I’ve written about all the amazing things punk rock has done for me as a writer, and I’ve invited others to use my space to do the same. When I first started writing, I tried over and over again to capture the chaotic, frenetic energy of a mosh pit. I tried to get to the heart of what it felt like to have the bass line replace your heart beat in a crowded, dirty room.
I’ve never been able to do it.
It’s one of those inexplicable, full body, total mind experiences that defies any meaningful explanation. That’s okay, I think most of the beautiful stuff is the same way. I can describe falling in love, but you’re never going to feel the way I felt when I fell for my husband. I can describe the moment I held my daughter for the first time, or the day I graduated boot camp and officially became a US Marine. If I do it right, you feel something, but you’ll never feel what I felt.
Is punk rock as amazing and beautiful as those three examples?
Well. Yes and no. There’s opportunity after opportunity to listen to the music, to gather in this crowded rooms, to hear an amazing song by one of your favorite bands for the first time. But I only got to fall for my husband and my kid ONCE. So those experiences were way more powerful. Way more knock you on your ass if you’re not sitting down. But punk’s been there long before and will be there long after.
My heart swells when I catch the kid singing along to Bikini Kill and Anti-Flag. I love getting to enjoy that music with her (and yes, we listen to Tay Tay, too),but the idea of taking her into one of those crowded rooms is a little too intense at her age. Even if she pouts.
But, as she developed a stronger and stronger love for Anti-Flag, and their new album was really hitting her deep - they announced a listening party with an acoustic set near-ish to us. No risk of hearing damage, no mosh pits. And, as we discovered upon arrival - free donuts!
So, you got me. This post isn’t about crime fiction or even writing. Tonight was a really special night and I wanted to share it. If my mind goes with old age, I hope the memory of singing Brandenburg Gate with my sweet little 7 year old and one of my favorite bands is the last memory to go.
Post a Comment