I’m not even sure what I said to my mom to avoid questioning. Maybe the venue being called “The Church at 20th and Park” helped to ease suspicion. Or maybe it’s because it’s Saturday night. That’s her prime self-medication night. One quick internet search would reveal that I wasn’t going to some holy youth group. “The Church” was a greasy looking black brick building. The windows were covered in past show posters. The marquee for tonight had esteemed names like Rat Puke and Rosemary’s Roadkill. High caliber music for suburban mothers indeed.

The door guy looked at my khaki shorts and skater t-shirt with contempt. I was apparently not a welcome convert. But I had the cover fee so I was in. As I walked through the door, it was clear that the no smoking ordinance wasn’t adhered to. The dark room was filled with smoke. I slowly made my way through the haze. The band on stage was shouting nonsense as their over-driven guitars shredded everyone’s eardrums.

I ignored the looks of the plaid and leather clad patrons. Their tattoos were on display beneath shredded pants, jean vests covered in band patches, and other assorted attire that made up the standard punk uniform. I was an outsider to them. But it wouldn’t matter for too much longer. Once the headliner came on, we would all be one. For that short 45 minutes, there would be no division.

I stood alone and lost myself in the noise of the room. It wasn’t hard to be invisible. More and more people started to pack the room as it got closer to the awaited time. I was zoning and maybe a little high from the enhanced air. How this place was still able to operate was a miracle in itself. As I gazed around, I finally saw someone I remotely recognized. Her jet black and pink mohawk was unmistakable. Alexandra. Or Alex now I suppose. Alexandra was too high class a name. She was still beautiful.

Alex and I used to be friends, maybe close to more. She still lives down the street from me, but stopped associating with me once we got to high school. I always had a crush on her, but I wasn’t ever “punk enough” to be in her group of friends. And so we drifted. If she even noticed that I exist anymore, I would never know. My trance was broken by the surging of the crowd. It was time.

The lights went out and the soundbite of broken glass and marching boots ripped over the PA. Then the bass and drums came in double time, followed by the shredding guitars. The stage lights blasted the crowd as the verse kicked off. The illuminated crowd surged and moved with the music, shouting the choruses and feeding the energy. One song after the next, the band kept punching through with sonic force.

When the pit opened up, I threw myself into the mad thrashing. The over-driven guitars fueled the collisions of biochemistry. I lost myself again in the noise and tried to avoid getting smashed in the face by one of the zealots. However, personal injury was just an accepted risk. A small price for spiritual renewal.

I turned and stars flashed across my vision. As the pain spread through my face, I was fists up and ready to fight. I dropped my guard instantly when I saw who hit me. It was her. She looked just as stunned. I raised my hands and shrugged to diffuse the situation. She smiled and I started to move back into the maw of the crowd. I felt a hand on mine and turned. Before I realized, Alex closed the distance and locked her lips to mine. I should have resisted. It was a strange reaction on her part. There was no logic behind it. Instead I embraced her.

Looking at us, one would have never imagined such a scene. But here we stood, our souls mingling while the chorus of the crowd chanted, “R-A-M-O-N-E-S, Ramones!”

Afterword

Some who read this may remember that I was in a pop-punk band in high school. That scene was brutal. People made fun of us for the longest time because of our name and our overall image. I also remember a lot of people trying to say that I sucked as a drummer. I sure wasn’t amazing, but really, anyone could play those same 4/4 beats over and over. I do wish I devoted a little more time to practice though.

One of my guilty pleasures to this day is The Casualties. I got into them when I was around 15/16 and saw them at Warped Tour. I bought a shirt that was the cover of their album Under Attack. I remember wearing it once to meet my girlfriend at the time and thought I was cool. But deep down, I was scared to be made fun of.

High school was a weird time dealing with the uncertainty of teenage years and a music scene that really hated itself. If you didn’t listen to the right bands or know the right obscure musical knowledge, then you were just a poser. However, all was usually equal when the music started. Except for the one guy that always wanted to make you pay in the pits because he thought he was the model for all that was punk.

I listen to a lot of the old music that I listened to at that time and it makes me laugh. Bands like Anti-Flag really didn’t age well as left wing politics became more and more extreme. Also, with even just a little study into economics, you would find that a lot of the anti-capitalist stuff is self-defeating. Especially in the music industry where you need to sell stuff and make money to continue as a band. It’s still a business.

The Casualties had several songs about how they love the band Ramones. I recently started hearing a song called “Ramones”. I thought it was original, but apparently it is a cover of a Motorhead song (this is the type of knowledge that I obviously should have known). The Casualties and Ramones sound nothing alike, but they still fall under the same genre of music. This dichotomy brought back the memories of those band years.

I was never that punk, although I had a crappy mohawk and plaid pants once (pants that cost $100, so it really shatters the angry, young, and poor image when you think about it). However, some of the music still goes with me today. Hopefully this story hits home with some people who also reminisce about those times. And hopefully it reminds some that acceptance of differing people is more of what we need.

Copyright 2022 Devin Butcher