“Music and theatre should belong to nobody, everybody.” - Hannah Nicklin compares ‘DIY’ music with ‘DIY’ theatre

(Andy’s note: Much of this relates to UK-specific art subsidies, but much of it doesn’t.)


(Start a Revolution by Tim Etchells. Photo by Hannah Nicklin, taken at the Edgelands event, in Edinburgh, in 2011. Details of the work can be found here.)

“Theatre Belongs to Everybody; Ideas Belong to No One.” - Chris Goode

A few months ago I cried at a gig for the first time. It was Koji/Into it Over it/Starters at the Old Angel in Nottingham. Koji was onstage and he stood and talked to the sticky, buzzing room about community; about what it meant, but also about holding it to account; about knowing when to call people out, and making a community stronger. I cried for two reasons; one, to have someone stand up with a mic and give me permission to be the kind of person who stands up meant the world to me, and two; because the amazing fucking feeling of all those people living and loving and breathing the words and music in that tiny room filled me up. Filled me up in a way that until that point I had mainly associated with theatre.

I make theatre. I have had work in London, Nottingham, York, Manchester, Edinburgh, Birmingham, Derby, and worked with many other companies besides. I make odd, pervasive performance pieces; stuff you download and walk through a specific city listening to, an audio piece for the top deck of a bus at 1am in London, pick up and play games, installations for swimming pools, or a simple stand-up piece made for a pub back-room where I stand in my protest gear and talk about having a policeman for a father.

When people ask me what kind of theatre I make, I haven’t really got an answer, but I’ve realised recently that if I identify with anything, it’s what I would call ‘DIY’ theatre. In that little sweaty room in Nottingham at the beginning of Autumn, I felt the radical resonances between those two worlds I love; punk and performance - albeit one where I am a maker, and the other an audience member – and since then I have been more and more interested in what both worlds share, and what they can learn from each other.

Daniel Yates of Exeunt Magazine sums up ‘DIY’ really usefully as “small scale, culturally distinctive, alternative producers of experience” (link). That sounds a bit academic-y, but I think at the root of the ethics of DIY is something born of a place and community, and which offers a distinct alternative to the monoculture that thrives on top-down structures, (the mainstream music industry e.g.) and ‘one size fits all’ models of entertainment.

I co-ran an event in Edinburgh this summer called ‘Edgelands’, in it a guy called Tim Crouch talked about monoculture, and the best weapon we have against it; the alternative. Any alternative. All of the alternatives (link). And DIY, in my opinion, is the best alternative there is, because it’s grown and shaped by a certain place to fit and make room for the people that want to live in it. Criticisms of scalability are bollocks in this context; one top down system and thousands of homegrown artefacts meet in the middle.

The quote at the head of this post comes from a booklet given out by theatre-maker Chris Goode (link) at an early version of his most recent show ‘Keep Breathing’. The scratch (work in progress performance) happened in a dusty old factory re-named ‘Stoke Newington International Airport’ (link) where I and many others rehearse and perform for free. Action Hero (link) are a theatre company that got bored of struggling to put their work on in theatres, so made 2 pieces for bars, and another for music venues. Their home is the ‘Milk Bar’ in Bristol, a disused building borrowed from the council where several companies work and support each other’s work. The Forest Fringe (link) has become the highlight of most of the contemporary theatre’s Edinburgh festival, and fills the community-owned not-for-profit Forest Cafe buildings with performers and volunteers, who all work for food and accommodation only. The DIY theatre community is alive, kicking, and as fucking exciting as the music one, but they hardly seem to know of each other’s existence, and that seems odd to me.

There is, though, one massive difference (barrier?) between the two communities; public subsidy. Even if none of the above artists/companies are subsidised directly, the infrastructures in which they move, are.

Here’s the thing about subsidy:

1) Most music can’t get it. (This is wrong, but true)

2) Every work of art is accountable to the establishment (albeit an arms length QUANGO subsidiary thereof).

3) If you’re used to it, and then lose it, you’re mostly fucked.

4) All artists subsidise themselves, anyway. 100% at the beginning, but every single theatre maker I know frequently works for free/expenses only.

Here are some more things about subsidy:

1) Pre-existing and non-commercially driven infrastructure allows both scaling and support for those just starting out.

2) Subsidy that allows a living to be made out of things non-commercially driven allows more people to make art, for more people.

3) It means you don’t have to rely on your audience.

4) It means money begins to seem the only way to start doing things.

A mate of mine told me that a member of the Leicester music community who attended a performance event recently said ‘theatre people never seem to do something unless they can get some money for it’, and though the suggestion made me grumpy to begin with, I’d argue that is true for mid-late career companies or theatre artists. But the thing is, there are a lot more of these in the theatre world than in music. Because the stuff that infrastructure and public subsidy offers is the ability for everyone to stick with making for longer. People over 30, women, non-affluent people, are all either more likely to have caring responsibilities/family priorities, or be lacking the tools/pathways/knowhow to access the world of theatre/music, than those under 30, male, affluent. It’s the difference between scraping by, and breaking even, which makes things possible for people to live and provide by. 

Theatre also has industry bodies and members’ organisations like Equity, the ITC, a-n, that actually work for their members’ interests; set living wages and suggested contracts. The kind of support that I have yet to see from majors’ sockpuppets like the MU and their pathetic finger-in-the-hole-of-the-digital-dam obsession. The theatre world is framed art-first. There is a commercial sector that resembles the majors of music, but they occupy completely different territories. Subsidy allows the non-commercial sector to exist without eventually destroying the artists who give their lives to make it.

But music can replicate some of this infrastructure without subsidy. Bandcamp, and before it myspace, has been revolutionary in terms of replacing the distribution functions of the music industry. Why couldn’t we find some form of umbrella organisation for DIY music communities which could easily begin to rival the MU; some kind of mutual or collective/s that drive standards and expectations higher, fight for transparency from Spotify, or better margins from iTunes, whilst also sharing experience/resources? A wiki-infrastructure. For example I know Leicester has the Leicester Music Collective, but how many others are there in other cities, and do they talk? Hold councils accountable for the cultural landscapes they oversee? Could donations help pay a bit of money to allow some people to put in the time to get them to run properly? (That’s another thing subsidy offers; administrators. The jobs that people won’t walk through fire to do, but that are still pretty indispensable in providing scalable infrastructure.)

There’s a criticism of both these theatre and music DIY spaces; that they can be unscalable, insignificant*, hard to find, and incredibly cliquey. The way you solve this is you invite everyone to build their own alternative, and you legitimise alternatives in the first place. What does that mean, in practice? Think about how people find you. Think about how you share skills and spaces. Think about who’s not in the room, and why they might not feel able to be. Like it or not, the fact that those who take public money are required to show how it serves the public makes theatre ask the question (though it’s rarely answered perfectly).

*sub point, fuck ‘significance’ if it always has to mean impactful on a large scale. Give me 50 people whose lives are changed over 500 whose time is filled, any day.

In turn, theatre can learn from DIY music. Theatre is live, or lived, almost by definition. The only way for most theatre to make a living is touring. Although live shows are incredibly important to music, bandcamp, soundcloud, digital downloads in general, have revolutionised audio distribution. Theatre still operates, for the most part, on a distribution system that is hundreds of years old. Big, old, dedicated buildings, weighed down by running and staffing costs. It’s time to leave these, or use them differently (the homeless and brilliant National Theatre of Wales case in point).

Theatre can also learn from the DIY music world that if something isn’t happening where you are, make it happen wherever. Don’t think money-first if you can afford the time. Ask favours of the big fish as well as the little, and pay them back. It could also work together more, share rehearsal space, kit, know-how, contacts, much more widely, efficiently, and regionally. Put theatre in non-theatre buildings, leave behind these palaces, these cathedrals to art. Put it where people are. 

They can also learn from the relationship bands have with their audiences. I never heard of anyone getting a theatre company logo tattoo, or proudly, identity define-ingly sticking up show posters in their bedroom. If merch, and sales of records that people can get for free, are the main way you make any money (touring, in the experience of internationally travelled bands I know, rarely breaks even on tickets/fees vs. travel/accomm/expenses) then you have to really drive at your relationship with your fans. Theatre fails at most social media/online/audience stuff because the price of failure is not the end of their existence.

Both of these industries could also work together to show the qualitative value they bring to a community to councils, and show councils there’s more ways to support them than money; all those empty shops, all those empty buildings. 

Mostly I would love to see the end of the venue apartheid. Venues where performance, music, installations, craft, libraries, kids’ groups, dance classes, poetry, print making, film screenings, food and drink all happen under one roof. Places like the (recently incredibly fucked over) Forest in Edinburgh, or STK in London. 

Because quite frankly, fuck genres. Fuck art form divisions. Let’s talk to, and learn from one another. Let’s work together to fill spaces, places and people with that same burning, beautiful, winded feeling that had me in tears in a music venue last September, and does so frequently in performances. Music and theatre should belong to nobody, everybody.

Hannah Nicklin is a DIY theatre maker and punk/rock/hardcore fan from just outside Leicester in the UK.  Aside from Making Things, she is also doing a PhD in how video games are changing theatre. Fun fact: she once declared digital warfare on the government when an otherwise quite rational rant about Torrents was selectively quoted in a Proper Paper. hannahnicklin.com and @hannahnicklin on Twitter. 

“But sometimes we need to turn off our computers and start doing stuff with the people who live in the next street.” - Jane Doe argues for a balance between the local, and the connected, cultural landscape.

I want to write something about how Southampton is one of the most vital cities in Britain; but I can’t. In reality it has become another homogenized, identikit high-street town with Primark pavements and the trodden in gum of Tesco and Wetherspoons getting stuck to the bottom of our shoes. As a friend said to me recently: “these days ‘local culture’ means talking about the X-Factor in different accents”. 

When I started writing this I was reminded of the 1980s and 1990s when zines became a huge youth phenomenon. Thatcher in the 1980s inspired a huge amount of music, writing and comedy; I had hoped that the pantomime villainy of the Tory government would have done the same thing for our generation. The Internet has meant that this rage (that could be used for forming band,s or stand up comedy, or writing a zine) is often expended via 140 derisive characters, or blogging. As someone who has written 18,744 tweets in less than two years, I’m obviously not criticising this form of communication. But I do think there are other, perhaps better and more organic, ways of utilizing our creativity. The instantaneous nature of blogging means that it is often somewhat thoughtless and requires little to no effort; there isn’t much love or attentiveness.

The 1980s saw a huge outpouring of creative energies, especially when it came to zines. These were often based around a small area or community, and that geographically situated spirit is something I’d love to see emerging again. Similarly, the riot grrrl zines of the 1990s inspired a great D.I.Y. attitude that had direct influence on local scenes and movements. It’s all very well talking to people who have the same favourite band as you, but if they live in South Africa or America the culturally bereft landscape of your hometown is going to remain depressingly blank.  Think of Manchester in the 1980s; having your own Johnny Marr knocking on your front doorstep is infinitely better than sitting on Tumblr swapping bootlegs with a stranger in Tennessee.

So, I have a proposal. Let’s stop focusing our energies on the 2D faces of people we only know via screens, and use them instead to make something great in the city we live in. We can utilise social networking and we can swap ideas with creative people across the planet; I think that’s one of the biggest advantages of our modern obsession with the Internet. But sometimes we need to turn off our computers and start doing stuff with the people who live in the next street. Even with a perfect combination of club nights, bands, writing groups, zines, art collectives we probably couldn’t get rid of the Tory government or the multinational business conglomerates that invade our city. But we can really, REALLY piss them off.

Jane Doe is the kind of person Grant Morrison always hoped The Invisibles would create. 

“Everything else stems from that - teaching yourself skills and applying them more and more…” John Helps of Maybeshewill examines what being “DIY” means to him.

(Andy’s note: This is my friend, John. I used to work with him on the best club nights Leicester has ever seen. He’s good people, so be nice.)


(Photo by John Helps)

I’ve been wanting to write this piece for a very long time, but finding both the time and an appropriate place to put it have always escaped me, so I was delighted when Andy offered me the opportunity to write something for I Live Sweat. This article is about DIY and, whether you agree with the ethics of it or not, why I think it’s a better approach for bands to take. It’s also about whether you can still be, or consider yourself to be, ‘DIY’ as you outgrow your own skills and abilities, or the time and space thats available to you. I’m writing this from my point of view, so there are many references to my experiences as guitarist-come-manager in the band Maybeshewill. You can read more about what we do and why on http://www.maybeshewill.net.

I’d imagine more has been written online regarding being ‘DIY’ in the music world than most other subjects, as the medium has done a lot to enable DIY approaches, but nevertheless I’m going to start at the beginning - at least as I see it. A lot of this is drawn from my own experiences, some of it will be obvious and some of it will be ridiculous, but hopefully some of it will also be correct.

DIY is something I’m passionate about, and an approach I’ve used in all of the music and events I’ve made, put on, put out, or helped make. It’s a methodology and ethic that I believe in, and that has taken me half way around the world.

If you’re coming to this completely dry, DIY (as I’m going to be talking about here) is the practice of being a musician, band, record label, zine, venue etc., that is as self sufficient as humanly possible. In this case I’m talking about DIY in the context of what is ostensibly known as ‘The Music Industry’ as it’s what I know, but it’s been applied to most of the arts and creative industries.

The various projects I’ve been involved in over the last eight years (be it bands, shows, club nights or ‘zines) all started out with an element of DIY to them, even before I knew that it was an ethos that others followed. From the off I learnt to use Logic and Photoshop and to code HTML, so we could record, distribute, and advertise music without having to involve any outside parties in the process. For shows we could make decent posters and get them out around the city ourselves - which is pretty much day zero of promoting. Everything else stems from that - teaching yourself skills and applying them more and more as you get better at using them, whether that be recording an album for under £100 with borrowed mics and a vague idea of where you should put them, starting a club night that your mates DJ and help promote, or producing a zine (online or in print) that informs a wider audience that somethings going on around them that you think they should be getting involved in. You just keep building up until you’ve got something you’re proud of.

To start with, as a band, why would you not put on your own shows in your home town? Hiring a venue is pretty cheap - if not free - and you know your audience better than anyone else. Through doing that you can bring in bands from other cities who might be able to help you out when you head over to their neck of the woods. Help out other bands wherever and whenever you can - from an altruistic point of view it enriches the culture of your city; from an un-altruistic one, it means people often offer favours in return. The more people that want to help you, the better, right? Swap contacts, share information - but always make sure you’re giving something in return. If you start building a community on a national scale, as well as a local one, touring will become easier, and for the most part that’s why you’re doing this, right?

But after the initial set up, why would you want to remain a DIY band rather than become part of the mainstream music industry, especially when it promises so much? Well, read this article written by Steve Albini in the early 90’s entitled ‘The Problem With Music’ and be appalled, or just observe what countless large bands are doing as they get to the end of their contracts with major labels. It’s a lottery; for every one winner, there are millions of losers. But being a self-reliant band is a viable alternative to the music industry lottery; a world where you either become massive, or get forgotten forever - often even legally prevented from releasing your own music. DIY allows you to manage your own success - to grow slowly and manageably at your own pace and not get sucked in to the circle of boom and bust. If you’ve got a good ‘product’ (I physically winced as I typed that) people will be in to what you’re doing, and if you do things right word will spread. It’ll be slower and harder work perhaps, but you’ll be in a stronger position for it, even if you decide to take the mainstream route at a later date. If you’ve gotten yourself there through your own blood sweat and tears, a label will have to offer you much more to justify their involvement with you than if they were taking you on dry. You’ll also be more aware of the processes that are going on once you do sign a contract and will be better able to see when you’re being taken advantage of and spot money being wasted. 

On the flip side being ‘DIY’ is totally reliant on your own drive and determination and is limited by the time and money you have to commit to it. You can expect little to no support from creative bodies like the Arts Council (principally because ‘pop music’ is perceived to be in a weird grey area between business and art) or the government - especially as so-called austerity measures dry up any existing funding. DIY labels have virtually no budget beyond that which allows them to press up CDs. You will find fewer opportunities for tour supports, and you will have to operate largely without legal or financial protection.

At the end of the day, though, It’s really fucking rewarding to make your own luck.

It’s worth understanding that DIY isn’t black and white, and even within a band people will have different aspirations and motivations, and compromises will almost always be made. Potentially there are parts of this article that even my band mates will disagree with, and this is where we begin to touch on some of the difficulties in remaining self sufficient; you have to be growing in order to stay motivated and as soon as you feel like you’ve taken a step back people will lose heart. But equally we have been criticised for our attempts to grow. Critics have tended to be those in DIY bands content to remain at a certain level and while I won’t criticise that decision - it’s perfectly valid - I do believe that if you want to be heard by a wider audience and get your music or message across to them, you have to grow.

It’s this scaling up where things get tricky. Once you exist outside of your circuit of home town shows you need to tour and make people aware of you in the wider world. You have to learn to interact with promoters and the press - both of which are part of a notoriously inward looking industry that more often than not refuse to engage with bands who aren’t represented by someone within a small circle of booking and press agents. Small bands will, for the most part, get less attention if they aren’t connected to an agent who represents larger acts that the booker or editor wants to work with. There are exceptions to this - both whole organisations and individuals within organisations that will take a punt on something they like, - but it’s increasingly rare. Persistence and hard work will get you somewhere though - we’ve made it out to Japan, Russia, across most of mainland Europe and around the UK a good few times without any outside help - but getting beyond small shows is where the challenge really starts.

When we were booking shows ourselves they were (for the most part) pretty strong - and they kept getting better. But after a while, and the further up the food chain we got, we started hitting more and more brick walls. This is when you start to consider whether you need help, and it’s this decision which can compromise a DIY band. Can you still be considered to be ‘Doing Things Yourself’ when you’re employing people to do part of your work for you? I’d argue that if you make the right choices, you can.

Principally It’s about picking the right person and making sure they’re working with your interests at heart. A good agent (for example) will continue to work with the best of the promoters that you worked with before, while opening doors to others who can help you grow in their cites. They won’t send you on a 200 mile drive to a worse show because the fee (of which they get a percentage) is fifty quid more. They will take into consideration the aims that YOU have for your band, rather than the ones that will make them the most money in the short term, and they’ll give you advice on which other promoters to work with to get a little closer to achieving your own goals.

The flip side of the world of agencies is that as a small band you end up being the small fish in a big pond. If it’s tough for them to get you shows and any real fees they’ll book you jack shit and focus on their acts that do well with less effort. Eventually you get forgotten about and you’re still tied in with someone who couldn’t give a fuck. I can think of three bands I know personally that this has happened to off hand; it’s not uncommon.

In January we finally took the leap of working with a booking agent outside of our immediate circle of band members. Haydn works for an indie booking agent called NMC Live, but we met him years before through Brainwash Festival in Leeds, which he still promotes. Had we not known him from this past life as a completely independent promoter we perhaps would have thought twice about committing to working with him, but as it is we knew he knew where we were coming from, and the ‘scene’ we were part of. He’s not perfect, no one is, but he does a fucking tough job well. Without him we wouldn’t have toured half as much over the past 10 months, we wouldn’t have been touring at the right times, and we’d be out of pocket by a good few hundred quid from several promoters stiffing us on fees. He is the point of contact when we’re not able to answer emails and phone calls, and can be focussed on booking the next tour whilst we’re away on the current one. He is also the buffer between my myriad questions at 2am and promoters who would be less tolerant of late night phone calls and emails, and that is not a fun place to be I’m sure.

A perfect example of why having someone between us (well, specifically me) and promoters is this: a couple of years back we were stranded in Greece after a show. We’d missed our flight home through no fault of our own and had to sleep at the airport until Easyjet could squeeze some of us on another flight and the remainder of us could pay to get back. At the time we were unbelievably pissed off that we’d lost hundreds of pounds in flights and had to spend a night on an airport floor, and when we got home we told the promoter as much. Sadly a band with no agent and no lawyer has no power in that situation and we fucked our chances of going back to the country by destroying a relationship with a decent, if slightly careless, promoter. Had there been someone slightly calmer in between the two parties, then not only would we have probably gotten some of that money back, but we might have worked with that promoter again.

So, can we still consider ourselves to be DIY? I certainly do. We still manage ourselves, record our own material and work with a label run by one man in a spare bedroom. We still work with promoters that we’ve been working with from day one, and we still interact with fans directly and ship merch ourselves - all of which are areas I could write as much about again. Will we still be able to consider ourselves DIY if the band is still going in five years and has continued to grow at the rate it has over the last five? I hope so. Being DIY has been an incredible tool, and will continue to be so. It will leave us in the strongest possible position as a band at any given point in our career. As much as I aspire to stick to the ethos as rigidly as we can, there are aspirations and needs within the band that may eventually outweigh the desire to be as directly involved with every element of what we do as possible. That said, when we are no longer aware of or in control of the decisions attached to every element of what we do, I won’t be involved any more.

DIY shouldn’t mean that you’re tied to existing solely at a local level or within a niche ‘scene’. It should be more than just a way of getting you on your feet. Sticking with DIY principles (helping each other out, doing as much as you can yourself and working with a small circle of people you trust) doesn’t and shouldn’t preclude growth. Nor should doing everything yourself come at the detriment of what you’re trying to do. If as a community we allow it to scale, DIY, enabled by modern distribution and communication platforms, is a solution to a broken mainstream music industry. As I see it, fewer people making millions at the top is a fair price to pay for loads more awesome stuff happening in the middle.

John is a founding member of ‘DIY’ instrumental band Maybeshewill, he runs the Robot Needs Home record label and books shows across his home town of Leicester. He likes noisy music and cups of tea.

“What can you contribute? What will you create that’s new?” Max Stern of Signals Midwest, interviewed by Andy Waterfield

(Andy’s note: I’ve embedded a Bandcamp player below so readers can listen to Latitudes and Longitudes as they read, should they be so inclined. I highly recommend it.)


(Photo by Aaron Feeder)

ILS: Hi, Max. Could you tell our readers a little bit about yourself, Signals Midwest, and what part you play within the band?

Max: My name is Max Stern. I just turned 22 and I live in Cleveland, OH. I play guitar and sing in Signals Midwest. I go to school and work as a graphic designer, but most of my free time is dedicated to writing songs, booking/playing shows, and generally obsessing about music and all things related. I don’t sleep enough. 

ILS: Sleep is for the weak, mate. As I understand it, Signals Midwest have just released your second full length, and your first material as a four piece, Latitudes and Longitudes. Do you fancy telling us a bit about that?

Max: We’d been playing as a 3-piece since September of 2008. My friend and I took a cross-country road trip in June of 2010, and we happened to stop in Kansas at the same time that Jeff (guitar) was home visiting his family. We ended up staying out until like 6 in the morning, and had a serious heart to heart about music and Star Wars, and he joined shortly after I got back from my trip. We wrote most of L&L with him and it allowed us to branch out a lot musically. I didn’t have to worry about filling out a sound as much, and it allowed us to do things that we never could have done otherwise. Something that comes to mind specifically is the second half of the song Construction Paper - there’s a section where Jeff and I are doing this crazy, jagged trade-off riff that turns into this big instrumental guitar solo thing. That, amongst many things on the record, would have never happened were we still a trio. The direction of our band changed drastically once he joined, and I’m really happy with it. We definitely went outside of our comfort zone, and I think it’s paying off.

We came home from tour this past August, having just released L&L on CD, and we decided to contact Will from Beartrap PR to do some press work for us. I knew he was part of Tiny Engines, but it didn’t really cross my mind that we could ever be a part of the label - seeing releases from Tigers Jaw, CSTVT, Restorations… It just seemed out of our league. Anyway, we had made a little bit of money on tour (which surprised the hell out of us), and we were all ready to send out like 50 CDs and a check, but the night before I was about to send all that stuff out I got an email from him that said “Hey, hold off on all that stuff. We want to do a vinyl release for this on Tiny Engines!” I got the email at like 1am and barely slept that night. I was a wreck at work the next day, but I was so happy!

So yeah, we’re working out the details right now and shooting for a late November release for the 12” version of L&L. We’re exploring a bunch of cool packaging ideas, and are gonna do some limited edition vinyl colors and screen-printed posters for the pre-order too. It’s all the stuff I’ve wanted to do with a project, but have never had the means to. Chuck, Will, and Jeff have all been so nice and communicative and open about the whole process. It’s really exciting.


(Photo by Donna Baluchi)

ILS: A Serious Heart to Heart About Music and Star Wars needs to be the title of a song, an album, or maybe even a memoir! Also, stoked to hear you’ve had such a good experience working with Beartrap and Tiny Engines. I’ve had a fair bit of dealings with them through I Live Sweat, and they’ve always come across as hard working blokes with a deep and sincere passion for what they do.

I’m also glad you brought up the guitar style on the record. I grew up on Queen records and the Bill and Ted films, so I’ve got a soft spot for bands who aren’t afraid to let shredding guitar parts take centre stage from time to time. There are a lot of great guitarists in punk, but there aren’t too many who give me that sense of power and freedom that comes with a sprawling solo. Matty Pop Chart and D. Boon are obvious examples for me, but who are your favourite guitarists in that regard? What kind of stuff did you grow up with, and do you feel that’s come out in your style now?

Max: I grew up on the Beatles probably more than any other band (thanks Mom & Dad!), and to this day George Harrison is still one of my favorite guitar players. He was the first guitarist I really noticed that could simultaneously play lead and rhythm at the same time, and what always got me was how effortless his riffs sounded, but how complex they actually were. That constant up/down motion while changing certain notes in a chord (see Here Comes the Sun for my favorite example) contributed hugely to my growth as a guitarist, and it’s a style I see echoed in one of my other favorite guitarists, Ted Leo. That combination of percussive picking style, but maintaining a focus on melody, was something I was attracted to very early on. I also had a big Hendrix phase, which led me to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and John Frusciante, who’s also another one of my favorites. All of those players inspired me to maintain chord shapes and find melodies within them, rather than draw a hard line between rhythmic chords and leads. That isn’t all I like to do, but it’s a big part of it.

I guess for my development in playing punk rock, Weezer’s first two records were a huge influence.  The sparse use of acoustic guitars coupled with tons of fuzz and solos is something that stuck with me a lot. NoFX was another huge one. When I was 13 or 14, I had a solid month where I played along to all of The Decline every day. In terms of Signals Midwest (and especially for our new record), Matt Embree and Steve Choi from the RX Bandits were a huge influence. Once they got past their ska band days they wrote really progressive, melodic punk records that contained a ton of interesting ideas. Their riffs are poppy and catchy, but super technical, and play off of each other very well without each one directly following the other. There’s also some awesome guitar work coming from modern bands like Good Luck (I know you mentioned Matty Pop Chart earlier. Dude is so good!) and Algernon Cadwallader, but I think in terms of guitar work, RX has influenced me the most.

ILS: On the lyrical side of things, how is that worked out? Do you write lyrics as a band, or as individuals?

Max: There are a few instances where the other guys have told me to tweak things a little bit, but that’s mostly me. I’ll be at the grocery store or driving back from school and I’ll get an idea, text it to myself with some ideas for a chord progression, and sit down with a guitar and a notebook once I get home. I can never write all the lyrics, or all the music, to a song separately - it’s always done with a guitar in one hand and a pen in the other. Lately I’ve been trying to write from other peoples’ perspectives - there are a few songs on L&L like In Tensions that I wrote from the perspective of my grandparents, and I’m trying to further that with our newer songs. John K. Samson (from the Weakerthans) is amazing at putting himself in other peoples’ shoes and writing lyrics from their perspectives and I truly envy his lyrical ability. I think I’ve cross-sectioned my life through music enough to the point where I should probably look for other subjects too. Who knows, though…

ILS: Was the song Family Crest written from your own perspective? What’s that one about? I was just listening to it now, and the references to mental states and dreams piqued my interest.

Max: I wrote the shell of that song in the basement of my girlfriend’s parents’ house in rural Ohio, at about 2 or 3am while everyone else was asleep. I remember whispering the first two lines over and over again because I didn’t want to wake anyone up, but I also didn’t have any sort of writing/recording device and knew I’d just have to remember it later on. It was written at a strange and transitional point in my life - I was in between schools and jobs, in a city and a house I’d never been to before, in a relationship that was still pretty new at that point, and was definitely having a bit of a crisis of conscience. That, and my phone was dead, and I couldn’t find the fucking light switch, so I was just kind of sitting there in the dark freaking out a little bit, wishing I could just go to sleep and slow my brain down for a moment. I suppose the song is about grappling between personal and professional lives, and the forces that drag us towards focusing on one or the other. Trying to make well-thought-out and informed decisions for the future, while not sacrificing personal aspirations; trying to figure out a legitimate way to pursue both, I guess. It was written over two years ago. If I wrote a song about all that now it’d be a lot different - maybe more cynical, more cautious. I’m not really sure - maybe I’ll give it another shot.


(Photo by Christine Froggatte)

ILS: I think that’s something a lot of us have to grapple with, especially within punk/hc, because it’s so common for us to grow up with ideals and aspirations that don’t always find an easy fit in society at large. Sometimes I think it might be a generational thing. Probably a bit naive, but sometimes I feel like our generation are going to take a huge hit for the easy credit the baby boomers enjoyed since the ’80s, and we’re barely even starting out. What do you think?

Max: What’s scary to me is that I think that “huge hit” is starting to affect our generation even now. What you’re talking about plays in hugely to what’s going on right now with Occupy Wall Street (and pretty much every other major US city). Not just in a punk sense, but in a general living and well-being sense. One of my best friends just dropped out of school to go join the occupation up in New York, and he’s got a lot of reasons - debt, student loans, and finding employment after leaving the academic bubble. It feels like we’re being groomed for a system that should have been restructured years ago.

It’s a strange time to be young. Maybe three of my friends know what they’re doing after they graduate college.  When people from a more “professional” walk of life ask me what I want to do after I graduate, I just tell them I want to live in a van and play music for the rest of my life. It might not be how I feel in 10 or 20 years, but it certainly avoids conversations I don’t want to have.

ILS: Exactly. I graduated with my BA three years ago, went home to pay off my overdraft, and by the Autumn the economy had gone up the spout. Spent a year in a warehouse, then got my MSc in Social Research, only for the new Conservative/Liberal Democrat coalition Government to cut funding to all social science courses two months later, so now I earn minimum wage in the daytime, and work on I Live Sweat in the evenings, in part to try and distract myself from the huge question mark where my future used to sit.

I used to think the idea of working for half a century was really scary, but, as I see it, it’s a lot scarier to have no idea whether you’ll even be able to do that.

I’m definitely seeing what looks like a huge ground swell in political activism from our generation, on both sides of the Atlantic. Neither the US, nor the United Kingdom, seems to have a genuinely progressive opposition party, with the weight of influence, or the sheer brass neck to stand up to the various powerful financial interests at play.

Max: I can agree - I’m definitely seeing that “ground swell” as you said. Sometimes I feel like focusing on the things that I do (music and design) is downright selfish, and that I should be doing something more productive and on a larger scale. My most political days were at age 12-13, listening almost exclusively to Anti-Flag and spray-painting “Goodbye America” on my Fruit of the Loom T-shirts that my parents bought me from Wal-Mart. I admit that I wasn’t really able to grasp the concept of irony at that point.

There’s a Frank Turner song called Photosynthesis that I’m starting to relate to immensely as I get older and plays in hugely (in my opinion, of course) to this conversation. For anyone who reads this, look up the lyrics. That guy can write the hell out of a song.

ILS: I’m definitely getting to the point where “the latest music fads all pass me by”, but I’d hope that I Live Sweat is testament to my refusal to grow up and shut up.

I dunno. Sometimes it feels like there’s something in our culture that is constantly telling us to sit back, shut up, and choose between the options prescribed to us. I think that’s a lot of the attraction of DIY music and culture, in that it feels genuine, and the transparency and modesty of the means by which it’s produced give it a feel of authenticity that a lot of people are looking for. Who knows?


(Photo by Christine Froggatte)

Max: I mean, people are attracted to DIY music for all kinds of different reasons. What you described is exactly why I was drawn to it, but I think the fact that you used the term “feel of authenticity” is something to be noted. Sometimes it is just a “feel”, and isn’t actually authentic. Now, don’t get me wrong, there are tons of people in DIY music who are kind, genuine, and overall great people, but I also think that there are people on both sides of the fence that don’t really get it. There are bands that posture as DIY, but just use it as a front to gain followers and make money, and there are people who think the world can just exist in basements and info-shops, and that bands that play big venues or 21+ shows, or license their music for something, are somehow morally reprehensible. Neither is the case, at least in my opinion.

To me, DIY means doing it your own way. Doing what you want to do and making your own decisions. It’s as simple as that. Just because you play in a basement, get some tattoos and sing songs about whiskey and cigarettes, doesn’t make you a DIY musician, and I think there are a ton of people that hide behind that. My question is this: What can you contribute? What will you create that’s new? How will you make things better for yourself and those around you, without being exclusionary? There’s so much going on that people just slap the “DIY” term on that just seems so counter-productive to me; stuff that’s just as limiting and unfair as the society that you’re supposedly an alternative to. It’s infuriating and creates just as many schisms and sects within a scene as there are outside of it.

Also, just to clarify the comment about 21+ shows, I will take an all-ages show over a 21+ show any day, but after having been on long tours and facing the prospect of either playing a 21+ show or having nothing at all, I’ll take the 21+ show. It’s never a first choice, though.

ILS: There’s a bit in the Minutemen documentary, We Jam Econo, where Mike Watt says something similar to the following, and I’m paraphrasing at best:

“What is to be done where you’re at, and how you gonna do it?”

That, to me, is the essence of the thing. A few years ago, I’d get really pissed off when bands I loved signed to major labels, particularly when Alkaline Trio and Against Me! did it, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve come to realise that real life doesn’t conform to our ideals all the time, and punk rock isn’t some seperate little utopia running parallel to the real world, but part of it. I’d still much rather bands were able to get what they want on independent labels, but I’m not shaking my fist at pictures of Tom Gabel anymore, know what I mean?

I think sometimes we can buy into the dream of this utopian road warrior thing, as fans, and when the reality of the thing hits us, like maybe Henry Rollins would prefer to sleep in a bed, or the Stooges fancy licensing some music so they can put some money by for old age, it feels like a betrayal because it’s undermining that thing we cling to during our nine to five lives. Like, as long as Against Me! are out there living this dream, we as listeners haven’t bought in to the system we find ourselves within? Does that make sense?

On the topic of 21+ shows, our drinking laws in the UK are a lot more relaxed, it being legal to drink with a meal at 14, and drink without at 18, so it’s not a huge jump, but bars, pubs, and clubs still dominate, and a lot of the time that’s just about economics.

(Photo by Ted Novotny)

Max: I’ve written a bunch of responses to that, but I don’t think I can put it any better than you just did. Especially the line about how if a band is out there “living this dream”, then we can essentially live vicariously through them because to us, they seem insulated from the system. Nobody’s insulated from it - it’s just how you choose to conduct yourself.

ILS: Yeah. I’m a great believer in trying to change the world for a better, but I think you’ve got to pick your battles just to get by on the day to day, especially if you’re not lucky enough to have a lot of money behind you.

Are you much of a reader, and if so, what kind of stuff do you like to read?

Max: I’m not gonna lie to you - between music and design I don’t find a lot of time to do it.  I read constantly when I was younger, but as soon as I picked up a guitar it kind of took the place of everything else. I have a habit of picking up a book, reading it about halfway through, getting sidetracked out of my routine, and totally forgetting about it. Right now I’m about in the middle of Slaughterhouse V and I’m very determined to finish it - it’s my first venture into reading Vonnegut, and it’s phenomenal so far.

And if you’ve got any recommendations I’m definitely listening.

ILS: I’ve never read any Vonnegut, but I’ve got a mate who swears by him. My favourite novel is The Dispossessed by Ursula Le Guin. It’s philosophical sci-fi, and it examines a lot of the questions about ideology and utopian thinking that we’ve talked about here. Other than that, Human Punk and The Prison House by John King. For my money, he’s the greatest English novelist of our time, but a lot of people write him off without reading him because his debut novel, The Football Factory, was adapted into a feature film. The novel examined football violence and the surrounding culture from a range of points of view, and the film really didn’t, so he’s got an ill-deserved rep as a bloke who rights about, and for, hooligans, when he’s actually one of the most interesting and challenging liberal voices around. He’s also got a habit of standing up for working class culture, which isn’t particularly popular with our privately educated broadsheet journos, but whatever.

Max: I will admit that I like reading stories of adventure and travel a lot. I had a Kerouac phase, and I stumbled across this book called Exit 25 Utopia at a used book sale for $2 that basically chronicles the ’70s punk scene through the eyes of a few touring musicians based out of New York City. That era, and the crazy fusion of punk and Hip-Hop as they emerged in popularity, was awesome to read about. It makes sense that the books I like are related to music and travel, but I guess I need to broaden my horizons a bit. I promise I’ll check out your recommendations as soon as I’m done with SH5… so I’ll probably have them read by the time I’m 30.

ILS: That punk and Hip-Hop had strong roots in the same city in the same timeframe is a fact a lot of people miss. For my money, the basic philosophical tenets of the two are very similar, although they emerged from very different circumstances.

I think we should wind this up shortly, lest we natter about awesome stuff forevermore. Anything you want to plug, as far as Signals Midwest, or friends’ bands go?

Max: I grew up listening to punk and Hip-Hop, writing graffiti and skateboarding.  It all served as an alternative and viable means of self-expression, and I definitely agree with you about the basic shared philosophy behind a lot of it. 

As for plugs?  Uh… our record comes out in November on Tiny Engines.  They have been insanely cool so far. I think the pre-orders will be up in November, and they’ll ship early December. We’ll be doing some cool art prints, and colored vinyl and stuff, for the pre-order, so keep an eye out for that!

We also have two split 7”s coming out, one that we’re self-releasing late this month with our friends in Shady Ave. from PA and one in January on Solidarity Recordings with a killer band from LA called The French Exit.  So we have a bunch of new music on the way.  You can hear our whole discography at http://signalsmidwest.bandcamp.com.

One more thing that I want anyone who reads this to know: don’t sleep on bands from Ohio! There is so much great music coming out of this state and it’s amazing to be part of it. Check out every one of these bands: Worship This!, American War, Annabel, The Sidekicks, Reverse the Curse, Tin Armor, Andy Cook and the Wanderloons, Delay, Vacation, New Creases, The Fucking Cops, Two Hand Fools, Ultra Ultra, Gunnerson, Northwestern, Cherry Cola Champions… I know I’m definitely forgetting people, but the bottom line is that Ohio rules.

Thanks for the interview, this was super fun.

ILS: Already all over Tin Armor, and The Fucking Cops, but I’ll give the rest a go, too. Thanks Max.

You can find Signals Midwest on Bandcamp, Twitter, Tumblr, and Facebook. Tiny Engines can be found on Bandcamp, Twitter, Facebook, and on their own web-fiefdom.

Andy does I Live Sweat. You can find him… here.

“Zines and the (increasingly understood to be) free and open Internet are a way to dissolve barriers traditionally made too daunting by class structures.” - Nowah Jacobs weighs in on the topic of grass-roots media.

(Andy’s note: This piece is a response to a previous guest post on this topic which you can find here)


(photo by Naomi Nagler)

I have looked at academic papers written by my peers at university and I have been able to point out inconsistencies in their uses of APA, MLA, and Chicago citation styles. I have been encouraged by my professors to submit my own academic works to journals with the word Quarterly in the title. I regularly look up that Pictures of Sad Children comic of David Foster Wallace trapped on a desert island and laugh out loud. I, like Costa Koutsoutis, personally place value on my own literacy and, (too often), on the literacy of others, but yet I diverge quickly and harshly from the thesis of his recent I Live Sweat essay.

Academe is an institution historically at odds with a punk rock ethic. Consider the frequently massive disparities in academic literacy rates, and, indeed, overall scholastic success, across race-, gender-, and class-based lines. It seems to me as though Costa writes from a similar degree of privilege from which I do. If there was one thing I wasn’t made to struggle with, it was my right to learn. But I acknowledge, appreciate, and regret that the same cannot be said for many of my peers in punk who, for one reason or dozens, have not been afforded the same opportunity.

If I insist that I want nothing to do with his rough drafts, I’m minimizing the experiences of my roommate who wasn’t properly taught, by a failing public education system, the difference between your and you’re. If I throw away Cheap Toys #7 without reading it because academic English is not my friend’s first language, I am engaging in the symbolic annihilation of his entire culture. If someone’s print job is a little fudged because she can’t afford to spend eighteen cents a page to have it done at Staples, I owe it to her to listen to what she has to say. It’s unlikely that many people do, and frankly I find it unlikely that she’s taking herself any less seriously than the “big boys” clinging to a crumbling infrastructure of boarded up Boarders’ and blog-of-the-week book deals.

Zines and the (increasingly understood to be) free and open Internet are a way to dissolve barriers traditionally made too daunting by class structures. They have emerged as an invaluable lesson in each individual’s entitlement to an opinion. And it is baffling, to me, the notion that we as punks should do anything but nurture that creativity in each other. Jen Twigg says of sexism in the punk scene that we “owe it to ourselves to grow and learn together.” I think that her outlook extends to this discussion as well. We must direct our rage toward the institutions that have failed us, rather than faulting each other for being failed by them. We owe it to ourselves to grow and learn and teach together, and we deserve to be supported by our community.

And if my advisor, Dr. Jody Waters, had refused to look at my drafts, I wouldn’t have graduated college with the capacity to reject my privilege in this way.

Nowah Jacobs is a writer, bassist, and radio producer living vicariously through Bloomington, Indiana. He has an intense love for roadside America, and would love to read everything that you have ever written in your whole entire life. He can be contacted at yummyache.tumblr.com.

“Every bad thing I have is acknowledged as worth it, because it led to this moment.” - Joe Briggs on the transgressive power of the pit

(Andy’s note: For my money, Joe is spot on when he talks about great crowds as a transgressive, almost religious, collective experience. Been there, so many times.)

(Photo by Marc Gaertner)

I have seen a lot of people recently criticising violent dancing in punk rock, as sexist, as ableist, or as just plain selfish. and most of the time, when people tell me something makes them uncomfortable, for whatever reason, I am okay with appreciating their perspective and stopping doing it, even if I don’t agree with their reasons, because I do have a lot of privileges and if I can attempt to eliminate and nullify them then it’s great, but not with this one. While I do try to understand other people’s perspectives I have real trouble imagining someone who hears music that is this energetic and loves it and doesn’t want to move to it. I can totally get someone who’s weirded out by touching strangers or by crowds like that, but surely that can’t be everyone. So I acknowledge that I’m not going to be able to comprehend everything, this is one time where I just don’t get the opposing point of view, so I’ll just say to them something along the lines of “Look, I have no idea why you would consider standing still to be an appropriate response to a band you like, but if that’s you’re thing then go for it.” This doesn’t mean that I am going to stop to notice people who are not dancing and attempt to fit in with the way they’re acting, and there’s an extremely important reason for that.

When I dance, in some crappy basement or the grimy back room of a pub, surrounded by a dozen or a hundred people dancing like that with me, I am not thinking about someone who’s not dancing, and why they may not be dancing. I’m not thinking of anything but the words in my throat and my unsteady footing. When I am dancing like that, in a really good pit, that is boisterous but not scary, that supports all the crowd-surfers and immediately picks up anyone who falls, that is as close as I get to a genuinely spiritual experience. The one time in my life where I feel the tickle of what might be described as a higher-consciousness. That is the moment where all the effort, and hurt, and stress, and love, all coalesces into a greater whole and just pours out of me and I grin like a moron. Every bad thing I have is acknowledged as worth it because it led to this moment. The dark only made this light seem brighter. Every good thing I have is present and screamed at the top of my voice. All the time spent working soul-sapping dead-end jobs, all the mistakes and shitty things I’ve done, all the frustration, all the lonely desolation I’ve ploughed through, all the hours spent listening to punk rock and scrutinising lyrics booklets as holy texts, they all seem completely worth it. When I’m dancing and singing, with other people dancing and singing, I no longer feel as if I’m some isolated fuck-up who’s toiling in obscurity, destined to live and die frustrated and alone; I feel like I am kin with a million isolated fuck-ups who all feel these things. I am feeling the music. And the music is in part born of pent-up rage, and pent-up loneliness and despair and all that shit streamed into these coruscating anthems. I will not abase that part of myself before anyone who just wants to stand there, no matter how valid or important the reason is that they want to do that. Maybe that’s selfish to an extent, but it’s not lazy or ill-considered, it’s that core part of me that makes me me. It’s the one stand I will always take, because in the dancing exists the little unshakable nugget of hope and self-evident truth that makes me barrel out of the show drenched in sweat and want to change the world, want to write books, want to play music that connects to some lonely 15 year old and save them the way I was saved, want to rip apart racism, and sexism, and homophobia, and all these shitty destructive prejudices, want to shock oppressive arseholes with wild situationist pranks, and blow minds with truth, and burn down entrenched class systems with a song in my heart and a glint in my eye. And I’m supposed to reel that in, to stifle that sensation because someone, whoever they are, whatever their sex or experiences, feels uncomfortable with it? Because someone wants to stand still and drink a beer and take a crappy blurry cellphone picture of the band and feels that this raucous and beautiful music is best appreciated by head nodding? Fuck that.

I’m not alone in this. It’d probably be really cliche to quote Emma Goldman right about now but it probably fits. As well as that Pat the Bunny line and guys talking feminism to get into girls’ pants and quoting Emma Goldman without bothering to dance. And I’d point to the sheer amount of people my age seduced into the punk scene and its progressive politics by Against Me!’s romantic glorious vision of crowds of likeminded people dancing like no-one’s watching with one fist in the air. This is a quote from a piece entitled My First Punk Show written by Brittany Walenta, a good friend of mine, about why she loves punk rock:

“In the pit, i realized that, outside of the pit, I was wearing a leash that I had never noticed because I had not tested its length. I discovered just how glorious it felt to be rude, violent, and drenched both in my sweat and the sweat of others. How cathartic it was to shout along to songs with no regard for how it sounds to other people. How completely primal and desexualizing it can be to fight a crowd of people to music.

And that night I was reluctant to wash the perfume, of cheap cigarettes, and lone star beer, and gallons of sweat, away in the shower. And the next day at school I wore my bruises and aching muscles as a badge of honor, because I knew I had found something so much more satisfying and thrilling than fluorescent lights and class rank and “funny” student run morning announcements. And for the first time i understood wanting to run away and join the circus.”

I want to just address a couple of specific points here, that a moshpit is sexist and/or ableist. I don’t think it’s sexist. To characterise the pit as purely an expression of testosterone is an incredibly limited gender-normative viewpoint that is effectively attempting to shame women into maintaining a quiet, reflective, stand-in-the-corner, coatrack, appreciation of the music when they might want to release all their stresses, and demonstrate all their love for this music, by dancing freely with a bunch of similarly stressed-out and wasted punks, like a scarecrow caught in the wind, just as a guy might want to sit at the back and watch the music in peace.

And as for ableism, I once saw a guy crowdsurfing in a wheelchair and it was a wonderful thing. I got the sense from everyone around me that there was this real joy at seeing someone do this, at realising that a disabled person is connecting with the music in exactly the same way that all us more able-bodied people were. Now maybe that’s patronising in a way, most able-bodied people don’t really have an exact idea of how hard it is to live with a physical disability, but we assume it must be pretty fucking hard at times and we do try to make allowances, though it’s just great to see someone just doing what the fuck they want regardless of what the expectations of them are. My girlfriend has been whacked in the face by a guy with no hand, and smacked in the shins by a guy in a motorised wheelchair in a circle pit, but when she related these stories to me it wasn’t like “What are those people doing there?” but again this sense of “How fucking awesome was it that people who might be constrained by their physical disabilities and also the social pressures to play up the victim card as a result of those physical disabilities are getting in the pit and enjoying it the way anyone can?” It was taking great joy in a reaffirmation of the powers of this thing we love and believe in, that it can lift up and free people who will often face a much tougher day-to-day struggle than most of us on the most basic level.

Real violence born of malevolence or carelessness is a terrible thing, but the fantasy of it, the concept of a constructive upward-striking violence that we are all a part of is a beautiful idea, and the pit offers that. I have been assaulted in the street more than once, not for quite some time but when I was 17 an amazing string of bad luck led to me being attacked three times in two days, the first two within 15 minutes of each other, by three completely unrelated groups of people for three different reasons. This led to me barely leaving the house for quite a while. It was tough and I hated myself for it (one of the big issues was that I thought that as a man I should’ve been able to defend myself), but I did get over this paranoia, and agoraphobia, and self-loathing, and one of the ways I got over it was by going to punk shows and moshing, getting into pits, filling myself with enough adrenaline that I didn’t care when I was hit in the face, I didn’t feel pain or terror, just concentration and exhilaration. At one Zatopeks show I fell over on the beer-slick floor and didn’t notice until two songs later that I had a significantly sized shard of glass sticking out of my hand which I ripped out with my teeth and carried on dancing. I’ve had a friend hit in the head with the lead singer’s guitar and he barely cared because he was dancing and because he was having fun, and yes, because there is an odd badge-of-pride to shrugging off pain and injury that some would characterise as a pointlessly macho exercise, but to me represents a physical aspect of that desire to pull in all one’s hurt, and to stream it into songs, and art, and the expression of dancing, mind over matter, rhythm over the chattering spikes of the world.

The pit is violent, but it’s not a violence aimed at anyone. (Also, let’s not pretend that non-dancers are inherently non-violent, we’ve all encountered the dickhead who throws punches at people dancing too close to them and their girlfriend. That happened to me personally at an Andrew Jackson Jihad show.) It is a communal physical and mental catharsis that should be, in its most perfect form, open to anyone who’s willing to stream all the love and passion they have for this music into a chaotic slamdance. Yes, some pits are overly violent and macho and that might annoy me, but it also pisses me off when nobody in a venue wants to respond to a beautiful piece of music by throwing themselves around with reckless abandon. I think ultimately there should always a place for both sitting and absorbing in peace and someone who wants to release all their stresses and demonstrate all their love for this music by dancing freely with a bunch of similarly stressed-out and wasted punks, like a scarecrow caught in the wind, but I always know which one I’m going to pick given an absolute choice. In a perfect pit, the kind I’ve been in a bunch of times, there’s always support for crowd-surfers or stage-divers, people actively attempting to hit people (or to molest people) rather than just bounce and shove are treated with utter contempt and disrespect, and nobody ever fails to stop dancing and immediately go to the aid of somebody who’s hit the floor, which is inevitably going to happen sometimes because of the expressive full-contact nature of the dancing, no matter how friendly the pit is. 

What I am always extremely quick to oppose is anything that seeks to sanitise and simplify the culture that I love. That I have invested myself in for about 40% of my time on this planet now, and all its stupidity and sweetness, all its intelligent activism and hard-fought communal spaces, all its noise. That it is a place for everything from gleefully pissy songs to a sustained self-interrogation of privilege and prejudice present within the scene. That it accepts and encourages all these things on a local and global scale. That it’s got bands ranging sonically from Ghost Mice to Threatener, from the simplicity of Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue to the sprawling epics of Fucked Up. In scenes from everywhere from Japan to Alaska. It’s a place for something as fantastically juvenile as the Hickey/Voodoo Glow Split or the music of Splodgenessabounds as it is for more stridently political or serious material like Crass or Bikini Kill. 

I reject the attempts to dull the sharp edge of punk rock, not just from the co-opting powers of mainstream culture, and their desire to remove the serious radical politics, and package rebellion as a hairstyle and a power chord, but from the uncompromising drive for equality eroding the fact that the beautiful (and terrible but ultimately essential) thing about people is that we’re all from different places, and all have our different ways of expressing ourselves, and comprehending the world, and fighting to make it the better world that we want. How can we invite and welcome people into the scene by taking away some of the verve, and romance, and noise, which makes it appeal to the sort of people who want to get into it? How can we make punk a threat again if we systematically purge all that is wild and carefree in its adherents? The idea that everyone has to cater wholly to one perspective by limiting the freedom of expression of everyone else, or that we need to institute equality by forcing people to give up anything that might offend or disturb anyone else is pretty much Stalinist. It is so absurd that it’s like a stereotypical right-wing caricature of a left-wing position. It’s the mentality that Kurt Vonnegut so perfectly satirised in Harrison Bergeron and the Sirens of Titan. 

Why should I be forced to acknowledge, and kowtow to, the possible misinterpretation of my dancing, and compromise this essential part of my being in favour of people who are crowing that a moshpit is anti-inclusive, as they completely fail to make the same attempt to understand the possible appeal and ethos behind something they disagree with, as I have done repeatedly with positions that are not my own; who have not made a single concession to the idea that what me, and my friends, and dozens of strangers who are for this moment my very best friend, are doing is not alienating in it’s intent, or even alienating in it’s execution, if you’re willing to understand it, but is in fact motivated by a constructive and inclusive desire to create, for one of these perfect moments that can occur when a band full of people as confused, and shitty, and broken as we are play their hearts out and everybody’s tumbling around the mic, these glorious fucking moments of equality, and joy, and freedom, open to all who wish to engage in it. The notion that we should stop that, and turn around and look for guidance from people who by all outward attributes appear to just not give a shit about where they are, and who they’re with, and what they’re witnessing, is lazy and selfish and anti-intellectual on your part and I reject it totally. Me and my fellow dancers and our pitborn friendships are Kevin Bacon and you are John Lithgow. And no-one roots for Lithgow.

I have huge problems with this piece. Maryam Hassan has thankfully already pointed out the inherent irony in the phrase “Consideration for others is punk fucking rock.” used in it, but there are bigger problems than that:

“I’ve never moshed because if you shove me, I am going to want to fight you. Because wanting to fight you is the natural reaction to being shoved. Now, you can kick my ass, no doubt. I’m an old lady. But I’ll still try to fucking fight you. Because you don’t just fucking shove people. What the fuck?”

Isn’t that your issue more than it is anyone elses? Because when someone shoves me at a show, I can recognise when there is intended malice and when there is not. Wanting to fight someone is not an all-purpose natural reaction to someone shoving you, it’s a selfish arsehole reaction. You’re mistaking your own views for the absolute truth.

“You are selfish. You are a selfish asshole, just like every selfish asshole you have ever complained about in your life. You are THE selfish asshole at every show you attend.”

Indeed. 

How is you saying that people shouldn’t dance, or that people should dance in a certain way (telling people at a punk show to learn to dance is like telling a punk band to learn their instruments, enthusiasm over technical ability is kind of the bloody point of the whole endeavour) less selfish than me and my friends wanting to dance and wanting to dance in the way that we love? “What about you and your desires trumps me and mine?”

I’ve been moved to apologise to bands after shows where people didn’t dance on behalf of the crowd and the scene, because it just seems disrespectful to these people, who have travelled hundreds, or thousands, of miles to play their hearts out, in a tiny room, for little to no money. Some things are incompatible, sometimes ideologies and philosophies will clatter and clang against each other, and there can be no compromise or diplomacy, and we just have to live with that. People who don’t want to dance have to accept people dancing and just stand a little further back, just as I have to reign in my exuberance and accept people not dancing at shows when there’s a crowd that doesn’t want to move even though it makes me feel massively uncomfortable and never fails to really make me feel like shit in the one place that can often lift me from my lowest moods. It’s an unbearably complex world, and often we have to acknowledge other people’s feelings and maybe cater to them if we realise that something means more to them than it does to us, but almost nothing means more to me than dancing. It is my line in the sand. NO PASARAN!

Joe Briggs is a writer from Oxford. He owns too many books and yet not enough. He attempts to map the shape of his punk-addled brain on his blog. He also has a twitter, a tumblr and a barely know ‘er. Like every other cunt in the world, he’s writing a novel. He’s asked me to include his email if any of you would like to discuss this piece directly.


“The things that separate us are constructed, they are learned, taught, and most importantly they are challengeable.” - Ces Pearson on the improvements she’s seen in UK punk, and how there’s more to be done.

Over the years, I think that overt sexism within the punk scene in the UK has undoubtedly lessened. Perhaps I’m comparing punk rock shows to hardcore shows, and letting them off lightly, in terms of violent macho bullshit undermining any audible messages of solidarity and inclusion; but so many punk bands are singing positively and about things that matter, and this feeds into the audience, without all the aggression seen and felt in the context of hardcore. The frame of reference is shifting slightly; overt sexism and immature gender stereotyping are not cool, and not acceptable. Bands that include women, or that sing about women’s issues, are currently both visible, and inspiring, in the UK. Seeing artists like ONSIND, Caves, Ducking Punches, Porches, Pudge, Helen Chambers, and now Great Cynics, is a breath of fresh air. Alongside recognition of issues regarding women specifically and their participation, is the growth in what appears to be a more inclusive and less macho male environment.

It’s hard to go to a show after having been doing the same thing for 8 years, and see it as anything other than a regular puck rock gig. After so long it just doesn’t register how uneven the gender make up is at shows, and in bands. It’s just how it is, and how it’s always been. A woman in a band is an inspiration, someone to get confused about, am I in love or do I just wanna be them so badly? Do guys feel that way when they see a band play? My guess is not nearly as much, because it’s not an inspirational break from tradition to see a guy play a show. It’s positive and empowering to see a woman on stage, but given that we’ve been present within this subculture, and made vital contributions to it throughout its inception and development, should it be such a special occasion? It should be the norm.

As soon as a woman steps onto the stage, and picks up her guitar, bass, or mic, or sits down behind the drum kit, there is so often a palpable sense of expectation in the room. A woman in a band has reached arguably the most highly respected platform of participation in the scene, she’s no different from the males that surround her, and yet she’s still got to work twice as hard to be accepted in this role. When a guy sucks in a band, he just sucks. If a woman plays badly, it’s because she’s a woman. Immediate objectification takes place – if she looks like a Front model, she’s just there to look at, and if she doesn’t she mustn’t be heterosexual and therefore worthy of your attention, because obviously if she was she’d have made more of an effort for you guys right? And if a woman can’t be tamed by your sexual prowess then what is the point in acknowledging her? This is of course a generalisation, one based upon negative aspects of behaviour at shows, but nevertheless, it is one which needs to be highlighted and challenged.

Punk is a space in which we can liberate ourselves and challenge what we have shoved down our throats day in day out. We can challenge capitalism, we can challenge far right politics, we can challenge signs saying ‘no skateboarding’, and bylaws against drinking cider in the street, but we can’t seem to shake off those influences we find in nearly every aspect of modern life, which depict women as sexual and domestic beings, and men as the boss, both defined by their overt heterosexuality. Our subculture has been infiltrated by these gender assumptions; you can see it in the presence of a Front magazine stage at Hevy Fest, in the complete re-write of women out of the history of punk music and subculture, and most evidently, in the gender make up at shows and in bands.

As men and women, we’re sold different lives from the very beginning and we need to challenge this, not drag it along with us into something as liberating and exciting as punk. The things that separate us are constructed, they are learned, taught, and most importantly they are challengeable. We’ve learned to objectify and to sexualise one another, and we can just as easily forget that shit, and gain so much more from each other, if we let ourselves.

Ces Peason is a postgraduate student currently finishing an MA in Social Policy. The UK punk scene has been a huge part of her life for the past 8 years or so and she has written extensively, during her undergraduate degree, about gender and sub culture, with particular reference to punk and hardcore in the UK. To learn more, email her.

“If this show is ‘All Ages’, where’s my damn senior discount?” - Kate Tyler Wall on being 53, female, and punk.

(Andy’s note: I’m really excited to post this, as I fully intend to live to a ripe old age, without sacrificing the things I love. Thanks again, Kate!)


(Photo by Roland J. Wall)

I have a ticket for the Flatliners/DayTrader/Holy Mess show at The Fire in Philadelphia in two weeks, and my husband is not happy about me going there alone. I was there once before, for the Evil Weevil Records showcase. I took a cab from his office, and then he picked me up after the show. He’s concerned about my safety in that part of town. This comes up a lot. He’s not trying to set limits or order me around. He’s just worried.

I’m a 53-year-old woman who loves to go to punk shows. So far, I’m often in a category by myself. The audience at a lot of shows is 85% male, period, with most of the females on the arm of a guy or in BFF duos, and certainly 20 or 30 years younger than I am. There are people my age at some old-school or rockabilly-influenced bands, like Social Distortion, but they’re guys, or couples, or with their kids. I’m almost always alone.

The younger fans I see at shows are tied into the scene. They know where the house shows are, know where to park in a dodgy neighborhood. They may not have someone at home, who’s waiting up at 2:00 a.m. on a work night, fretting about whether their car has been vandalized, or they’ve gotten hurt in the pit, or if they’ll be able to stay awake making the two-hour drive alone from Asbury Park. They might have to deal with getting hit on, but not with getting picked on, by the lead singer of their favorite local band. 

I’m a born-again punk. Several years ago, around the time I realized I hated my former job and other key parts of my life, I found that the old-school punk that had been background music in my youth was now saving my soul. From there, I moved on to the current scene. To paraphrase every punk who ever lived, the music sounds like I feel. When I did find a better job, it was only part time, and right when the economy went to Hell. Suddenly I had time on my hands to seek out and listen to bands, from the Class of 1977 on up through whatever went on Bandcamp last week. Slowly, after years of not going to any kinds of shows, I began venturing out again. Live music of all kinds has become my life’s blood. Only I discovered that even my youngest friends were not willing to accompany me to a punk show, although I go along with them to catch indie acts, singer-songwriters, Danish metal bands, whatever. I was on my own.

I’ve missed as many bands as I’ve seen, mostly because of venue locations. As I’ve tried to explain to my husband, The Fire is actually pretty unremarkable compared with warehouse or basement shows. I missed the glory days of the legendary Ox in Philly, including a show by three of my favorite bands shortly before it got shut down, because I just couldn’t pull the trigger to go to that neighborhood alone. I don’t know anyone to give me the deets on some of the semi-secret performance spaces around town, and I’m not sure of how I’d be received if I went. Mostly, I’m invisible to the bros. I just get my beer at the bar and get lost in the music, and I’m usually left alone. That’s good and bad. Bad only because I’d like to talk to more people, make some friends to go to shows with. I’m shy by nature, and most people are there with their friends. Still, I didn’t fully appreciate how good it was not to be noticed until my previous trip to The Fire. I was there for six hours, checking out some bands I hadn’t heard of and some that I had listened to and wanted to see live. I was hanging on to see my favorite locals, whom I’d been trying to catch for several months and were one of the last bands scheduled. Late in the evening I found a place up front during Restorations’ set, and since I’m used to holding down my piece of real estate at big commercial barns like the Electric Factory (where I go five to seven hours without a drink or bathroom break, just so I get a good spot and don’t lose it), I stayed there for my favorites, who were up next. I wasn’t front and center, just off on one side. The moment my faves hit the stage, the lead singer pointed me out and started a running commentary about my age, claiming I was his mother. At first it seemed to be meant as fun and funny, and I took it as such. If you’re going to be the Betty White of orgcore, you have to roll with it.

But it went on too long and started to seem a little mean-spirited. I taunted them about it a bit on Twitter afterward and eventually got an apology of sorts that claimed they commended, celebrated, and congratulated my status. This was good to hear, but since the tweet also included the words “elderly” and “old”, it lost some of its intended impact.  I don’t think of 53 as “elderly”. I have more physical strength and stamina now than I did when I was 30. I don’t dress like a teenager or as someone’s mom. The band underestimated my actual age by a few years while they made fun of me. I don’t bring earplugs to shows like a friend who is only 32, or bitch to everyone around me about how I’m too old to stay up late anymore like the guys I hear at every show who are in, uh, their late 20s. I just want to enjoy the music, dammit.

I do like to be up front, because there’s no point, for me, in going to see live music if I have to stand miles away looking at the back of some guy’s head. I avoid the pit (after breaking a toe at a Gaslight Anthem show last summer) unless I can be right by the stage. I’ll get slightly crushed and bruised and splashed with beer up there, but that’s OK. (My friends are dismayed when I show them YouTube videos the day after a show where I can be glimpsed amidst the mayhem. And I hesitated writing about even being near the pit, because when you’re older you actually think of things like “Will revealing this make me lose my health insurance?”) At small shows it’s really not a problem. At larger places, with more mainstream bands, it’s suicide to be on the floor unless you’re in the front row. Security guys at the big joints tend to be protective of me when I’m riding the rail. If I can’t get that spot, I’m first row up in the balcony, where I can see and not be kicked in the head by drunken crowd surfers. So that’s a concession I do make sometimes, but there are plenty of people younger than me, including guys, who do the same thing for the same reasons.

I’ve had the opportunity to meet a number of performers, many of whom (Frank Turner, Chuck Ragan, and Dave Hause come to mind) are incredibly nice to all their fans and don’t seem to care about what age they happen to be.

And I admit to playing the age card occasionally. Two weeks ago I made sure every security guy, roadie, and fellow front-row hanger knew about it so I could guilt my way into getting a Social D set list, without slipping anybody a ten-spot or flashing tits like the people who got the other ones. Security at the Factory doesn’t even bother patting me down anymore. If someone asks why I’m alone, I make jokes about being stood up by my date—Iggy Pop.

But I do regret the frustration of not feeling free to go to some shows alone, and having to worry about where to stand. There is a part of aging you can’t take back. I know the dumb things I did when I was younger, the strange parts of town I went late at night, the times I walked home alone in the wee hours of the morning. I just can’t go back to that, because many years of experience, things that happened to me or to people I know, or things that almost happened, left an indelible impression. Age does mean learning a few lessons, and while I think it’s vital not to shut yourself off to new experiences and learning new things, it’s stupid to try to unlearn things about your personal safety. You learned them for a reason.

So, in short, I’d like to find somebody, of any age, to go to shows with or even just meet me there so I don’t have to walk to my car alone or worry my husband to death. Somebody who knows safe places to park, somebody who will vouch for me at a basement show, somebody to help me feel both less invisible and less conspicuous. Preferably before that Off With Their Heads show at The Barbary in August. 

Kate Tyler Wall is an editor and writer from Delaware who can still hear that rebel yell just as loud as it was in 1983, and watch Tom Gabel sing it, from the front row. Based in Philadelphia, she roams the eastern seaboard in search of three chords and the truth, and would be happy to bake cookies for any band that will put her on the guest list, or anybody who will walk her to the car after a show. She posts on Twitter as @KateBegins2Rock.


Adam Obernauer of Born in a Cent on how men can take steps to counter sexism in their community

(Photo by Eleni Vradis)

Growing up as a white man in the punk scene, sexism is something that I had initially never thought about. There was nothing more fun to me than hanging out with a bunch of friends, going to a show, seeing a bunch of bands play (generally all men), running around in a mosh pit, and just letting loose. I grew up with my sister as my best friend, a radical feminist, organizer/activist, anarchist, and continual I’m-going-to-push-the-limits-and-challenge-you type person. I remember coming back from shows all the way back in high school, and having a very different interpretation of what happened than she did, and getting pretty defensive when she critiqued one of my favorite bands, or the crowds that they associated with. After these arguments I would always feel horrible, realizing that this type of behavior did not make her feel safe, nor did it make the majority of women feel safe. At first I had always thought that this was her interpretation, and that she was over analyzing the situation, until I realized that it truly is the overall common understanding of the majority of women.

Once I got more into thinking about and understanding my privileges as a white man (which is a never ending road), I became more and more aware of the ‘silent sexisms’ that are so apparent in the punk scene, that I hadn’t noticed in my younger years; The whole culture of moshing, hyper-masculinity at shows, men being homoerotic, men not taking women musicians seriously, standing in the front when you are clearly larger than other people that cannot see the show, etc. The best way I’ve learned to check myself is to ask the question, “How much space am I taking up?” If there are a bunch of men continually speaking, interrupting, conducting themselves in a loud, masculine way, and not making room for women, the space is not safe and women generally do not feel comfortable. 

How to be an ally to women in the punk scene: I’ve put together a list of questions to think about in order to better understand how to be an ally to women. These questions are by no means original and have been created by women in (and outside of) the punk scene and have been echoed in feminist circles for a long time.

  1. How present are the men at this show?
  2. How many female-identified musicians are in the bands that are playing tonight? (This contributes to how much space is being taken up by men and how inclusive the show is.)
  3. Am I in a band with all men? Why is that the case? (Did it just happen to be that I was good friends with a bunch of male-identified musicians? Is it because the scene that I’m part of is dominated by men and in my close circle there are many more men that play music than women that do?)
  4. When women are around, do my male-identified friends talk about women differently?
  5. Do any of my friends use offensive language? If so, how should I tell them that I don’t think they should speak that way?
  6. Do I take leadership from women who have directly experienced sexism from men in the punk scene?
  7. Do I take leadership from queer-identified women who have experienced both sexism and heterosexism in the punk scene? 
  8. Do I assume heterosexuality in the women that I talk to?

Now to all the straight white men out there, please understand that this is not about censorship or being “PC”. It’s about not saying hurtful words that could potentially be triggering to people. Saying words like “bitch” or “faggot” is problematic because it makes many people feel unsafe and uncomfortable. A lot of people have been called hurtful things at times when they’ve been beaten up for being gay, or sexually assaulted, and hearing these words over and over again can trigger memories that people don’t want to think of. Not acknowledging that the words you’re saying are hurtful, and just saying the person is being “PC” is silencing the voice of the person that you are offending. If you don’t care that you’re being hurtful, making people feel uncomfortable, or silencing people, then you are just being disrespectful and inconsiderate. We can’t have the typical straight white man-punk preaching about how he should be able to say whatever he wants without acknowledging the privilege that he’s sitting on. We should realize that it’s not about censoring our language, but working on and eliminating the thought process that would lead us to say sexist or fucked up things. 

We should ask ourselves the question, “Why are we doing this ourselves? What is the point of this DIY counter-culture?” People are obviously drawn to punk music for different reasons but much of us become interested at a young age because it offers an alternative to the mainstream (or from a radical perspective, an alternative to capitalism).It’s unfortunate that, in many instances, the punk scene perpetuates the same ideas that the patriarchal, racist, and homophobic mainstream culture does. 

I am not trying to claim that I am an expert on sexism in any way. The real experts on sexism are our mothers and sisters that experience it every day. Men that are allies to women need to be open to, and listen to, what makes them uncomfortable and should be ready for some difficult conversations. Challenging and changing our preconditions is a lot of work, and can be very hard. I’m not saying we all need to have a grandiose vision of dismantling the entire institution of patriarchy (which should be the ultimate goal, but is extremely overwhelming), but we can at least choose to begin to create a society without sexism. If we can just be open to honest critiques of our scene, behaviors, language, mannerisms, etc. we can begin to change and create new ways of inclusion.

I remember seeing Ashanti Alston, an anarchist Black Panther and former political prisoner, speak at this year’s NYC Anarchist Book Fair and he said something along the lines of “I would have rather done a bank expropriation than challenge my inner sexisms.” Obviously this was a joke but was meant to bring light to how hard it can be to challenge yourself and the deeply ingrained conditioning that we all have. We can start by looking around at the shows, and bands, that we support and see how many women are present. If you’re a man that plays in a band, try to be conscious of not playing shows where all the bands are composed of all men. Try to offer more support to the women in the scene by asking them how you can be more supportive. If we all just take it one step at a time, starting with letting our guard down and truly hearing the voices of women and their experiences, we can get closer and closer to the world that we want to see.

Disclaimer: I tried to stay focused on the specific topic of sexism but under the realization that these same models need to be thought about and applied to racism, heterosexism, transphobia, classism, ageism (and other –isms) as well. If we want an inclusive scene that will feel welcome people of color (for example) we need to have these same conversations with people of color that are in the punk scene AND outside of the punk scene itself. I’ve realized over the years of organizing shows, benefits, and attempting to build radical community through music, that there needs to be a sort of abolishing of genre to include different types of music and different people with different backgrounds. I haven’t yet figured out the best approach or answer to the limitations of the punk scene, but that is an entirely different discussion that is extremely, extremely important. I think the more we ask ourselves challenging questions, the closer we are to changing ourselves, and creating the inclusive scene that we all should strive for.

Adam Obernauer plays guitar and sings for indie/punk band Born in a Cent, books shows and lives at the queer/feminist show space the Manifesta Loft in Brooklyn, and is an activist/organizer with the Community/Farmworker Alliance.


“…without this community I don’t know what I would be doing…” - Angela Hatcher of Poprocks and Coke on being a female promoter in the UK DIY scene

(Andy’s note: This piece is quite short, but it’s also concise. Enjoy!)


(Photo by Matt White)

After a recent experience at a show I was promoting, I was having a discussion with someone about what it’s like to be a female promoter in the DIY punk scene, and it was suggested that I write something about it, so when I saw that Andy had put out a call for contributors, I took the opportunity. 

I’m lucky enough to be able to say that I have had very few occasions where I have felt unsafe at a show, although this may be due to how small the UK DIY scene is. I have however had many occasions where I feel like I am forced to prove myself due to my gender. 

When I first became involved in the DIY scene I was 18 and had just moved to a new city that scared the shit out of me. Before this I was living in a small town, where the closest shows were an hour away, and my only form of transport was Arriva Trains Wales. Through going to these shows I now have a solid foundation of people around me, and I’m in a city I love. My point in saying this is to show that without this community I don’t know what I would be doing, and I know I’m not the only one who feels like this, so when I have people who make me feel like I have to prove myself to them it’s unsettling. 

My main issue is with people thinking that a promoter is always male. When I am stood alone in a venue waiting for a band to show up, with it clear that I am the promoter, I am either overlooked or asked where “the guy putting on the show” is. There have also been occasions where I am working with a male promoter on a show and, having been introduced to the band as one of the promoters, the only time any member of that band have spoken to me all night was to get me to ask the male promoter a question for them as if I am unable to answer, then later hearing that they had asked the other promoter as they were unsure if my answer was correct.

It’s a widely known truth that we need to change the view that all band members are men, but it’s not often mentioned that there are woman working in different areas of the scene that deserve the same level of respect.  

Angela Hatcher has been putting on shows in London/Kingston since 2007 under the name Poprocks and Coke, as well as being part of K-Fest for the last two years. Find her at oh-angela.tumblr.com

Great Cynics - ‘Don’t Need Much’ album release special

To celebrate the release of Don’t Need Much, the debut full length from Great Cynics (formerly Cynics), I slapped together this little ditty. It’s got three tracks from the new album, and an ambling and moderately drunken interview conducted in a small car in a Lincoln car park.

00:05 Great Cynics - Nightcaps

03:04 Interview: Part the First

16:41 Great Cynics - Not Saying Sorry

19:53 Interview: Part the Second

33:34 Great Cynics - Dave and Angela

I Live Sweat podcast on iTunes

Household Name Records

Kind of Like Records

Great Cynics on Facebook

Great Cynics on Twitter

“If someone’s down, help them up.” Dianna Settles of The Wild on building an open and inclusive underground.


(Photo by Stephen Yang)

“SHOW YOUR TITS! SHOW YOUR TITS!”

This is the refrain I heard at my first ‘punk’ show. I was 13 and it was the first time that my parents agreed to let me go to a show with my best friend Ian and his mom driving us. I heard this whenever a girl would crowd surf or try to dance. I didn’t understand why people would yell this or why the girls who did lift up their shirts looked so embarrassed or guilty afterwards, if it was something they wanted to do. Let’s start out by clarifying that I don’t consider this a real punk show now. Sum 41 was the headliner. 

That isn’t the same scene that I call home today. I feel grateful every time I walk into a show space and find zines about immigrants’ rights, ableism, and feminism. It’s really amazing that through this sort of do-it-yourself/do-it-together ethic we’ve managed to loosely knit together a family for a lot of folks who didn’t feel welcome in other crowds. Sometimes though, there are circumstances where a zine library or a “safe space” sign isn’t enough. We have to be ready to create dialogue and really challenge the actions that oppress us, or be willing to listen and try to educate ourselves and one another even if we aren’t the ones who are feeling oppressed. It’s daunting sometimes to speak up about a situation that makes me feel inferior or alienated, because I don’t like to be thought of as someone who complains, or isn’t strong enough to roll with the punches. Especially if I know that my band mates, or male friends, won’t be able to relate to me. I think this is all part of the problem. If there isn’t discussion on all sides, there can never be any resolution. 

We can’t just say that we’re past sexism. Or racism, homophobia, or classism for that matter.  As long as these injustices exist in the dominant ideology we will have to fight to disarm them. Through the mainstream, small occurrences of hatred are slipped into everyday life, phrases, and terms. This language is enough to alienate certain groups of people and is casual enough to go by unnoticed. I notice sexism when I see fliers with hyper-sexualized women used for advertising, and when I hear a guy from one of the bands say, “I wanted to fuck that girl, but she’s a bitch.” I don’t feel included when we get to a venue and I’m the only one asked if I’m really in the band, or when a man comes up to me to ask where else I’m tattooed. And it’s hard not to notice when we play a show and someone comes up to everyone except me afterwards to say “good job.” I know that these occurrences are well outnumbered by amazing experiences, but it isn’t any less unnerving to watch the guy who just came up to me asking about what we sound like walk over to one of my male friends and laugh saying, “Just trying to get some pussy.” 

This isn’t a call for a separatist punk scene. Quite the contrary. I think that it’s extremely important to have men involved in creating a women-friendly punk scene. Guys can relate to other guys on another level. It’s crucial to have a unified front when it comes to building safe spaces and show spaces. We’ve created such an inspiring community, and there’s so much more potential. There isn’t any reason that we have to accept anything because it’s “just the way it’s always been”. The DIY scene bloomed out of this same realization. Our community is able to grow because of the folks who don’t hesitate when they’re told that something is going to be hard work. It might not be any overnight resolution, but if we can be honest enough to say what we want, and when we feel threatened, and can be brave enough to speak up, we can make it known that there isn’t any room for sexism here. The reason that we are able to maintain such a brilliant community is because of our ability to communicate and support one another. You can see it in every basement that sweats and swells with people singing together to a band, or in the tiny kitchen shows, where the handful of folks sit quietly and captivated. You can hear it in the conversations afterwards, the clumsy introductions and the friendships that follow. 

In order to overcome any sort of oppression, we have to understand that if we do nothing to challenge it, we’re providing the grounds for it to grow. Sexism and patriarchy are things that people participate in. While it’s intimidating to be called out, being proactive and trying to understand how you’ve wronged someone (intentionally or accidentally), will take us farther than being defensive, or dismissive. I once read “what each of us needs to do about what we don’t know is look for it.” It’s simple, but if it could be applied to this arms race for the last word in, there would be more room for discussion, and less time wasted making women feel like their personal experiences are invalid. Something I’ve noticed, since the inception of the series on sexism in punk, is that a lot of the folks arguing against what the contributors have to say use sexism and moshing at shows interchangeably.  While sexism and detrimental ideas of masculinity can exist in the pit, it isn’t the isolated occurrence. I love it when I can see people dancing and screaming and singing along, but I’ve reminded them to look out for each other, and make sure that no one’s getting hurt. If someone’s down, help them up. We’re all in this together. 

I believe that the punk scene cries out for more ladies to be involved. Women and female-bodied persons are inherently valuable to our community, just as men are. There is strength in our diversity. If we all wanted to participate in the conventional, monotonous everyday, full of hypocrisy and bigotry, we wouldn’t have built our way out of it. We wouldn’t have the scars and the dirt under our fingernails to say, “I worked for this”. We built this ourselves, and we’ve threaded our way out of the institutions and the calamity that excluded us, and sought a place to call home. That’s why it feels unsafe when that same racist, sexist, heteronormative, classist, ableist, ageist bullshit we’ve struggled so hard to escape makes its way into our community. We are different. Our experiences are valid. Everyone’s are. Our dialogue and the decisions we make affect more than ourselves.  We can challenge negative behavior. We can influence one another in positive ways. We can eradicate bigotry from our scene. And once we’ve accomplished a truly safe space in the punk scene, we can have more shows, more friends, better turn outs, more bands, and more grrls.

Dianna Settles is an artist, vegan food enthusiast, and volunteer coordinator for a bicycle co-op in Atlanta. For more information about The Wild you can visit www.thewildatl.com and facebook.com/thewildatl for tour dates and more. She has a food/travel blog that she’s sort of bad at updating littleroadhome.tumblr.com. You can write to her at thewild@riseup.net. 

Budweiser Killed the Radio Star: Vance Puchalski on women’s increased visibility in mainstream rock in the 1990s, and the corporate retaliation that pushed them back.

Ever the astute prognosticators, Time magazine has a history marked by brazen promises. The magazine’s November 8th, 2010 issue featured a cover story titled “Party Crashers”, which accurately predicted Congressional gains by the Republican Party in last year’s midterm elections (Von Drehle). While this promise of G.O.P. victory had but one week to come to fruition once the issue hit newsstands, other predictions made by the magazine have faced longer shelf-lives. A look back in Time, 44 years to be precise, reveals a 1966 essay which conceptualized the ways in which everyday life would evolve near the turn of the twenty-first century. “THE FUTURISTS: Looking Toward A.D. 2000” accurately described a future of decentralized cities, instant communication, and a population of more than six-billion people roaming the earth. As is the case with “Party Crashers,” though, these predictions are conservative. “Hovercraft that ride on air”, “ballistic rocket” travel and a retirement age of fifty are more radical examples of conjecture that did not quite pan out. Thankfully, neither did the essay’s underlying misogyny.  

Time later proved itself wrong when an article published in 1994 demonstrated that on the heels of the new millennium, women actually spent time outside of the kitchen. Moreover, this freedom from household chores did not come as a result of the subservient, household robots that they were promised in 1966.  In “Rock Goes Coed”, the magazine called attention to the increasing number of women in the 1990s, who had suddenly entered the male-dominated world of rock and roll.  Legendary rock critic and frequent VH-1 countdown panelist Ann Powers later remarked on the importance of this revolution by asserting that, “The story of ’90s women in rock was as compelling as globalization is nowadays” (Schroeder). 

With Generation-X coming of age, gender ideology shifted like a prevailing wind within the social climate of the early 1990s as women battled for equal opportunities in many facets of society. 1992 became the “Year of the Woman” in politics, as a record-breaking four women were elected to the United States Senate (Wasinewski 556). Hollywood showed signs progress as “Thelma & Louise made film history with a female screenwriter, two female leads, and a controversial, female-empowered storyline” (Fournier). Conversely, John Gray’s bestselling book Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus: a Practical Guide for Improving Communication and Getting What You Want in Your Relationships, published in 1992, aimed to illustrate the fundamental differences that exist between the sexes. Despite the fact that Gray’s book attempted to distance men and women by entire light years, the nineties proved that musicians of both sexes were willing to eschew their traditional gender roles, in order to find commonality within a single celestial body.

“Women serve on aircraft carriers and on the Supreme Court, so it’s striking, given rock’s putative social progressiveness, that it is only now [in 1994] becoming routine for women and men to play together in rock groups as partners” (McLaughlin & Farley).

Aspiring journalist Amy Schroeder took note of this social progressiveness from her dorm room at Michigan State University. There, Schroeder gave birth to Venus Zine, a now nationally circulated periodical devoted to women in music, film, literature, and fashion. “The ’90s were great for women in alternative rock,” she later exclaimed. Venus Zine worked in tandem with the burgeoning alternative music movement to level the playing field with respect to gender. As Schroeder explained, “We provide a space that focuses on women in the arts, and we give cred to the dudes too”.  Three of these “dudes”, who called themselves Nirvana, became the “biggest band in the word” by 1992 (Cross 223), as front-man and father of alternative music, Kurt Cobain, proclaimed that “The future of rock belongs to women” (Raphael xvi). Time noted that “The rise of alternative rock also fueled the boom in coed bands”. Cobain’s wife, Courtney Love, served as lead singer and guitarist for Hole, a pioneering coed band in the alterna-rock scene who successfully combined “primal guitar riffs” with “high IQ lyrics” (McLaughlin & Farley). Other nineties groups consisting of both sexes, including Smashing Pumpkins, The Cranberries (McLaughlin & Farley), Veruca Salt, Garbage, L7 and The Breeders soon found their way onto the charts (Billboard.com). In 1994, Time welcomed this sudden paradigm shift by noting that, “Coed bands are creating some of the most interesting music around”. In response to the perceived beginnings of gender equality within rock and roll, the magazine made yet another prediction that, unfortunately, would go the way of subterranean superhighways and independent wealth for everyone in the United States. In 1994, they promised that, “Someday coed bands could become the rule” (McLaughlin & Farley). Time, the publication, may have held optimism with respect to gender equality in music, but sixteen-years of actual-time proves that women’s involvement in mainstream rock and roll had greatly diminished by the start of the new millennium. In 2010 “the rule” of bands existing in coed form was but a rare exception as men once again dominated the arena of rock and roll music. In hindsight, the alternative music movement of the 1990s serves as an example of how women and men successfully fought from the underground-up to achieve gender equality in rock music, only to find their social progress destroyed by the revenue-hungry alcohol distributors of North America.

To understand why the presence of women in rock and roll music during the nineties was so monumental, one must take a look back at the preceding decades in which music was scarred by arrant misogyny and featured a disproportionate number of male performers. In an article published by scholarly journal, Gender & Society, sociologist Mary Ann Clawson examines the ways in which women’s roles in music had shifted dramatically from rock music’s inception in the 1950s. Before the nineties, “Few rock bands included women”. Clawson uses the technique of secondary data analysis to quantify just how scarce women were in mainstream rock before the 1990s.  Women constituted less than one-fourth of musicians who were popular during the period of 1967-1987, with fewer than six percent of these women serving as instrumentalists (Clawson 195).  This lack of female instrumentalists, she argues, disenfranchised women as these duties within a band are “strongly linked to notions of rock creativity”. She attributes the eventual presence of women in alternative rock to the punk movement of the late 1970s. Seminal punk rock bands including The Germs, and Joan Jett’s group, The Runaways were among the first to feature women players as the ideological views within this genre “beckoned anyone and everyone to pick up a guitar” (Clawson 195). The trend of women in punk rock echoed into the following decade as eighties punk rock stalwarts Black Flag also featured a woman on instrumental duties. Bassist Kira Roessler proved that women could handle the arduous lifestyle ascribed to rock and roll, both on and off the stage, as the intensity of Black Flag’s sound appeared to be matched only by Roessler’s devotion to her craft. In 1994, Black Flag’s singer, Henry Rollins, published Get in the Van, a nitty-gritty memoir which detailed the nightmarish conditions that he and his band members were often subject to on tour. Detriments such as hunger, extreme temperatures, and exhaustion were commonplace, and many of the band’s shows were plagued by violence from unruly crowds (Rollins). Rollins recounts one such example of egregious brutality lodged at Roessler in 1985.

“Kira went into the bathroom and this big old woman beat her up and smashed her hand into one of the stalls. Kira’s hand was all fucked up, but she played the show anyway. She’s tough” (Rollins).

Roessler, along with eighties post-punk compatriots Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth and Kim Deal of The Pixies, inspired a new generation of women to pick up instruments. By 1990, a feminist punk movement had taken shape in the Pacific Northwest. “The riot grrrl movement was based on a feminist and [Do-It–Yourself] philosophy that women can empower themselves by taking action politically and artistically” (Schroeder). In the wake of eighties hair metal, in which women served as subjects “about whom misogynistic lyrics could be written” (McLaughlin & Farley), the nineties were ripe for change. Bands like Bikini Kill and Sleater-Kinney lead the charge and by 1991, prominent male musicians such as those in Pearl Jam and Rage Against the Machine embraced the riot grrrl movement and got on board with pro-feminist politics (Schroeder).

“Judging by radio and MTV airplay, when women were at the forefront of the rock industry in the 1990s, the mainstream welcomed and applauded artists with pro-feminist politics” (Schroeder).

In 1994, Time made the declaration that women had officially become “full, chord-crunching, songwriting partners with men in real rock groups”.

As feminist ideology virtually co-opted the music industry of the nineties, the alcohol distributors of North America, were quick to follow suit. In 1995, Seagram, the world’s largest producer and distributor of distilled spirits took stake in the music business when they purchased MCA Records (Seagram, Ltd.). Within three years the company swallowed both PolyGram and Universal Recordings (Universal Music Group).  Seagram then formed the Universal Music Group in 1998 where they officially controlled one-fifth of the entire recording industry (Universal Music Group). Molson, another prominent distributor of alcoholic beverages opted for a stake in the industry of live music. By the late 1990’s Molson Breweries owned “50 percent of Canada’s only national concert promoter, Universal Concerts” (Klein 48). A report sponsored by Community Anti-Drug Coalitions of America warned parents that these acquisitions could lead to unintentional marketing, with regard to young, impressionable minds (Alcohol Advertising). Naomi Klein, author and corporate watchdog, examined this phenomenon of corporate sponsored events in her guide to anti-globalization, No Logo: Taking Aim at the Brand Bullies.

“The brand is the event’s infrastructure; the artists are its filler, a reversal in the power dynamic that makes any discussion of the need to protect unmarketed artistic space appear hopelessly naïve” (Klein 48).

By the late 1990’s, corporations such as Seagram and Molson held significant control over the music industry, and obtained the power to spread virtually any message that they wished.

With the record companies and touring musicians at the mercy of alcohol distributors by the late nineties, radio was the final frontier in a complete takeover of the music industry. As Clear Channel Communications held a virtual “monopoly” over radio, stations could not be purchased directly (Boehlert). Companies such as Seagram, Molson, and Anheuser-Busch, distributor of Budweiser, could however, control how they spent their massive advertising dollars at these stations (Shafer). Broadcasters relied on this revenue as “alcohol advertising on television and radio totaled more than $787 million in 1998 alone” (Alcohol Advertising). Patterns demonstrate that rock radio is a tried-and-true forum for marketing to young adults. “On radio, alcohol advertising often airs on youth-oriented rock and roll or album-oriented rock formats that target 18-to 24-year-olds” (Alcohol Advertising). Furthermore, studies in alcohol consumption demonstrate that “heavy use is more common…among males” (Bonnie & O’Connell). A problem then manifested as the alcohol distributors had consistently relied on advertising which promoted sexism and misogyny in order to sell their products (Elliott; Nasaw). This message of objectifying women did not gibe with the third-wave feminist ideology which dominated the airwaves in the 1990’s when “Coed bands usually avoid[ed] cartoonish, bombastic sexuality except to ridicule it” (McLaughlin & Farley). In an attempt to secure future advertising revenue from alcohol distributors, radio programmers scrambled to appeal to the coveted 18-24 male demographic (Brass). As a result, a return to a heavier, more metal-infused sound was implemented (D’Angelo & Perry). “A key element of metal,” author Keith Kahn-Harris explains in his book, Extreme Metal: music and culture on the edge, “is the misogynist fantasy.” As such, Extreme Metal… explains that coed bands have no place within the genre. “The practices of making music within the [metal] scene also reinforce the exclusion of women”. By signing misogynist metal bands to their labels, placing them on tour and strong-arming radio programmers to play their songs, the alcohol distributors ensured that in the days of the waning twentieth century, rock radio was once again a segregated medium. Bud Light further drove this point home as they unveiled the long-running “Real Men of Genius” series of radio ads.  

The messages delivered via rock radio had shifted dramatically by the start of the new decade. The days where Garbage’s Shirley Manson compared herself to a modern day Joan of Arc (Garbage) and Courtney Love sympathized with “The girl you know / [who] can’t look you in the eye”, (Love & Erlandson) had all but disappeared so that Fred Durst of Limp Bizkit could declare that he “Did it all for the nookie” (Durst). Limp Bizkit built on their success by releasing ‘Break Stuff’, an abrasive song which featured the refrain, “It’s all about the he says she says bullshit”, and threatened that the “First one to complain / Leaves with a blood stain” (Durst). In her 2007 essay, aptly titled ‘What happened to revolution girl style now?’ Schroder commented on the state of male-dominated music by bands like Limp Bizkit. “The popular trend is derivative male bands” (Schroeder). On modern day feminism, she asserted, “A decade ago, it was safe for me to assume that the majority of our [Venus Zine] readers considered themselves feminist. These days, however, I don’t always make that assumption…And I can’t help but wonder if it has something to do with mainstream culture’s exclusion of feminist attitudes” (Schroeder). The title ‘Break Stuff’ was, perhaps, symbolic as companies such as Budweiser enabled Limp Bizkit and a new crop of misogynist metal bands to seemingly obliterate the social progress that pioneers like Schroeder had worked so hard to achieve.  

Another decade has passed and social change is once again possible as the music industry struggles to adopt a new business model. “Changes in technology have hung a giant question mark over the entire industry”, as the manner in which consumers acquire music has shifted quite drastically (McCall). In April of 2008, Apple’s digital download store, iTunes, made history as it surpassed Wal-Mart to become the number one retailer of music in the world (Hempel). CNet, an online source dedicated to the world of technology, reflected on how this change would affect the industry.

“The old system (the labels, record stores, and radio stations) were a set of filtersthat limited the number of bands that, at any given moment, were heard on the radio.  The filters preselected what they thought was the most likely to break through.” (Guttenberg).

Alcohol distributors like Seagram, Molson and Anheuser-Busch not only relied on, but in many cases, manipulated these filters in order to market their products to key demographics and increase their overall profit margins. The music consumer has gained significant control as the elimination of “preselected filters” better facilitates proactive decisions when searching for new music. Another “reversal in the power dynamic” is taking place.

As the ways in which people obtain music are changing, music artists are starting to bypass the traditional methods of distribution and are searching for new ways to reach fans. Metric, a modern day co-ed band within the alternative rock scene is a prime example of one such band. Formed in Toronto in 1998, the group endured “struggles” as they released three albums on indie labels and built a modest following by touring. When it came time to record their 2009 album, ‘Fantasies’, the band received “several offers from the big record companies”, which they adamantly declined (Stone). As the role of a record label is essentially to provide the artist with a high-interest loan by fronting recording costs and assuming control over the finished product (Howard & Feist), Metric was able circumvent this process of loansharking by procuring a grant from the Canadian Government (Stone). With no filters to sift through, the band then began selling ‘Fantasies’ “directly to fans on services like iTunes” (Stone). As a result, ‘Fantasies’ became the first album to reach the Billboard Top-20, without a label (McCall). Front woman Emily Haines commented on the band’s motivation to forgo the conventional means to success in music.

“It was more a question of how we were going to self-actualize, instead of waiting around for somebody else to give us permission to be who we are” (McCall).

With corporations like Seagram, Molson and Anheuser-Busch having less pull over the strings of the music industry, artists and fans are afforded the opportunity to “be who they are”, regardless of gender.       

Time once predicted that by the year 2000, “men will have flown past Venus and landed on Mars” (THE FUTURISTS).  In the case of the music industry, and pro-feminist ideology, this prediction, unfortunately, has come true.  Despite the eventual victory of alcohol distributors over third-wave feminism, the nineties alternative rock movement, albeit brief, exists as a concrete example of how with dedication, social change can become a reality.


(Photo by Cherly Sugar)

Vance hammers six-strings, and provides the sonorous screak of swollen stylopharyngus in the co-ed, punk-rock, packofbadgers that is Utility Monster.  Utility Monster can be found here:

Bandcamp 

Facebook

Bibliography:

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Billboard.com. Music News, Reviews, Articles, Information, News Online & Free Music Billboard.com. 2010. Web. 26 Nov. 2010. http://www.billboard.com.

Boehlert, Eric. “Salon: Clear Channel.” Salon.com - Salon.com. Salon Media Group, 8 Aug. 2001. Web. 29 Nov. 2010. http://www.salon.com/ent/clear_channel/.

Bonnie, Richard J., and Mary Ellen O’Connell. “Alcohol Advertising and Promotion.” Reducing Underage Drinking: a Collective Responsibility. Washington, DC: National Academies, 2004. Print.

Brass, Kevin. “Radio Dial: New New Rock Alternative Alternatives? Austin News - AustinChronicle.com.” The Austin Chronicle. Austin News, Events, Restaurants, Music - AustinChronicle.com. Austin Chronicle Corp., 30 Sept. 2005. Web. 24 Nov. 2010. http://www.austinchronicle.com/gyrobase/Issue/story?oid=oid:294029.

Clawson, M. A. “WHEN WOMEN PLAY THE BASS: Instrument Specialization and Gender Interpretation in Alternative Rock Music.” Gender & Society 13.2 (1999): 193-210. Print.

Cross, Charles R. Heavier than Heaven: a Biography of Kurt Cobain. New York: Hyperion, 2001. Print.

D’Angelo, Joe, and Heather Parry. “MTV.com: Nu Metal Meltdown.” New Music Videos, Reality TV Shows, Celebrity News, Top Stories | MTV. MTV Networks, 2007. Web. 29 Nov. 2010. http://www.mtv.com/bands/m/metal_meltdown/news_feature_030124/index.jhtml.

Durst, Fred. Nookie, Break Stuff. Limp Bizkit. Rec. 1998. Fred Durst, 1998. MP3.

Elliott, Stuart. “Super Bowl Ad Watch: Blogging the Commercials - NYTimes.com.” The New York Times - Media Decoder. The New York Times Company, 07 Feb. 2010. Web. 24 Nov. 2010. http://mediadecoder.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/02/07/super-bowl-ad-watch-a-look-at-the-other-side-of-tonights-game/?scp=1&sq=Super%20Bowl%20Ad%20Watch:%20Blogging%20the%20Commercials&st=cse> Fournier, Gina. Thelma & Louise and Women in Hollywood. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2007. Print.

Garbage. Vow. Garbage. Rec. 1994. Garbage, 1994. MP3.

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Hempel, Jessi. “Rhapsody Takes on ITunes - Jun. 30, 2008.” Business, Financial, Personal Finance News - CNNMoney.com. 30 June 2008. Web. 28 Nov. 2010. http://money.cnn.com/2008/06/30/technology/hempel_rhapsody.fortune/?postversion=2008063008.

Howard, George, and Jonathan Feist. Getting Signed!: an Insider’s Guide to the Record Industry. Boston, MA: Berklee, 2004. Print.

Kahn-Harris, Keith. Extreme Metal: Music and Culture on the Edge. Oxford: Berg, 2007. Print.

Klein, Naomi. “The Brand Expands.” No Logo: Taking Aim at the Brand Bullies. New York: Picador, 2000. 48-49. Print.

McCall, Tris. “Metric Goes Truly Indie and Reaches the Mainstream Anyway.” New Jersey Star-Ledger. New Jersey-Online, LLC, 25 Oct. 2010. Web. 01 Dec. 2010. http://www.nj.com/entertainment/music/index.ssf/2010/10/metric_goes_truly_indie_and_re.html

McLaughlin, Lisa, and Christopher John Farley. “MUSIC: Rock Goes Coed - TIME.” Time 08 Aug. 1994. Breaking News, Analysis, Politics, Blogs, News Photos, Video, Tech Reviews - TIME.com. Time, Inc. Web. 24 Nov. 2010. http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,981230-2,00.html.

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Schroeder, Amy. “Venus Zine: What Happened to Revolution Girl Style Now?” Venus Zine: { Women in Music, Fashion, Culture, D.i.y. } Sept. 2007. Venus Zine: { Women in Music, Fashion, Culture, D.i.y. }. Venus Holdings, LLC, 1 Sept. 2007. Web. 24 Nov. 2010. http://www.venuszine.com/articles/music/features/1799/What_happened_to_revolution_girl_style_now>

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Shafer, Jack. “The Whole Story about That Toxic Spill and the Clear Channel Monopoly.” Slate Magazine. 10 Jan. 2007. Web. 24 Nov. 2010. http://www.slate.com/id/2157395/

Stone, Brad. “Artists Find Backers as Labels Wane.” The New York Times 22 July 2009: B1. The New York Times Company, 21 July 2009. Web. 29 Nov. 2010. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/22/technology/internet/22music.html?_r=1.

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“…I needed an alternative to mainstream society - the space to be who i want to be.” Lou Hanman of Caves on strict gender norms and their impact on punk and hardcore.


(Photo by robert@hot-shot.at)

It was really great to be asked by Andy to contribute to his series on sexism in punk. When he said he’d been trying to think of someone from a band in the UK punk scene, to write something from a UK point of view, it sounded like he couldn’t think of many people.

This makes me feel sad and reminded me of a question I recently answered for a zine - “What it’s like for a woman in punk - do I feel outnumbered?”

Yes, there are definitely less women and girls in punk, and I’d need to have gone on to do a postgrad course to go into exactly why. But I guess one of the reasons is that, in the rules of 1950s gender roles which are still so ingrained in society - it’s not very lady-like to be sweating and yelling your head off in a punkrock show. 

I cannot stand these archaic rules that people are still bombarded with every single minute of every day - through our working lives and home lives. (If anyone has got a few hours free I’ll tell em some things that happen at my work and the Victorian England where my folks came from).  I’ve never felt I conform to these rules and gender roles - how you dress/how you act/how you should be in society.  

Maybe another reason why girls don’t feel encouraged to join punk bands - it’s the boys club that they are confronted with - in music shops, in rehearsal rooms, in gigs, record stores etc. It’s such a shame that there aren’t more girls getting into playing in bands - it’s so much fun.  

I hate this unspoken discouragement that it’s not normal for a girl or woman to play in a punk band.  Fuck that. I’ve not felt like those rules apply to me. You don’t have to act the way that society tries to make you act. This goes for both men and women. 

I got into the punk scene because I needed an alternative to mainstream society - the space to be who i want to be - be able to live how I want to, feel free from negative judgement (both musically and in lifestyle choices), gender roles, homophobia etc.  I have found my voice and place in this DIY punk network and I feel respected and empowered when I play a Caves gig.  It is outside of this (pretty small network of great people) that there is sexism and all the same issues of the mainstream are present.  

I go out of my way to avoid the lad/frat party vibe of alot of punk bands and scenes. I’ve been at hardcore shows in Bristol where there have been what I can only describe as homophobic rallying from the stage and acoustic gigs where the guy performing has told a rape joke.  I’ve had guys ask me if I need help changing my strings.  At some shows because of my height, I hide behind big tall guys when a pit gets too violent for me (I’m too fucking busy to get knocked around and get a broken limb). I also can’t stand it when people use the word “gay” to describe something shit that they want to take the piss out of (I don’t care if kids have started saying it - it’s still homophobic).

I’ve felt alienated and marginalised by all of these things - and I hate it, and i shouldn’t feel like that at a punk gig - where it should be freer from the gender roles/white male privilege rules that are still so ingrained in society.

I could go on and on writing but I’ll stop there - there’s so many things to say.

Obviously, no one is perfect but through peer to peer talking and thinking about whether your actions are alienating someone we can all be better to one another, we need a punk lifestyle to work when the values of the mainstream don’t.

Lou Hanman is a songwriter, singer and guitarist in the DIY punk band Caves.  Based in Bristol, she also teaches drums and plays drums as a freelance musician. You can find Caves on Tumblr, Bandcamp, and Twitter. Go and see them. They’re fucking rad.