"Most interviews are boring, but this one's fun," 16-year-old Daniel mumbles into the ocean breeze as his fellows trudge behind him. "Because we're going to go play video games." Then, like some carefully-orchestrated military operation, they swoop across the sand and descend on the video game arcade they'd scouted earlier in the day.

Hanging out with silverchair is like taking your kid brother and his pals to the park for mom. They deftly deflect evertything you want to say right back at you, or stand by calmly as your comments fall flat. You want to talk about Big Issues; they respond with cryptic inside jokes. So you find yourself babbling about your own awkward teen experiences in hopes of striking some common ground; a kind of conversational pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. If there's some ulterior motive to their evasive manuevers, they aren't letting on. And always, there's the nagging suspicion that somewhere behind the non-committal shrug and facetious banter, they are simply laughing at you.

"Ah, but they're 16," laughs 28-year-old Tommy Stinson, who was Daniel's age when his old band, the Replacements, hit the punk world with Sorry Ma, Forgot To Take Out The Trash. "They could very well be in their 16-year-old bubble and not have a clue. I mean, I guess people tell them, 'You're doing really great' and this an dthis. But if you're playing gigs and having fun, it's like, 'Whatever... Just make sure I get to the next gig and we have more fun.'"

"Sweet Little Sixteen", "Teenage Ruse", "Teenarama", "Smells Like Teen Spirit". From the '50s onward, rock'n'roll has been for teenagers. But rarely have teenagers made rock'n'roll. Each of the above songs was written by someone who had left their teens far behind. There have been exceptions. Little Stevie Wonder was 13 when his first album came out in 1963; Tanya Tucker was only 14 when Nashville dressed her up as an underage sexpot; the Runaways were 15 when they left home to become proto-riot grrls; Carl Wilson was 16 when the Beach Boys' Surfin' Safari hit the record shelves. Some musicians began their careers even before puberty: Michael Jackson was 9, the '80s hardcore trio Old Skill hadn't yet hit their early double digits when they recorded Get Outta Schoo, and Frankie Lymon was just 12 when he joined the Teenagers.

Recently, a slew of new musical youth have appeared: In addition to silverchair are such lesser-known bands as Boston's Heavy Friends (fronted by 10-year-old Ian Clark), Ireland's Ash, San Diego's Unwritten Law and New Jersey's Stinky Puffs (led by 11-year-old Simon Fair Timony).

Sixteen-year-old Ben Lee, off Noise Addict, shares his age and native land with the meenbers of silverchair, but he insists that his group and theirs come from "as far different poles as you can within a sort of underground scene." Ben's first solo album, Grandpaw Would, came out on the Beastie Boys' Greand Royal label earlier this year and features guest appearances by Thurston Moore and Liz Phair. On a recent Los Angeles radio talk show, Phair described Ben as a little "gentleman".

The members of silverchair are not "gentlemen". In between heats of Cruising USA, Grand Prix Star and Indie 500, Daniel impishly denies that anyone has bought silverchair's debut album, Frogstomp, either in America, where it has been certified gold, or in Australia, where it has gone double platnium. He dismisses a group of guys who gush over him while his virtual car sits idling, insisting the only reason they know of silverchair is that they work at the band's label. Low self-esteem? Not likely; the self-possessed idealism that smolders at the heard of the group's Seattle-style debut hit, "Tomorrow," rules that out. False modesty? Daniel's giggling response to queries about girls make that seem unlikely too.

Where silverchair has studiously ignored teen magazines and carefully avoided making adolescence a selling point, Sydney native Lee approaches his budding music career a bit differently. He laughts off his own relative success, joking about appearing in the Aussie teen mag Girlfriend, and dismissing his interview with Liz Phair in Australia's Sassy-esque Spunk magazine. "It was really corny," he says. "But, hey, you've got to sell those records."

He may kid around about the Business, but when it comes to the music, Ben is very clear. "When I look back over the last couple years at the things that stand out, it's not that I've made a bit of money or that I've got, like, a new guitar or something. It's that I've made Grandpaw Would and also this new Noise Addict record. As far as goals, I reckon that's the bottom line: putting out the tunes."

Though obvious comparisons between him and silverchair have been drawn, Ben distances himself from his neighbors to the north- in fact, he's actually dissed them in print. Today, however, he says, "I'm happy for them I'd rather see silverchari doing well than Stone Temple Pilots [well, does that say much? I don't think so...]"

Ben's parents, a health care worker and a Sydney city councilman, support their son's endeavors. "We know quite well the people Benjamin works with," says Eleona Lee. "They've been to our house and we've had a lot of conversations. I don't always like the milieu of the rock scene, but you bring up a child and you instill values in them. Benjamin is very sensible and he knows what's what. So whilst I'm concerned, I'm not worried about what he will do."

"In the beginning," says Ben, "my parents were like, 'Music's all right for a hobby.' But then they saw how in the last generation or two, it's actually become a pretty lucrative business. They're just not from that world, and there's no way that you can explain pop culture to someone if they haven't experienced it. Like, I didn't have a famous parent or anything. Everything I've done, I've done myself."

Simon Fair Timony, of the Stinky Puffs, did have a famous parent- sort of. His step-father, Jad Fair, is one-half of the legendary (and defiantly obscure) indie-rock band Half Japanese. And Simon's mom, Sheenah, raised her son in the theatrical household of the Residents, the San Franscisco avant-rock band known for their surreal musical deconstructions and the mystery succounding the band members' identites. At four, Simon was introduced to the guitar by the late Phil "Snakefinger" Lithman, a Residents accomplice. Until that time, Simon thought all adults put out albums.

When Simon was five, Sheenah and her new husband Jad Fair moved to the East Coast, where Simon was surrounded by members of Sonic Youth, Gumball, and Yo La Tengo. During Nirvana's In Utero tour, Kurt Cobain took a shining to Simon and promised to work with him someday. After Cobain died, Simon wrote a touching ballad about their brief friendship called "I'll Love You Anyway." Cody Ranaldo, the nine-year-old oson of Sonic Youth guitarist Lee Ranaldo, was an original member of the Stinky Puffs.

Sheenah, who plays drums in her soon's band, believes it is important- though not essential- that patents encouage their children. "We can't all have supportive parents, and God bless those kids who have to work that extra bit to make it without parental support," she says. "I was lucky, because my father was a beatnik jazz drummer. Simon's a fourth-generation bohemina- so he's got mega-giant support." silverchair's parents are far removed from the San Franscisco Beat Generation- more Sabbath/Zeppelin than Cassady/kerouac. Although supportive of their kids' music, they choose to remain in the background, neither fussy stage parents nor fuddy-duddies who dismiss silverchairs' music as noise. Chris' father, David Joannou, owner of a laundry/dry cleaning business, and Ben's dand David Gillies, a plumber, actually made some noise themselves in local bandsduring the 1970's. Daniel's mother, Julie Johns, is the point parent, keeping track of where music-business currents are taking silverchair. The moms and dads alternate going on tour with the band, but let their kids do all the talking (so to speak) when it comes to media.

Tommy Stinson's mom approved of the Replacements, but only out of desperation. "My mother was supportive of the band because my other prospects at the time were pretty bad," he recalls. "I was a thief and I was going to jail for things. She thought it was a positive way to keep me out of trouble."

Stinson never considered going to college.. "I've never had a job. The only thing I do well, I think, is music." For Ben Lee, university looms in the future, and the members of silverchair plan to complete their High School Certificates (the Australian equivalent of a G.E.D.) before pursuing music full-time. Simon Fair Timony had never really thought about higher education. "I like science and logical things," he says. "but I don't even know what they do in college."

Stinson's voice takes on a wry tone. "Looking back, I think, 'Oh, it would have been a smart thing if I'd gone to school and maybe had something else going on.' Putting all your little ducks in one basket can be scary. But back then I wouldn'tt have given two shits about it."

With punk rock already grist for the retro-mill, it's easy ot overlook the music's real impact. While debates may rage about whether the Offspring are legimate heirs to the Clash, the real punk legacy lies in the fact that anyone- even an 11-year-old- can find a niche to express himself or herself.

"I'm very pleased that more and more kids have access to this form of expression," says Shennah Fair. "It's interesting. For a while it was exclusive to the white male, and then along came the women, and now the children..."

The Stinky Puffs' upcoming album, Songs and Advice For Kids Who Have Been Left Behind, is for children who've sufferend loss. "First, Kurt died, and then my step-father said he's be back in a few days, but hhe never came back," says Simon Fair Timony. "That was a real bummer. I don't know, school was hard, and all the stuff was happening- the Jad thing, the Stinky Puffs. So what I'm trying to do is get through this stuff by writing it down."

Stinson was part of the generation that helped make it possible for Simon to work out his feelings in his music; for Ben to laugh about his business savvy; and for silverchari to snigger at it all. The advice Stinson offers comes from the old school, and he knows it.

"Have a good therapist. Get a good lawyer," he laughs. "I dont' know. I couldn't possibly have words of wisdom, because I was totally in a different place. I would say something that any other adult would say: 'Keep your head on straight, kid.'" After a pause, he adds, chuckling. "That doesn't really hit you as important until you realize you've lost your head. And then it's really sound advice."

Back at the beach, the members of silverchair are slurping faux-cocktails. After passive measures have failed to elicit any real commetns from the band, grilling them pop-quiz style proves only marginally more successful.

"I wanted to play football," Daniel confesses when pressed for aspirations other than music. "Rugby League."

"Kind of the same as American football," Ben explains. "Like the gridiron- except the balls would be bigger."

"...it's the same, but, like, completely different," Daniel says, attempting to diffuse the revelation that he's ever had any inclination toward jock-dom.

"Jock?" he says, leery of alien slang. "What's that mean?"

"That means that you're a sporto-like..." Ben , the voice of reason, translates. "Tough guy-like... You wear those big things that make your balls and your dick look really big."

"I don't have to wear one of them," Daniel sslurs, and then disintegrates into giggles. Now confident he's got his bearings, he answers soberly, "No, I'm not a jock. You're a jock if you like ffootball. Page Hamilton [of Helmet] likes football and he's not a jock- he's a legend."

For all their jocularity, music is a serious business for silverchair. You can hear in in the reverence with which Daniel speaks Hamilton's name, and in the awe-sticken "Really?" that Chris gasps when someone mentions that the lead track on Frogstomp, "Israel's Son", sounds like Helmet. And though it's also clear who the rest of their musical mentors are- Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, et al.- the passion with which silverchair play their music is completely their own. But they'll be damned if they let you in on the secret.

from IUMA