In Praise of Billy Synth
An artist’s ultimate purpose is to reflect the world’s greatest beauty. The archivists, the curators, patrons, and audiences of art bear a responsibility as they try to interpret and interact with artwork in a productive way. These individuals often fail, but those who don’t are beloved for their delicate balance, their dynamic ability to maintain a discerning palate tempered by a distinct sense of anti-elitism. One taste-making hero was Bill Stump, also known as Billy Synth. After suffering from complications brought on by a heart condition he passed away at 74 on August 23rd, 2025. What follows is an attempt to summarize Stump’s obscure, but important legacy.
Born William Frank Stump, Bill Stump came into this world on September 12th 1950. His early years were spent in Chagrin Falls, Ohio, with a short stint in Clearwater, Florida. For the most part Stump lived in Camp Hill, PA and other parts of the greater Harrisburg area. It was here that he made his name as the Svengali behind the 1970s underground rock groups Blue Ice, The Janitors, and Billy Synth & The Turn-Ups (whose most innovative work was immortalized in a psychotic music video and an even wilder mini concert doc.).
Though his impact on extreme music has been widely acknowledged by early punk fandom and contemporary noise music artists (including Wolf Eyes’ John Olson), Stump’s most influential contribution to DIY art & culture was the work he did as an archivist re-issuing obscure records by acts from the Vietnam era. The Stump collection’s most significant pieces were immortalized in his self-released 11 volume Psychedelic Unknowns series of various artists compilations which came out as LPs and CDS on the bizarre labels Scrap, Broken, Calico, and Dayglow Freon—all aliases for the same Stump-run shoestring operation.
1978 was the year that Psychedelic Unknowns discs first trickled out of Harrisburg and into the collective consciousness of sonic curiosity seekers from all over the globe via some of indie rock’s earliest DIY distribution networks. Psychedelic Unknowns’ birth coincided with the punk scene’s formative years and made Stump one of the punk genre’s first major archivists along with Crypt Records’ Tim Warren, Norton/Kramden Records’ Miriam Linna and Billy Miller, Bomp Records’ Greg Shaw, and Nuggets founder Lenny Kaye.
As Stump’s collection of vintage 45’s and LPs grew to a legendary scale, he soon found a second home at record shows throughout Pennsylvania and the mid-Atlantic US. I used to see Stump set up about every other month at these events during the turn of the last century. There he’d peddle his arcane music relics to like-minded collectors and anyone else who worshipped at the church of lo-fi obsession. I never had the spare cash or time to amass a treasure trove even close to Stump’s, but I’ve always had a soft spot for lovingly curated reissues of rare records including Psychedelic Unknowns. That’s why I was shocked when copies of the series were nowhere to be found in the bins that filled his table at an Arbutus, Md. record show circa the late-1990s. The confusion grew after I asked Stump if he had any more recently released compilation albums that featured 1960s garage/psych singles. His stern reply: ”Oh I never sell any reissues here, original vinyl only.” Stump was so dedicated to bearing the torch of garage rock authenticity that he wouldn’t even carry his own reissue releases.
Despite this moment of collector snobbery, Stump’s approach to compiling Psychedelic Unknowns was more organic than that of his DIY archivist contemporaries. While the Norton and Crypt labels strictly focused on preserving rock ’n ’roll made for and by young people, and Nuggets showcased garage rock’s one-hit wonders, Stump made sure to maintain a complete lack of stylistic gate keeping. He refused to let any single rock niche dominate Psychedelic Unknowns and, in the process, blessed the world with a breathtaking panoramic view of the grass roots music scene circa the 1960s and early-70s.
On Stump’s watch beer-guzzling frat rockers belting out sophomoric lyrics about cars and girls shimmied right next to big budget pop psych combos crooning out obtuse prose. Primal instro rockers were bookended by violent US fuzz punkers and giddy Merseybeat groups. Ambitious album cuts by bohemian psych explorers from SF, LA, Texas, and NYC shared close quarters with mutant bubble gum rarities, jangly folk rockers, and regional teen garage bands whose limited edition/private press recordings barely existed before Stump chose to revive them.
The album covers that contained these schizoid grooves were symbolic tributes that reflected Stump’s “anything goes” attitude towards curation. Early Psychedelic Unknowns album covers were chaotic yet whimsical cut-and-paste affairs, a random splattering of the cheapest duo-tone clip art and rub off-lettering that the late-1970s and early-80s had to offer. Later on Stump’s art became streamlined with digital layouts, lysergic Fillmore West/underground comix-style illustrations and fonts, experimental photography, and fiery full color palettes. Regardless of his budget, the imaginative packaging and track selections of Psychedelic Unknowns collectively formed the incredible art nebula that made each Bill Stump reissue mysterious, powerful and evergreen.