My First Time - A Collection of First Punk Show Stories, Edited by Chris Duncan
"There’s something about beginnings, something magical and romantic and completely ridiculous. There is something dangerous as well. As humans, how often do we discover something that completely changes our lives? How often can we pinpoint the exact moment when you know, down deep in your guts, that things can never ever be the same again?I think youthful idealism is beautiful. The urgency and power that a group of humans with the same beliefs and ideas can harness is intoxicating and infectious. I think that’s what does it; that unified/unifying urgency is what makes people invest their lives and take ownership of a scene, sub-culture, or identity, even though eventually they may drift from the community they helped construct. The ability to participate and build, rather than just plainly observe and accept without question, is what’s key. It’s about being in a place so intimate that just showing up makes you an integral part of the whole. Knowing that without you, it couldn’t be the same. Knowing you are connected to a community. " - Introduction into a collectin of first punk show stories
I think these two paragraphs fit perfectly in this blog and with our ideals as compassionate journey seekers. When reading this, I felt like someone had finally figured out how to put these feelings into words; what this music, these people, these experiences we've gone through have left us feeling. It reminded me of the unity involved in the scene...even when it was being disrupted by fear of diversity. In the end, it all came together...even when it didn't. Some just get it, and some spend the rest of their lives tuning into their radio.
Most of these narratives take place between 1984 and 1987 and document that pre-internet time of discovery; “all earned by living”.
Today's interest is mainly sparked through what you can track down via-internet. The photos you see make you sweat with anticipation for that moment when the music pumps its way into your blood and you feel more alive than ever before. The stories you read, make you regret the fact that you were born a little too late and inspire you to create some sort of satisfaction for yourself. Now this is where you decide to revolutionize your life. Have a house show and write a short story on it. Tuck it inside a box and pull it out when you're 30. Throw a pot-luck and invite all the hungry individuals in your neighborhood. Inspire someone...let someone inspire you.
My first show was right here in the Dirt City's beachside area. I was roughly 13 years old and I had no idea that such a lifestyle even existed. Who knew that kids, KIDS, could hold so much power. I walked down those steps in that old church we'd visit every Wednesday night for kicks and free food, only to be amazed by the lack of light, flood of faces I have never seen before, and a noise that rattled my spine. I was astonished at the sight of what became my first punk show. There were booths set up displaying music on cassette tapes and vinyl, tattooed skin that carried suspenders...there were grown men "dancing" in a huge circle along with younger boys and girls of all varieties. It was the most cultured experience of my life at the time. Over shoulders I could see my brother's 11inch mohawk and all I wanted was to be standing by his side. I got lost in a shuffle of nothing I knew and I loved every moment of it. As out-of-place as I felt, I didn't care enough to leave. The music was pulling me in and I knew at that moment I'd never ask for it to let me go. This was where I wanted to be.
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Well, I don't remember much about my first punk show to be honest, haha. So I'll give you one of my stories of squatting.
ReplyDeleteThis was about three or two years ago. Anyways... This was up in Minnasotta, way out in the boon docks, for those that don't know what that means, way out in the country with a population of maybe 1,000 people at the most and i might be exagerating how many people live in this town. Anyway, I'm not here to tell you how many people lived in a small town. The town was called Crosby by the way. Anyways... The abandon house I stayed at had two people residing in it. One guy name Steve and his wife Jennie, she was pregnant. Anyways... I was walking home one late night from a gas station to pick up some cigarettes and when I got home me and Steve just drank, of course this abandon building was built on top of an active gun shop, so the alarm could go off if you stomped hard enough. Anyways.... Steve left and picked up two forties and came back, we started drinking. The door of the abandon house we stayed at was naturally just fucked up right? It like locked on it's own, anyways... Me and Steve and sitting there drinking right? And we hear this loud bang on the door, like someone was punching or hitting it with something. So me and Steve went to the front door, it was actually being broken in, like someone was trying to kick through it. Anyways... Steve being the smart one and having past experiance squatting, he had "bought" some baseball bats. So he hands me one and he takes another and we stand at each side of the door and than we saw this guy peaked his head in the whole he kicked through our door and we started going to town on this guy. We even open the door up for him so we could hit him at his body and not his head for Steve's sake having about 10 warrants for God knows what and me having a warrant in a couple of cities. Anyways... That was just one of the crazy nights, hoped ya like the story
My first concert was the rolling stones in 1966, but the feeling was similar to what you describe. I think the music, whether it be punk or rock or whatever, creates a feeling of belonging among those who enjoy it together.
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