In Conversation: Rob Pennington of Endpoint
Thirty years later, this classic conversation from the original zine gets a fresh set of eyes—and the wistfulness in the room is palpable.
As far as interviews from the original Anti-Matter go, this one with Endpoint vocalist Rob Pennington from 1994 always seemed to go curiously under the radar. “Curiously,” I say now, because Rob and I go through several fairly weighty topics with a near-breeziness: Going on antidepressants, choosing to keep your virginity as an adult, working with victims of sexual abuse, and even suicidal ideation are only a few of the things that come up over the course of this conversation—almost casually. In retrospect, there were probably a couple of different things happening here.
For one thing, Rob and I were both much younger at the time of this interview and perhaps less equipped to truly approach these topics with the kind of sensitivity or nuance a conversation like that would have required. But more than that, I think the tone and the flow of the interview owes itself to an elephant in the room: Endpoint was clearly nearing the end of its seven-year run as a band, and while we both acknowledged an end of some sort was near, neither of us seemed willing to articulate the reality that the end was, in fact, imminent. Which is to say that, throughout this conversation, Rob is taking inventory of his past and surveying the present for some kind of future to hold onto.
Only a few months after this interview came out, the band announced their final show, and Endpoint officially disbanded on December 30, 1994. Revisiting it now, this reads as a farewell of sorts.
You seemed pretty bummed out on your birthday.
ROB: Kinda. It’s because of New York.
Where would you have wanted to be?
ROB: Probably at home, just relaxing and hanging out with my cats. I’m a nerd, a real homely person—not a “homey” person, I guess. I just like to hang out with my parents and relax. I hate being in New York; it makes me feel so… squooshed. There’s so many people, so much stuff going on. It’s neat because it’s so rich in diversity, but at the same time, it’s a little cramped. It’s a little hard to breathe there with all those buildings. You can’t see past concrete.
Do you have a most memorable birthday?
ROB: My eighteenth. A bunch of my friends and I had this birthday party. We went to this park by my house, and I climbed up to the top of these monkey bars. They were really high, about eight feet. Anyway, I fell straight off—right onto my head. I gave myself amnesia. Even now, I don't remember the day. My friends said I walked over to them and they asked me if I was all right, and then I fell and just started crying. My friend had a little tape recorder—like the one you’re using—and recorded me. It was hilarious. So anyway, they took me to the hospital and recorded me saying things like, “What time is it? What happened to me? My head hurts. What time is it?” [laughs] It was so funny. That was probably my favorite birthday, just because it stood out. Most birthdays are letdowns. The one good thing about this birthday is that I got to spend it with Norm and I got to have a soy milkshake, which I haven’t had in years. That was very special.
You’ve been talking about the end of Endpoint a lot these days.
ROB: Yeah. Endpoint has been a part of my life for seven years. It’s become a big part of me. Through it, I got to see the world and be introduced to all sorts of people and ideas. I think it’ll be a lot different when it’s gone. I mean, I’ll live my life the same way, but it’s like an outlet—or maybe even an “inlet,” where I get to take in new information or new feelings. And it probably won’t be there soon. There were parts of my life when I was really, really depressed, and honestly, the only thing that kept me alive was Endpoint—the ideals and the people I play for. Just knowing that I would let people down if I took my own life or something. I’m over that period now, but I got really down for a while.
The last time we talked, you mentioned that you were taking some sort of medication.
ROB: Yeah. I had to for a while. I got to the point where everything seemed so hopeless. Not in a bad way, but… I guess it started when I was thirteen years old. I started worrying about a lot of things that I shouldn’t have even been worrying about. It just got to be too much. My whole life just got so stressed and so tired, and you think about things so much that you start to think, “I don't want life to be like this. I don’t want life to be so pressured all the time.” Even my shrink said that I just worry too much about everything. So that’s what happened. I got to the point where I didn’t want to go on. But I felt that had I taken my own life, then I’d be telling kids that that’s the way to solve a problem. So I kept going. Finally, I just decided to see a doctor, and he put me on some medicine. It’s not Lithium or anything; it's just a light medicine, where I don't get down as much anymore. I've been cutting back on that, though, and just taking more vitamins. I'm trying to take more control of my life. I’m trying to throw myself back into music and just trying not to worry about everything so much. It has a lot to do with your environment: Both of my parents are complete workaholics. They bring stress on themselves. It’s like the domino theory.
You told me yesterday that you’ve been working full-time since you were fourteen.
ROB: Yeah, nine years. I’ve always been in school and whatnot, so there’s already a lot of external stuff. Then you take on this silly idealism thing, and now you have to worry about things internally, too. You’re burning the candle at both ends, and it wears you down after a while. I think it’s good, though. Maybe this is the midlife crisis most people get when they’re 30, and I'm just getting it a bit early. I think that’s what punk rock kids are. If you listen to the music, it’s all about struggling or being upset and frustrated. It has a lot to do with the fact that they’re not following the blueprint that everyone else is following. [Most people] reach a point when they’re older and they say, “Wait. I haven't lived my own life.” That's when they get stressed out about it. But punk rock kids in particular are trying to find themselves now, and we’re dealing with all this pain and struggling now. I think it’s good. And it’s important.
You've got a lot of plans, though.
ROB: Sure. I want to teach. I love being in a classroom. I love looking at young minds. It’s so crazy to see some parents that just don’t care at all. As a teacher, you can just be there for them, and they eat it up. Some kids, some people want to just give up on them and call them “bad kids,” but if you give them the right attention and the right support, I’ve seen them blossom into beautiful good students.
I’ve had a lot of success with children, but it’s disheartening, too. You see a lot of fucked-up stuff. Like last year, this second-grade boy was performing oral sex with another second grader because he was just emulating what his father had done to him. I’ve worked in a homeless shelter and a daycare [center]. I've had to report that a two-year-old girl had her vagina torn up when she had been sexually molested. I had to report that. You see a lot of terrible things.
Do things like that make your band seem more insignificant to you and what your life’s goals are?
ROB: Yeah. I don’t want to be in a band forever. It’s just something I love doing right now. I enjoy music, and I enjoy seeing everybody. But, yeah, it’s insignificant; it’s not my plan. I’ve always told people that I’m not a musician. I’m gonna be a teacher. That's what I really want to do. Music is just one hellacious hobby. But it’s great to be able to have this record and just reach out to so many people that you can’t even see. That’s pretty powerful to me.
When you played that show at the Wetlands [earlier this year], the whole front row just started crying. I’ve never seen that at a hardcore show before. What were you thinking when that happened?
ROB: It feels nice to think that we’ve created a band that people felt so secure that they could cry in front of us. They felt secure enough that we wouldn’t hurt their emotions. That’s all I ever wanted to do—to just be in a band where we cared and people could care back and there would just be an openness. Not “we’re the band, you’re the audience.” Not at all. So it doesn't seem strange to me because sometimes I'll play and I’m crying inside the whole time. It’s beautiful in a way.
I don't want to get too personal, but one thing a lot of people always seem to mention when talking about you is your professed virginity.
ROB: I think I’ve said it once—maybe once in an interview and once at a Jersey show. I don’t know why I said that. It’s none of anybody’s business, really. I just wanted to make people understand that it’s not such a big deal. It’s weird because, to me, sex is a big deal. But at the same time, it’s not. And the fact is that it’s not something that you have to have. It’s not status. You don’t have to go out and have sex when you’re fourteen just to be a man. It’s not something where I think that you have to wait until you get married, either. It’s just that, to me, it’s about giving myself to someone that I love very much. I don’t want to have sex with someone that I don’t feel I’ll have a future with.
We all make mistakes, but I don't know. It's such a hokey business; everything is sex. There’s not an ad or a magazine that isn’t playing on your sex drive. To me, it’s a rebellious thing, too. I’m old and I haven’t had sex yet, and it doesn’t mean that I’m any less of a man. It’s just that I’m in a band, and I know there are thirteen-year-old kids who come to our shows that are getting the same pressure from their friends to have sex. And if they could just see some older people saying that it’s not that big of a deal, then maybe it can help fight the peer pressure. I remember what it was like. It was terrible, and I can’t believe it’s such a big part of our society.
What’s your life like these days? Are you still living in the same house?
ROB: No. I went back to my parents’ house for a while. I quit my job and now I work at a health-food store making minimum wage—well, not minimum, but five bucks an hour—so I couldn’t really afford all my bills and go to school full-time. I student-teach during the day, go to class at night, and work in the hours in-between. Then there’s band practice twice a week. I’m also trying to write more. I just had my first poetry reading like two months ago. I was terrified. I have a couple of really good friends, like Duncan [Barlow] and Peter Searcy from Big Wheel—he’s awesome. That’s about it. I used to camp out a lot, but I just don’t have a lot of time right now to do that kind of outdoorsy stuff, like canoeing or camping.
I used to be the big scene organizer. I’d call everybody and just round everybody up. I was also coaching a girls’ field-hockey team for awhile, The Slamdek Rockers. Scott Richter, the guy that owns Slamdek Records, is just crazy. He’s not crazy; he’s wonderful. But he just got on this field hockey kick and spent $800 that he didn't have to buy t-shirts and admission fees for this league. He recruited all these different punk rock girls that played hockey in their high schools to play. It was awesome. We did pretty good, too. There’d be like 75 hardcore kids that would come and sit on the stands and just scream. They’d have these big signs that said, “Let’s take it to the pit, Rockers!” [laughs] It was insane, but very fun. We’ll do that again in the fall. So that’s pretty much it. I’m pretty boring otherwise.
Do you think that life after Endpoint will mean life after hardcore for you?
ROB: Nah, I’ll probably still do it. But in Louisville, music-wise, I don't know. I’ll definitely stay involved. I’ll go to shows, and I’ll probably still travel. It’s not over for me yet. I graduate next year, so I’ll have a lot of free time once I do that. I don't know if it will be in my life forever—no one does—but right now, it’s still burning. That’s why it’d be so hard to see the band break up. I wanna keep going. There’s too many people I like that I’d want to see on tour that I may never see again. Plus Louisville is so packed full of stuff going on right now, and I don't think I could get out of it if I tried.
When I first heard about Louisville, I thought it would be just a bunch of crazy hicks [laughs]. I think that’s what a lot of people have always thought. Going there was great, though. I had such a good time.
ROB: Sure, but Louisville has been going since the late ‘70s with the Endtables and Maurice—which had [Dave Pajo] from Slint and [Sean Garrison] from Kinghorse. Then there was this band called Malignant Growth that toured with Minor Threat for a while. They were incredible. So it’s always had its own thriving little scene. I’ve been into it for almost a decade now, and there's always been stuff going on. Louisville’s great because it's got a lot of city-type things, but it's also got lots of trees and grass and clean air.
Why don’t you talk a little bit about the offset between yourself and the other band members. I remember when we toured together that week when I met you, I couldn’t help but think about how different you all were from each other.
ROB: Duncan is the closest to me. I mean, we’re best friends, but I also mean ideals-wise. I’m just anal, and [the rest of the band is] really loud and make a lot of jokes. They don’t always mean what they say. They know that it gets on my nerves, and a lot of times, they’ll push it. But I get on their nerves, too, and sometimes I’m a little too restrictive. Musically, we all have different ideas of music and hardcore.
Duncan’s getting pretty fed up of hardcore. He’s tired of the attitudes, and he thinks it’s dead. Chad [Casstetter], he’s just Chad. Sometimes I worry about him because, well, everyone knows that he gets fucked up and stuff. It’s really hard for me because I care about him. So he might think that I’m just trying to get on him, but really, I just don’t want to see him dead sometime. I love him. Pat [McClimans] is pretty awesome. He’s gross and pretty offensive, but he’s great. He was a big Endpoint fan, too. It’s so awesome to have him in the band—someone with so much heart into it. There’s not a lot of differences between us, though. Like I said, I’m just a little more anal than everybody as far as issues and idealism go. They all support me with what I talk about, although we do have some disagreements—like about pornography and things like that. I get a little frustrated, but it’s their choice.
People just have to take us for what we are, just take us as humans. People don’t want you to be human all the time. Like, with all the gossip and rumors that I hear, it seems like people are just dying to see me do something wrong. Of course I do wrong. It happens all the time. I’m always screwing up.
That probably has more to do with Duncan's frustration with hardcore—all the gossip. It’s almost like this whole scene is split in two: You have the people that work really hard to accomplish something, that work hard to make a name for themselves. Then you’ve got the class of people that make names for themselves by slagging the people that are working hard. That’s how it feels sometimes, anyway.
ROB: It sucks because I don’t want that. I just want to play shows and have a great time. If people want to tear something down so bad, they can have it. It sounds false, almost like I’m supposed to say it, but I’m just not into the whole ego thing. If people try to get popular by tearing me down, then it’s a losing battle because it’s not gonna hurt me. It’s not going to make me feel bad. It’s disheartening sometimes, but when you see someone who really cares—that makes you forget about all the jerks.
Who were your role models?
ROB: Luke Skywalker [laughs]. No. My grandfather, probably. He’s beautiful. He was like an old country-town school teacher; he writes poetry. He gave me a book of poems that he published. He was really honest, and he would always find something positive to keep him going. He was in the war, too. He fought the Japanese. He told me these crazy stories about how his whole platoon got killed and he had to lay down while soldiers marched through, poking him with swords to make sure he was dead. He led a crazy life, but the only thing that mattered to him was that he loved his family and he loved God. I think that’s pretty beautiful. He’s just so simple and pure. I wish I could be like that.
My next door neighbor, too. She was my best friend growing up. Her name was Eleanor, and she was like 80 years old. She looked after me. I really didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. I was an only child. So Eleanor and I would just talk all day, every day after school. We’d sit on her front lawn picking dandelions, you know? [laughs] I guess I hung out with a lot of older people when I was growing up. My parents weren’t really role models. My dad was hardly ever around, but my mom was a totally hardworking, caring person. My dad was a good guy and stuff, but we were just never really close.
Did you want siblings?
ROB: Sometimes. My parents probably couldn’t afford them, though. I think I was pretty happy by myself. I didn't know any other way.
Maybe it’s just on this tour, but I’ve noticed that you’ve been increasingly keeping to yourself lately.
ROB: I get a little cramped. Sometimes, when I used to get really bummed or upset, I would go to bars and I would just sit by myself with lots of people. I like being anonymous. Sometimes I’d listen to other people’s conversations and just laugh. I’d write them down, and I’d make poems out of them. They’d be hilarious. I don’t know, though. I get embarrassed when people come up to me and say, “Hey, I really like your band.” I feel dumb, my face turns red, and I just say, “Uh... Thanks.” Some girl just came up to me and said, “You’re my favorite band in the whole world.” I had no idea what to say. I felt like there was this big sign over my head that said DORK.
I got a vibe from you last summer where I felt as if you had reached the point where you really loved your band.
ROB: I’ve always loved it. It’s just that... Well, the summer before last, I don't know what the hell was going on there. We brought all these crazy roadies, and I just hated touring. We had Kyle in the band, too, and he wasn’t really into it. That added to the feeling. But I think we’ve found ourselves a little bit more musically in the past couple of years. We have a lot more support, too. It’s been a lot of fun. I really care about the people we play for, too. Sometimes I’m not the best with answering mail, and sometimes I feel kind of jittery when people come up to me after a show, but while this band was together, my heart was into it 100 percent. I respect the people that support us—and not just for supporting us. I respect them for just being into hardcore and being different. They may not be swimming yet, but at least they’re in the water of the non-mainstream. And now that they’re in, it’ll be a hell of a lot easier for them to catch that current that will help them develop their own lives. They’re not standing on the bank like the rest of the world anymore. They got tired of that bank and just dove in. That’s something really special in itself, and if we can help with that in any way, then yes. I love this band.
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It is a testament to this original interview that I actually can relate on a much deeper level today than I did 30 years ago. As a NYC teacher, I’m so interested in how the trajectory of teaching played out for Rob. When you feel things so deeply, it’s really hard to build boundaries as a teacher. As a mother of a 14 year old on Prozac, I spend much time assuring him that many peers are likely on anti-depressants as well, but nobody will talk about it. It makes me really appreciate that question and response for all of the people who needed to see that they weren’t alone in treating depression with medication. Thank you ❤️
Rob is the essence of what I think it means to be 'hardcore.'