Hardcore fundamentally isn’t a room full of well-adjusted kids who have strong internal senses of self worth. 🤷♂️
When I found punk I found where I felt like I should be, but that doesn’t mean I felt like I belonged. That feeling was common for me regardless of being in a band, making a zine, putting out a record because it was something broken INTERNALLY that kept me feeling inadequate. I think that feeling is probably common among people who played in bands, did zines, put on shows, released records, or just showed up. We end up in hardcore because we don’t feel accepted/belonging/connection elsewhere.
See also: True Hardcore (II) by Fiddlehead and the conversation you and Pat had about it.
This really resonated with me. Being “where I should be” but not necessarily “belonging” exactly describes my experience as a 15-16 year old suburban kid who was just beginning a journey into the hardcore scene in the nearby city. But I will say that that feeling quickly dissipated into strictly belonging, and I say that because it was an entirely new and foreign experience for me—one of radical acceptance.
Now I’m a 40 year old man with kids who are (nearly) old enough to go through this themselves, and it all becomes relevant all over again. After a decade of failing to make friends back in the suburbs with a family of my own, I’ve finally realized that, as I said to a buddy as we quipped about finding a scene in our mutually adopted city, that I am too much of weirdo to make friends with anyone other than hardcore kids.
This was so particularly well-timed at this point in my life. I’m an artist in a different field and much of my involvement in the hardcore scene is to enthusiastically support artists who are doing their best to be honest. It’s my break from the way that vulnerability asks a lot of me in my own work and a recognition that other kinds of artists are being deeply vulnerable too. Shows are a comfort. Thanks for writing this (the zine in general and also this specific post).
1. At some level I think you're overthinking all this hardcore stuff. However, as a write that I think I have to remember where you're coming from. I'm going to call you hardcore 2.0. I think the people you were hanging around with, including yourself were more emotionally complex than some of the kids I hung out with, let's call it HC 1.0. most of the kids that I knew back then simply drowned out their emotions/issues with alcohol and drugs, unfortunately.
Anyway to get back to this who's hardcore question? Personally I never felt or actually described myself as hardcore even back in the ancient time of 1981. Remember the lyric 'I don't want to be labeled punk or skin, just erase all the labels so we all can begin'. I wrote that because I was sitting in my bedroom in apartment x, and I heard a couple of members of the hardcore scene talking about beating up fags and some other questionable subjects. I just know I like the music, didn't fit in the normal/traditional paradigm enjoyed slam dancing. But then again I felt more connected to the skateboard scene, that was my identity believe it or not, then becoming a devotee. And of course the whole band / fan dynamic in hardcore music has always been suspect to me, more so in CFA 2.0 in the 90s. Early on I can assure you there was absolutely no differential between the bands and the fans, especially locally, it was just one homogenized hot mess hanging out on 7th and A.
Another funny story, when I came out of my Krishna bubble in the very early 90s I was shocked that there was still hardcore. It didn't seem like something that would last, I thought it was more of a shooting star than a moon, so to speak. Then I went with Ray to a hardcore super bowl show, I think... I was pretty shocked.
Guess what I'm just trying to get at here is no membership required, no rules and regulations.... Just show up and be genuine. As I sit here and think about this, I never really felt hardcore. Even after playing a thousand shows and putting out a variety of recordings. Come to think of it my one insecurity as a teenager living on Norfolk Street was not feeling really genuine because I wasn't from New York. That was a distinction I remember kids making back then, and something I was well aware of. I was at the party, but I didn't feel quite genuine. That was the early divide I guess as I think about all this ancient history. Who was from New York and who wasn't.... You were just slightly more down if you had Providence 😎
I was almost going to delete this existential rant, but I'll just throw it up here and now get back to the British kids bake off.
Regarding "overthinking," I would argue that this might be true at some point early on—especially when you were hanging out! But after 40 years of hardcore history, and at the global scale that hardcore operates in now, we need to be more thoughtful about who we are and what we do as a matter of preservation. Back in the '80s—or even when we first met in the early '90s—hardcore was still young and underground and fairly straightforward. But a lot has happened since then. We underthink it at our own peril! 🙂
What is wrong with overthinking? I remember reading a interview with Wendy Carlos, the composer for many Stanley Kubrick films, She was once interviewed by the beastie boys magazine “Grand Royale” During the interview she was talking about her two main passions in graduate school were physics and music. During the middle of the interview the interviewer asked her if she was a nerd. She replied, “yes am a nerd. A nerd implies that you are thinking about things other then yourself,”
It’s a small point but when you mentioned being in the pit and connecting to your body, I recalled how vital that was for me. I wasn’t playing sports or doing anything totally physical at that time and as a young person it can be so vital to find some form of physical connection to yourself. Hardcore gave me that, music gave me that. Whether it was Shelter, Orange 9MM, Green Day or Blur, I found some form of release and at the same time, closeness to other bodies. That saved me. Coming from an emotionally and physically abusive home, I needed an outlet for physical self-expression. To circle back to the point of the article, the first few years for me in the hardcore scene were mostly observation, how are people interacting? Who is booking shows or making zines? Who are the conduits into being more involved? And when I began to participate more... it wasn’t necessarily within the hardcore scene so much as the burgeoning Midwest emo/indie/punk scene, but using the skills I learned from the hardcore scene. I’m so grateful for the time I had as an observer, before I became a participant and I think there’s so much value in taking the time to be an observer/appreciator.
Ed McFarlane's feeling of being on the outside looking in resonates with me from a somewhat different angle. I grew up in a city in the middle of the country, where we didn't get a lot of shows, and any local bands played houses . There weren't really venues. So you really had to know someone to know what was going on and it was pretty insular. I was largely out of the loop.
So for me, helping a friend do his zine was a way for me to engage with the music and with the scene in the absence of any real opportunity for community participation. Before that, it was just buying the records when I could. When I read my first issue of MRR, it was like a whole world opened up, and very little of it was close to home. So even as a creator, I still found myself in the position of being on the outside looking in. It didn't help that I was a judgmental, self-righteous little jerk, but nevertheless.
(Appropriately enough, as I finished reading this piece, "Not Like You" by Underdog came up on my playlist.)
I totally have always felt like Ed. Didnt feel like a hardcore kid although its been since 87 and I still go to some shows, listen to pidcasts, read this zine I still feel tge same way and that's ok. Gravity has always pulled me in many directions. The scene never made me feel like a poser or unwelcome. And to that I am very grateful.
You hit on something I’ve been thinking about lately. As a Jersey kid in the 90s, I’d go to shows at CBGBs, ABC No Rio, Wetlands, and Coney Island High, but I was more on the periphery—seeing bands, hitting vegan spots, buying records, and catching the train home. But I lived for years in New Brunswick, which has been chronicled recently in a couple books: Dan Ozzi’s “Sellout” and Chris Payne’s “Where the Boys Are Tonight.” It’s been very cool, but also a little surreal, to read accounts from your old friends and scene acquaintances about basement shows you were at (with maybe a few dozen other people). I'd expect anyone writing the history of a scene to turn to members of its best known bands—like the one you play in now—or the kids who put on the most memorable, sweaty shows or put out the era’s seminal records. But there were, of course, other kids in New Brunswick, and I'd imagine any hardcore scene, who played in bands that didn't go far, or wrote zines that died off after a couple issues, or were simply “spectators” at shows that become part of hardcore lore decades later.
This was a great piece because it reminds me of well me. The only “contribution” I ever made to the scene was I attempted to write a fanzine which failed miserably and I put on shows in college that was it. I remember in college a had a friend of a friend who put out his own fanzine and he did something I have never seen in a fanzine before or since. He had a column called “pen light” which was I thought was a revolutionary idea instead of interviewing “contributors” to the scene he interviewed kids who we just went to shows and “that is all they did.” When I was heavily involved in the hardcore scene in the ‘90s I once had a friend who was admonished by someone in a band for not contributing to the scene except going to shows. O well.
I have my own unique way of feeling like an outsider in hardcore. I came from the west coast punk rock / skateboarding "live for today" ethos. The whole culture was about doing radical, disruptive, destructive, anti-society things. A lot of dudes died young or went to jail or rehab or all three. There was always a heavy dose of self-loathing or some mental illness involved. I was on my own self-destructive path in Santa Cruz CA because that's what the scene was about. We were clueless about the Orange County / Revelation Records scene. Germs, Fear, Black Flag, Bl'ast, Circle Jerks, X, that was our soundtrack for destruction.
But when I moved to NYC in 1990 I was blown away by the hardcore scene. I'd never seen so many "normal" looking people in such a vibrant scene. Champion hoodies, shorts and sneakers was a far cry from mohawks, leather jackets and spike collars. Not to mention so many people were vegetarian and straight edge. They cared about their bodies! And how inclusive it was! If you fell in the pit there were three people helping you up. No way that happened at a Black Flag show in the 80's. I also appreciated how everyone accepted me right off the bat. I was wearing a leather jacket, I smoked cigarettes, and I usually had a Jack and Coke in my hand but that was ok. I took the photos because I love being in intense and vibrant scenes. And also, if I'm being totally honest, when I gave my photos to the bands and they liked them it made me feel good. I felt like part of something. "You like my photos!?, aw shucks, then I must be an ok guy." I needed that external validation to cope with my many insecurities. I had one friend when I moved to New York. As soon as I got a job at Angelika Kitchen I had legions of friends, some I still keep in contact with to this day. The NY hardcore scene was kind of a life saver for me. I'm not trying to be dramatic, but thanks to you and every "hardcore kid" that accepted me without judgement. It was amazing.
Hardcore fundamentally isn’t a room full of well-adjusted kids who have strong internal senses of self worth. 🤷♂️
When I found punk I found where I felt like I should be, but that doesn’t mean I felt like I belonged. That feeling was common for me regardless of being in a band, making a zine, putting out a record because it was something broken INTERNALLY that kept me feeling inadequate. I think that feeling is probably common among people who played in bands, did zines, put on shows, released records, or just showed up. We end up in hardcore because we don’t feel accepted/belonging/connection elsewhere.
See also: True Hardcore (II) by Fiddlehead and the conversation you and Pat had about it.
This really resonated with me. Being “where I should be” but not necessarily “belonging” exactly describes my experience as a 15-16 year old suburban kid who was just beginning a journey into the hardcore scene in the nearby city. But I will say that that feeling quickly dissipated into strictly belonging, and I say that because it was an entirely new and foreign experience for me—one of radical acceptance.
Now I’m a 40 year old man with kids who are (nearly) old enough to go through this themselves, and it all becomes relevant all over again. After a decade of failing to make friends back in the suburbs with a family of my own, I’ve finally realized that, as I said to a buddy as we quipped about finding a scene in our mutually adopted city, that I am too much of weirdo to make friends with anyone other than hardcore kids.
This was so particularly well-timed at this point in my life. I’m an artist in a different field and much of my involvement in the hardcore scene is to enthusiastically support artists who are doing their best to be honest. It’s my break from the way that vulnerability asks a lot of me in my own work and a recognition that other kinds of artists are being deeply vulnerable too. Shows are a comfort. Thanks for writing this (the zine in general and also this specific post).
1. At some level I think you're overthinking all this hardcore stuff. However, as a write that I think I have to remember where you're coming from. I'm going to call you hardcore 2.0. I think the people you were hanging around with, including yourself were more emotionally complex than some of the kids I hung out with, let's call it HC 1.0. most of the kids that I knew back then simply drowned out their emotions/issues with alcohol and drugs, unfortunately.
Anyway to get back to this who's hardcore question? Personally I never felt or actually described myself as hardcore even back in the ancient time of 1981. Remember the lyric 'I don't want to be labeled punk or skin, just erase all the labels so we all can begin'. I wrote that because I was sitting in my bedroom in apartment x, and I heard a couple of members of the hardcore scene talking about beating up fags and some other questionable subjects. I just know I like the music, didn't fit in the normal/traditional paradigm enjoyed slam dancing. But then again I felt more connected to the skateboard scene, that was my identity believe it or not, then becoming a devotee. And of course the whole band / fan dynamic in hardcore music has always been suspect to me, more so in CFA 2.0 in the 90s. Early on I can assure you there was absolutely no differential between the bands and the fans, especially locally, it was just one homogenized hot mess hanging out on 7th and A.
Another funny story, when I came out of my Krishna bubble in the very early 90s I was shocked that there was still hardcore. It didn't seem like something that would last, I thought it was more of a shooting star than a moon, so to speak. Then I went with Ray to a hardcore super bowl show, I think... I was pretty shocked.
Guess what I'm just trying to get at here is no membership required, no rules and regulations.... Just show up and be genuine. As I sit here and think about this, I never really felt hardcore. Even after playing a thousand shows and putting out a variety of recordings. Come to think of it my one insecurity as a teenager living on Norfolk Street was not feeling really genuine because I wasn't from New York. That was a distinction I remember kids making back then, and something I was well aware of. I was at the party, but I didn't feel quite genuine. That was the early divide I guess as I think about all this ancient history. Who was from New York and who wasn't.... You were just slightly more down if you had Providence 😎
I was almost going to delete this existential rant, but I'll just throw it up here and now get back to the British kids bake off.
Regarding "overthinking," I would argue that this might be true at some point early on—especially when you were hanging out! But after 40 years of hardcore history, and at the global scale that hardcore operates in now, we need to be more thoughtful about who we are and what we do as a matter of preservation. Back in the '80s—or even when we first met in the early '90s—hardcore was still young and underground and fairly straightforward. But a lot has happened since then. We underthink it at our own peril! 🙂
What is wrong with overthinking? I remember reading a interview with Wendy Carlos, the composer for many Stanley Kubrick films, She was once interviewed by the beastie boys magazine “Grand Royale” During the interview she was talking about her two main passions in graduate school were physics and music. During the middle of the interview the interviewer asked her if she was a nerd. She replied, “yes am a nerd. A nerd implies that you are thinking about things other then yourself,”
Wow...40 years. Thanks 👴
JBO rules.
It’s a small point but when you mentioned being in the pit and connecting to your body, I recalled how vital that was for me. I wasn’t playing sports or doing anything totally physical at that time and as a young person it can be so vital to find some form of physical connection to yourself. Hardcore gave me that, music gave me that. Whether it was Shelter, Orange 9MM, Green Day or Blur, I found some form of release and at the same time, closeness to other bodies. That saved me. Coming from an emotionally and physically abusive home, I needed an outlet for physical self-expression. To circle back to the point of the article, the first few years for me in the hardcore scene were mostly observation, how are people interacting? Who is booking shows or making zines? Who are the conduits into being more involved? And when I began to participate more... it wasn’t necessarily within the hardcore scene so much as the burgeoning Midwest emo/indie/punk scene, but using the skills I learned from the hardcore scene. I’m so grateful for the time I had as an observer, before I became a participant and I think there’s so much value in taking the time to be an observer/appreciator.
Ed McFarlane's feeling of being on the outside looking in resonates with me from a somewhat different angle. I grew up in a city in the middle of the country, where we didn't get a lot of shows, and any local bands played houses . There weren't really venues. So you really had to know someone to know what was going on and it was pretty insular. I was largely out of the loop.
So for me, helping a friend do his zine was a way for me to engage with the music and with the scene in the absence of any real opportunity for community participation. Before that, it was just buying the records when I could. When I read my first issue of MRR, it was like a whole world opened up, and very little of it was close to home. So even as a creator, I still found myself in the position of being on the outside looking in. It didn't help that I was a judgmental, self-righteous little jerk, but nevertheless.
(Appropriately enough, as I finished reading this piece, "Not Like You" by Underdog came up on my playlist.)
I totally have always felt like Ed. Didnt feel like a hardcore kid although its been since 87 and I still go to some shows, listen to pidcasts, read this zine I still feel tge same way and that's ok. Gravity has always pulled me in many directions. The scene never made me feel like a poser or unwelcome. And to that I am very grateful.
You hit on something I’ve been thinking about lately. As a Jersey kid in the 90s, I’d go to shows at CBGBs, ABC No Rio, Wetlands, and Coney Island High, but I was more on the periphery—seeing bands, hitting vegan spots, buying records, and catching the train home. But I lived for years in New Brunswick, which has been chronicled recently in a couple books: Dan Ozzi’s “Sellout” and Chris Payne’s “Where the Boys Are Tonight.” It’s been very cool, but also a little surreal, to read accounts from your old friends and scene acquaintances about basement shows you were at (with maybe a few dozen other people). I'd expect anyone writing the history of a scene to turn to members of its best known bands—like the one you play in now—or the kids who put on the most memorable, sweaty shows or put out the era’s seminal records. But there were, of course, other kids in New Brunswick, and I'd imagine any hardcore scene, who played in bands that didn't go far, or wrote zines that died off after a couple issues, or were simply “spectators” at shows that become part of hardcore lore decades later.
This was a great piece because it reminds me of well me. The only “contribution” I ever made to the scene was I attempted to write a fanzine which failed miserably and I put on shows in college that was it. I remember in college a had a friend of a friend who put out his own fanzine and he did something I have never seen in a fanzine before or since. He had a column called “pen light” which was I thought was a revolutionary idea instead of interviewing “contributors” to the scene he interviewed kids who we just went to shows and “that is all they did.” When I was heavily involved in the hardcore scene in the ‘90s I once had a friend who was admonished by someone in a band for not contributing to the scene except going to shows. O well.
I have my own unique way of feeling like an outsider in hardcore. I came from the west coast punk rock / skateboarding "live for today" ethos. The whole culture was about doing radical, disruptive, destructive, anti-society things. A lot of dudes died young or went to jail or rehab or all three. There was always a heavy dose of self-loathing or some mental illness involved. I was on my own self-destructive path in Santa Cruz CA because that's what the scene was about. We were clueless about the Orange County / Revelation Records scene. Germs, Fear, Black Flag, Bl'ast, Circle Jerks, X, that was our soundtrack for destruction.
But when I moved to NYC in 1990 I was blown away by the hardcore scene. I'd never seen so many "normal" looking people in such a vibrant scene. Champion hoodies, shorts and sneakers was a far cry from mohawks, leather jackets and spike collars. Not to mention so many people were vegetarian and straight edge. They cared about their bodies! And how inclusive it was! If you fell in the pit there were three people helping you up. No way that happened at a Black Flag show in the 80's. I also appreciated how everyone accepted me right off the bat. I was wearing a leather jacket, I smoked cigarettes, and I usually had a Jack and Coke in my hand but that was ok. I took the photos because I love being in intense and vibrant scenes. And also, if I'm being totally honest, when I gave my photos to the bands and they liked them it made me feel good. I felt like part of something. "You like my photos!?, aw shucks, then I must be an ok guy." I needed that external validation to cope with my many insecurities. I had one friend when I moved to New York. As soon as I got a job at Angelika Kitchen I had legions of friends, some I still keep in contact with to this day. The NY hardcore scene was kind of a life saver for me. I'm not trying to be dramatic, but thanks to you and every "hardcore kid" that accepted me without judgement. It was amazing.