk in New Orleans was far different than the desert rock of Tucson and neither of those scenes were as huge as Los Angeles, (which Pomona was part of) where the larger crowds attracted a more violent and divisive audience. Smaller cities didn't have to deal with the gangs ruining shows, so there was greater acceptance of anything slightly weird or different.

Yes, I suppose I've always been a bit of a restless person. I could never understand how some people could spend their entire life in one place. I ended up in Pomona completely by accident. However, moving to New Orleans and Tucson were intentional and planned. I don't regret any of the moves I've made. Even though I've settled down here in Tucson, I still love to explore new places. Now that I'm retired, I am very fortunate to have the ability and the resources to travel, especially during the hot summer months living in the Sonoran desert.

You call yourself part of the “mercantile class,” yet your ethos feels deeply countercultural. How did you balance commerce and conviction?

Whatever money we did make was put right back into the store, so we could continue to expand our inventory, along with keeping a deep back catalog of all the indie labels that we deemed important. We would pride ourselves in not just concentrating on the latest releases, but having everything that was still available from the earliest releases on. We also put emphasis on reading material relevant to not only music, but radical anarchist politics and iconic counter culture authors such as Bukowski, Howard Zinn, John Sinclair, Burroughs and all the Re/Search publications. Then there were all the fanzines, Earth First literature and the subversive t-shirts that reflected our anti-authoritarian values.

There’s a sense in your book that punk was more than music, it was a way of surviving. Would you still call it that today?

If we're lucky enough, we survive. I've come to realize that life is short and can be taken away in the blink of an eye. I understand the record collector mentality, but I for one, don't obsess over material things like I used to. After all, you can't take them with you when you go.

Many people remember their first trip to a record store like it was a rite of passage. What do you think people lost when physical stores like Toxic Shock disappeared?

The connection with other people is what's missing most of all. The random way music can be discovered, just by stumbling across artwork on the cover while flipping through the bins or talking about music with other humans as opposed to using a digital search engine.

If someone walked into your store today, lost, looking for something louder than the world, what record would you hand them, and why?

I would hand them a copy of "Screams from the Gutter" by Raw Power. If it doesn't knock their socks off, then there's no hope for them.

https://thoughtswordsaction.com/2025/05/12/interview-bill-sassenberger-toxic-shock-records/