THINK! Column 1

i. can ya smell it?

Disappointed some months (pushing a year?) ago at the various reactions and soundbites regarding Hardcore Band A and Hardcore Band B doing "Hardcore Band" things, I incurred the memetic damage and ruminated, holistically speaking, and now, a scant 8 months later - again, read elsewhere, time is meaningless, save the record keeping for the punchout clock, I spent those months working sixty hours and tearing my knee apart and grieving the loss of my best friend, and maybe, perhaps, this is all meaningless in the grand scheme-of-Things - I believe my disappointment warrants explanation and now We find Time.

Disappointed, not, I should clarify, because of any doubt regarding the facts of the case. They happened, we know this. Disappointed instead because of the explication amongst my Hardcore Punk fellows far more aligned in vision, focus, intention, aesthetics, et cetera with myself than the accused, that the actions of Hardcore Band A and Hardcore Band B were somehow in fact Hardcore Band behavior, as though these behaviors were not rampant amongst Punk Band A and Punk Band B and Punk Band C, and likewise speckled and spattered amongst the Grindecorers and Power Violent and Bicycle Messengers and Vegan Lawyers and the list is thousands long (though, presumably, not the way FILTH envisioned).

There's no names named this go 'round, because I've named them a million times and will a million times more, but it's a grave danger to assume that this is an Elsewheres problem. As we await the downfall of embarrassing bands with embarrassing web presence, circling the tent before we all point and laugh at the clowns, keep an eye on the danger just as likely found in our own backyards, personified not by strangers, but friends and confidants with bad haircuts and questionable chord progressions all the same. The depressingly banal truth is how evenly spread said behaviors are across all subculture and, indeed, all culture and all life.

ii. are you listening?

The big project this year was to work my way through three lists: the Pushead 100, its successor - Best of the 90s DIY Hardcore according to Prank Records, and the Wire's "100 Records That Set The World On Fire (While No One Was Listening)," all distinct, yet surprisingly "in conversation" visions of What constitutes What demanding exploration. The project's purview was inevitably expanded to include the Wire's 30 album addendum, as well as all records granted the illustrious Five Mic designation by Source Magazine, but was delayed (read: abandoned) due to being a piece of shit, instead wiling away the months pulling pud (and, being charitable to myself for once, recovering). Every couple weeks, I remember this goal and, as I'm unemployed for another 3 months, I have absolutely zero reason to abandon (read: delay) this project any longer (save for an unyielding compulsion to pull pud, get the man a straitjacket!)

I've listened to the first six albums (two a piece from the initial three lists) so many times at this point that I probably don't ever need to listen to them ever again. Pushead's first two entries fucked up the curve for their cohort. What possible hope for legitimate pantheonic consideration can utter dreck like MEATMEN and SOCIAL DISTORTION have weighed against two of the greatest hardcore punk records ever conceived, included solely because Pushead balked at the idea of frontloading 7 consecutive records by the same band and, presumably, because he had never heard NOG WATT or the COMES at the time of publication?

Like a father confronted by the Old Testament God, Pus-y chose just one child: the "Fight Back" 7". Frightening, prophetic, the blueprint for a million would-be could-bes, no one has come close to replicating the message and mayhem of this record, and no one ever will. Likewise, despite their shirts adorning the barrel chests of now-erstwhile edgemen's high-gloss press photos for decades, the seeds spilled forth from the bitter fruit of SSD's "Get It Away" were smothered by the saccharine shade of GORILLA BISCUITS and UNIFORM CHOICE. Springa's unhinged ramblings over Barile's trademark crunch, the whole affair over and done before you know what hit you, they should have retired the trip Xs like a fucking jersey after Al died.

Fast forward a decade or so, Prank is here to educate. The 90s has always been unfairly maligned as an outlier in the Hardcore Punk timeline, forced repentance for pop-punk breaking into the mainstream and a greater emphasis on earnestness and feelings, but if INFEST, CROSSED OUT, and CRUDOS have failed to convince, it's unlikely IN/HUMANITY's "the Nutty Antichrist" will do much to drag you yobs closer to enlightenment. Of the six cuts in question, it's my least favorite, though not remarkably so. It's loud and chaotic, a forebear to the skinny white belt anemiacs still to come, with a petulant sense of humor and penchant for quirky samples, but once some of the songs hit 2:30 I start looking for the skip button, amusing when we consider the two track "No Reason Why" 7" by Japan's JUDGEMENT. Both clear that mark, but once the extremely 90s melodic intro finally wraps the fuck up, they hit the gas and never let up. Utter and absolute maniacism, and a pleasant start to this crash course of mostly unexplored territory.

While the Wire 100 mostly falls outside of this zine's purview, Martin gave me free reign, so blame him. An anecdote: one time, a mostly spoken word track of PIERRE AKENDENGUE's came on at work and got vetoed, but they were all fucking theater kids, preferring Sutton Foster's rendition over "Anything Goes" over Patti LuPone's, so what the fuck do they know anyway? Pete's "Nandipo" is a beautiful record start to finish, though I admittedly lack the critical language necessary to successfully contextualize it amongst its peers. For idiots like you and me, imagining some of these cuts in a mixtape nestled next to groups as diverse as 15-60-75, PARLIAMENT/FUNKADELIC, or ALGEBRA SUICIDE helps the brain grow strong.

I would imagine most of the assembled readership would be quickest to emulate the fucking theater kids transgression re: "Shooting At The Moon," the 1970 long player from KEVIN AYERS & THE WHOLE WORLD, but you'd be wrong and foolish. And dumb. A background spin may imply some degree of highfalutin, post-Woodstock, proto-AOR wankery, but every successive listen has revealed more and more. Sinister inclinations and heartbreak unrecoverable, the last dying breaths of the nuclear family, the soundtrack to societal collapse, the last flash of light before you get snuffed in a Michael Mann flick.

(The boss is breathing down my neck! Nearly 200 words over the line with still so much more to say! Til next time, True Believers!)