Illustration by Britt Spencer
In 1975, a year before influential all-women rock outfit The Runaways dropped their first record, a group of teenage girls in Florissant—sisters Jane and Caroline Fujimoto, Stephanie von Drasek, Julie Benz, and Kelly Draper—started a band. They’d bonded over a mutual love of the Marx Brothers, Monty Python, and The National Lampoon Radio Hour. They had thought about starting a comedy troupe or a fanzine, but this was 1975—the year that the Sex Pistols broke. How could they not form a band?
Through a series of passed notes at McCluer North and Cross Keys Junior High, they landed on a band name. “My recollection is that we ultimately got down to ‘The Atrial Ventricular Nodes’ or ‘The Welders,’” says Stephanie. They took the latter as a stage name and had Marx Brothers characters for first names. “Mine was Punchy, and Caroline’s was Captain Spaulding,” Jane says. “The only one that stuck was Rusty’s (Kelly), after Harpo’s character in A Night in Casablanca.”
The Welders played their first gig in November 1976 at an all-ages club, Blueberry Jam, with borrowed instruments. Stephanie sang; Jane played drums and keyboards; Caroline played bass; Kelly and Julie played guitar.
Playing music as teen girls during the mid-’70s gave rise to comparisons with the Runaways. “We formed before knowing of the Runaways,” Rusty says. “When we found out about their existence, we were simultaneously fascinated and disappointed.” The Welders actually met the Runaways in 1977 at a record store release at Northwest Plaza. Jane still has her autographed album, and Joan Jett and Lita Ford, she says, were very encouraging. Still, that didn’t stop The Welders from penning “Debutantes in Bondage” in response to the Runaways’ “Dead End Justice.” That song was recorded during The Welders’ first studio session, meant to culminate in a vinyl EP. Instead, the label went bankrupt, and in 1981, the band hung up their Marx Brothers nicknames and instruments.
For 30 years, the world forgot about The Welders. Then, in 2009, BDR Records reissued the band’s lost EP, and The Welders played a reunion show to a new audience. “It was probably one of the largest crowds we ever played to,” Caroline says, “and we were actually appreciated!”
Today, there’s one last record in the works: an LP titled Our Own Oddities, with the four songs from the ’79 EP, live recordings, and various sundries gathered from “every dusty old cassette” they can find. In the meantime, you can see The Welders’ instruments and stage clothes at the Missouri History Museum’s St. Louis Sound exhibit, which opened August 28. Quips Caroline, “I can’t wait to tell people I’m so old, my pants are in a history museum!”
A Welders' Playlist
The Welders’ favorite bands—past, present, and future
Jane: “The last band I saw live was DIIV from New York. I’m also way into the Smiths and their guitarist Johnny Marr—I have a fansite on Instagram for them: @manic_pixels.”
Stephanie: “The thing that got my husband and I through the pandemic has been GWiz’s show, Traveling at the Speed of Sound, on KDHX every Saturday night.”
Rusty: “I’ve really gotten into overseas radio stations via Radio Garden… The last concert I saw was Psychedelic Furs at The Pageant.”
Caroline: “My very first concert was seeing the Ramones in Lebanon, Illinois. Some of my favorite concerts were seeing the Raspberries, Crowded House, Oasis, and 20/20 in L.A. … I went to see The Temptations at The Sheldon in 2019 and ended up running into Stephanie there.”
Bonus Tracks
A Q&A With The Welders
In 1975, a group of teenage friends in Florissant started The Welders—one of St. Louis’ earliest punk bands, and definitely its first all-girl punk band. They have been compared to The Runaways, who released their debut album the following year. But where The Runaways sang about being sexy mamas in their tight blue jeans, The Welders wrote snarky, hilarious songs making fun of the icky guys harassing them on the street, or about being a prude, or the cultural backwardness of the Veiled Prophet. In 1979, after playing around the metro area for a few years, they went into the studio and recorded an EP. After the label went bankrupt, the master tapes went down the memory hole, and The Welders—whose ranks over the years included sisters Jane and Caroline Fujimoto, Stephanie von Drasek, Julie Benz, Kelly Draper, Colleen O’Sullivan, and Lyla Turner—called it quits in 1981. In 2010, Matt Harnish and Jason Ross of BDR Records reissued The Welders’ lost EP. “Had this come out in 1979 as intended, it would be considered a classic of early midwestern indie records. The band had chops all around, and they could have been huge,” BDR wrote. “The EP was an instant smash, and they wound up on the cover of seminal hardcore punk fanzine Maximum Rock n' Roll. “ Studio 360 also gave them a nod, and now they’re part of the Missouri History Museum’s new exhibit St. Louis Sound, which runs through January 22. We talked to original members Jane and Caroline Fujimoto, von Drasek, and Draper about the history exhibit, the band’s history and (woo hoo!) their “last hurrah”: a new record called Our Own Oddities.
Can you talk about growing up in North County and attending McCluer North High School?
Jane Fujimoto (drums/keyboard): I loved my high school! McCluer North back then was a forward-thinking school with some great teachers. I could go to school wearing navy-blue kohl on my eyes and black orchid lipstick, a glitter T-shirt, and giant platforms, and no one would beat me up. We were all honor students, and in the very beginning, all of us wore glasses.
Stephanie von Drasek (vocals): I concur completely about McCluer North—it was very progressive for the time. Florissant at the time was nice, solidly middle-class. There wasn’t extreme income or class disparity, so everyone was more or less on the same economic playing field. There were places to shop and bookstores—I can think of three or four independents off the top of my head, plus the chains. Several record stores, plus discount stores that were presumably serviced by some pretty forward-thinking rack jobbers. I’m pretty sure I bought Raw Power at Kmart. It certainly wasn’t a hotbed of cultural activity, but once we could drive—or find friends who did—we were able to go to U. City for that.
Kelly “Rusty” Draper (guitar): My family moved, so I was at a school in South County. Being in a band and wearing the clothes we did didn't make me very popular there. In looking back at bands we know or knew of, North County, especially in the '60s and '70s, was a real musical hotbed—Pavlov’s Dog, The Good Feeling...
Caroline Fujimoto (bass): McCluer North was a progressive high school, and we had some great teachers. Jane went there before me, Stephanie and I were in the same year, and then I met Colleen in a choir class in my junior year. The North County area was a happening place when we were kids, with lots of movie theatres, stores, malls and restaurants. Jamestown Mall was the place to hang out, and we had some fun photo shoots there. Four of The Welders—Stephanie, Julie, Jane, and I—all worked as bus girls at a Chinese restaurant called Dragon Inn in Bridgeton, so we could earn money to buy our instruments.
The Marx Bros. were a big influence. Can you talk about other non-musical inspirations?
JF: One thing The Welders shared was a sense of humor and an appreciation for the absurd. Before we settled on being a band, we considered forming a comedy troupe or publishing a music/comedy fanzine. I got into the Marx Brothers through the Beatles and the Monkees. In fact, besides all taking Welders as a last name, we had Marx Brothers characters as our first name. Mine was Punchy, and Caroline’s was Captain Spaulding. The only one that stuck was Rusty’s, after Harpo’s character in A Night in Casablanca. We loved a lot of British humor, like Monty Python’s Flying Circus, Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, old 1960s movies like Carry On Cleo and Seaside Swingers.
SVD: There was also the National Lampoon Radio Hour, non-music magazines (Star, Glamour, Teen, New Ingenue, even Vogue and VIVA), Fredericks of Hollywood catalogs. Plus, we were all voracious readers. But ultimately, everything—fashion, aesthetics—pretty much always tied back to music.
KD: We were really big fans of the Marx Bros., like any average 13-year-old girl would be. We watched their movies, read their bios, and admired their absurdist, verging-on-surrealist humor and wit. It still holds up. We also enjoyed other comedic groups like Monty Python and the movies of old Hollywood and photographers like Hurrell.
CF: The Marx Brothers were by far the funniest of all the comics that used to be regularly on TV, like Abbot and Costello, the Three Stooges, the Bowery Boys. Please note that those comics were already from the olden days when we were kids. The last time we ever went out trick or treating for Halloween, Rusty and Jane dressed up as Harpo, and I was Groucho—no one wanted to be Chico. Rusty’s name was taken from a Marx Brothers movie character. We were huge fans and usually the only ones in the theatre whenever they would play those movies at the local cinema.
Can you talk about being “the Anti-Runaways?” Also, if you started in ’75, technically meaning you predate The Runaways, does that make you one of the earliest, if not the earliest, all-girl punk bands in the U.S.?
JF: The Welders started pre-punk; we thought of ourselves as a glitter band in the tradition of the New York Dolls or T-Rex. As soon as we heard about punk rock, we were right on board. The energy, the newness, the rebellion, as well as not having to play very well was perfect for what we were trying to do. It was a love-hate thing with The Runaways. We loved them and their music but hated the whole sexualized tough teenage girl image.
We actually met them in 1977, when they appeared at a record store in Northwest Plaza. I still have my autographed album. They were cool and encouraging, particularly Joan [Jett] and Lita [Ford]. We were all dressed in black, which was unusual back then—I think they might have copied us for their second album cover!
Our song “Debutantes in Bondage” is partially a response to their song “Dead End Justice.” The Runaways: “Sweet 16, a rebel queen, and I looked real hot in my tight blue jeans.” The Welders: “Sweet 16, a debutante queen, I looked real keen in my gown of crepe de chine.” We were lampooning both The Runaways and debutantes; we couldn’t believe that something as antiquated as the Veiled Prophet Ball was still happening in 1979! I don’t know about the others, but I felt a responsibility to be a good role model. I mean, you didn’t have to show your body or be a degenerate to be a cool rock ’n’ roll girl.
KD: We formed before knowing of The Runaways. When we found out about their existence, we were simultaneously fascinated and disappointed. At the time, there wasn’t much of a role for women outside of being a lead singer, especially for young girls. It felt like they had fulfilled the quota or ticked the box, and there wouldn’t be room for another. We found their lyrics and swagger laughable. The Welders mocked swagger.
CF: While we were formulating the concept of being a band in 1975, we didn’t actually perform our first gig until 1976, so I don’t know if that counts as being the earliest all-girl punk band in the U.S. Besides, who knows if some other girls in Kansas City were listening to Roxy Music and decided to form a band and performed at their local VFW hall. This was before cell phones, MTV, computers—we’ll never know. It wasn’t so much that we were anti-Runaways as much as we were really nerdy in high school. We would have fallen off the stage laughing if we ever tried to play the tough, sexy, vixen role. The image of The Runaways was the complete opposite of who we were: the bespectacled, Dean’s List, National Honor Society, bookish, picked-last-for-any-sports-team kind of girls.
Can you talk about your first live gig at Blueberry Jam and playing around the Midwest?
JF: We would have loved to have played more, but it was so hard to get shows. Our first shows were just a loud racket, proper punk rock. All we had going for us was attitude. Stephanie and then Colleen were both great lead singers—brave, sassy, and confrontational. We have cassette tapes of most of our shows—they are totally endearing and hilarious.
SVD: Blueberry Jam was an anomaly—an underage club in a Hazelwood strip mall. It lasted six weeks. Being underage precluded bar/club gigs, so someone had to be an entrepreneurial promoter for us to have a chance. I suspect that may have been part of what spurred the later move to VFW Hall shows.
KD: [During the first gig,] we were ecstatic. We had been asking bands to let us play on their break for a year, but inexplicably, they all turned us down. We didn’t even have our own instruments at the time. The crowd was receptive and encouraging. After that, particularly if we weren’t playing with other punk bands, the experience was what one might expect of a late ’70s, mostly male, audience. It was par for the course to be shouted at to “take off your clothes” or “get off the stage.” We knew to expect it and were armed with “witty” repartee.
CF: Our first gig at the Blueberry Jam was not only attended by our school friends but also in attendance were the band—The Moldy Dogs and rock star David Surkamp from Pavlov’s Dog! We faced outright hostility at some shows because the audiences were expecting jailbait rock like The Runaways, and we gave them smart-alecky punk rock comedy. It must have been disappointing for them. The other common reaction was getting no reaction, which would cause us to antagonize them by declaring that Ted Nugent was dead or comparing the club to a funeral parlor. I remember playing what I thought was an energetic song, and upon completion we got complete silence, so we all just turned to each other and started cheering and thanking each other.
Can you talk about the punk scene in St. Louis during the late ’70s and early ’80s?
JF: We got almost all of our influences through magazines and records. There was nothing like us locally when we started out. We had some good friends in the St. Louis punk rock scene, but for the most part it was a rather backstabbing, negative scene that we felt isolated from. It was not, for the most part, a welcoming environment. We had some great managers, Norman Schoenfeld and Jim Maresca at first, but they moved to New York in 1977. There were bands that were friends, like Raymilland, The Singapores, and the Moldy Dogs. But I think most people didn’t understand us or know how to react to a group of smart, funny, very loud teenage girls. When we were out together, dressed in our finest new wave clothes, we really did feel like the coolest teenagers in the entire bi-state region.
SVD: I don’t remember it being a particularly negative environment, so that may have been a later development. It was really a pretty tight-knit scene when we started out. We were indeed a novelty, and I agree—I don’t think we were always entirely understood.
KD: At first, we knew of no one who liked the same music we did, certainly none of our peers. We started hanging out in record stores to peruse the new records, buy music magazines, and perchance, meet people with similar tastes. This is how we met Norman Schoenfeld, a record store employee at the time; he finagled an opening spot for us with his friend Jim Maresca’s band. That was to be our first gig. They also introduced us to their friends, who also played in bands. Most of them were around 10 years older than us. Although they may not have been strictly punk, they could be considered proto-punk, like the Moldy Dogs and the Back Alley Boys. That initial small coterie of acquaintances were very supportive, but there still wasn’t a large audience for this type of music, so audiences were either perplexed, hostile or both. As time went on, more people got involved and the atmosphere changed. By late ’78/early ’79, things had become more competitive—big fish in a small pond syndrome. As a friend of ours stated, “The second wave didn’t like the first wave.”
CF: We were not the first punk band in St. Louis, but we were probably the first all-girl punk band in St. Louis. There weren’t a whole of punk rock/new wavers in St. Louis back then, so it was disappointing that there wasn’t a whole lot of camaraderie amongst us.
Can you talk about culture shifts since the era that inspired songs like P-E-R-V-E-R-T and the subversive magic of humor when talking about experiences like that?
JF: Unfortunately, what the #MeToo movement exposed was that hardly anything had changed—it was just less blatant. We had some real rage about things that were said and done to us as young teenagers—why not turn it into a cheer? We enjoyed making fun of actual perverts, but the lyrics are more abstract than anything we actually experienced. We were lucky in the most part that nothing awful happened to us, and that’s because we had a strong friendship in the band and we always stuck together in an impenetrable and intimidating pack.
SVD: WhatI don’t recall us ever discussing any experiences we’d had outside of shared ones. The stereotype of the flasher in the trenchcoat was common at the time, kind of a cartoon, and we latched onto that. Yet when actually confronted by a creeper with no pants in a car in front of my house, I just walked away. Didn’t tell a soul. My dad was even a Florissant cop at the time. Can you imagine? And it didn’t even occur to me to say anything. Today that event would be live-streamed.
KD: Although things are not ideal for women now, the ’70s were truly awful. Sexism and chauvinism were so casual as to be considered business as usual. For us, it wasn’t a question of whether or not someone would say something crude or lay hands on you; it was a given. Because of that, we always kept an eye out for one another. As for the songs, we took the advice all writers receive to write what you know.
CF: Well, as you can see from the #MeToo movement, things haven’t changed that much other than the fact that there is such a movement. Humor was a shield to be able to say what we wanted without eliciting anger from the male population, whether it was through song lyrics or everyday interaction. That was a time when men saying lewd things to girls was supposed to be a compliment, and if you didn’t take it as such, it was met with incredulousness or hostility. Having a humorous response diffused some of that indignation.
Can you talk about the experience of recording the EP? Then, what it was like watching BDR issue the record in 2010 and playing a reunion show with Raymilland?
JF: Recording that four-song EP at a 24-track studio was one of the best times of my life. I remember that we were all really “on”—very exuberant and funny. I think we did it over two days, and we were expecting big things—ha ha! What we didn’t expect was everything falling apart and the studio keeping the master. The recording was off a cassette copy that we had—shhhhh! I had almost forgotten about it and absolutely loved having a record of it out! The guys in Raymilland are still our best friends in the world, but we had somehow never played a show with them. Practicing for that show with the gals was fun. I remember that despite not seeing each other for decades, me and Stephanie turned up in the exact same outfit, down to our belts and shoes. It was easy to play those songs again, and the camaraderie was still there.
SVD: I wasn’t in on the EP recording, but the reunion show was an absolute blast for me. Rusty, Jane, and Caroline had stayed in touch, but I hadn’t seen them in 30 years, until shortly before we started practicing for that show. As Jane said, that camaraderie was still there, and it was the most fun I’d had in ages. It was great to revisit those songs and that energy with the confidence of an adult.
KD: Recording in a professional studio was exciting but overwhelming at the same time. It felt like a lot of pressure, but we definitely wanted to seize the opportunity. In 2007, when Matt Harnish and Jason Ross approached us about releasing it as an EP, we were astounded that anyone would want to hear it. As we’ve said before, we definitely weren’t feeling the love back in the day, so it was especially gratifying to see it be so well-received. Playing live again in 2009 took quite a bit of preparation for half the band that hadn’t played since 1980, less so for Jane and Lyla who continued playing after The Welders ended. It was great to play with our friends in Raymilland. A lot of friends from the early days attended, so it was a bit like stepping back in time.
CF: Recording the EP at a professional studio when we were teens was an awesome experience. We were under a lot of pressure to get everything done in two days. Steve Scariano and Bill Love were there to help produce the songs and give us moral support. Rusty and I met Matt Harnish and Jason Ross at the Saint Louis Bread Co. on Delmar in 2007 to talk about releasing the EP, and I was extremely wary and baffled as to why would they even want to bother releasing it after so many years. I was grilling them as to their motive, and it took a lot of convincing to get me to think about having those songs released. It was gratifying to have the record be so well-received after so many decades of sitting on a shelf.
We’ve had this running joke about sound checks because every time we performed, we were never given one. Since no one took us seriously back, then they probably thought, Why should they bother? So when we played the reunion show, I thought surely we would be given a sound check now that we’re old and hadn’t performed in over 30 years. But once again, we were denied. We joked that we were going to write a book called We Don’t Need No Stinking Soundchecks. On the plus side, it was probably one of the largest crowds we ever played to, and we were actually appreciated!
Even though Fanny and Ace of Cups predate The Welders, it seems like there’s a bit of an echo, with documentaries, album reissues, and all of this appreciation years later.
JF: Although I totally see the parallels, I can’t really identify with those bands. Both Fanny and Ace of Cups were musicians—we were more of a fluke, a fantasy that crazily came to fruition. And frankly, musicianship didn’t even figure into it at first. That’s why we identified with the punk movement; it was all about getting out there and doing it. It’s interesting that the thing that held us back the most was geographical. If we were in LA or NYC or London, you’d have heard of us. Now, with the advent of the internet, it’s both easier and harder to get heard and noticed. It's easier to put yourself out there, harder to be heard among the deluge of music and social media.
KD: Of course, there a lot more female musicians out there now, and it’s less of a novelty than it used to be. But when our single came out, there was an interview with Marnie Stern, who said she still had guys coming up to her after shows and saying that they didn’t know a girl could play guitar like that. That was 10 years ago, but it’s continued to change. With the popularity of YouTube, it’s not unusual to see female musicians playing music that was once deemed the domain of men. It does seem like many still feel the pressure to maintain this sexy persona but cast it as empowerment.
CF: Female musicians are not a novelty any longer, so when you see them playing in the house bands for late-night talk shows, being back up musicians, or the main act, it’s not that big of a deal any longer.
Can you talk about life after The Welders—and what might be planned for the future?
JF: The Welders are done. We’ve dug up every possible recording for our upcoming album, “Our Own Oddities.” I don’t think there will be any more shows—but who knows? I played in a dozen bands over the course of 25 years, mostly in Los Angeles. I lived out my dream of touring the country in a van and eating fried chicken from a gas station (not recommended). I stopped when I had my son Ringo in 2002.
SVD: Well, I never! Guess my performing career is over. :D
KD: I was rather burned out after we ended. We had spent most of our teenage years on the band for what seemed to be very little in return. I had also started college, so my focus was there, but I continued listening to new music and seeing bands play. Gathering up material for our upcoming album was a way of getting back in touch with our musical inclinations. We fell easily into having musical discussions and making decisions despite the intervening years. Nothing planned for the future. We’ve fairly well exhausted our recorded catalog with this album.
CF: We have our last hurrah coming up later this year with the release of our LP, which includes the four songs from our EP and recordings from a live show, practice sessions and from small studios. We’ve used up all the recordings we could find from our dusty old cassettes. If I ever get to retire from the working world, I would love to put out some of our recollections from those years because Jane, Rusty, and I kept diaries from that era and reading back on some of those entries are hilarious!
What are you listening to nowadays, and what bands would you like to see or would have liked to have seen in concert?
JF: Being the age I am now, I saw a lot of terrific bands: The Jam in a bar in Illinois, U2 at Washington University, Magazine in 1978. The last band I saw live was Diiv from New York—that dude has a gift for melody. I’m way into the Smiths and their guitarist Johnny Marr—I have a fan site on Instagram for them @manic_pixels.
SVD: Agreed, I’ve gotten to see most bands I wanted to see. I would have loved to have seen Aladdin Sane era Bowie; I didn’t see him until later. Wish I could have seen the Sex Pistols, Abba, Jayne County. I’m over the moon that I have tickets to see Sparks next year; I’ve had tickets to see them twice, maybe three times, and those shows never happened. Now I listen to the same stuff I always listened to. And truthfully, one of the things—maybe the thing—that got my husband and I through the pandemic has been G. Wiz’s show, Traveling at the Speed of Sound, on KDHX every Saturday night. It eased the sting of no live music. That’s what I missed most in 2020.
KD: I’ve really gotten into listening to overseas radio stations via Radio Garden. Most recently, I’ve been listening to Fontaines D.C. and Inhaler, both coincidentally from Ireland. I saw the Sparks documentary a few weeks ago, and I never had the opportunity to see them live, so that’s a goal. The last concert I saw was the Psychedelic Furs at the Pageant.
CF: I’ve always been a fan of soul, funk, and Motown, so lately I’ve been listening to The Seratones and Aaron Frazer (of Durand Jones and The Indications). I went to see The Temptations at The Sheldon in 2019 and ended up running into Stephanie there! My very first concert was seeing The Ramones in Lebanon, Illinois. Some of my favorites concerts were seeing The Raspberries, Crowded House, Oasis, and 20/20 in LA. I would have loved to have seen The Stone Roses.
What do you think about your inclusion in the St. Louis Sound exhibit?
JF: Now that exhibit is something I never would have guessed would happen! Our exhibit has some photographs, stage clothes, and instruments. We’re going to set up card tables in front of our exhibit and give impromptu talks until they throw us out.
SVD: At first, I was bemused, then bemused and excited. Now I’m pretty excited. It’s funny and rewarding to be recognized as a pioneer.
KD: I work with local history, so this is a bit of a dream come true, a “when worlds collide” moment. The majority of The Welders have an archival bent and saved a lot of materials from our time together, which gave [curator] Andrew Wanko more to work with. From what we understand, many groups had kept very little from their past.
CF: I can’t wait to tell people that I’m so old that my pants are in a history museum! Actually, no one from my workplace knows anything about my punk rock past, so if they ever find out, it’s going to clash with my staid persona. I’m really grateful to Andrew for selecting our obscure band to be included in the exhibit.
SVD: Jane and I met as pen pals. Caroline would courier notes daily and deliver them in science class. Jane was already at McCluer North; we were still at Cross Keys Junior High. All of those notes still reside in a very ’70s vinyl binder. One of them details the list of band names we’d decided to choose from. My recollection is that we ultimately got down to “The Atrial Ventricular Nodes” or “The Welders.” Given the recent developments to our legacy, I’m glad we didn’t choose “The Old Cow Died.”
