New Mosh Generation

"Did anyone call shotgun? SHOTGUN!" I yelled as we prepared to depart Cheeseville. Yeah, I took front seat and I'm not even in the band. The sun had just gone down and the chill began to rise, but felt good after breathing in spray paint fumes in the basement. Evan made a "RISK" stencil and he, Varg, and I sprayed each CD individually. If you got one, I wouldn't recommend putting it in a CD player you give a shit about; there's a good chance that stuff will chip off inside of it. I think the first 50 copies of the Risk demo will suffice as more of a collector's item. Just download it for free anyway: http://www.megaupload.com/?d=SBX7LJBP


Half-buzzed from a couple Old Style's and a hitter or two, Danny and I tried to find ridiculous music on the radio to sing along to. I think we hit gold with GNR's cover of Dylan's "Knockin' on Heaven's Door". I can never contain my laughter when Axl sings "Hey, hey, hey hey hey hey" in his overly-nasal style. We were all laughing pretty hard, trying to keep the chorus going and throwing in various other GNR lines into the mix. After that song, I jumped around the radio when I hit ELO's "Fire on High" which I switched off much to the chagrin of Evan who yelled and demanded I keep it on. I'll admit, it's a nice little piece of music...

After what seemed like an egregiously long ride, we arrived in the alley behind the Albion House. Two other vans were parked, hazards on, with the other bands carrying in their gear. We began to unload when I noticed a police car coming up the alley. For as long as I can remember, cops have made me uneasy, even if I'm not holding or doing anything that would warrant trouble. Always felt they were more interested in just fucking with people rather than the whole "serve and protect" facade. But we went about our business as they ticketed the van belonging to Like Rats and no one else. It's things like this that kinda legitimizes my paranoia. At any rate, we got everything safely inside, had a smoke, and went in search of food. Diego instructed me to a nearby Mexican place (tacos al pastor is my staple hc show food) but I couldn't find it, so we got falafel instead. We scarfed it down ASAP as there was no way we were missing Black & Blue, aka The Chris Schuman Experience. Chris is a dude whose friends I've known for years and vice versa. He comes from Elgin where I used to work, with several of his longtime friends actually. And in that interim of me being "out of contact" with the S-Wood Fam, Schuman and Diego befriended and now live together (Whipple Wimps). Anyhow, he was already drunk when we got there around 6:30 and continued to pound beers until they played. Since my dumbass left the Wild Turkey at home, I mooched beers off of Peach and Evan and even went so far as to drink a Four(not a Loko) to maintain the slight drunkenness.

B&B began a little before 8, with guitars feeding back and Schuman pacing around goonishly as a good hc frontman will do. He certainly looks the part. I couldn't quite make out what he said before they started, just that it ended with "we're Black and Blue! Fuck you!" Their style is straight ahead hardcore, fast but not too fast, with mosh parts but not excessive to the point of just being dumb. I remember in the first song Spider bursting out from behind me and doing his running mosh, which to those unaware, means "FUCKING MOVE". Evan came out to the floor, most likely to maintain his title of Chicago's number one mosher, which he did with ease and brutality. He even threw in a few spin kicks that caught a couple of people on the arm. Dude is a joy to watch if you find hardcore dancing interesting. Often times I'll be more focused on the maniacs in the pit than the band. And there certainly was plenty of action here, with Schuman dropping the mic and slamming various attendees against the plywood over concrete walls. During the first song, his mic got unplugged and the band just kept playing while he fucked with the cords. He re-electrified it just in time to finish the song in a dramatic move. After much pitting (not from me however) they went into a cover of Minor Threat's "Salad Days" and "I Don't Wanna Hear It", both to excellent reception. Their next song really grabbed my attention with the groovy guitar line backed by a raging rhythm section. I had no idea the title or words, but I hope to in the near future. Truly not bad for a first show.

As always, I stood outside with a drink and a smoke waiting for Risk to begin. Varg was out there, too, while the rest of the band set up their stuff. Varg does what he wants, don't forget it. I was somewhat surprised by the small crowd that night, however. There is usually a much bigger turnout, with the basement and backyard filled. I'm not sure where everyone was and I wasn't aware of another show that night. On the plus side, a non-packed basement meant one could actually breathe and not tempt heatstroke.

The blunt Evan lit up was intended for after the set as a celebratory inhalation, but he had the good sense to light it up right as the band started, announcing Risk's new mantra: "If it ain't gettin' puffed, your ass is gettin' snuffed." He passed it around to the band as they were tuning up, getting that tension going that I've come to expect from a good band. Danny passed it off to me then I to Schuman and that first crash was heard followed by that infectious bass line into "WE'RE RISK!" Unfortunately the mic went out, so Evan just sang with outspread arms. There was all sorts of mayhem and plenty of ignorant moshing. Evan's banter was just priceless, especially when he called me out as Risk's "only real fan". Big Wheel needs the publicity. Probably the first and last time you'll hear a Discharge cover out of them. Best moment by far was after one of their songs, Evan put up the "T" sign with his hands and took some sips of water. I yelled out, "There's no time-outs in hardcore, pussy!" He managed to spray a perfect mist of water right in mine and Schuman's face. Chris responded with a loogie shot perfectly into Evan's ear. Had he been lacking earplugs, that would've been a horrendous wet willy.

Their set reminded me of some MW lyrics:
"We are the army of drunks
Our weapons are set to destruct
We've come to punish all foes
Now it's our time to erupt!"

It appears the NMG is going to be fueled by alcohol, THC, and whatever toxic shit they put into energy drinks. Another awesome, unpredictably chaotic show from Risk. My only hope is they get more destructive with each set. Someone needs to promote utter foolishness since Duress ended...

After the set, I was approached by a super-drunk older guy from the "cornfields" who had that look of pure happiness on his face, the kind that actually manifests physically within the body. He raised his fist for me to bump and seemed highly appreciative of all the ridiculous action. I had never seen him or his two friends before, but he was telling me how much he loves these kinds of shows and that they never happend where he's from, wherever that is. Sometimes it's these interesting random meetings that make these so much fun. I went out for some air, which felt amazing after standing amongst so much body heat in that cramped basement. Danny brought the van back around and we proceeded to load it back up. I think I scored another beer from someone at that point and went down to check out The New Yorker, featuring members of Raw Nerve or something. RN's a pretty good band, much better live than on record I think. I think TNY would be the opposite. I recall it sounding cool, but not something I want to stand around and watch at a show. Schuman resurfaced at this point with a bottle of Jimmy from the liquor store which he so graciously allowed me to sip from, then he disappeared again, probably to puke then get more booze.

The only time I've seen Like Rats was their Black Flag cover set at the Albion House Halloween show. Turns out they don't really sound anything like BF at all. Their style is one of relentless hostility without sounding like typical tough guys. What I really liked about them is that their music is constantly ripe for moshing of all sorts without trying to be. It's not garbage "mosh metal" that's become so popular nowadays; it is what is without some stupid label that predicated the music. People were moving furiously for this band, including those aforementioned dudes from the boonies. I swear, one of them looked just like Grover Gil from A Christmas Story. It was a lot of fun to watch that little guy spin around and throw fists. At one point, one guy took a nasty spill and smashed his knee real hard on the floor. People went to pick him up but he yelled to be left alone and, like a fucking man, army-crawled out of the pit where he eventually pulled himself up and went outside. Like Rats finished out their brutal set to a great reaction from the (relatively) minimal crowd.

I think it was around this time that I ended up in a somewhat heated argument with Jeff Klepper about China. His stance was "Fuck China. They've never done shit", while mine was "China's always been more advanced than the West and will probably take over the world someday." It got kind of stupid but entertaining. We never finished our debate, but I think I had the winning hand. He gave me some of his Bacardi Raz (I did what I had to, alright) later on so it was all good.

In a brilliant move, we walked to the liquor store where Peach bought a 6-pack of Old Style tallboys; what a fucking lifesaver.

Razorfade was up next to finish out the night, their first time headlining in Chicago. I found it quite humorous that a straight edge band was playing after all the drunken debauchery and pot-smoking that went down. The singer, Carlos, is one friendly dude however, and member of the Streamwood Families. I've always enjoyed seeing them play, a blistering, ultra-angry youth crew style, with plenty of beats for dancing like a crazy person. I think they covered Minor Threat too (guess which song!) to a crowd of equally enthusiastic moshers. Carlos really tears it up in that respect, with his lanky arms and long legs flying at top speed as he runs back and forth fluidly. Best to stay out of his way. Other than their set at My Friends, The Pit earlier this year in Indy, this was definitely my favorite time I've seen them. It's interesting to not think of them as a "newer" band anymore. They've definitely become a staple of Chicago hardcore.

Unconscious Oppression

This is a poem by Ezra Pound entitled "Commission". This sums up everything for me. I'm sure there's thousands of words I could use to explain it, but if you read it, let it sink in and digest, you'll understand perfectly.


Go, my songs, to the lonely and the unsatisfied,
Go also to the nerve wracked, go to the enslaved by convention,
Bear to them my contempt for their oppressors.
Go as a great wave of cool water,
Bear my contempt of oppressors.

Speak against unconscious oppression,
Speak against the tyranny of the unimaginative,
Speak against bonds.
Go to the bourgeoise who is dying of her ennuis,
Go to the women in suburbs.
Go to the hideously wedded,
Go to them whose failure is concealed,
Go to the unluckily mated,
Go to the bought wife,
Go to the woman entailed.

Go to those who have delicate lust,
Go to those whose delicate desires are thwarted,
Go like a blight upon the dullness of the world,
Go with your edge against this,
Strengthen the subtle cords,
Bring confidence upon the algae and the tentacles of the soul.

Go in a friendly manner,
Go with an open speech.
Be eager to find new evils and new good,
Be against all forms of oppression.
Go to those who are thickened with middle age,
To those who have lost their interest.
Go to the adolescent who are smothered in family___
Oh how hideous it is
To see three generations of one house gathered together!
It is like an old tree with shoots,
And with some branches rotted and falling.

Go out and defy opinion,
Go against this vegetable bondage of the blood.
Be against all sorts of mortmain.

Words set in stone do still erode.

Writing is like performing an autopsy. You don't learn anything by scratching the surface. You have to rip the guts out, cut and weigh the vital organs, the skull must be sawed open and the brain carefully examined. Nothing is gained unless your hands are covered in blood and bile and viscera. Good writing is the act of exposing what's really going on under the facade of what we're restricted to perceive by the five senses. It is the act of creating by destroying, whereas mediocrity and works made for profit only are the opposite, by their conception, they destroy something worthwhile.

However harsh or painful, writing that is artistry draws out the real regardless of personal sensibility. It makes you think of things you don't want to, but should. It makes you realize why life matters by knowing that only death is guaranteed. One can only "feel alive" when death is no longer denied, and that we know our inconsequential place in the universe.




Though the sun shines, the wind grows ever colder. Winter shall soon be here, leaving the trees bare and the grass gray. I'm looking forward to walking alone through the snow at night, listening to this album by Darkthrone. The title track really comes alive when one is alone and on foot in freezing temperatures, wrapped in unforgiving icy winds. This song especially, with the guitars distorted almost to the point of pure noise while playing rapturous minimalistic melodies combined with the inhuman voice (drawing it away from mundane societal norms and into the harshness of nature) and unrelenting idiosyncratic blastbeats makes for the perfect winter music. Beauty is not something perfect, it is in the understanding and overpowering of raw ugliness.



Speaking of profound metal, this next song might be its pinnacle. I don't think I've ever gotten so lost in a piece of music as I have with "Det Som en Gang Var" by Burzum. It lulls you into a sort of dreamlike state with the gently distorted guitars over a smooth keyboard lines, then breaks into drums of war, the uprising of humanity out of primordialism into organized, warlike apes. Varg's tortured screams set against mid-tempo (techno-inspired) metal reflect a humanity that has lost all meaning of human nature, that seeks to shut out the cold, unforgiving world. But we can't, we're just a blip in the history of Earth, while it spins around like a giant electron, uncaring for our petty desires and needs. This music certainly isn't for everyone, but it's a bold statement of personal anguish in the face of universal decay.

It should be noted: I have no interest in Varg Vikernes' politics, just the music.

Now you know my name, but I don't feel the same.

Most of the time, after writing for about decade now and taking it seriously, I'm starting to think I have a grasp on how it should be done, however vague the notion, it's coming into the clear.

But still, sometimes, I really think I have no fucking idea what I'm talking about and that none of this makes any sense.

"future beef" - No one cares about the slaughterhouse cow. You like them after they're killed by someone else, washed clean, cut up and packaged for easy consumption. You'll like me better after I'm dead.



I hated the city for a long time. All the traffic, all the noise, and the fact that there are just too many people. When one is misanthropic, these things tend to keep you away. But over the years, I've gradually acclimated myself to enjoying it. A part of me even wants to move there. But how I long to hit the road and just SEE this enormous country and all the beauty and wonder that is still present. I've never been out West, never seen the vast wilderness of uninhabited lands, never seen a desert, the Rockies or the Pacific.

"Growin' old and I wanna go home..."

Let's get crossed out and come to harm.

I have a darkness, which frightens lovers away. Whenever I assist the
dying, I cannot help but absorb a tiny spillet of their existence. Over
the cycles, the endless parade of death... I've accumulated a vast
reservoir of evil. I cannot bear to lose the one thing that mitigates this twisted core of my existence.- Stark, Farscape

Where I used to see bitterness in my past over myriad mistakes, there are now only lessons. All that hate and regret and wasted time no longer sums up to despair, though it can never truly leave my head. The past hasn't changed, only my mind. Perhaps the greatest thing I've ever done for myself was lose my mind; I know how it can cripple oneself against the will in such strange contradictory fashions. A mind out of balance with its host has been adjusted, no longer spins in pointless, grinding cycles. This is not to say I no longer hate or feel pain, but that it doesn't leave me mentally paralyzed. Without pain and ugliness, one doesn't know pleasure or beauty, nor can see that they reflect one another and contain each others' elements (Yin in Yang, Yang in Yin).

"Governing by the light of one's conscience is like the pole star which dwells in its place, and the other stars fulfill their functions respectfully."
-Confucius, "Analects", Book Two, Verse One

Of course he was referring to governance of the Chinese Empire, but clearly understood that that microcosm reflects the macrocosm, that existence mirrors itself on all levels of reality, from the universal to the subatomic, and that knowing and fulfilling one's own nature is what makes humanity successful. We cannot aspire to copy others outright, we can only aspire to be our truest self, and henceforth, prosperity, in both the material and immaterial sense. We cannot be complete ascetics nor simple tools of government; humans in their respective societies are complex creatures and to find any value in life, we must understand these parts and balance them accordingly to our situations. The whole point of Confucius' works was that he idealized the template for humanity by pointing out there is no ideal template, no ingrained moral structure, and no divinity dictating our lives. There is us and only us, monkeys with language all alone on an indifferent planet, and we have to make it work for ourselves by balancing our faculties of reason, passion, wisdom, and courage.

Think of trees, as they grow, unprejudiced, towards the light of the sun.

The spirit of shirtless boy wanders from show to show.

11/12/10
Risk somehow managed to get on college radio at UofC. Peach and I left the burbs around 4 and after almost two hours made it to Cheeseville, and actually got a parking spot up front for once. Right before their practice set, I overheard Evan in mid-conversation say "Oh you didn't know?" The following phrase has been forever ingrained in my head so when I hear the former, I'm now naturally inclined to think: "YO ASS BETTER CALL SOOOOMMMMMEBOOOOODDYYYYYY!" Evan, in his infinite wisdom, decided to adopt that as the pre-introduction, to be uttered in unison right before "We're Risk!" To my readers both faithless and hypothetical, that was the catchphrase of the New Age Outlaws from late-90's WWF, which would announce the arrival of the Road Dogg Jesse James and the Bad Ass Billy Gunn. Chicago hardcore and vintage wrestling phrases being brought together? Sign this observer up.

So we loaded up and piled into NifeLheim and made the journey out to the University, and after a shitload of turnarounds, we managed to park right in front of the studio building. Campos was still en route, just a little Varg lost in the big city. I also noticed that since none of us wore cardigans, button-up shirts, stereotypical hipster glasses, or had weak beards or styled hair to look like it wasn't styled but just fell that way, we really didn't fit on the campus. Most of these types that attended here all had really stern looks on their faces, like they were trying to suppress a friendly demeanor, sans the radio guys, who were totally cool and into Risk's ridiculous antics.

When we got to the studio, the first band, SPANYURD, was setting up. I could already tell by how dramatically the bassist was slapping his instrument, that it probably wasn't going to be something I enjoyed all that much. We were in and out of the room, a few others showed up in support of Risk, and Varg was still "on his way". Peach and I decided to wait in the street for him and assure him a convenient parking spot. Whilst waiting, a school bus stopped in the street, put on its lights and opened its door. Normally when this occurs, people just wait for the pickup/dropoff. This idiot fucking cab driver, however, laid on his horn (like the fucking idiot he was) for the WHOLE TIME the bus was stopped. As much as I try, I doubt I'll ever fathom the depths of human ignorance and stupidity. Anyhow, Varg ended up parking a block or two over and we guided him through the labyrinth up to the studio where SPANYURD was in the middle of a "song". I stomached it for about 30 seconds before departing. I can only watch someone jerk off a guitar for so long. God knows how many noise bands I've seen doing the EXACT same thing. Ryan Wilson had showed up at that point, a dude whose band I've seen a bunch of times and talked to for a microt or two here and there, but never a formal introduction before tonight. We all bullshitted for awhile and continued to wander the halls until Risk was actually ready to go.

Ryan mentioned that he wanted to film the set so I gave him Peach's camera. I had originally intended on filming it, but I gradually acquired the desire to get a little moshing in, so big ups to Mr. Wilson for doing that. What follows is that video, and it mostly speaks for itself. These dudes Jeff and Cody thought it would be funny to encourage our friend Brett Zimmer to punch Evan in the face during the first song. I knew he would probably just do it, but they immediately offered him $20 to do so, which he gladly accepted. While they were testing for sound, a slightly intoxicated Brett took off his shirt, as he claimed it was better for the acoustics. But we all knew he was just being inhabited by the spirit of shirtless boy, who attempts to ruin shows wherever he goes. Thing about hardcore, though, is you're usually welcome to try to start chaos for a band, especially if they're close friends. I don't think shirtless boy was ready for Evan's hip-hop-kido expertise (he should have known by the intense freestyling that occurred before and throughout the set) and the video clearly shows the outcome of that conflict. Shirtless boy ended up bloody and bruised, but his attempted ruining of their set was a win for all involved.



On the way back to Cheeseville, Danny and I were up front in NifeLheim, where we witnessed a mugging at a 4-way stop. One dude was running to the cab stopped perpendicular to us where he tried opening the door only to be grabbed by the perpetrator who pursued him. They tangled for a few seconds right next to the cab before first dude was dropped to the ground, some contents of his pocket stolen, then second dude runs off with first dude now in pursuit. Ah, Hyde Park, lovely neighborhood. Another ridiculous night in the name of hardcore.

Ukraine is key to Europe

At some point around 2am on Thursday I had woken up to see a text on my phone from Evan that RISK would be opening at this show, making it their official debut. Peach offered to drive as they had planned on a quick practice at the cheese factory beforehand. After sitting through an hour or so of traffic we arrived at the Fulton Market around 6:30, unloaded the equipment real quick to the front door and proceeded to search for parking. I pointed out a spot in front of semi-truck right around the corner where Peach performed some highly shady parking maneuvers, including backing up into the HUGE truck behind him. After that minor ordeal we returned to their practice space, through the epic walk in freezer of seemingly endless gourmet cheeses (including some 8-year old Extra Sharp Cheddar, more on that later). I think it took more time to load everything in and down the dark stairway to the basement than it took for them to actually play. They set up and ran through their set once while I broke down weed for the remainder of the evening. Before I know it we were dragging the cabs back upstairs and loading them into "Niohoggr", formerly "Nifelheim". All the vans the company uses get their names from Norse mythology (Yggdrasil included). Now I've driven some "worn-in" work vans in my time but this one emanated noises from the engine and various bearings and connection points that began to sound more organic the harder the gas pedal was pushed, where it would usually take a second or two for the the gas to actually kick in when pressed upon.

We arrived at Summercamp a little after 7:30, where Danny pulled an epic U-turn on Kedzie to park almost right in front of the house. So we loaded out, smoked, and began to file into the basement, where maybe 20 people had gathered. Now I've only been coming to shows for only about a year and a half and am meeting new people at every one, but I didn't recognize 99% of the crowd tonight, and very young they seemed. I noticed while Risk was setting up, the several kids right up front socializing, slightly amused that they might not be ready for Evan when he grabs the mic and begins assaulting the crowd. And as I learned that evening, Evan's small stature and boyish looks (complete with Hitler Youth hairstyle) are just scenery; dude is a maelstrom of fearsome moshing violence.

Instead of just saying who they are, they turned it into a song: "We're Risk", that Evan screamed and then proceeded to attack us up front. He ran full speed, and due to his low center of gravity as opposed to mine up high he was able to push me against the wall...or where I thought the wall was. There was actually a closet there, door open, that I fell all the way into, smashing my shin on something on the way down, dented bones now on the left to mirror those on the right that I got about a decade ago when I slipped and hit my shin on a steel trailer hitch. I immediately got up and tackled Evan against the opposite wall, crushing others in the process, and then throwing him back up front in time for "Do Drugs". I was thinking of saying how it's refreshing to not hear a straight edge message, but grindcore shows and alcoholism/pot-smoking seem to go hand-in-hand, though Risk is pretty far from a gc band. They tore through their last 3 songs, the highlight probably being Evan pointing at people individually while singing "YOU! YOU'RE STILL IN MY HEAD!" followed by stomp-moshing, then closing with their Repos cover. First show success. Though Evan mentioned afterward: "I don't think these people like hardcore." They have a show coming up on the 27th @ Albion House (Black and Blue debuts), and it's bound to be far more destructive. Come get your face knocked off of your face.

We then disassembled the equipment and loaded the van back up, put everything in a nice order, tarped it and went and got some tacos at La Cocina, which I persuaded Varg into buying me. We returned filled with some damn good tacos al pastor, but we had missed the next band, so we stood out back, smoking and drinking NON-ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES. Hercules from Omaha played next. Having never heard them, I wasn't expecting anything, good or bad, but they really tore it up. Their music would shift between fast screaming over blastbeats into weird 70's arena rock style guitar riffed breakdowns, which I was surprisingly enthused over. That's one of the greatest things about coming to these sorts of low-profile house shows: you're almost always bound to discover for yourself a really great obscure band. Would totally see this band again.

Scare Quotes played after them. The super fast grind wasn't bad, but what was really great was being told how horrible I am in this world for being a straight white male. I was just overpowered and moved by own guilt. But seriously, I totally appreciate your stance, but telling a bunch of hardcore kids about LGBT equality is preaching to the choir. Have you seen some of the haircuts here? These kids don't care. "America fucking rules!"

We spent the next 40 minutes or so in the back alley, smoking (tobacco), drinking (root beer) and (apple juice). Ya know, I never thought I'd be in favor of banning any sort of drink, but holy shit does 4Loko make people obnoxious as fuck. Not that it bothered me; I thought it pretty humorous to watch dudes scream at each other while they're standing face-to-face and have it be a friendly conversation. Whatever band was next we missed as we stood out in the cold, sharing acid and mushroom stories with certain members of Socially Retarded and some strangers.

At some point we were back downstairs while Retarded was setting up, taking up a lot of extra space with Aleks' monstrous case of effects pedals. It seemed to take forever for them to actually get situated, all the while feedback was dreadfully humming throughout the narrow basement, creating that aura of tension, and impending disaster. What followed could only be described as "disastrous", but in the best possible way. I've seen SR 8 or 9 times now and I've never seen such belligerence from the band. It was absolute mayhem in that basement with the most senseless, ignorant moshing I may have ever seen. Jimmy was jumping off the bass drum, hitting unsuspecting fools with his guitar (not on purpose) all the while getting clobbered by waves of drunken goons. It appeared people were trying to hug or strangle Varg from behind. At one point, Aleks' entire case fell off its stand while still producing warped electronic tones and him standing there with a drunken smile, an effects pedal in one hand and his middle finger up on the other. The movement of the crowd was chaotic with people jumping and falling left and right. This one dude was on the floor and as I went to pick him up, he began purposefully convulsing, kicking his feet all around, "seizure mosh" I guess. Jimmy again mounted the bass drum only to slip and bring down a couple cymbals before jumping back up and smashing back into us. I recall him raising the guitar up and pressing it against the ceiling in a sort of triumphant pose while guttural noises erupted from the amplifiers pressing towards their threshold. Someone jumped on my back at one point (still not sure who) and we two-man moshed for a good 15 seconds through the maniacal crowd. I don't think I've ever been so enamored with being a mindless mutant among many others, having a great time at all our expenses. And as far as I could tell, no one got hurt at all. As their set ended and I thought the mania would cease, the singer Mitch turned around and charged me. Figuring I'd just go with it we almost made it to the very back taking out bystanders and throwing each other around like idiots. These guys have had some memorable performances, but they really raised the bar with this one.

We returned to the cheese factory around midnight or so to load everything back down in the basement, have a celebratory PBR, and eat some unbelievably good cheese: white cheddar and garlic dill cheese curds, basil colby, smoked string cheese, and what I've now found to be the greatest cheese ever, 8 year old Extra Sharp Cheddar. It just crumbled apart when pressure was applied, and I tried to eat as much of it as I could. It's kind of strange in a way, eating food that was formed when I was a sophomore in high school, but I didn't care, for its savory goodness far exceeds any sense of rationality or moderation. Beer and cheese is how every Risk show should end.

I like it here.

An interesting debate came up recently on the CHC forums, which I lurk but never post anything myself, regarding whether the local hardcore scene was some sort of unified movement or just a social club. By and large, I find it to be the latter, but I hold no judgment on that being a negative thing. Humans are naturally social creatures. Earlier in our history we were tribal-based; people adhered to groups of whatever their ethnic background was. But as humans dispersed and culture diffused, these disparate groups began to intermingle and form new entities. Thus it has ever been. Today's America, in its mindless pursuit of monoculturalism, has allowed for groups of more extreme-minded individuals to gather in its opposition. And so countless stubborn, conflicting viewpoints emerge over subjects that require logic and integrity.

The weird thing I've picked up on in hardcore is the potential for some sort of pointed, united movement to form from it, but the pitfalls that accompany such a formation (groupthink, close-mindedness, lack of empathy for others not of the group, etc.) are so disdained by those who would be members, that it's not likely to become such an organization. Of course, there are the subsets of crews within the scene (FSU, skins, whatever), but constitute a much smaller presence than in previous days. These groups are based on a certain exclusivity and a seemingly natural volatility. It seems most of the people in hardcore at large, aren't interested in a stricter scene of old where only crews could mosh (and you'd get a beatdown for stepping onto the dance floor). Like I said, it's a social club, but one with individuals more willing to stand up for their viewpoints and fight them out if necessary, still under the loose banner of "hardcore".

The views and ideas amongst us are so wildly different though. The music is about all that's communally agreed upon, but still, not everyone is going to like every band. That's what keeps the scene social and not...something more. Some people drink, some to ridiculous excess, some abstain all drugs (except for caffeine for whatever reason, definitely a drug), some don't eat meat or consume any animal products and write really angry songs about it. I'll just say, I completely respect anyone's decision on what they do or don't put into their body, but I don't think you promote any sort of "positive message" by NOT doing something. Some bands write almost exclusively about what they don't do, and I feel that then lacks a complete message. But it's not really my business to judge how you feel on a certain topic; that's your business, and if you can't make those words resonate with the music at a particular frequency, then I'm moshing to it, simple as that. Remember, friends, it's not about what we take into ourselves, it's what we put out into the world.



I remember that show being bogged down in controversy over a piece of paper that turned friends against one another. But I also remember none of that shit mattering during this 10 minutes of sheer ignorant moshing from the crowd and the ear-shattering set by the band. I really like how Evan's chain can be heard rattling through the wall of abrasive noise. I was ready for someone to lose some teeth, get a concussion, or have their jaw broken by 20 pounds of steel to the cranial area. Somewhere along the lines all this violence translated into solidifying the bonds of friendship. Most people would see this as insanity, idiocy, hateful or all three. To me, it was fun, and somehow meaningful. Words hardly do justice to the sensation of being at a show where both artist and audience go to great personal risk for a few minutes of enjoyment. Moreso, to find purpose in a country that has devalued so much throughout our lives. Once you start understanding the big picture of lies and delusion that constantly bombard us in ways both latent and innocuous, you start understanding the extremes that certain forms of art embrace, all the while stripping away the bullshit we've built in order achieve the illusion of comfort. It has always been the point of hardcore and metal music to try to find a real voice in a world beset everywhere by deceit. The music has to be loud, harsh, fast, invasive, dissonant, cacophonous, and unappealing to the masses, who seek to shun out the harsher aspects of reality. We can't shy away from the inimicable nature of our existence, we have embrace it and all the suffering with it, and that just can't be expressed in the context of social norms. How could there be any question about these genres of music and their logical evolutions in a world gone so neurotic, so fixated on bullshit idealism, a world where frauds have all the power and social respect, even though so much of their disingenuous nature is omnipresent? We've all been swept up and consumed by overbearing and insidious social institutions without context to their place within our own natural order. We're a part of the madness, and this is how we make sense of it.

Even though this show happened back in March, I still watch this periodically and am reminded of the that indescribable feeling of triumphant defiance against all those who would oppose, those who maintain the delusion of ideals and feelings over reality.