The Bars, Pt. 1

I just came across these incredible clips of Black Flag playing live on 12/20/84 @ Embassy Hotel, London Ontario. I am not sure of the order and highly doubt this is the full set, but it is well worth your viewing time. The audio is soundboard quality.























Hank fucks with a heckler...

Revisited Vol. 1 - Fugazi's "Steady Diet Of Nothing"

The first word out of Guy Picciotto's mouth on Fugazi's second full length, Steady Diet Of Nothing is "exeunt." According to Webster's, it's used in the theater to indicate that two or more performers have retired from a scene. You'd think that hearing this word repeated over and over would be a fitting introduction to a band that dedicated themselves to creativity and meaning in a "scene" that they felt was stagnant. However, this powerful declaration was lost on me when I first heard this record.

It was a dreary Saturday in Montevallo, a small Alabama town where my mother grew up and my father went to college. We were visiting my Grandparents. I was still too young to drive, but too old to spend the day in front of the Television as my family talked business and politics. Frustrated by being away from most of my CD's and tapes, my bike, and my friends for an entire Saturday, I decided to go for a walk and explore some of the places in town I'd never checked out when I was younger. The rush of wandering around in search of creepy (and hopefully haunted) houses, bike trails, and playground companions was gone. In its place was a new found confidence and attitude that had apparently been hiding deep in the back of my head up until the music of Black Flag and Minor Threat kicked it's door open and tossed it into the outside world a few months prior. I wasn't going to just sit there and stew all day, I was going to go out and search for any trace of this new and exciting culture I'd discovered. At that point, it was just about the only thing that mattered to me.

I headed up to Montevallo's main street, home to my Grandparents' church, a couple of restaurants, and a car dealership. I walked up and down the street a few times to take in all of the scenery that wouldn't have meant much to me as a child. One business that had never really commanded my attention before was a college book store. I can't remember the name of it at this point, but I'll never forget how I felt as I walked in and noticed that they had a small selection of used CD's for sale. Used music was my bread and butter at the time as I only had allowance money to spend. I'd say that almost every cent I earned from doing various tasks around the house was spent on music or music related magazines. I wasted no time with any other merchandise in the store and immediately started with the "A" section of the CD's. I had memorized a library of bands to look for that had been mentioned in the Thank You Lists of records I already owned, and Zine articles I had poured over time and time again. Nothing piqued my interest until i got to the "F" section...then I saw the cover of Steady Diet. I knew that the singer of Minor Threat was in Fugazi, but I had never heard them before. The title struck me immediately. I felt like my life was a steady diet of nothing with the exception of music. I held on to the CD as I continued browsing. All I could think about was the fact that I was going to hear Ian MacKaye sing on another album, and decided to go ahead and buy it despite the fact that I had no clue what it might sound like. I took my prize up to the counter, paid, and damn near ran back to my Grandparents' house to listen to it on my Discman.

In almost no time, the intro to "Exit Only" was making it's way through my headphones as a I gazed at the liner notes. There weren't any photos of the band hanging out on porches or playing shows. Instead I saw shots of a Teepee and some sort of old hospital room. My surprise and confusion increased as the song went on. The music was brooding, and immediately reminded me of the slower parts of some Nirvana songs. I liked the sound, but at the same time I was angry that it lacked the aggression of all of the Minor Threat material. I continued listening to song after song, happy to hear Ian's voice in some of them, as I read along with the lyrics. This was definitely not "I Don't Wanna Hear It" Volume II. My frustration continued. By the time I was finished with my first listen, I almost felt cheated. What had happened here? Why didn't this music make me want to give everyone in the world a piece of my mind whether they liked it or not? Why wasn't I ready to tear the room apart with my bare hands? I gave it another listen on the ride back home, which yielded the same results. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy the music, but I just could not connect with it on a personal level. I had been able to relate to Minor Threat in a way that it is still hard for me to verbalize to this day. In that band, Ian was screaming some of the things that I'd always thought and never been able to articulate at the top of his lungs. I wanted so badly to feel that connection again with Fugazi and Steady Diet, but it just wasn't happening. I'd bitten off a bit more than I could chew. Ultimately, I felt defeated and shelved the album for quite a while afterward.

Luckily, that feeling of defeat didn't last forever. I gave Fugazi another shot about a year later with the purchase of Repeater and 13 Songs. They had a slightly more punk sound and feel. Listening to those two records over and over helped me connect with their attitude and ethic. The lyrics slowly began to make more sense and not look like a foreign language to me. I began listening to Steady Diet again, and while it didn't get as much play as the other two, it served as a lesson to me. From that point on, I tried my best to give music that I seek out more than one or two chances. At that point in my life, music was not as disposable as it is now. Discographies of the bands I was searching for weren't a click away. I held on to Steady Diet when my only option would have been trading it in for store credit towards other albums. Every time I put it on, I'm glad I didn't make that hasty decision.

I am almost 26 years old now. I have been listening to Fugazi for more than a decade, and was lucky enough to see them on their tour in support of The Argument. It seems like I find a new line or two that I can relate to as the years go on. Recently, the song "Runaway Return" on Steady Diet has become incredibly important to me as I struggle with the balance of my responsibilities in the workplace and the DIY projects that truly drive me. Of course lines like "There's nothing living/There's nothing given/The weekender gives in/puts on his working suit" and "There's nothing waiting/there's nothing imminent/Nothing forgiven for the young idea" weren't going to impact me as an adolescent. They weren't meant to.

I won't ever pretend that Fugazi had more of an impact on me than Minor Thread did, or that Steady Diet is my favorite of their records, but it is one that truly made me think. For me, it's the sound of the realization that rebellion isn't always as simple as a destructive act or a "Fuck you!" to an authority figure. It's the soundtrack to the moment it dawns on you that they aren't always the problem. Sometimes rebellion means being introspective, calling yourself out on your own mistakes, and having the guts to learn from them instead of making them again. Sometimes, it's the desire to create art even if you are the only on that sees, reads, or hears it. Sometimes, it's picking up and starting over.
Sometimes it's looking back and laughing.

Man The Change

Sometimes, as an avid music fan, I tend to let new artists and bands I discover overshadow some of what I would call my "old standards." One that I've unfortunately let slip through the cracks over the past few years is Hot Water Music. This is a personal recollection of discovering the band and revisiting their catalog later.



I first got into HWM a year or so before graduating from high school. The thank you lists of many albums I owned had their name on it, and reviews of stellar live performances were scattered across the pages of zines I had collected. One day I was browsing CD's at Tuscaloosa's legendary Vinyl Solution (R.I.P.), and came across a copy of "No Division." I decided to take a chance and buy it that day. I remember being blown away after the first listen. They had a really unique sound that I felt was described inaccurately by all of the press I'd read about them. The rough vocals went into great melodies out of nowhere. It was a different breed of punk that I could not slap a label on. It was inspiring and exciting to me, musically and lyrically. I listened to it all the time, and quickly ordered the rest of their material from No Idea Records. My first package from No Idea came with some really random stuff along with the CD's, like a miniature toy skateboard and a Ninja Turtles trading card. "Fuel for The Hate Game" and "Forever and Counting", and the single tracks that make up "Never Ender" quickly got just as many spins as "No Division" in my CD player. I was definitely hooked.

My time frame here is a bit fuzzy, but the band signed to Epitaph and released "A Flight And A Crash" around the summer of my senior year of HS and the beginning of my stint at the University of Alabama. I got to see the band twice in that time period. The first time was at the Boiler Room, an awesome venue that was located on the North Side of Downtown Birmingham. I will never forget piling a few of my best friends in my mom's Buick and driving to that show. I am sure we looked completely ridiculous when we pulled up. The Boiler Room was essentially a HUGE open room, and even the most crowded shows there looked half empty. The turnout for that particular show was great, though. I was up front sweating and screaming the whole time. I have a flier for it somewhere at my parent's house which will be scanned and posted if I come across it. The second show I caught was sometime during my first year of college, and was with Less Than Jake and Bad Religion at The Tabernacle in Atlanta. They opened the show with a set mostly made up with songs from "A Flight...." and a couple of classics. I remember being a little let down, but they sounded great.

"A Flight and A Crash" and "Caution" both did very little for me. They are decent records, but neither grabbed me like any of the four that got me into the band. They also released "The New What Next" later on, which I might have listened to once. Fast forward a few years and plays here and there, and those records that once spoke to me in a big way are just sitting on the shelf. The news of their break up or reformation didn't spark me to start listening again, either. I was sitting at work recently thinking about how much fun I had in that particular time period, and out of nowhere, a line from the song "Our Own Way" popped into my head. "...There will be times when it will seem like we are caught someplace in between the ocean and the storm without a shore." Just like that, a band I thought of as a soundtrack to a youthful transition spoke to me again. I might have made a mistake by letting those records sit stagnant for a while, but maybe I just needed to let those lines and melodies age a bit to help me out at an even more confusing time. Simply put, I had a much better outlook on life when I got into Hot Water Music. I was excited to be starting college, excited for every single show I attended, and nothing seemed routine. Things change, and there is no way to escape that. Here's to records that bring my mind back to a place where those changes could be for the better.

For all the nobody people like me....a love letter to my hometown

This is an open love letter to my hometown; possibly the most honest I’ve ever written. Lots of you will either not get it or scoff at it, and that is fine. Just remember all of it when you complain about Tuscaloosa around me so I can save a breath or twelve.

Tuscaloosa is in fact what most people say it is. It is a college town. It is a place where The Crimson Tide and College Football might as well be religion. It is certainly a party town. It is a world of its own with a unique feel; somewhere between a quiet, tight knit community like Montevallo and the city/suburb dichotomy of Birmingham. Some have said that “there is nothing here” and have been, and always will be completely wrong. There is much, much more to my home than meets the eye. These examples may mean nothing to the cynical ivory tower dweller with his or her bags packed and ready to move to whatever city might be hip this year, and that is fine. They are presented as a reminder to myself and others who struggle with the love/hate relationship that is growing up here. If you know, you know, and this is for you.

It is riding your bike up and down the hills of Northwood Lake as a kid and feeling completely free. It is entire summers spent at the NWL pool, diving off the lifeguard stand when no one was looking, being in awe of the older girls (or guys), trying to talk to them and failing miserably, and all the random mischief that took place as soon as the sun went down and the gate was locked. It is a random winter where it happened to snow, and feeling like we were transported to some foreign arctic land, if only for a day.

It is the fear of leaving the comfort of elementary school for Riverside and its two floors, field house, log cabin, and endless walls of lockers. It is being dropped off at said school and having to wait in the parking lot until the doors opened, forging friendships with any other misfits you could find. It is bad lunchroom food, first loves, fights, vodka in a water bottle on the bus, stacks of napkins, bent forks, and coaches who seemed to speak entirely different languages. It is hopeless crushes on Mormon girls, being tossed out of high school parties in Crown Pointe only to go back and egg the house later. It is somehow discovering and falling in love with punk rock along the way, thanks to George and Chuck at Vinyl Solution (the only love that has stuck around).

It is moving on up to County High (The real building, not the slick food court meets prison that exists now), hanging out in the gravel lot with misfits old and new, asking Senior girls to Prom, almost wrecking the Driver’s Ed car, and subsequently going down Skyland to take your driving test and barely passing. It is holding your first girlfriend’s hand for the first time at City Fest and feeling unstoppable. It is staying up all night at Boone Cabin and jumping off the deck into Lake Tuscaloosa to wake yourself up and prepare for another day without worry. It is getting your first job and feeling like you have money to burn. It is throwing your cap in the air at Coleman and knowing you want to do it again in four or five years.

It is getting accepted to UA and skipping orientation because you think you know everything about campus, and then going to class to discover you know two things: jack and shit. It is new friends who become family just like your old ones. It is staying up all night just because you can. It is City Café at 5 am and again at 1 pm. It is THE AVENUE and every hilarious thing that ever went down there. It is game days on The Quad (or a Saturday with Eli on the radio in the office at Foodmax for me). It is seeing bands at the old Johnny house or the basement of Alabama Apartments. It is a Grand Canyon’s worth of mistakes (some you make twice) and learn from before it is all over. It is the uncomfortable sleep of two people in a dorm room bed. It is seeing best friends fall in love and get married, it is also seeing friends fall out of love and not knowing which side to be on.

It is graduating again in the same room, with a less than optimistic feeling this time around. It is the genuine fear of the “real world” and not knowing how to handle three or four kinds of loss all at once. It is the desire to see different things. It is road trips, tours, and various other types of escape. It is living alone and paying bills, It is 9 to 5 with a million ideas on how to live without it. It is hope and despair all at once. It is a stack of failed relationships. It is having the best of friends stick by you despite all your faults and quirks, and doing the same for them. It is having no clue what the next day, week, or month will bring, and the strange comfort that comes along with that fact.

Most of all, it is my home. Tuscaloosa is just as much a part of me as I am a part of it. I will always wear Crimson, get excited in the fall, and give a “Roll Tide” to anyone within earshot. I will always get random cravings for Archibald’s, Dreamland, and Taco Casa. I will always love meeting new people and finding new spots to hang out and talk about life. I will always love the feeling I get when I ride a bike around campus, no matter what gets remodeled or how The Strip now looks more like a strip mall. I will always peer down to see how muddy the Black Warrior River is that day when I go over the bridge. I have good and bad memories about damn near every part of this town, and wherever a car, plane, or train will (hopefully) take me, Tuscaloosa will always be where my awkward, goofball, misfit heart lies.