Before Bruce Pavitt founded one of the most influential record labels of the last 25 years and signed Nirvana, Sub Pop existed as a fanzine and then a column in the Seattle newspaper The Rocket. He wrote witty, scalding polemics and appreciations of his favourite bands (calling Steve Albini’s Big Black “bigger than Elvis and louder than Bo Diddley”) and lived through and recorded one of the most creative periods of American underground music. Now, as the Sub Pop columns and fanzines are compiled in Sub Pop USA: The Subterranean Pop Music Anthology, 1980-1988, we catch up with him to see what he remembers.

You described Black Flag as ‘the most intense band in the world’. What was it like to experience them first-hand back then?

I don’t think their records do them justice. They do have a live record called Who’s Got The 10 1/2, which I think kind of captures that energy. Their studio recordings I always thought sounded rather thin, and their songwriting I never felt was that strong. So they really had to be seen live to really experience them. Rollins in particular was just unbelievably, physically expressive on stage. Greg Ginn was a genius on atonal guitar, and they really redefined punk rock for America. I know bands like Sonic Youth, who were very art-oriented, were very much drawn to the dynamic extremes of the band. A lot of it really came down to the charisma and energy of Henry Rollins himself. I remember seeing them play in 1984 and he came out barefoot, wearing nothing but gym shorts. He had a Einstürzende Neubauten tattoo as well as a Charlie Manson reference, and he’s got long hair. I remember that he stepped up to the crowd – and everyone in the crowd had short hair and leather jackets. Punk rock is about doing what you want to do. It doesn’t matter how long your hair is, or what clothes you wear. It’s the intensity that you bring to life. That’s punk. And I thought he really carried that, not only as a singer and a performer, but just as a personality. There was an intensity that was pretty much unmatched by any band of the era.

Henry Rollins: part Elvis, part Charles Manson. Photograph: ER

You described Rollins as combining ‘the sex appeal of Elvis or James Brown with the psychotic edge of Charlie Manson’. Was there a sense of a genuine danger about him?

Absolutely. No doubt about it. There was one incident that happened on stage which I still have very mixed feelings about. I’ve never mentioned this before, but I remember he brought a female member of the audience on stage and kind of mock-raped her. It was an intense situation. Whether you want to do that as art or not, he was definitely pushing the boundaries, and he was scary.

How did Big Black compare with them?

They had almost the same level of intensity, but their vibe was different. I referred to them in one review as “revenge of the nerds”. Two of the three performers wore glasses, they had a rhythm box as the drummer, their lyrical content delved into extreme sociopathic behaviour. Absolutely amazing. They were probably my favourite live band of the 80s. I’d say favourite over Black Flag because I thought their sound was more interesting. They were bringing a more unique sound to the indie scene as well as that level of intensity and intelligence.

Is there a particular Big Black performance of the 80s that you remember vividly?

It would have to be their quote-unquote final show – I think they might have played another one afterwards, but it was billed as Big Black’s final show. It was set in a steam plant in Seattle. They completely destroyed their instruments on stage. Completely over the top. One of the most insane shows I’ve ever seen. Just going for it. And of course lighting off a box of firecrackers at the end.

Swans are another band that have grown in stature since your reviews. What’s interesting reading about them is that you get a sense that a lot of people didn’t like them. What were people particularly railing against?

I think people thought they were too pretentious. I thought they were very artful. Hyper-minimalist arrangements, hyper-minimalist lyrics. Of course now, in their new style, they incorporate a much more dynamic range of instrumentation, but they’ve kept a similar vibe. The integration of the lyrics, the arrangements, but also the cover art, all worked together for a unified effect. I thought Raping a Slave was absolutely mind-blowing when I first heard it. Not for the faint of heart. I’m absolutely blown away that they’ve still got a career and are still putting out great records 30 years later. They’re still relevant. They’re probably the only band of that era that is still chugging along with any relevancy.

Swans: still relevant 30 years on. Photograph: Alamy

What about Dinosaur Jr?

All of these bands mentioned brought a certain level of intensity, but Dinosaur Jr was probably the loudest band. They also used a variety of effects pedals. I think the Mudhoney guys, I’m going to guess, were influenced by J Mascis’s use of effects pedals. I think Dinosaur Jr were proto-grunge, and had a big influence on the Seattle scene. They had a kind of Neil Young, Crazy Horse influence which was, again, a big influence on the Seattle scene. Intensity, volume and effects. I just saw J perform last month. He’s doing acoustic sets but every once in a while he’ll punctuate his acoustic sets with some effects and rock out. It’s a real nice dynamic. The old-man version of Dinosaur Jr.

They were happy to play noodling guitar solos at a time when maybe that wasn’t the done thing.

I remember when their first album came into KCMU, and Mark Arm was the DJ there, and his first impression of the record was that he thought it was atrocious, because of those long guitar solos. That was the one rule you couldn’t break: you could do anything in punk rock, but you’re not allowed to play guitar solos. But again, here’s a band that defined its own sound and broke some rules, and that’s why they’re punks.

What was your first experience of Minor Threat?

Calvin Johnson, who runs K records and was another writer in the scene, had lived in DC in between 1979 and 1980, but I remember that he moved back to Olympia, and he was carrying some records. I remember very specifically that he brought over the first Minor Threat single – the track was In My Eyes and it was a spiritual experience. It was one of the great punk moments. Such a great song. I knew that the Dischord thing would be a total phenomenon based on the quality of the recording, and the spirit not only of Minor Threat, but of the other bands that were coming out of DC at the time. This is 18-year-olds putting out their own singles, and it sounded great. Revolutionary, for sure.

You described the Melvins first record as ‘weak and thin and lame’, which doesn’t sound terribly like the Melvins.

There were some references in my book to the Melvins being the heaviest band in the world, and I think that was an adequate description. I just think that record didn’t do them justice. I don’t think that Buzz ever forgave me for trashing his first record.

You say that once the Wipers put out a Greatest Hits, they will prove that ‘God is not dead’. Are you surprised they didn’t get the respect they deserved?

I think their material is timeless, especially their first couple of records. Youth of America in particular I think is a masterpiece. If I had to give 10 great punk albums of the 80s, I would have Youth of America in there. Nirvana covered three tracks off of Is This Real?, which came out on, like, an Australian CD EP or something. It’s more of a rarities thing. Certainly Cobain played homage to Greg Sage and the Wipers. Having the world’s greatest rock band covering three of your songs is getting some respect, for sure.

Do you have a particular anecdote about the Butthole Surfers that’s your favourite?

In retrospect I don’t think their records really hold up. I think their cover art was fucking brilliant, but really it was all about their live show. I remember seeing a show at the Social Tavern and there was this one period, maybe ’86, when they were touring and the drummer’s sister was playing bass, and she’d show up topless and then King Coffey, the drummer, would pour lighter fluid on the cymbals. It had almost a tribal, Burning Man energy to it. It was so over-the-top, and very psychedelic. And their shows were indescribable. A total free-for-all. You had to be there. Definitely a high point of 80s indie culture.

We all know them for their performances, but could you talk about their sound a little bit?

Gibby Haynes was a creative genius. He was one of the true characters of the 80s. One of the reasons I love the 1980s and I love so many of the acts in the book is that that period was pre-Nevermind, which meant that nobody was making money, and because nobody was making money the scene tended to attract pioneer types, risk-takers. Post-Nevermind, you had business majors starting bands and hiring attorneys before their first rehearsal. But before that you were drawing in people like Ian McKaye, Steve Albini, Greg Ginn, Henry Rollins, Gibby Haynes. These are pioneering types. Risk-takers. The 90s had some good songwriters, the 80s had the characters.

How surprising was it to see Beat Happening emerge?

I actually saw their first performance. It was in somebody’s kitchen, and Calvin jumped up and started performing on somebody’s kitchen top. I thought from the first moment I heard their stuff that he had a very unique take on punk. His take was, “I’m going to write these really disarming lyrics that seem like childlike lullabies but have this underlying sexual tension, and there’s a lot of double entendres.” His lyrics were brilliant, his melodies were brilliant. Couldn’t really sing on key. It was really quirky and really affected, but they were the ultimate DIY band. They had two instruments, which they borrowed – they didn’t even own the instruments – and they never rehearsed. They said that their rehearsals were their shows. I asked him “How much did your first album cost to record?” and he went, “Oh, a friend recorded it for free.” So here’s this band who don’t own instruments, don’t rehearse, they didn’t even pay for their own records, and yet their first album is being honoured in the book series 33 1/3. You’ve got the Ramones, Michael Jackson, the Beatles … oh, and Beat Happening. They toured with Fugazi, and some skinheads threw an ashtray at Calvin’s face while he was singing. There’s blood streaming down his face, and he doesn’t flinch. He just continues the song as if nothing happened. And I think that some of the rowdier fans of Fugazi, I think that Beat Happening got the respect they deserved from them. It was them going: “We are punk. This is who we are. We’re not going to conform or change what we do based on peer pressure.”

How did Run DMC fit into the 80s, in terms of bridging genres?

They were absolutely revolutionary. I remember hearing their first 12-inch, It’s Like That, which was a bit of a message tune, like Grandmaster Flash’s The Message. But what was even cooler was the B-side – Sucker MCs, which was beatbox, turntables and rhymes. Nobody was doing that – it was dramatically minimalist.

They come from a totally different world to most of the bands in your book. Was there a respect for them in the punk and hardcore scenes?

One of the interesting things, looking back at my column, is that I cover lots of different things: Metallica’s first record, hip-hop, punk, pop, experimental. I don’t think any other reviewer was covering such a wide gamut. And that’s because most music fans didn’t think like that. And a lot of my punk-rock fans couldn’t understand why I even liked hip-hop at all. They just didn’t get it. As an aside, I do know that in DC there was this really interesting kind of dialogue between Dischord, the label, and the DC go-go scene. I know that Minor Threat and Trouble Funk did some shows together. I know that Rollins was a huge fan of DC go-go. So in that sense there was a huge mutual respect.

Sub Pop USA: The Subterranean Pop Music Anthology, 1980-1988 is out now via Bazillion Points