Hey, y’all, I have not been blogging as much here lately. I had a lot of big ideas and let them mostly get away from me. Mostly too exhausted to get to work and have mostly been reading old zines I have bought on eBay the past few weeks and filling in blind spots. If you have a few spare dollars, I would recommend blind-buying a random zine. It is a fun way to jump into random moments in a subculture. I bought two issues of Pains. It is from about 2009 or 2010 in Toronto. I have already discovered how hard it was to find music online from that time. Some reside on Bandcamp; for others, I would have to spend money on Discogs.
I am getting away from myself. Last week, I published something on the hardcore blog No Echo if you are interested in reading it. Lately, I have become fascinated with Chicago punk and hardcore, which were in the 80s. So I talked to my friend Doug Ward, who was getting into stuff around 83 84. What you see is only a tiny portion of our chat. There was one little tidbit I felt like sharing with whoever came across this page. It was a random aside that came up when I mentioned Fireside Bowl and one that did not feel right to sit on my Google Doc. Here it is below:
"How Fireside Bowl gets started goes back to Underdog Records. Underdog would have our weekly meetings on Monday or Tuesday. Russ is still around but not as involved in Underdog. He had found Fireside when it was just an empty bowling alley. After our meetings, we weren’t too far from Fireside. 5 or ten of us would go over there. It looked like it was dead. Beer was 3 dollars a pitcher, and nobody else was there. That started happening, and then Russ stopped doing Underdog. We would go there once a week. There was no jukebox or music or anything. He’d been getting into the first wave of retro nostalgia for tapes. He put out a fanzine called 8 Track Mind.
So he would bring a goofy eight-track and start putting in eight tracks so that they would have music. A lot of the eight tracks were disco stuff. That had been happening for a couple of months, and more and more people started coming. There was a TV show called Wild Chicago on WTTW. It was a half-hour show where they would find something zany going on in Chicago. The original had a pith helmet like he was an explorer. He heard about disco bowling. He went and did a bit of bowling at The Fireside with Russ and his 8-track tapes. Because people knew he was coming, they camped it up a little bit. They did the bit, and more and more people started coming.
There are no shows. One of the people involved in bowling was doing a cable access TV show, and she wanted to do a fundraiser. She asked the guy if he could have bands play here. He said no. Eventually, she talked him into it. It was a weekend thing. They put risers out on the four middle lanes of Fireside. It was a big hit. Other people got excited about it. About that time, Jim’s dad retired. A few different people were putting on shows, and it took off into the 90s when it became a thing. Once again, Russ Forester and Underdog Records had our hand in getting something going, although indirectly."
It is 2024, and I am in my apartment in West Town, playing Tony Hawk Underground once again. I can hear the constant hum of helicopters and the rumblings of Ashland Avenue. It is a neighborhood that has people either flaunting extravagant wealth or Latinos who have lived there for decades. I know every crevice of the game. I can probably speed-run it if I am bored enough. When I was younger, each crevice of the game felt endless. It was the first time you could come off your skateboard. I look through the playlist and see a smattering of songs that bring me back to some time that doesn’t exist. As I listen, I remember Armageddon is on the soundtrack, one of the singles from Alkaline Trio’s album From Here To Infirmary. I now know the context around that record. It was their vagrant record and one that would catapult them. But then, it was just a song I would hear while on Fuse and video games.
For several months, I have been trying to get myself to like their newest record. Even the name itself makes me cringe. What in the hell made them decide Blood, Hair, and Eyeballs was a good name? When it came out in January, I stopped halfway through. I was not about to waste my time any longer on something that gave me no joy. I found absolutely nothing redeeming in it. One song (Hot For Preacher) was awful, sprinkling in some cheap chorus. I am usually pretty opposed to using whoa ohs as part of the main hook. It strikes me that you are out of ideas or are just lazy. I was again faced with the inevitability that every band I once loved would disappoint me. Just give it enough time, and even Jeff Rosenstock will become a little corny and hard to listen to at times.
Alkaline Trio’s issue of the last twenty or so years of middling records is not special. It has become normal as punk continues to get older and older. When I discovered the genre in 2003, it was only twenty or so years old. There were simply no bands that had existed for almost 30 years. Now, many of the founders are either embarrassing to claim or have died in recent years. Becoming a legacy band is an oxymoron. In my idealistic worldview, every band should have an expiration date. Most canonized punk records were made by teenagers or people in their 20s. While everyone is welcome, it is not about some old punks holding on to something that has long faded. It should be egoless to some extent, eventually letting a younger generation carry it forward. But that is just not the case, as we see with NOFX taking every ounce of money possible in their “final” tour when they haven’t made any relevant music since 2004, when Fat Mike led rock against Bush, which was an awful era for punk, in my opinion.
I was still going to keep trying with Alkaline Trio, though. I had been listening to them in some way for most of my conscious life. I still remember my college roommate showing me the Asian Man Records era stuff when I was 18. It was a period of music discovery I look back at fondly. Hearing Goddamit was revelatory; I am aware that I am being hyperbolic. It was something I could identify with closely. I think of them in tandem with Lawrence Arms—their songs, while about relationships, connected me to Chicago punk’s past. “Goodbye Forever” mentions Fireside Bowl and US Maple, a band I tried to like because of the mention. I would then etch certain lyrics into my skin. I still remember belting the words to 97 with my roommate while those around us looked confused.
As I continue to revisit Blood, Hair, and Eyeballs, I still struggle to connect. Those early years of the band when they didn’t exactly know what they were doing still linger with me. It feels silly to be nostalgic for a period I wasn’t there for. I watch old Fireside clips and watch them play Cooking Wine and try to place myself in 1998. Am I just searching for some part of me that can never return? The early years of Alkaline Trio are full of imperfections. ‘97 itself is full of weird decisions. It starts with an impromptu jam that the band usually cuts out now when performing. It makes me emotional every time I wait for the buildup to “I’ve got it now/thorn in my side the size of a Cadillac.” The lyrics are also funny, given that it’s about Matt Skiba being busted for weed. That initial charm would slowly chip away, and I don’t mean that negatively. Skiba would learn how to write compact pop songs that make it possible for them to be a band still.
As I am on listen five or six of the album, I wonder if the problem is me. Am I better than some comic book or Star Wars nerd who gets annoyed that some adaptation doesn’t fit my standards? If this record had been released by someone else, would I think it would have been good? I feel possessive, wanting more from musicians who have given me so much. This frame of mind extends to every band that reunites, hoping that no album comes out of it. I don’t want some built-up legacy to be tarnished. It is some sickness that comes with thinking about art way too much, with most conversations with friends revolving around music. But there is very little mention in these conversations that there are people behind these things we love. If you make things for long enough, you will eventually have fallow periods or eventually hit a period where your art is just fine or okay.
I once again put on Blood Hair and Eyeballs. I am reaching masochist levels of torture. Why am I trying so hard to find something that has long vanished? I try to recreate the environment of my youth two decades ago. I idly play story mode in Tony Hawk while listening to the album. All I want to do is punch Eric Sparrow in the face again. I had some help slowly opening myself up to the possibility of liking Blood Hair through As You Were: A Podcast About Alkaline Trio. The hosts were very positive about the record from the start. It gave me hope that I was missing something. As I played on my PS2, I heard what others were saying. There was some Stockholm syndrome, of course. I could hear the band that I once adored. If I closed my eyes, I could convince myself that some songs fit alongside anything on their Vagrant-era records. All that was asked was some acceptance that the band that I envisioned in my head in my youth was no longer there, and that was fine.
There is one moment that sticks out on Blood Hair and Eyeballs. It is on the title track near the end of the album. In a quick aside, Skiba says, “Cut me some slack; I almost died.” There are some clues as to what that could be about. He has very publicly been fucked, most notably at Matt Skiba and the Secrets. There was a post two years ago speculating whether he was sober or not. That context doesn’t matter; it is why I appreciate the album. I haven’t read the press, but it wasn’t positioned as a record about trauma or a return to basics. There is some vulnerability, but it allows the listener to discover it for themself. It is partially a relief because the Skiba in Blink-182 period was hard to watch as I found him unrecognizable from the musician who taught me many riffs I would steal for years.
In that one line, I can see myself in Skiba. As I get farther and farther away from that initial day I choose sobriety, the pull to return can become stronger. Going through life and seeing things clearly fucking sucks. In 2020, I was hospitalized for some light psychosis and such. I do not want to go into it too much. It showed that I still had some work to do even two years into sobriety, and I still do. There are still times I want to turn off my brain for a night. I have been close to breaking a few times. I met some of my best friends because of beer and alcohol. Self-medicating is a lot cooler than taking some anti-psychotic pills. I am more aware of how much the state pushes me towards addiction, forcing me to work to live and having to find somewhere to relieve all the tension I have in my body. None of this is present explicitly in Alkaline Trio, but in some ways, it is implied.
It is five months since Blood, Hair, and Eyeballs was released. I cannot stop listening to it. I love the terrible whoa oh chorus. Yeah, the recording sounds sterile, but who cares? Yeah, the art is silly. It's like some X-swatch that came to life. All of those things you can criticize rock. If there isn’t any corniness, then it is not Alkaline Trio. It makes it more interesting. It isn’t some masterpiece. It isn’t some garbage to throw away. There are some great songs and some bad ones. I’m never going to get back that feeling of hearing them two decades or even a decade ago when my brain was still developing. That is just how it goes. Everything you once adored will disappoint you, and if you’re lucky, they may surprise you if you stick around.
Being as involved in music as I try to be means I am constantly either in a state of passivity or euphoric engagement. I recently went to a couple of shows last week that reminded me why I still try to be as involved as I can be, finding as much to be gained from a dirty ass basement that had one vocalist in clown makeup writhing on the floor playing to 50 people to a sold-out Saetia show in a venue that fits 900 people. Below are some concert reviews, along with a recommendation for a radio show I have been enjoying.
Deletar/Ultimate Disaster/Mock Execution/Necron 9 at Chi-Town Futbol
It was out of sheer boredom that I decided to go to the d-beat/punk show. It was at what was formerly known as Chi-Town Futbol on the south side of Chicago. Going there is a very fun clashing of cultures, where primarily latinx people of all ages play indoor soccer. Nestled in the corner when you enter the building is a small field of artificial grass where a bunch of punks congregated to watch some atonal music. It made me an interloper and outsider in two ways. I wasn’t wearing the proper punk uniform. The person taking door money who was in Mock Execution had a punk battle vest, and others were wearing attire that felt retro in the sense that it felt ripped from the documentary Decline of Western Civilization. It was partially a nice reminder that as much as the internet has collapsed culture into a flat two-dimensional space, these pieces of punk culture still exist. It felt like a distinctly different experience from the hardcore kid going to a “big-room” show at a proper venue.
The touring bands of Deletar and Ultimate Disaster stood out the most for me. Their sets got a more arms-crossed punk crowd to move. It also ignited what feels like a deeper interest in D-beat for me. It can be easy to complain that it all sounds the same. I have had the experience of checking a couple of newer bands out, and feeling like a 10-minute EP felt like an eternity. But I am also aware that without Discharge and some imitators, much of my favorite music wouldn’t exist in the first place.
The bands themselves were enjoyable. Necron 9 is part of that community of what I’ll call raw punk bands from Milwaukee and supported by Unlawful Assembly. I was hoping to be won over live as the demo washed over me, but each song was undiscernible from the other. I still had some fun and never got overly annoyed.
Chalk/Circus/Crimelight/Gangstalker/Contempt/Isolation Unit
Chicago is a massive city, allowing anyone to shut yourself off to your little two to three-mile radius. It is not different for the larger punk and hardcore scene. Most of the venues are clustered around the north side of Chicago. It is the result of decades and decades of history that you can mostly ignore. Most of the shows lately happen in a venue that, if you are lucky, is 17 plus. Lately, I have felt an increasing disinterest in going to shows at these places. Something is lost when you go to a 900 cap with a barricade.
Those barriers to entry are necessary and lead to greater enjoyment. I forced myself to travel an hour to Chicago’s southside. It was far away from the comfort I mostly felt living near Wicker Park. Taking the western bus out of my routine reminded me of where I am living. But I eventually was at the show at an unnamed venue for its first show. It was a relatively spacious basement underneath a clothing store. Even the bands I did not enjoy didn’t matter. To me, it was the manifestation of hardcore and punk. It’s all about going up to some random person and shooting the shit before moshing into each other. Contempt might be the best example of what I care for. The art for the demo conjures images of Confront and is deeply reverential of the past. Every other riff, I was wondering if it was ripped from some 80s band that I adored. Their set started with a Leeway cover of “Rise and Fall,” along with an Agnostic Front cover that I wrongly attributed to a Negative Approach to a stranger. Another standout was Circus for the sheer presentation; the singer in clown makeup was writhing on a filthy basement floor at one point.
Heccra as Sub-T
I felt some weird obligation to see Heccra. In 2020, I heard their name mentioned as influence for newer emo stuff that got named fifth wave. It might have come up when I interviewed Your Arms Are My Cocoon. I never fully became invested in the music of Heccra, but I respected it more. I did not have the experience of discovering any of those early EPs many years ago and creating some reality in my head that may not have existed.
I mostly came away from the first Chicago Heccra show with a similar feeling to the one I have when I see artists that exist online first: a light disappointment. These songs weren’t crafted with an audience in mind. There was a slight lapse with the backing track at points. There was a slight cringe during one song when I was paying attention to the lyrics. I did not go deep into Heccra lore or listen to the few interviews. It reminded me that, for all the eccentricities that may be the top layering of their songs, they still have that adolescent core that makes them unmistakably emo. It was a show for those few I saw singing along to “Camp Algonquin” and other songs. I hope it lived up to their expectations.
Sadder Star
Like most music obsessives, I am constantly overwhelmed by the endless choices in the streaming era. I want to devour every inch of the music I love and never dive as much as I want to. I have lost count of how many deep dives I gave up on after a few days. Sadder Star helps alleviate that insatiable need to learn more without ever being overwhelming. Each episode of the radio show is about an hour. Listening to it does feel like going onto your favorite 2013 Blogspot in the best way possible. Each show invites you to explore emo and screamo and delve deeper. You can also just listen passively, enjoy an hour of music, and move on with your life like a normal person.
Booking DIY shows and fests and all that comes with it is a thankless task. In reality, no one cares who booked that legendary show that people reminisce about all those years later. I am guilty of this phenomenon. It was not until Jeremey Nelson reached out to me that I saw his trajectory in Itto and Suffix and how he was directly in contact with so much of the punk and emo revival of the late 2000s into the early 2010s that I adored. He helped book Gnarfest 2012, a festival I still think about and wish I had attended. His trajectory is similar to anyone who spent time in anything you would label DIY. He did the thing for a while as hard as he could and then made his exit. He now lives in Los Angeles. I talked to him the other day about his journey in Chicago DIY and condensed our conversation for you to read. Hopefully, there is something mildly interesting for you to get out of it.
Schedule for Gnar Fest 2012 (from Gonzo Chicago)
So, chronologically, I moved into the guesthouse. Then we moved into a spot called The Shitspace for a little bit. And then we all moved into Phrat Farm. Phrat Farm turned into Treasure Town. It was in the middle of a three-story building. On the bottom was Casa Donde, and on the top was Mortville. The Keep was after that. That was my trajectory.
The building (that Treasure Town was in) was called Wiser and Sons—the people before it called it Wiser House. I remember going to look at that building. Another guy named Ryan and I went to check that place out, and we were like, “Oh my god, this place is massive.” It was a huge warehouse. There were rooms already for everyone. We didn’t know who lived above us or below us. Mortville was already active. I think the downstairs was vacant at that time. We called everyone and said, “Oh my god, this is it. Let’s go. We started throwing shows pretty instantly. We moved because landlords wanted to demolish or revamp the house. There is always a nice beginning and a bad ending to these places. There started to be crackdowns on DIY spaces ahead of the NATO summit. Or, really, they just started cracking down on landlords. “You can be liable for this if you are illegally letting this happen.”
That is kind of how a lot of Chicago houses come and go for political reasons. The culmination of Phrat Farm was three or four punk houses getting shut down by the police. That usually happens around the time of Lollapalooza. A lot of local businesses, bars, and even venues are attending city council meetings. These are the people who are talking to the police chiefs. There is a concerted business and political effort to shut down these DIY spaces around certain events and times of the year.
Our stuff at the beginning was more like DIY screamo and hardcore. We started to branch out. It was in a sketchy part of town, but we could do whatever we wanted. We would have shows back to back. We would have shows on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday sometimes. There were ten people living there. I booked my shows. Other people had their shows. Eventually, we started doing noise shows. One of the guys who moved didn’t even play music, but he was an artist, so we started having art shows. We would have game nights. Once or twice, we got approached by French EDM people who were like, “We’re going to give you a lot of money if we can have a rave in your place.” That’s all of our rent, so it's fine. We did a couple of things like that that were not DIY. It started siloed in that emo/screamo/hardcore lane, and then it got into everything.
Different people started moving in and booking different shows. That is how DIY is. It is why I love it and why I hate it. Nothing stops you from moving into Chicago, renting a house, and throwing shows in your basement. Anyone can do it, and no one can stop you. I never really judged the shows at Treasure Town that I wasn’t particularly interested in. It is not business what they do as long as they don’t jeopardize the space. I eventually moved into a regular apartment. After three or four years of house/loft communal living, it was time to get a regular apartment.
I was in that apartment for a bit and had a relationship that fizzled out, and I moved into The Keep. The Keep had shows, but not too many. We had all been evicted a lot. We know what happens. We were getting over it. Playing music is still what we do. We took a responsible approach. It is not going to be a gritty warehouse with dynamite going off. There were fewer shows, and it was more of a place to live. We were trying to make it a more livable space.
Shread & Breakfast was my attempt to go legit. There was an effort amongst the DIY community to create in Chicago something along the lines of Gilman Street or ABC No Rio. Chicago doesn’t have a 501 (C)(3) all-ages venue. That was my goal. I recognized that Chicago needed a space that could always exist freely without worrying about cops or neighbors and is a legit venue and not a fucking bar. It is an art space. That was my attempt to give that a shot. But then the neighbors called the cops on me. The cops showed up, and I said, “Hey man, we’re a 501C.” The cops said, “We don’t care. We can hear the music from outside. You need to fix that.” Harrison Hickok and I from Summer Camp built some insulation because it was a storefront with thin glass windows. It kind of helped. I had a good amount of shows but it was not going to work. I did file for 501C. I got the business license and tax-deductible.
With all of these things, I pushed the limit every time. There is so much of Chicago that is underground, and you have to dig to find it. Most people, if they aren’t looking, are just seeing what’s at Coles or Empty Bottle. I just kind of wanted to press that button and see what happens. The Logan Monument is one of the most badass places to throw a show. I think there was a show a year or two before Gnarfest 2014. They were always sponsored by something or kind of lame. I wanted to try to see if I could do that.
I didn’t even know where to start. Someone pointed me to the alderman. The alderman was not stoked on the idea, and he gave me this impossible task of getting the Department of Cultural Affairs behind it and getting the ok from the sheriff of Logan Square. I rode my bicycle to the police station, met with the sheriff, and asked him to sign this thing. He said I’ll sign if you have insurance. I was personally liable for everything that happened at the show. The alderman wanted porta-potties and barricades. I said yes to everything, and they didn’t care. It was a lot of work. I had to rent a generator.
I had worked my ass off for a year meeting all these people. When I would go out and hang out with people, and they would ask what I was doing, I would say, “Oh, Gnarfest.” After it happened, people told me it was the coolest thing they’ve seen happen in a long time. I thought maybe that was as far as I could push it. I can’t open a venue. I can’t go further than that. It was the culmination of my thing. I tried something way out of my wheelhouse, and it worked. After Gnarfest, I got calls from local venues to figure out who threw the show on the monument. They wanted to hire me. I had some meetings with certain people in that sphere. They didn’t want to work with me; they wanted me to work for them.
It definitely left a mark on Logan Square. People talk about it still. Now that it is ten years later, people don’t care who did it. People don’t care if the Empty Bottle did it or who presented it. I was never trying to put my name all over it. I was just trying to make a cool thing happen for people to enjoy.
“In Chicago, none of the bands really sound alike. Every band has a different sound. Really Good.”-Rights of The Accused Interview (Taken from Bullshit Monthly, 1984)
In reading a lot of old 80s hardcore and punk fanzines, I have been thinking about how local scenes developed in their infancy. While the details vary from city to city, there is a throughline you can follow. Everyone heard Black Flag, and suddenly, punk seemed too tame. Local scenes were transformed. Depending on who you ask, it was for the better or the worse. That is at least the consensus I see across all the various music histories I have read. A lot of information on Chicago during hardcore’s beginnings is scant. Unlike New York or DC, it has not been archived to depth. We don’t have something like the University of Maryland’s punk archive, which allows access to much history. There isn’t some old Blogspot from a decade ago that has uncovered some rarities originally intended as tape to give to a promoter (Rorschach is the one I’m thinking of in this case). I have heard of a couple of Chicago punk zines from the 80s but have been unable to locate any. If someone has a copy or a scan of Steve Albini’s, hit me up.
It makes it so we have to rely upon documentation that looks backward. Occasionally, I’ll find some info, such as the quick interview I took a quote from. But much of the information on early Chicago hardcore and, by extension, punk comes from a documentary called You Weren’t There: A History of Chicago Punk. It chooses a concentrated period, starting in 1977 and ending in 1984. There is a compilation that I recommend finding on YouTube that was released alongside it. The participants in it are representative of that era in that it leans heavily on punk. From my perspective, many of the participants still carry those same feelings of being a little anti-hardcore. The end of the movie has a similar refrain as all these music documentaries have. By 1984, that initial spark of the punk scene was gone and tainted. Everyone began to sound the same. The music was trying to be as fast as possible for its own sake.
While I am quick to ignore that refrain, it can partially explain why Chicago seemed to be a bit later to adopt hardcore than other cities. That is at least the impression I get whenever I come across any Chicago recordings from that time. Our nearby neighbors in Detroit had already made a significant impact, which may be due to other factors. It had a fanzine-turned-record label in Touch and Go, which provided the infrastructure to uplift the local music community. It had a short-lived venue in the Freezer. On the other hand, Chicago had a much-publicized feud between The Effigies and Articles of Faith, highlighting the division between those who were around before hardcore and those who came after.
This original context for Chicago hardcore can help explain some of the “small-town syndrome” I feel as someone who still goes to Chicago hardcore shows. Touring bands will give a passing mention to The Killer and some current ones. Older folks may mention AOF. Maybe Los Crudos and some 90s stuff will get mentioned. If you’re my friend, I may force you to listen to The Repos sometime. The East Coast still dominates the conversation with good reason. You cannot change that touring the midwest is different from other parts of the country, leading to situations where certain cities seem like they live on an island. It can occasionally lead to fruitful scenes, like Springfield, Illinois. It still feels odd for Chicago to be in a situation where I feel we are underdogs.
Thanks to the documentary No Delusions, we have gotten some documentation of Chicago hardcore in recent years. It looks towards the 90s and beyond as its source text. I rewatch pieces anytime I need to remember some Chicago lore. I wanted to take a closer look at what is a very short but essential period. 1980 to 1984 would create the building blocks for Chicago hardcore in years to come. Future years would give us releases from Bhopal Stiffs, Life Sentence, and others later in the decade. Not everything from that limited scope of time forty years ago has necessarily held up. It may be too silly or sophomoric. Early hardcore, too, was tasteless, looking for shock value, which comes with the fact that you are listening to music made by teenagers. I cannot deny that recording quality is the best and is sometimes unlistenable to 2024 ears.
There is some early Chicago hardcore that is worth your time. I still get something from What We Want is Free by Articles of Faith. It is one of the great hardcore debuts, and I can imagine the shift it signaled for Chicago at the time. Below is a sampling of what was happening alongside Articles of Faith, which dominates the history of early Chicago hardcore. And as always, I am not an expert. I am just a guy who loves thinking about how hardcore developed in Chicago and wanted to add my perspective to a conversation I haven’t seen much of beyond the spare few mentions. If a million people salivate over old hardcore ephemera from other cities, why can’t Chicago get a mention?
Articles of Faith
Articles of Faith's arrival in Chicago feels like one of those drawn lines, marking what came before and what was to follow. I imagine not everyone was on board, leading to some divisions I discussed in my little introduction. It was markedly different, moving up the tempo and distinguishing it from other early hardcore in Chicago. There were no post-punk dablings to be found. The origin of AOF came when Vic Bondi saw Bad Brains while in DC, shifting from Clash-indebted punk to something more aggressive. There are several iterations of this scenario across early hardcore, but Articles of Faith still stand out to me. The debut EP hits the spot between catchiness and playing as fast as possible. It has all the qualities of the best first-wave hardcore. Songs like “Every Day” and “What We Want Is Free” stick to me, all while channeling some need in me to hear music that may be incomprehensible to someone who thinks it just sounds like noise. Articles of Faith would break up in 1985, laying a path for the next generation to carry forward for the rest of the decade and beyond.
Rights of The Accused
The little info on Rights of The Accused identifies them as a band of teenagers with a jokey bent. The one live recording I found takes place at Cubby Bear. The performance is rough and hard to watch. It does feel like high schoolers who are just beginning to try out their instruments. That is the story with a lot of early hardcore, but it is even less put together than other bands from the time. When it gets into what people would call thrash at the time, I can see the appeal. There is some proficiency, and they know their way around the punk beat. There is one person who does a stagedive. The 1984 EP Innocence is the best version of the band. It is fast, with some semblance of melody. "Faith" is kind of catchy. The lyrics are simple, reading as what a teenage punk kid might send to MRR at age 16. The band would continue for years, abandoning hardcore for metal, following the same trajectory as many hardcore bands during the 80s.
Negative Element
Similar to Rights of The Accused, Negative Element is full of youthful exuberance. A review of their one release from 1983 says: “This is good and sloppy.” It makes demos that come out now seem very pro. But that is part of the appeal of listening to very early forms of hardcore. It just sounds like kids fucking around on their instruments, trying to make something semi-comprehensible. The recordings sound rough and like they were done in someone's garage. The group's energy is best felt on what is not even a song but an interview segment on a hardcore radio show. You can hear at the end of their collected discography. It is kind of chaotic and hard to track who is talking, which can tell the story of Negative Element. The band is mostly a fun artifact and one that I have fun revisiting every once in a while.
Trial By Fire
The Bandcamp description for Trial By Fire’s posthumous release identifies them as “ one of the first Chicago bands to play thrash style hardcore.” I have no way to confirm that, but it lines up with the general timeline, forming around 1981 and releasing one demo. I imagine the arrival of Trial By Fire was somewhat momentous for Chicago at the time, given that it had Strike Under members who were very important for first-wave punk. In listening to the collection released in 2017, you can feel the tension in the band between wanting just to write fast-as-hell songs to slam to and play something a bit slower and more refined. It seems to be a recurring story of many of the early Chicago hardcore of this period. There were still vestiges of punk in it, looking to find some middle ground between hardcore and punk.
There is a feeling of what could have been when I listen to Trial By Fire, too. Most of the songs on the 2017 collection were never released in the 80s. It makes it more of an archival listen than anything else. All I can do is wonder how different early Chicago hardcore could have been if Trial By Fire had stuck around a bit longer. I do not think it surpasses Articles of Faith. That is an impossible thing to do, in my opinion. But I think it could have connected to people outside of the city, given the amount of interest in hardcore by 1982.
Savage Beliefs
Savage Beliefs is one of the more interesting artifacts from early Chicago hardcore. They released one EP that had more in common with punk. Only a couple of songs in their discography (Shake Your Neighbor’s Hand, Pink Shirt, What’s Left in The Fridge) feel tied to a hardcore lineage. It may be because Savage Beliefs had a member from Goverment Issue, intertwining Chicago and DC together at a pretty important time. But the band seemed pretty uninterested in writing, just ripping hardcore punk. The unreleased tracks on the compilation Alonha Dream released in 2015 strike me more as proto-indie rock and seem more interested in creating catchy lines than projecting aggression. With forty years of hindsight, Savage Beliefs is an example of the desire to move beyond the limited confines that hardcore had already been created in its few short years of existence.
Watching shows from behind a screen can only give you so much. Footage that looks tame on YouTube feels much different in reality. That sense of danger can never be replicated. You don’t need to shield your arms against some flying arm constantly. Documentation is important, but it is not everything. The videos from a hardcore fest are interspersed between every other bit of information in the feed you’ve curated. Occasionally, footage will stick in my head if it is particularly gnarly looking.
There are days when I have been overwhelmed by the flow of information coming at me at once. A new release will come out, and everyone is simultaneously saying to listen to it or say it is the best thing ever. It has made the act of discovery exhausting. It leaves me in a position where I am directly at odds with something I love. I love absorbing as much about music as possible, whether it is new or old. On Monday, I found an Instagram page for a Buffalo hardcore zine sharing a demo from a band called No Joke from 1990; it sounds of the time, taking some of the late 80s New York rhythms as inspirations. I don’t know if I will remember it; that doesn’t matter. I am just glad it exists, and there are people out there who feel passionately about something that, according to dumb Spotify metrics, only a few people have listened to in the past month. But it doesn’t change that checking out new music has sometimes left me with a profound emptiness, giving me the same feeling as watching several movies in a day.
FYA served as a reigniting my passion for all things new music. I spent the first week feverishly looking for new music on Bandcamp. There were some releases that I liked. Others made me wish I never heard an instrumental intro ever again. In the airport on my way to Florida, a certain hardcore musician said something to the effect of that FYA is like another show in a good way. If you allow me to be a little “woo-woo,” I felt that the true essence of hardcore was captured. The venue felt closer to a VFW hall with lights on. I didn’t see any advertisements beyond stuff for Trail of Lies and the upcoming Collateral record. The musicians are within your reach. As I left on Sunday, I asked Ben Cook from No Warning about playing Suffer Survive songs. I talked to a member of Restraining Order and quickly bonded over a love of The Replacements. It was the embodiment of a refrain I hear constantly from bands that there is no barrier between the musicians and the audience. It sometimes feels hollow, but FYA was one of the few times the message made sense recently.
Not everything was perfect about FYA. Playing in an untraditional venue comes with drawbacks. There were moments when I was disinterested in what I was watching. It doesn’t matter. I’ll take the shit that annoys the fuck out of me every day for those highs I felt at various times. Here are a couple of my favorite moments. Some are good; others are fun stories in retrospect that I would like to bury away for decades, only to uncover them to seem cool to some random person when I fully become the old dude in the back complaining about new jacks.
11. Getting Hit Within Seconds of Never Ending Game's Set
Never Ending Game is one of my favorite hardcore bands right now. Most of the time, I have stood and watched them from afar. I did not want to risk getting hit. I thought I had enough distance from the pit, but slowly, the wall of people in front of me began to shrink. Within ten seconds of their first song, I took an elbow to the eye during a side-to-side part. My vision was spotty, and my right eye started tearing up. I got out of the way because I had no idea how bad it was. I didn’t want to risk any other injury. I am smart enough to know I can’t hang with all the burly dancers NEG brings out. It was not fun as it was happening. But, it is part of the allure of heavy and hard music. There will be violent results occasionally.
10. Watching Old Posi Numbers Clips With Eli Enis At The Air BnB
Watching YouTube videos with your friends is one of life's most intimate experiences and a rite of passage as a hardcore kid. I was so exhausted and still stinging from getting hit during NEG that I skipped Sunami and headed to our Air BnB. I immediately forced Eli to watch sets from Posi Numbers, a hardcore fest in the 2000s. I showed him the Mental/Dumptruck set, which is iconic to me. Eli mentioned how different the moshing looked, which was interesting to me. We then hopped around, watching a Carry On set from 2001 and a Cro-Mags one from 2002. Having the experience of watching old hardcore footage with a friend made me wish I followed through with writing about every Posi Numbers set from 2003.
9. Florida Bands Having Crazy Reactions/Hometown Pride
Part of the fun of going to these fests is seeing people go wild for their local scene. There was plenty of that, ranging from Three Knee Deep at the pre-show to people singing along to Collaterall on day two of the fest. It gave me a lot of respect for South Florida hardcore and has me looking forward to coming back as soon as I can.
8. Getting a Bunch of Merch From All 4 All After Their Set
It is pretty rare that a set drives me to buy merch, but All 4 All’s did that for me. It is the kind of hardcore I am especially into right now. It is two-steppy, energetic and fast. I also found it endearing how much the band cares about their hometown. When I grabbed a zine from their merch booth, they asked if I was in a band and told me to come to Syracuse. That level of enthusiasm made me want to dig deeper and see what Syracuse has to offer. Most people may associate the city with Earth Crisis and the heavier fare of the 90s. But as the band pointed out in an interview with Stronger Than Pride #3, there is much more to be found. It just requires a deeper level of engagement.
7. Briefly Chatting About Democore with Fortress Records
While grabbing a zine from Fortress Records, I quickly talked to the guy behind the label about democore. Most of what has come out on Fortress seems to be in conversation with stuff like Moshers Delight and IOU Records. He took the comment in good fun, saying he’d like to put out other stuff as well, as he likes all kinds of hardcore. It was a good reminder of the difference between our perceptions as fans versus people making art or trying to make a scene happen.
6. Singing Along To Behind These Walls by No Warning at 1am
I had never seen No Warning before. The whole aftershow lineup was great, too. XnomadX and Grand Scheme were the openers. It felt a little light on attendance with maybe 75 people there. It made it feel a little more special. The people who were there were very passionate. It also made it possible that I could sing to my favorite No Warning songs with relative ease. On some days, I believe “Behind These Walls” is the greatest hardcore song ever written.
5. Moshing Into Your Friends
This one is self-explanatory. There is something wonderful about inflicting harm on your friends in a very harmless way.
4. Balmora and The Continued Growth of Ephyra Records
I am almost tired of how much I have talked about Balmora and Ephyra Records. I cannot help it; it is responsible for some of my favorite music of 2023. I love it so much that Eli and I got to FYA at the doors opening to get merch. All of the big sizes were sold out. I hope it wasn’t some skinny dude under 180 pounds taking it away from me. Balmora’s set felt like a full-on coronation from the hardcore scene. They covered Laid 2 Rest and a Black Dhalia Murder intro. It feels like a band that is a bridge across all the different sub-sections of hardcore. I can’t wait for new music from them.
3. Restraining Order and Their Cover of Step Forward
I have seen Restraining Order many times and will not get sick of it. “What Will You Do” is a perfect song. And it is one of the few bands on the fest where I know the words. What made me love them even more was a cover of Step Forward. I recently got into their first EP in a big way.
And I got to feel like the cool guy for once when I recognized the cover within seconds.
2. Carrying a Tote Full of Zines and Merch During Trapped Under Ice
This one may have been the most annoying part of the fest. I was set on getting zines at the fest. The label From Within Records had three zines that I got right away. I realized I could not just hold onto them all day, so I spent money on a tote bag. I then proceeded to buy every zine possible. Even with a full tote I was not going to watch TUI from afar. I was relatively close and even at the front for the end. It was worth it, even though I knew someone was probably annoyed at my presence. I was just surprised I did not lose any of my purchases.
1. Ladder Getting Thrown During Suburban Scum
I would be lying if I didn’t put something from the pre-show on this list. Most of the bands playing were not my thing. Heavier hardcore is a small portion of my diet, and I can be picky. I had already seen Suburban Scum in August. But I cannot deny them as a live presence. As the last song came on, the singer started throwing water bottles, and I knew something more substantial was coming. I saw the ladder, and it was within a straight line toward me, and I ducked. I could not passively watch with my arms crossed. It was memorable, and at least now I know what to expect if Suburban Scum plays again. It is another reminder that the kind of music I decide to spend most of my free time with has some element of danger. It is part of the appeal. I walked away without injuries, so now I have a funny anecdote.
Welcome to the first post from my new blog, Between Berwyn and Bryn Mawr. It is a CSTVT reference, but this is not an emo blog. I thought choosing a CSTVT song as a title would be apt because it highlights a cross-section of my interests. Summer Fences was a hodgepodge of influences, combining Midwest emo with stuff like Small Brown Bike and Hot Water Music. Two members met at a Lawrence Arms show at Fireside Bow. I can feel the roots of hardcore at times, too. It is operatic at some points and catchy in other sections. It does represent what I still find myself looking for entering my 30s. Anyway, the blog will have a Chicago bent and will mostly be me rounding up some stuff I checked out every week. Maybe some other ramblings. When I have the energy to do longer writing like I did at Medium, I will try to fit that in. The main idea is off-the-cuff first thoughts. I have been reading a lot of zines lately and have been trying to find a place to try my hand at that kind of writing. Maybe weekly, maybe it will be one post and die right now. Some of the records came out last month, but I think they are still worth your time.
Alga plays what I would call "meat and potatoes" power pop. It hits all the notes you would expect, from the vocal delivery to a prioritizing melody. A playlist from Alga also bear this out, including Big Star and others on it. I would like to see the project expand beyond the bedroom, though. There is a lot of potential, and I could see more people finding something to enjoy with Alga.
First-wave punk-sounding stuff. In that, it is not aggression for aggression's sake. Maybe there's a little garage rock in there. I dunno, it’s cool. I feel like the people who really liked Snooper last year may find something in this demo. It is always fun when punk is melodic without ever taking a turn towards something annoying. I would like to finally see them live and play a hardcore show I go to. Make some of the hard moshers suffer a little bit.
You get what you expect from a band called Soul Vice. I do love naming your band after a song from a demo. It’s New York hardcore through the prism of Trapped Under Ice and that whole family of Baltimore bands. It does have a little more crossover New York hardcore, which I imagine is because the guitarist is also in Blow Your Brains Out. It's a solid promo, but I would like to see it outrun its influences. Some of the riffs on the first song feel a little too familiar if you know what I mean.
My friend and podcast co-host Eli Enis sent this to me at the end of last year. I could figure out the vibe just by looking at the album art. It was probably going to be melodeath-inspired metalcore. It is a style I am particularly, with Ephyra and that whole expanded universe. It was a kind of music I hated when I was younger. Amino is a little less metalcore, but it still feels like hardcore kids wrote it. It is not nearly as intricate as Slaughter of The Soul. I also am a bit of newbie with melodeath, so I may have the wrong reference points.
I don’t necessarily have the vocabulary to talk about DJ Corey. He makes dance music known as footwork, where mostly one phrase is repeated, asking you to focus on the shifting rhythms of the beat. It is a lot of fun, sometimes very silly and sophomoric, where I’m very aware a teenager made it. “Werk This,” in particular, had me smiling like an idiot.
Show Review-Broken Vow/Mile End/Absoulte Truth/Luchador (1/3/24)
I went to my favorite venue in Chicago to see my first show of the year. It was a much preferable place to see a hardcore show than Sub-T downstairs, where Broken Vow played last January. It had been a while since I hit a hardcore show, so I was curious how it would go. There were several faces I did not recognize, along with many familiar strangers. Luchador started off. They are still pretty new, and you could feel some tension between them and the audience. People weren’t moving. It resulted in a funny scenario where the singer got on the dancefloor to show people how to do different dance moves.
Absolute Truth felt like the real start of the gig. They are true youth crew, with two members wearing Turning Point shirts. They are older, but in a way that comes off as seasoned rather than “washed.” Their set ended with a cover that I could not pick out. Mile End was next, marking a shift towards the harder moshing section at Beat Kitchen. They were standouts from the night, and it felt like a hometown show. People piled on top of each other during the intro. I feel like once they have a record, they may get bigger. Broken Vow was the last band I watched, and they kept the energy up. People went as hard as you would want without any fights breaking out. I was too tired and failed my Chicago hardcore test by skipping Payasa to get home earlier—a great start to the year.
In non-new music news, I have been slowly becoming that guy who wants to buy old hardcore and punk ephemera. The problem is so much of it is very expensive. Old zines will sometimes cost 70 dollars. It even gets more costly when I look at posts from the Instagram page Ancient Artifax. I did come across one I am debating purchasing. I typed in Chicago punk flyers and found one from 1988. It was at Casa Aztlan, a hub for artistic creativity. It is now a place for condos. The description says it was the first true southside punk gig in Chicago, and Martin of Los Crudos organized it. It also gives me some insight into Chicago hardcore from that time, which is cool to my historically-minded brain. I should purchase it, right?
