Inside a moderately-sized building in Nashville’s gentrifying-too-fast Wedgewood-Houston neighborhood, Henry Rollins confirms the rumblings that have been circulating in town: He is in fact a Music City resident. And he’s intent on giving back.
Over two
days last weekend, Rollins unveiled “Cool Evidence: Captured Moments From the Last Century,” a curated exhibit featuring select items from his personal punk-rock history collection. Free to the public, the event at the venue Radar615 drew lines a few hundred people deep, each of them eager to lay eyes on relics from a niche but impactful musical past. There were gig posters for Minor Threat, rare photographs of Iggy Pop, movie posters that inspired the Misfits, given to him by Glenn Danzig, and the Häagen-Dazs shirt that Rollins himself wore at his last straight job slinging ice cream.
“I guard all of this very jealously,” Rollins tells Rolling Stone during a friends, family, and media preview the day before the public opening. He says he wanted “Cool Evidence” to feel like a 15-year-old boy’s bedroom wall meets the Smithsonian, and he hoped it would overwhelm guests, leaving them disoriented as they walked away.
Rollins moved to Nashville five years ago, after four decades in Los Angeles, and initially bought a building a few blocks from Radar615 to house his collection and serve as de facto Rollins HQ. But after trying to navigate bureaucratic red tape, and at his accountant’s urging, he sold it. That building has since been demolished, but Rollins’ exhibit teems with punk-rock energy.
The Black Flag singer and leader of Rollins Band developed an appreciation for collecting as a teen in Washington, D.C., with his friend Ian MacKaye, future singer for Minor Threat/Fugazi and co-proprietor of Dischord Records. “I’m not trying to mythologize myself, but we’re these two last good men standing, in that we don’t lie. We don’t rip you off,” Rollins, clad in a black shirt, black Dickies work pants, and white On Cloud sneakers, says. “We can finish a sentence because we never got high, and we’re not dead yet.”
While putting up flyers as a teen for MacKaye’s band Teen Idles, they witnessed someone tear one down. Rollins says he felt as if the vandal was “trying to erase our history,” so he started keeping three of everything: copied cassette tapes, Bad Brains flyers, set lists. “What, you’re not going to take that?” he asks, incredulously.
As his reputation as a historian grew, Rollins, who describes himself as a “stuff person,” became the archivist for others, including the Cramps, which led him and MacKaye to unearth the punk-rockabilly band’s 1977 shelved album, produced by Alex Chilton. “Cool Evidence” prominently features the Cramps, via a busted drumhead, a handwritten sign for the group’s show at the Marquee in London, and assorted posters.
All of the artifacts that adorn the walls are encased in plexi-archival framing, which, according to Rollins, will last 100 years. But the framing, done locally, wasn’t cheap: Rollins estimates the whole endeavor will cost him six figures. “[The framers] see me and they’re like, ‘Oh my God, turkey dinner,'” he jokes. “But it feels vulgar to talk about money.”
The exhibit includes distinct sections that pay tribute to Rollins’ own history with punk, namely Black Flag, which he joined in 1981. There’s a photo of the band when they were called Panic and featured Keith Morris on vocals, along with a few original Raymond Pettibon drawings. But it’s the Stooges section that’s the most fascinating, thanks to Rollins’ status as the preeminent collector of the band’s items. “There’s hardly anything you can get now because no Stooges fan gets anything. It’s from my cold dead hands,” he says.
In the exhibit, Polaroids and other items obtained from Michael Tipton — who recorded the Stooges’ 1976 live album Metallic K.O., the masters of which Rollins now owns and wants to re-release — are on display. There’s an extremely rare photo of Pop putting on makeup before a 1968 show in Ann Arbor, Michigan, the only time the Stooges singer did so. Out-of-focus images of the band from Tipton in the early Seventies are also on display. “Who gets backstage with the Stooges while Iggy’s getting his hair together with an Aquanet?” Rollins says.
Seeing the exhibit come to life, and as organized as it is, is exactly what Rollins dreamed up while running on a gym treadmill years ago. “I’ve been thinking of this for years, and now I get to see what my idea looks like in the physical world,” he says. “It’ll take me probably another three years to figure out if this will work or not. I think the ingredients are awesome.”
As for what’s next, Rollins says he’s done performing music. “I’m not going out to do the first album again. I’ll have a heart attack,” he says. “Four wheezing men onstage – it’s pathetic.” He has a book coming out next March, which will take up most of 2027, and he may start teaching a class at Vanderbilt University.
Most importantly, however, he’s optimistic about taking “Cool Evidence” on tour. Honoring the history of punk has become something of a calling for Rollins.
“Fuck it, this is what I like to do,” he says. “I’m 65. I’m in the fourth quarter. I want to be a museum guy, an archive guy, a ‘give you your stuff’ guy, and my two primary fields of study: Stooges and the Cramps. I like reinvention — I’ve always benefited when I’ve stopped doing one thing.”
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