Address blind faith.
Challenge hypocrisy.
Correct ignorance.
Wherever you go.
It took years, but I now relish it when my ideas are challenged and people tell me I'm wrong. One's conceptualized thoughts can only grow so much inside the mind; they must be put out there, they must face defiance. Without rivalry, stagnation occurs. Without enemies, there are no heroes.
All things maintain a natural aversion. Best not to try to escape it, lest we lose our own reflection.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
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..."
Thursday, November 18, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
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.
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.
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