Chris Ortiz

I didn’t come from a scene where I felt like a minority as I was a poor kid like everyone else. I grew up in the San Antonio scene. It is predominantly made up of Latino skins, punks, hardcore kids, rude boys, etc. There were very few white faces that I saw at shows that didn’t belong to touring bands. That or maybe I just didn’t really associate with white kids because they weren’t from my part of town or didn’t dress like me. Most infighting within the scene seemed more concentrated on what crew you ran with rather than racial beefs. It threw me for a loop at first being that all you hear about from the media is that we are all a bunch of racist assholes.

It wasn’t until I moved to Oklahoma City in the late 90’s that I began to feel like a minority. It’s no secret OKC had some nazi elements to its scene, but I wasn’t treated terribly. It was hard to wrap my mind around it. I figure that it was more along the lines that some of these guys grew up together so they didn’t give a fuck what their friend’s politics were.

The event that began my shift in politics was the day I attended an anti-immigration rally. I became obsessed with militia groups like “The Minutemen Project.” When I approached them with one of my white friends, they wouldn’t look me in the eye nor give me the time of day. They gave her literature and she threw it away. It began a self-reflection. I got used to hearing things like “Aaron’s one of the good ones” and it made me start thinking about if I was just a token minority to some people. I began questioning all the things that I once held so dear to my heart. You find out really quick who your friends are when you are deep in the gutter of life.

I decided that I should reevaluate my life and that led me on the path to going to school. I’ve always loved education but never thought I would have the money to go. I use to also have this idea that universities were for rich liberal cesspools. My ideas on that have somewhat changed. If there’s anything that will make you rethink your politics, it’s being surrounded by the people you may not have liked in the past. It’s easy to hate someone when you don’t know them face to face. I have met and had conversations with people of different races, religions, sexual orientations, political affiliations...etc. I sat with an Iraqi in history class and we traded history notes about what he was taught and what I was taught. There’s no better place than to have that open dialogue than in an educational environment or serving in the military.

I’ve learned to embrace myself, my Latino culture, and the moments that have shaped me. I’ve allowed myself to dream. I don’t just talk about the “America” I want based on my old flawed politics in a scene, but I’m a better citizen that contributes to my community through service work.

I am a transplant here. As a child, I listened to a lot of 45’s of storybooks on a Fisher-Price record player we got for Christmas. Eventually us kids listened to records and cassettes from our parent’s collection. We were exposed to lots of different stuff: Motown, Reggae, Michael Jackson, Neil Young…As a pre-teen I listened to Prince on my Walkman. On weekends I would sneakily watch Yo! MTV Raps. I had to be sneaky about watching MTV in general lest my parents caught me watching it while something they might consider inappropriate was on. Through this program and classmates at school I learned about Heavy D, MC Lyte, Public Enemy, Young MC, Salt & Pepper, Run DMC, the Beastie Boys, and NWA. During this time I also got a full dose of pop, rock, old wave, and new wave.

By high school, my family had moved from a big city to a small town in Kansas. There was very little to do. My friends would hang out in basements and have impromptu gatherings. An excuse to dance and listen to cassettes and CD’s over and over again.

Toward the end of high school and the beginning of college, we would drive to Lawrence, a place that to our young minds and small town sensibilities had already achieved a quasi-mythical immanence through word-of-mouth. By this time I had heard the Ramones, Patti Smith, Violent Femmes, The Damned, Bauhaus, Skinny Puppy. I was thirsty for new music and eager to go to shows.

These trips were revelations. A seeming sanctuary for the weird or off-center. My friends and I would go to all-ages shows, house shows, browse record stores at places like Alley Cat and Kief’s. I was always on the lookout for bootlegs and interesting zines. We would donate plasma to earn money for concert tickets.

Once I moved to the area, I started to really become aware of the local music scene through concerts, show bills, local radio stations that featured local music programs. I cultivated a fandom for bands like Paw, Stick, Frogpond, Vitreous Humor, the Get Up Kids, Truck Stop Love. I burned a hole in my Exit 159 and Ultimate Fakebook CD’s. Uncle Dirty Toes, Glitter Kicks, the Urge, the Esoteric, Shiner, Billy Goat, Bubble Boys, Noise FM, Appleseed Cast, Mates of State, Danger Bob. One of my very first concerts was was the local hard-core-don’t-give-AF band Cocknoose (also on that bill was Crown of Thorns).

I was impressed with the diversity of musical styles and blending of genres that I heard as well as the sheer number of bands in the area. These groups seemed larger than life to me and doing things that I wanted to do - playing shows, making posters, cutting records, giving live performances on the radio. I sensed an overall feeling of “Don’t Give A Damn, Here I Am” from the scene and was learning that music was something that anyone could do with enough confidence to get on the stage and put your emotions on the line. Flash forward to today…..

Right now this is a vibrant and energized music and art scene where lots of different types of stuff brush up against each other. Punk rock, hip hop, glam, aggressive rock, experimental music and puppet shows, poetry and spoken word, all this stuff outpacing genres. There’s an incredible group of young artists in the area who are saying “enough!” and finding the empowerment and courage to do things on their own terms: “THIS is who I am - deal”.

I feel like there’s an overall resurgence, an urgency, something resonating in the air. Whatever it is, it’s very compelling.

Some of my favorite bands of all time have come out this region, and this era is no exception. I am in love with bands like Emmeline Twist, LK Ultra, Red Kate, Wick and the Tricks, Kawehi, Approach, Heidi Gluck’s music, the Toughies, CS Luxem, Life Coach, The Arsonists, The Bad Ideas, Kadesh Flow, Radkey, Vigil and Thieves, Robe Rage, Cuee, Mourning Ritual, Kaitlin Conroy’s music, Alex Kimball Williams. Some of the scene today includes generational legacies, like Lily Pryor who is really coming into her own as a performer and songwriter and is the daughter of Matt Pryor from the Get Up Kids for example.

There’s also this energy behind the scenes that doesn’t always get a lot of recognition. People like Fally Afani and I Heart Local Music, Paige Batson, Paul DeGeorge, Macey Webb, Jameelah Jones, Ray Bennett, Micah Anne Cox, Nicholas Ward, the crew behind Girls Rock Lawrence, all these great minds working tirelessly (and in most cases for little or no pay) to keep this scene going and to reshape it into an inclusive, diversified, impactful community of musicians, artists, and poets. There are new venues like Percolator and the White School House trying to bring back all-ages space. It’s an exciting time to be a music fan in Lawrence.

Most of this music stuff is hard work, low pay, and not glamorous. The simplest thing you can do to help support the local scene is to go to the shows, enthusiastically pay the cover, tip well, buy merch, share the music you love with friends, and dance like there’s no tomorrow.

In 1996, my friends and I decided to leave Dallas, my on and off homeless home at the time. We loved it there: any place that wasn’t Oklahoma, but it was time to move on. We had to split up, because hitching a ride with five people was too many, so they split up by alpha male, and beta male, I of course traveling with the “betas.” In all fairness, I was not an alpha. I was a closeted trans woman in a homeless crust punk suit.

I wasn’t allowed to sleep on anyone’s couches in Lawrence anymore, so I started sleeping in a shed that was in front of a gas station, I’d pass out listening to Tom Waits or The Pogues on a walkman. This was me being macho, I guess. We tend to try to fake our way into what society tells us to be. It was way too cold, so in November, I ended up sleeping under the bridge with about eight or nine friends. We had two fires going, and since everyone had food stamps, all of our perishables sat outside. It was so cold down by the river that we didn’t have to worry about it going bad. We were down there for about a month. Everybody trickled out of Lawrence, leaving just my friend and me. Then we decided to go. I must have found a floor to sleep on. It’s a pretty big blur at that time. The only way to deal with the horror of waking up at four in the morning in twenty degree weather was to drink yourself completely numb. Christina and I were downtown the day after we moved out. A police officer asked us to identify the man who hung himself right there under the bridge where we slept, where we lived. He must have killed himself the day we left. We didn’t recognize his clothes in the pictures. He wasn’t a punk, he was just an older homeless man, we hoped somebody would know who he was.

I felt like I was invisible. I hopped trains, I hitchhiked, I was hospitalized from alcohol-involved accidents. Punk was a way to make friends with the people I thought shared the same interests. That dissolved around me, becoming just a group of broken men, mostly, telling racist jokes around a campfire, drinking too much, and hazing the weaker elements of the group. I was in a very dirty frat, and in a few years, I would be completely over the mystique of being a homeless squatter punk. It was going to kill me; it tried to kill me more than once.

At age 25 I fell in love, got my first job, and started my life over. By age 30 I began telling everyone I was going to transition from perceived male to female. This went over like a lead balloon. If quitting drinking made me isolated, transitioning made it impossible to maintain old friendships. I was ostracized by most of my peers, which was fine; because I finally knew who I was for the first time. I’m in a much warmer place now. My gender markers are fixed. I live in a historic city, where I can accomplish much good by showing young trans kids they can also find the courage to make the change. Punk is dumb, punk is dirty, but punk makes you strong, and the marginalized people of the world need strength, now more than ever.

I discovered punk through a relative, well they weren’t actually a relative, they were almost a relative. They were engaged to my cousin, and subsequently left them at the alter, which is a funny story, but they gave me a cassette tape and on one side it had Bad Religion “80-85” and on the other side it had a Cringer album. And, ah, yeah, it was certainly an eye opening experience. I was listening to, I liked hip-hop, so I was listening to MC Hammer “Please Hammer Don’t Hurt Them” on repeat. Then I found NWA from my brother, and ah was really attracted to the resistance to authority that came from NWA and this person who was engaged to my cousin at the time was like “yo if you like music that is challenging that viewpoint of power structure, you should probably be listening to punk.” And that was the beginning of it. I was probably 13, maybe even 11 years old whenever I got that tape, cause I was born in ‘81, 80-85 came out in like ‘87 I think, maybe it came out in ‘90, so it would have been 10/11 years old.

I moved to Lawrence, KS in the Fall of 1988. I attended KU, and lived in the dorms. I was in the Wichita punk scene in 1987, and had heard of the venue The Outhouse, in the cornfield, outside of town. The first show that I attended there, was Die Kreuzen, and then GWAR. I loved seeing bands at The Outhouse! I started working at KJHK, the college radio station, as a DJ and Concert Promotions Assistant, in 1989. I also worked Hospitality for SUA (Student Union Activities). This meant that I took the band’s lists of backstage requirements for shows, and made sure that they had everything. I worked at SUA for the Faith No More show, Day on the Hill, and my favorite show Soundgarden. I drove Chris Cornell across town in my brown Chevette, to sign autographs, at Streetside Records. There was also a stage in my backyard, 1223 Ohio, where local bands would play. They also played inside our house. We also had bands that were playing at the Outhouse, staying at our house. SNFU, the Chemical People (2x), Straw Dogs, Steve Albini & Flour. One night my housemates brought home Babes in Toyland. It was a scene. The best times and friends, Ever.

There has never been a time in my life when music wasn’t a driving force. When I was younger I was convinced that I was going to be a famous musician as an adult. My sister and I would stand on the hearth in front of my parents’ fireplace and put on shows for our family. I even had teachers send home notes to my mom telling her I needed to quit singing and disrupting people in the middle of class. I was always “on” and so was my stereo.

As I got older I started realizing that it was music in general that I loved, not just performing, or for lack of a better word, showing off. I went to my first concert in a dive bar when I was 13 and that opened the door to my love of music, but punk music especially. The sheer joy that I felt in that moment was a feeling that I never wanted to get rid of. The pulsing of the music in the speakers, the throng of bodies moving to the beat, the sweaty smiles coming from every direction. That became my drug of choice and I’ve been chasing that high ever since.

I’ve seen the Casualties, the Descendents, ALL, MU330, Black Flag, the Distillers. I honestly couldn’t even tell you all of them anymore. The Casualties was the first, though. When I was about 14, a friend of the family sent me a care package from the record company she was working for at the time, OneSideDummy. I got CDs and posters from the Casualties, Flogging Molly and Piebald. I was sold. I dyed my hair black and bought my first jean jacket that month.

In my late teens/early twenties I went to as many shows as I could. I started working more so that I could always afford to see the better bands that came through Kansas. Around the time I was 26, I was actually working three jobs to support my show habit. One of them happened to be in a little dive in Topeka called the Boobie Trap. By working there, I was able to see as much new live music as I could possibly take in, and I was also invited to become involved in the scene.

So, I started booking bands. That grew to an even more intense love and appreciation for the scene that my friends and I had already worked so hard to support. Now I was helping it to expand and grow. However, as much fun as it can be, it’s not easy being a woman in the booking scene. There are times when people don’t take you very seriously. It’s a very male dominated industry. Even still, when things do work out and the stars align and you book a show where the bands and the fans are both pleased, it’s once of the best feelings in the world. To know that you brought someone else the same sort of happiness that this music made you feel is one of the best feelings in the world.

Currently I’m backing off from booking so that I can take more time to enjoy the shows I go to rather than organizing them. I do still book the entertainment for the First Friday parties at the bar where I’m working, and I still help find shows for bands who reach out to me, but mostly I’m just back to basics. I’m enjoying getting to be a spectator again. I will always be happiest standing in the middle of a crowd watching someone talented do what they love.

Music has always been a huge part of my life. I got lucky. I have punk parents. I grew up with punk. I remember going through my first shitty junior high school breakup. My old man gave me a copy of Descendents’ ALL record. I think that was the first time that I really connected to the music. That album is life-changing for me. From that point on, it was all about finding music that made me feel that connection again. Without punk, I wouldn’t have met two of my best friends, Stefan and Jenna. We’ve been roommates for over a year now. My roommate and I have been playing music of our own for nearly 2 years, and our band Ballistic Biscuit will have an EP out soon. Music has always meant a lot to me, and to attempt to describe in writing the emotion behind it has proven difficult. I know it’s cliché, but that shit can really pick you up when you’re down. And I can’t imagine a life without it. I’ve been trying to be better about carrying earplugs with me, for a fear of losing my hearing.

Before taking these photos, Chris asked me what was the defining moment or feeling I got when I was introduced to punk rock? I actually remember it quite vividly. I was at my best friend Ryan "Rux" Watkins house. It was 6th grade, and we were just 2 aggro little skate rats watching dubbed VHS skate videos. He grabs this cassette and puts it in the VCR. It was the Minor Threats show from DC and I was just blown away. Now I had heard and loved metal, I was fortunate enough to have a dad that listened to Sabbath and The Who and Jethro Tull. All great music in its own right. There was just something different about punk that resonated so heavily with me. It wasn't melodic it didn't have ballads or weave stories like Iron Maiden (who I love btw), it wasn't dramatic and polished like Kiss. This shit was raw bare bones aggression and heartfelt in every way. All the inner angst, pain, confusion, trauma, abandonment, hostility that I didn't know how to process at that age was all wrapped up in this amazing thing that id discovered. This shit was ours and ours alone. It didn't matter that I was poor, or my parents were divorced with addiction and abuse issues. I was accepted wholeheartedly, and it was real. All I needed was my skateboard a few good friends and my music. To this day I love nothing more than watching these younger cats embrace what shaped me into the person I am today. Ya know, there's this instant connection of brother/ sisterhood when you meet another punk that you will not find anywhere. I knew exactly who I was and no one could tell me any differently. It wasn't a phase, "sorry mom", I didn't grow out of it. I grew because of it. If anyone has ever said "I used to be punk" you never were. It's not the clothes or a mohawk. I wasn’t wearing a pair of boots and battle vest the first time I heard punk rock, but in that instant my whole world changed forever. Now in my 43 years in this earth there have been a lot of defining moments in my life. Fatherhood of course, being a tattooer obviously. Punk rock though... took all those feelings of a confused kid and gave him purpose an escape and a voice. Now as the "old guy"(lol) in the scene I have the opportunity to give back to something that has given me so much. Through outreach and recovery work I’m able to help save some of these kids. Being a sober punk isn't something that a lot of them see or are used to and that's ok. It just falls on us older cats that have been through it to help them navigate the waters. To hold on to that very first feeling and memory of why we fell in love w punk in the first place..... With nothing but love n respect....Damon.....

When I was young, skating was my life, roller skates, skateboards, bicycles, motorcycles , if it was dangerous I was into it. My prize possessions included my Polaroid camera, record and Barbie doll collections, skateboards, roller skates and clothes. I played with the neighborhood boyz and was one of them until I grew boobs. After that I spent most of my time fist fighting and defending myself (and that got old pretty quick). I grew up in Topeka Kansas and I never fit in. I look like a Norwegian Sioux from another planet and most of my friends were African American.

As a young “adult”, I moved to Lawrence Kansas as fast as I could and then to Austin Texas, twice. The first time I lived there I hung out with skater punks. I lived with my girlfriend Joey. I didn’t have a car but she did. It was a cute black small pick up truck and we beat the shit out of it. When she wasn’t around I would ride my bike, board, or take the city bus. We hung out on the East side of Austin, prior to gentrification. We were the only white kids in the hood. Our friend Flaco who was from San Antonio, had a house he rented with a bunch of other skaters. We drank shitty beer, smoked weed and ate tacos while we watched Repo Man (vhs) on a loop. We took turns buying beer but weed was always around and I never bought it. I got paid every Friday but always had money from my waitressing job at The Omeletry. I also worked at a used clothing store called Buffalo Exchange. At work we never knew who would walk in. Tons of musicians from all over the world and an occasional movie star were not uncommon. But that’s Austin, you never know who you will run into or where you will wind up.

I always had cool clothes and too much style, it runs in the Family. I moved out of Joey’s place and into a small crappy apartment near U.T. with my friend Aubrey who waited tables with me. We had a lot in common. We were both photographers, skaters, and loved music. She was super cool and I loved living with her. We listened to a lot of music and went to shows (bands), just about every night. Working at two iconic Austin businesses, I was immediately hooked into the “In Crowd”. My friends either were or knew the door men (boyz) at all of the cool downtown clubs. Most shows we got into for free which was rad! We saw and photographed many fantastic bands from all over the world. Living in Lawrence Kansas had also exposed me to a lot of great music but Austin was different, another level. We hung out backstage with the musicians and they were always cool, never gross or weird— we were just one of them. After the shows were the after parties. I usually hung out listening to more music. Often I was the soberest one in the crew so I drove. My friends would hand me their car keys and I took care of shit.

The best days in Austin were the cool, clear, no humidity afternoons when we were off of work. We would go to Barton Springs or Lake Travis to have picnics and swim. I was always very tan in the Summertime and looked European. I liked to laugh a lot and tell jokes or play pranks on people. Sometimes we would drive to San Marcos or San Antonio to see shows or go to the guys who were in The Butthole Surfers house parties. We took care of each other and shared just about everything. If one of my girls needed a dress to wear I would let them borrow mine. We were a loyal family and we stuck together. If one of us got into trouble we stepped up and did whatever we could to help, no questions asked, we just simply did it. And that’s how I roll to this day. It’s all I know and I wouldn’t want to be any other way.

Growing up, I always found myself outside of the norm. I've never been the cookie cutter type. From a very young age, streaking down the sidewalk, I have and continue to always push the limits, not because i crave attention, but more so because I believe that an individual can only true grow when they are forced out of their comfort zone. It is in those uneasy, uncomfortable moments that great things happen. I’m a very dedicated, competitive person. Even in school, I had to be top of the class. I grew up in a tiny town, where everyone knew everyone, and rumors were assumed to be the gospel truth. It's because of this, i found myself escaping that injustice every weekend by going to the skating rink in a neighboring town. From a young age, skating become a therapy for me, something i refer to as my 8-wheel peace. When i put on my skates, no matter how difficult the day has been, therapeutically, I find myself in a sense of euphoric happiness, much like meditation. Living in the midwest -- skating outdoors is limited -- and therefore wanting to continue to skate all year around became an obstacle, as most rinks are for younger kids and school parties. This is when i turned to roller derby. It became a way for me to skate as often as i wanted, but also tapped into that competitive drive of mine. I immediately wanted to be the best. I became obsessed with the sport and the environment that it was trying to foster. You see, as a very assertive, blunt, competitively driven, yet motivational individual -- it's hard to fit in and be accepted. You add all my tattoos and the fact that i am gay to that… its a recipe for judgement and disgust. Roller Derby is a community where all individuals are welcomed. It is a place that empowers individuals to become the best, strongest, most badass versions of themselves, or atleast, i believe that is what they are trying to do. Personally, in the last 9 years of my life, I have been through some very difficult times, very dark places. Having roller derby in my life, being able to “skate it out,” has helped bring me off the ledge multiple times. I’ve, unintentionally, created bonds and made lasting friends from the sport, found my partner because of it, and have found a higher sense of self than ever imaginable. I am now, in the best shape of my life and it's only going to get better. I will always be a skater at heart. And I am thankful for the ability to do it, be apart of it. The road to my skating success is always under construction and i will continue to stay open minded, try things that scare me, and push the limits in any and every way possible. Because the key to better skating, is skating better. And well, honestly, LIFE IS BETTER ON ROLLER SKATES!

There is a point in every single persons life that they can say defines who they are as a person for the rest of their life despite the natural changes of the world and such…so I guess this is mine. I didn’t come from just any family dynamic, in fact, it was more twisted then I even thought at first. It was my first lesson in pain, sadness, anger, suffering, and most importantly…acceptance. I was raised a Jehovah’s Witness but lived in a world of clouded doubt and denial of what was being shoved in my face. Most kids have a boogeyman. Mine was my father. Enough to the fact I can’t honestly say he’s human. But when you are terrified for your life knowing at any moment, he could have and would have taken my life just as fast as it was given. I guess its true… What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and after 12 years, I finally had enough and made the choice that it was going to be my life goal to be everything that my father was not, and it has yet to fail me. But due to that decision, I happened to discover punk rock. I discovered I wasn’t alone in my fight and I felt like I was actually where I needed to be. And my ascent into adulthood was the most defining moments of my life. For once, I saw the world for what it really was and learned some painful lessons. 5 years of drug abuse took everything from me. I lost my friends, my brother, my entire support system, and my self image. If it wasn’t for punk, I would have been eaten alive in the real world. It became so important to me that I knew it was what I wanted to be till it was my time to leave this world behind. Its an indescribable and unshakable feeling of knowing this is who you are. It was who I was and wanted to be. So yeah, I guess you could say without a doubt, Punk Rock Saved My Life and it is the only reason I am alive to this day. Its given me some of my favorite memories and helped me meet some of my favorite people. So as I look at this picture, I just have one thing more to say, one of my favorite quotes ever by the author Clive Barker.

“Be regular and orderly in your life, that you may be violent and original in your work” -Clive Barker

When I was in 7th & 8th grades (1983/84) living in the Kansas City suburbs, I wanted to be a Methodist minister. I was president of the Methodist youth council and was an officer in Job’s Daughters. I had the fervor of an activist and embraced religion from the perspective of service: helping the disenfranchised and fighting against injustice. I spearheaded many junior high car washes, pancake breakfasts, and bake sales in support of what I thought was the mission of the church.

Three things happened during my 9th-grade year in 1985. First, I was told, correctly or not, women could not be ministers in the Methodist church, and began to see the disconnect between the teachings of Christianity and how it was applied by those who claimed it. Second, I had endured several years with a narcissistic step parent (long-since gone from the family) who eventually lost her marbles and sent me to live with my non-custodial parent in Lawrence. This could have been devastating. But, then the third thing happened: I met a new group of friends also with non-idyllic homelives and was properly introduced to the punk scene as a kind of family. So, I dropped religion and adopted rock-n-roll. This isn’t to say I didn’t listen to music before; it’s more like I found my people and decided which side I was on.

So, that combination -- disillusionment, family chaos, and punk rock -- set me on the path to a lifelong obsession with music. The energy of punk spoke to how my friends and I felt inside -- teetering on the brink of chaos with lyrics that spoke explicitly to our troubles and beliefs. Listening to records became our passtime, bands like the Violent Femmes, Black Flag, The Embarrassment, The Runaways, and others. That year, I also embraced the DIY mentality and decided I, too, would play in a band, got my first electric guitar, and learned to play Cherry Bomb in a friend’s garage.

We got wind that Black Flag was playing an all-ages show at the Ballroom. I had never been to a punk show before. The place was packed. I got there early and camped at the front of the stage. Then, the pit started. I didn’t know what this was, only that I was being crushed against the stage (somebody broke an arm that night). A hand reached out, and I took it. It was Henry, who pulled me on stage, and I watched the rest of the show from in front of the stage-left stacks.

I’ve spent the rest of my life reliving the same, immersive experience. Live music is magic and transformative. Know this: After nearly 30 years of playing in rock bands, when I hit the stage, I’m at church. I may look and sound angry, but I’m not. I’m at a revival, and inside I am fully present and brimming with joy.

Over time, I’ve realized punk rock is less a lifestyle and more of a subversive state of mind. Today, I am an elementary classroom teacher and still play in a band. I approach teaching as a subversive act; I constantly ask myself, “How can I engage, educate, empower, and protect every child? How can I give every child a sense of safety, love, acceptance, and loyalty?” That’s what the punk scene gave me, and that’s what everyone deserves. I may be approaching 50, but that is still what matters to me, and probably always will. And, I will continue to play in rock bands clear through the nursing home: Dinner at four, shows at six, bed at nine, hearing aids optional.

I grew up in a town called Waterbury, CT. , it was about a about 30 minutes from Hartford and a little over an hour to New York City. I grew up listening to music and my dad used to take us to the Racetrack and we would see Count Basie, Bob Hope, Dizzy Gillespie, all these old players and so that was really my first experience with live music. That brought me into the whole rock-n-roll scene. There was some older kids on my street and one of them was really into Metal. I got into Def Leopard, and I camped out for tickets, my dad let me because I had good grades, and I ended up buying tickets for the Def Leopard show. Then I kind of realized if you bought decent seats, you could trade up your seats. So, this is where my head was when I was 12 and 13. So I started to go to other shows, Van Halen, The Firm, Iron Maiden. Then, when I was about 14, I really started to go from Iron Maiden into Slayer into Metallica, it was a total transition. Metallica was a huge influence and so was Slayer; and they had COC (Corrosion of Conformity) and DRI and Suicidal Tendencies shirts. So naturally, I picked up on that and I started collecting records when I was 14. So I picked up Suicidal Tendencies and Corrosion and DRI and that’s when I kind of took that step into Punk Rock. From that point, there wasn’t really any turning back.
The first show that I can recall was DRI…I take that back the first show was COC, DRI didn’t show for the show, so I saw Corrosion of Conformity and that was the first time I saw people stage diving, and this was at the Enfield Roller Rink in Enfield, CT. You would sign up on the mailing list and I found out about the show from the record stores. You know we would go to the record stores every week or every other week, so I got on the mailing list and the next thing you know I’m going to see Suicidal Tendencies, which was pretty unbelievable at 15 to see Suicidal, especially at that point, in that era. This was 1985. This was my year, and from there I started to go to The Anthrax in Norwalk (CT), and EVERYONE played The Anthrax back then; Agnostic Front, Murphy’s Law, The Circle Jerks, The Exploited. I mean, we saw everyone. There was another venue in New Haven (CT) that I went to a couple of shows at too, that I don’t recall, but I pretty much was at that point going to punk rock shows every weekend, whether it was in New Haven or if it was in Enfield, whether it was at the Anthrax, and that was our hang. And then when I turned 16, I started taking my car to CBGBs on Sundays. I would finish my paper routes, cause I had like four or paper routes (I was making $250 a week when I was 16 years old, it was crazy) and we would do that in the morning on Sundays, jump in the car, collect all my money, and by 11:30 or 12 I would grab everyone up, and there would be a crew of us and we would go to CBs on Sundays. They used to have a matinee, and it was 16 and over on Sundays, and they carded, and a couple of my buddies in the back had fake IDs, to get into CBGBs on Sundays, 14-year-old pretending to be 16.
We would go to CBs and catch Dag Nasty or Corrosion of Conformity, or Token Entry or Agnostic Front, or Murphy’s Law, Sick of it All, Side by Side. The New York Hardcore scene was amazing, and it was a great culture to be apart of. I felt like I got the best of both worlds because once I started to do that I would go see the Bad Brains at the 1018, or I would go to the Rock Hotel to see Slayer or we would go to L’Amour and see Overkill or Carnivore or King Diamond. There was so many experiences, and I was so fortunate in that era. We did all of our record shopping in New York. We’d go to Some Records and Bleecker Bob’s. So that was really my kind of intro to Punk Rock in those early years on the East Coast.

I was born in the mid to late 60's. My parents came of age in the late 50's. Consequently, I was raised to a certant drgee on early Rock n' Roll and Rhythm n' Blues. Of course, by the time I was in Junior high, Jerry Lee Lewis and The Coaster's weren't the coolest thing to be listening to. But, nor was I the coolest kid. My peers were listening to Rush, Kansas,Boston, REO,and other artist in that same vein. I tried to simulate to their music preferences, and did find some music I liked. But, by in large I did not gravitate to it, and felt that it fell flat.

By the early 80's I was looking for something new. Or at least new to me at the time. Although, "new wave" was all over the airwaves, It lacked the raw elements of sex and energy of Rock n' Roll. The music I was raised on.

I found myself in a record store looking at cassettes one evening. When a clerk appoached me to help. After explaining my conundrum, he returned with two choices. The first was "nevermind the Bullocks" and the second was "Rotting Fruit for Fresh Vegatables". Again, my parents being of the 50's generation, I concluded that they would be a little pissed about me bringing home a band name The Dead Kennedy's. So, The Pistols it was.

And so, it began. Digging deeper into this raw sound. One that understood the power of Rock n' Roll in it simplest form. It is probally from this understanding, that so many punk bands did covers of those primial gems. Bands like The Cramps, X, and The Clash especially apealed to this new love of mine and melded nicely with my old one.

By the time I moved to Lawrence, I had discovered hard core punk more extensively. But, more importantly discovered other people who had similar shared feelings as I did. In regards to the state of are society and the state of our world. Trips to The Outhouse, VFW, Foolkiller, and parody hall became staples for live music and a social outlet. Along with killing time at Exile Records, Lucifers and hanging out in various parking lots as a form of entertainment.

As, the 80's where ending and the 90's starting to roll in, I didn't gravitate to speed core metal and the grunge bands of the time. Plus, in my oppion, the scene was getting clicky. Reminding me of the "Frat" mentality that I thought we were so against. I found myself re-embracing the music of my youth digging into it deeper. Finding even more primitive rockabilly, blues, and Rhythm N' Blues. Without losing my love and appeciation for Punk, Ska, Psychobilly and garage. Stay Sick! Turn Blue!

I've been going to band practice and concerts since I was in the womb. My dad is a bass player. My dad played a lot of shows and had weekly band practice almost my entire childhood. He and my mom would go to concerts all the time. I got to see Rush live when I was like 13, and my dad always made sure I got to see my favorite bands when they would come to Kansas City. From Spice Girls to Les Claypool. There isn't much to do other than drugs once you hit your teenage years in St Joseph, MO, so when The Scallywag opened during high school, I was there as often as I could be. It was an all ages venue that had a lot of pop punk, screamo, and all kinds of "alternative" bands roll through in the short time that it was open.
There was a talent show at school my sophomore year, and I saw a group of guys I knew cover Astro Zombies, and was quickly obsessed with The Misfits. I started hanging out with those dudes and found myself at their band practices quite frequently. Their band was called Milwaukee's Beast and after a what seemed like 20 different singers, they split up, like bands do. But I remained friends with all of them and got to see them go through other bands and projects. They taught me all the "entry level" punk and ska bands. And I tagged along with my brother through the metal scene, watching him drum for countless bands until he started playing with a power metal band called Alsatia.
The guys in Alsatia happened to know our cousin Cody, who is the guitarist and singer for The Uncouth. I moved to Overland Park to go to hair school, I was a wee baby punk, and Cody invited me to an all ages show behind Video Mania on Westport Rd. I was amazed when I showed up and wasn't the only chick with a mohawk. No one was staring at me or giving me dirty looks, and everyone was dekt from head-to-toe in studs and patches. I watched The Uncouth's set while sitting in the back of someone's truck pulled up right in front of the band and drinking a beer that nobody carded me for. They covered Where Eagles Dare and I screamed the chorus back at Cody with my fist in the air, and I knew instantly that's where I was supposed to be.
After hair school, I moved back to St Joseph and suffered through a terribly abusive relationship, but music still seemed to be the only normal thing in my life. My brother was in another band with my ex and some of the friends from my high school days. For my 21st birthday they played a show and covered a bunch of punk songs I loved like Roots Radical and Punk Rock Girl. They even learned a Russian birthday song! It was an appropriate 21st for any punk chick in a small town. I drank, I danced, I threw up and passed out in my best friend's bed.
A couple months later, my relationship ended, and I was back in Overland Park at my mom's. I was stoked to be 21 because that meant I could go see my brother's shows at bars and I would ask him all the time if there was anything I could tag along to. The metal scene and the punk scene bled into each other a bit so I eventually wound up at my cousin Cody's house for parties and certain bars for lots of different punk DJ nights. We all hung out at Dave's Stagecoach and then Black And Gold, that eventually became Vandals Punk Rock Club. I was best friend's with the bartender/manager at the time and would go there most nights just to see all my friends. I had my 23rd birthday party there. My favorite band Sister Mary Rotten Crotch played! If you ever need to be yelled at by a hot bitch that could definitely kick your ass, look them up.
I got pregnant when I was 21, so I've missed quite a few shows and parties while I was busy creating and raising my tiny human, Edgar. But one more punk in the world is a can’t hurt, right? Edgar is 5 now, and sometimes goes to all ages shows. He's seen Cousin Cody play a couple of times. Cody also has a son around the same age. The boys like to pal around at shows and play frisbee with old drumheads.
I’m looking forward to the future of the KC punk scene, even if it seems to only be in the basements of punk houses right now. Haha

Music is the most influential element in my life. My first cognitive selection at the record store was Duran Duran. I knew nothing about the people that made the music, I just enjoyed the songs and sonic qualities. As a very young artist, the music would influence how I drew my drawings-mostly ordained by the moods of the record. My older brother brought home a Sex Pistols record in 1982. I admired everything about it immediately. As my first exposure to punk rock, that record became ground zero for everything relating to punk. I wanted to BE punk. I did not understand why at the time. All of my peers were either in a clique or alone. Dictated by clothes deemed suitable for the particular club, I had no such ambitions. I couldn’t control what shoes were bought or handed down to me. I really wanted a pair of Levi’s jeans, but I wore toughskins. Do clothes make you who you are? As taught such, my reaction was to modify what I had.

By 1983, I had spray painted my high-tops safety-orange, experimented with hair color, and began to seek the most offensive language ever printed on a t-shirt. Within a year, I was making my own T-shirts with washable ink. I started my own band, the killer bees. I was the only member for six months. Others identifying with punk rock had began a club unlike the other groups at my high school. This club was all-inclusive, and it didn’t matter what you wore or who you were friends with, or what sport you played. A non-conforming pile of people with no clear agenda or purpose. I never fit any stereotype, never fit in any identifiable clique, never belonged to any club. After the L.A. Punk scene began to swell in the mid 80’s-my musical ambitions became a bit more refined, but never defined. Same with my art. Same with everything in my life: I couldn’t conform to anything, even if I wanted to. This became my own definition of what I am. It is also how I define the punk rock ethos-DIY and non-conformity. Finally, a perfect fit for me!

My introduction to punk happened in two facets, close together. I got received a “punk sampler” CD from a cousin of mine. The song that stuck with me the most from that CD (and continues to be a staple and favorite of mine) Was Stiff Little Fingers’ “Alternative Ulster”. Shortly thereafter I was introduced to Oi! by the only Skinhead at my high school, who was two grades ahead of me. One day at the lunch table he gave me several mixed cassettes containing singles from bands like The Business, Anti-Heros, Bruisers, Ducky Boys, Condemned 84, and Cock Sparrer. I was hooked. I knew after hearing those bands that my musical preferences had changed forever. Fast forward twenty years, and I am older, fatter, and grayer. I have worked and put myself through college (undergrad and now grad school) to be a teacher in a Special Education setting. My love and life in punk is a considerable source of entertainment for my students. But, there has been an unforeseen perk. Not fitting the “stereotypical teacher mould” has helped my relationship building with certain students. Music is the great ice breaker, and it is a joy to see their reaction when they hear some of those same bands that I love, for the first time. A lot of the kids I work with have had a rough and tumble upbringing. Hearing about my rough and tumble experiences creates connections where there may not have been. Not being seen as yet another “stuffy white guy” has helped me connect with students on more of a social/emotional level, and not just an educational level, and to me, that is the most important aspect of being an educator.

I was exposed to it (punk rock), as long as I can remember, my oldest brother, who is 13 years older, so, he would be playing punk. But I had other brothers and sisters who would be playing like John Denver and Kiss, and Boston, and you name it, Bob Marley, but from the perspective of like the day I decided to be a punk, I remember I was sitting on the couch watching The Brady Bunch. I was probably in sixth grade. And my sister was like “Hey man, come here, I wanna show ya something.” And I was like, “Nah, ya gotta wait till The Brady Bunch is over,” ya know? And The Brady Bunch ends, and she’s like “yo, come up to my room, I wanna play you something.” I was like “okay” and so I sit on the bed, and she played “Spray Paint the Walls” by Black Flag, and it literally just changed my whole life. Right then, I knew I was a punker, and that I wanted to play in a punk band and make music. Just like, however they did that, I wanted to know how they did that and how I could do that too. That sort of sent me down a path of listening to, at that time, a lot of the stuff my sister was heavily influenced by, Stiff Little Finger, X-Ray Specs, Generation X, Sex Pistols, aforementioned Black Flag and it just kinda went from there. There wasn’t really any other music for me after that for about 15 years. I kinda just went into this void of punk music which is great, and yeah, that’s why I’m here.

I don't remember how old I was the first time I saw Siouxsie Sioux or Joe Strummer. MTV still showed music videos and we lived in the white house on High Street. All I know is that it was the most glorious thing I'd ever seen. That's how I remember stuff, by house or by school because we moved around a lot.

When we lived in the red and white house out north, it was my second junior high and it was THE WORST. I went from a city four year to a country three year and god help you if you were poor, ugly and strange, of which I've always been all three. I can't really put into words how horrific it was. Most days ended in some kind of fight and getting yanked into an office and getting your parents called. It was miserable. I was beyond miserable, but I could go home and put my music on and disappear. It worked. That's where I met Kliph (Scurlock). I think it was a writing class? I don't remember. He was as nerdy and as into music as I was, so we hit it off right away. Mark Banks was in that class as well. Later guitarist for Emotional Feedback here in Topeka. They still have a cult following.

High school wasn't any better. Mean girls and jocks. I still didn't have the right jeans or the right body or the right hair. No mall bangs on this girl. Nnnnnope. I remember a world g class with the popular long hairs getting tormented with spitballs and one of them that sat in front of me doing the one cheek sneak for my benefit. The punk lunch table was the only relief during lunch. Eat and go outside. Get away from the "cool" kids.

If any of this sounds familiar, it's because yeah, I went to high school with Shane Thirteen. He showed up junior year and there was damn near a riot. Ask him about the rat head and leather jacket sometime. That motherfucker has had my back for thirty years now, and even (especially) then he wouldn't think twice about taking care of someone who was giving any of his friends hassle.

Also around this time, my mother was spending long intervals in various hospital facilities around town. Undiagnosed bipolar. My dad worked all the time to keep the red and white roof over our head, so I raised my two younger siblings as my own children, basically. Cooking and cleaning and then falling back into my records at night. It was a slog, but no one else was going to do it.

I dropped out of college and worked at Uptown Entertainment (formerly Mother Earth) record store for many years. I'd probably still be there if it was open today, because I was with my tribe. Work all day and then head down to the Bottleneck at night. Fliers all over the walls. Vinyl. Real release dates. Band shirts. It was heaven. I told Jeff Fortier I was going to staple him to the wall if he didn't clean up his flier mess much to the delight of my gobsmacked 16 year old coworker (Sarah and yes, still friends to this day. Punk kids have loyalty like no others...even my own siblings. But I digress). That was the place I could be myself and not worry about a fucking thing.

I went to work for the man after the record store closed. When Joe died, I called in. Fuck the office. My hero was dead. Like we were talking about Saturday, this time of year rolls around and OUCH that shit still hurts.

The man fired me. My production was too low...I was doing the right thing instead of the easy, quick thing. And you know I told them about it. I worked for Singer and I hated it. The man isn't my people.

I'm falling back on the sewing my mom taught me at age six. I work with a lot of bands. I feel at home. Sara and Josh were just here and picked up Jazz's starter battle jacket. I hope he has an easier time than I did.

Lolo is a 23 year old Canadian based pop-punk musician, signed onto Hopeless Records. The image was taken on her first ever tour, which happened to be in the United States, opening up for the “Pop Punk’s Not Dead Tour” featuring acts like Less Than Jake and New Found Glory. She said that she is not sure how she was introduced to punk rock, but when she was about 6 or 7, the first CD that she got was Green Day’s American Idiot and became obsessed with it, playing it over and over again, and then soon finding Avril Lavgine’s Let Go.

My first cultural punk rock experience was we went to a show in an old abandoned building and the singer of the band took all of his clothes off and played naked and was hanging from the rafters naked. And I said to myself “this is where I need to be.” There is no rules, there is no authority telling you not to do that. And that was not my life at the time, so that connected with me, and I’ve been trying to replicate that experience for myself and other people for the last 25 years. That might have been Fifteen, or Ignition, or somebody. It’s not important who the band was, it is the fact that there was a group of people who didn’t give a fuck about what the rules of the establishment were. It was about finding a new culture and building a culture around yourself that where your values and not the values of someone else being put onto you.

I moved out of my house during my senior year of high school. Up until this point I really wasn't going or hanging out with friends a lot, I hadn't been to many shows. I think the first one was The Dead Milkmen. We snuck in. For a while, I was living with some guys in their darkroom. I paid rent by cleaning the house for them (I don't think I did such a great job) Some of these guys were involved with the local radio station, KJHK, and they were friends with a lot of bands, so there were always parties at our house, or at someone's house, and there was always a band to see. I met a lot of punk kids at these parties, and we were friends with some of the MAP kids as well. I eventually moved in with a friend from school, we had sorta an open house policy I guess, we let pretty much anyone crash there if they needed..the windows were always unlocked for kids to crawl in and there were mattresses on the floor. We would hang out on porches, drink thunderbird and whiskey and do each other's hair, take pictures, talk. Even though there were a lot of house parties to crash, the Outhouse was where we really wanted to be. We'd get dressed up, pile into someone's car, bring some drinks and head east on 15th until we saw that cornfield. We'd wait and hang out till the bands started and be there all night. I saw some amazing bands there, that was a great time for me. 

I remember one time a few of us decided to go to Hutchinson, Ks.  because my friend said he knew a girl he we could stay with for a while. Well, we all piled on the back of a truck, in the winter, and drove there. it was stupid cold, we were under blankets and tarps and there was ice on the truck, it was so cold! We get there, and it turns out that it's the wrong house. Even though we all looked crazy with our torn up clothes and bright hair, the people let us in till we found someone who let us crash. We were there a week or so, all crammed in a tiny place sleeping on the floor and eating ramen everyday.

Love Garden had just opened, I was friends with the owners at the time and a bunch of us would hang out up there on the couches and listen to records. That was always a lot of fun, those guys always were super cool. I love art, I love creating art, whether it's an actual piece to display, or hair, clothing, etc. I think the scene at the time really fed that desire to be creative in every way for me, the music, the people, the friendships, the wild craziness of that time was important to me, it allowed me to feel comfortable with the way I saw myself.

Once I became pregnant with my daughter, I guess I sort of backed away from everything, I was really focussed on getting myself together and in a better place for her. I maintained a few of those friendships, several of the people I liked the most have died, and some moved. But those few years that I was so immersed in that little "scene" really made an impact on my life. I realized I could just let myself shine, the way I wanted to, and it was ok. I have so many great memories of the people I hung out with, the late night conversations, the dumpster diving, hair dye disasters, the parties and the bands, the fights and the laughter.

I wouldn't trade those years for anything.

Growing up poor in mid-Nebraska, two hours away from any metro area, I was starving for anything that wasn’t pop country, dad-blues/rock cover bands, or over played top 40. My friends and I had to travel for hours, sometimes to Omaha with venues like Sokol and Ranch Bowl. We shared music with each other that was hard to find, before the internet got crazy. I needed something that reflected and validated my angst and frustration with the government systems that were meant to help my single-mom, but instead shamed and punished her. The wholesome “stepford” facade that my hometown wanted to portray was nauseating. Small town values and small town ideas. They were blissfully ignorant of the hardships people on the south side of the tracks were experiencing. It wasn’t hard to stand out, but it was lonely and super hard to find solidarity and community. We weren’t allowed to talk about the depression, resentment, and how toxic environments can get when you grow up in poverty.

Being an artist, music was a source of inspiration and cathartic escape. Punk rock made me feel motivated, like my anger could be useful instead of something to shy away from. I met others who felt the same way at those shows.

After moving to Lawrence I found opportunities to grow and move in to a position where I can actually help move the archaic oppressive systems into the future and help actual people. From cornfields to courtrooms, I guess you could say.

“I got out of a bad marriage 6 months ago. He hated live music and was very controlling, which is why I went from seeing 2-3 shows a week to nothing for 7 years. I was diagnosed with lymphoma when I was 23, 9 years ago. The scars on my neck are from all of the biopsies, the scars on my chest are from the 3 power ports I’ve had surgically implanted over the years for chemo, etc. I’m a chronic relapser, so it never truly goes away, but I’m going on 3 years in remission now. Being so close to death for so long has given me a weird way of seeing life. I don’t give a fuck what people think, especially when they stare at my scars. Life is too short to care about that sort of thing, so I refuse to cover them up. I used to be into punk music in high school, but lost touch when I broke up with this punker dude I was dating. I needed some guidance. So when Josh and I started hanging out, he would give me his iPod to take to work. I went hog wild. I loved it all. I love the energy, I love the attitude, I love the loudness. I love how unapologetically opinionated and political it is. But most of all, I love that punk music is about connection; acceptance.

Ever since I can remember, I always wanted to wear combat boots and floral dresses - super 90s style. but didn’t really have the confidence until I was in my mid-20s. Now it’s what I wear most of the time.

[The cancer is] Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. I ignored all the symptoms and kept partying. A huge tumor popped under my clavicle, which I only noticed when I got syrup on it when I was working as a barista. Ended up at stage 4 by the time I started chemo the 1st time. That means that the tumors were everywhere (above and below the diaphragm) and I was symptomatic in every way. Each treatment works, Just not for long. Sometimes I get 6 months, sometimes years. The side effects from the treatments stay with me. New problems. But I’m alive. Each day that I wake up is a good day.”

" I’m not sure." I replied. " I don’t feel right. Like something is off." She looked at me and shook her head. Pinched up her lip, cocked her brow and said something to the tune of "just relax. It’s cool." It's cool. Yeah. It's cool. Then. It hit me. Like a tons of fat kid stage divin’ ass, it hit me. "It’s too fuckin’ safe."

I was in Nashville 2014. Seeing some no name local punk rock show with a band I didn’t know but I had seen 1000 times in other cities and other times. I was far from my home punk scene of Lawrence Kansas. Even though the Outhouse was long gone and some of my favorite local bands were defunct I have a healthy respect for my scene because it will set your ass straight when it needs to.

Back in Nashville my date turns to me and says.. Are you gonna make it?"

"Yes" I said....."it’s just.. It’s just I don’t feel like I’m gonna get stabbed or nothing."

"Umm? Ok." Is all she said.

"It’s too safe. I don’t feel any energy in the room. Nobody is into it."

Punk Rock has become safe and I fuckin hate it. See I’m from a scene that was dangerous. Punk Rock to me will be and should be dangerous. To me, to you and to the sleeping giants of society that wont see the revolution coming. Punk Rock should feel like you might get stabbed in the bathroom. It means you might have to boot party a Nazi to round out the night. It means vomit in your car and sticky shit on your boots. It was visceral and greasy. There was not a god damned thing safe about it. Except your friends. Even some of those rat bastards would steal your mom's credit card and bang your sister. Back in the day my scene was known for bands that were notorious for doing unspeakable things to farm animals on stage. Hell one front man used to cram marshmallows up his butt. Bands like Kill Whitey, Cocknoose, Filthy Jim, Mopar Funeral, The Unknown Stuntman, bands that were in your face and dangerous. God forbid that one night would go by without some dip shit getting his head kicked in for whatever we could think of at the moment. It was awesome. I remember tripping at shows and having a religious experience in a corn field while D.I. or Toxic Reasons blared as the twisted soundtrack. It was an angry teen's Valhalla. There was sheer bliss and Anarchy and unabashed freedom.

Then, you had to prove it. When rednecks and cops came calling you stood and fought them. When you caught the jocks and bullies from school in your environment you taught them a lesson. Frat boys be damned.

But now it’s safe. Punk Rock should never be safe. Punks were meant to destroy. Now teachers and moms have blue hair and its kitschy. People with corporate jobs have tattoos and piercings and no one bats an eye. Somewhere there are real punks left. Street level. In a part of town your blue haired mom won’t go to. Somewhere there are loud guitars and blood and beer on the floor. There is a kid writhing on a makeshift stage screaming shitty poetry over feedback and dull drums. There are scars and drugs and fear. If you listen to corporate "punk" have blue hair and Hot Topic jewelry and have never been punched in the mouth by a skinhead or better yet punched one yourself you are not a punk. You are bullshit. Live a little. Start your revolution. Tear it all down. Safety is for the weak. If there isn’t blood on you or the band it was a shitty show. Pick up a guitar. Scream to the world. Safety is for complacent pigs. Stand up for your freedom. Wanna be a punk? Bleed for it. Show me the scars. Freedom isn’t free.

I was 15 in 1985 when through a friend at our rural high school just outside Lawrence, KS I was introduced to punk rock. Already feeling like an outcast since I wasn’t into sports, cars, or getting fucked up, punk rock validated all those feelings I was having. Through those records I no longer felt alone. Shortly after that we saw our first show, Black Flag in Topeka. It was completely life changing. I had found my place. A place that welcomed those who felt, looked and acted different. Not long after that we discovered the Outhouse in Lawrence where we spent the rest of our formative years and beyond. For me the music I had been listening to that was telling me it’s ok be different, it’s ok to be yourself had now manifested itself into an actual physical thing.. the Lawrence Kansas scene.

I wish my story was as cool as some of these other folks but unfortunately I was born a little too late to see all of the legends in concert. In 8th grade I had "Government"(ironic right?) for my first hour class, this kid in my class, Chris, was wearing a Dead Kennedys shirt. I wasn't too familiar with Punk but I knew who the DKs were (thanks Tony Hawk Pro Skater) and liked them so I complimented his shirt and him and I soon became best friends.

Chris's dad was an old school punk so Chris started introducing me to bands like The Clash, Sex Pistols, Bad Religion, NOFX, ect. They were a good change of pace from the sad boy emo shit I was listening to at the time.

A few years later, I stumbled across the "We Are All We Have" music video by The Casualties and God damn I must have watched it a couple hundred of times AT LEAST. Street Punk quickly became my obsession, it was loud, it was fast, it was angry, and it made me feel alive.

I struggled really hard with untreated mental illness growing up, PTSD from being sexually abused as a child resulted in pretty severe depression and I was full of anger and relentless hatred for myself. Punk gave me an outlet to release some of the pressure that was building up inside of me, it showed me that it was okay to be angry, it was okay to feel the way I felt, but most importantly it showed me that I wasn't alone.

Now, growing up I had no idea Punk came in so many different forms, I discovered Street Punk in Highschool and was obsessed with it so I was always looking for new bands to shatter my ear drums to.

I went to a little Alternative High School and I remember one day my Math teacher, Miss Berg, pulled me aside and said

"Hey there's this band I really think you would enjoy but their music isn't really school friendly so I can't exactly play them for you. BUT I printed out the lyrics from one of their songs for you to read over to see if you like them and if you do you can look them up when you get home."

She then hands me a page of lyrics from the song Sexist Appeal by Aus-Rotten, I read them over and was like "this is fucking awesome" and after school that day I went home and looked them up online and to this day they're still one of my favorite crust-punk bands. It's one of my favorite "how I got into punk" stories, big shout out to Miss Berg for fueling the fire that is my love for Punk Rock and being a phenomenal teacher.

…I’m like “are you fucking kidding me? It’s goddamn 11:30, and it was like the first song.” Some people were still like “okay shut it down, don’t want to cause any problems” others were like “Fuck the cops, keep playing, keep playing”. I was young and really stupid and was like “fuck that” and turned it all the way up. And you have to understand, that when you have all of these amps cranked up, already overload the power in the house, the drummer desperately beating away trying to be heard, it’s crazy. And the cops showed up upstairs and started slamming little, we had a lot of what I called Smurf Punks, already in the scene, which would come into their own really later when the Outhouse really got going. But at the time house party scene, and they were as cute as a button little 12-19 year old girls who put on the mohawks and the makeup and they did all the shit, but they were beloved. There was once a woman named Jackie who was a waif of a girl to start with, and this was a period of the Lawrence Law Enforcement where Ron Olin was the police chief, and he just hired them dumb and strong and let’s put some force out there and really do things. So they already overreached. But this cop slammed Jackie up against the wall hard, I saw her head bounce off it and to be honest they were waiting up these stairs to this dorm room thing, that was so packed with people. These people were accidentally purposefully spilling their beers on the cops and the floor was filled with cigarette butts and spilled beer, so they were on edge also. But I have to say it was definitely an overreach. About the time they slammed Jackie up against the wall I turned it off and quit playing. I watched all of this from right there, and I was called to testify in court. But what they did was there was this guy who was five years older than me, Phillip Heying, and he had just nailed down a study abroad thing in France and he was a photographer and he just got a REALLY nice 35mm camera, and I suppose this would have been in ’84. He had spent a lot of money, and it was his deal, he was finally going to go on this thing, but he had been snapping picture of these bands. I wish to god I had that film stock now because he documented some amazing stuff. And when the cops started throwing up little kids against the wall, he started taking pictures of it and the cops, I remember because he was near me, the cops came over and fought through a wave of five or six people and got to him and started beating the fuck out of him and took his camera and their idea was to open the back, expose the film and erase it, because he was taking pictures of them doing things that are not really cool. And they cop was too stupid to get it open and he ended up throwing the camera on the ground and started stomping on it till he broke the fuck out of it and then wrenched the back of it open, pulled the film out of it, held it up to the overhead red lights and ruined the film and then threw it back down on the beer stained floor. This is what I got called into testify for because in the end they charged Phil with obstruction of justice and a worse charge of assault on a law enforcement officer. They claimed that because he was taking the photos with a flash, which he did have on his camera, was him attempting to obstruct justice.

I was always into dressing up at Halloween and I loved all things spooky from a young age. My mom knew I loved Halloween and she bought me KISS’s Love Gun LP when I was like 6-7 because she thought they looked like Halloween characters (she has no idea what they sounded like). That LP is what opened me up to the world of heavy metal and also years later is what made me want to play bass.
I started skating at a very young age, which meant I was going all over town and discovering places like my local record store.
The alternative record store in my home town of Sioux Falls was called “Ernie November”. This became a place I went to every day. I just felt at home there. I started buying records and tapes based off their album covers. “Does it look cool??? YES”, then I bought it. I was always looking for new things to skate to.
Side note: Little did I know I’d work at Ernie November later in life for 12 years.
When I was 13 I went to my first real concert, AC/DC and Queensryche. It blew my mind. The energy, the show and the pure loudness!
After that I wanted to go to more shows.
Ernie November always had flyers up in their window. I saw this hand drawn flyer for a band called Dissent from Rapid City that was going to be playing a place called Nordic Hall. It looked interesting so some skater friends of mine and I marked it on our calendar to go.
I remember going to the show. People were hanging outside. Like punk people I didn’t know. It was eye opening. We paid at the door and then walked down a long staircase and as we walked, I could smell a mixture of smoke and sweat hitting me in the face along with an echoing sonic assault of punk music.
There was no stage and bands I had never heard of were playing as people circle pitted. We all joined in and released our teen angst energy in a frenzy of slam dancing. The bands were talking about things like sexism, homophobia, being harassed by the police, racism and many more topics I had never heard addressed before. I bought as many t shirts and records as I could afford.
I then started finding and going to any garage shows, house shows and hall shows I could!
About a year later, when I was 15, I joined an already established local band called Face of Decline and that year I started booking shows at Nordic Hall and the rest is kind of history!

Growing up in Nebraska in the ‘80s, my friends were always the odd ones: the nerds, the skate-punks, the misfits. In 1995, the spring after I graduated college, I moved to Lawrence. I came here to housesit for my high school girlfriend (who I had remained close friends with) but I had never been to Lawrence – shit, or Kansas for that matter – and I didn’t know anyone. Emily moved two days after I arrived but before she introduced me to two of her friends, Erin and Angel. I was 300 miles from my hometown. I was alone, I had no job and I was broke. Less than a week after I moved in, Erin and Angel knocked on my door unexpectedly and told me they were going to see their friends, Black Label, play a show in Columbia, Missouri – and I was coming with them. In one night I met a handful of people who didn’t care who I was or where I came from. We were all just trying to make the best of whatever situation we had found ourselves in. Emily’s last piece of advice to me was, “Mass St. is where all the bars are. Check them out if you want, or just go to the Replay because you are going to hang out there anyway.” She was right. That was back when they still served burgers and $1 PBRs. I had a small amount of savings and fell into a routine: beer and a burger for lunch, beer, burger for dinner, beer, then live music until they through me out. That was it. I had found a new family in my new town: a group of people who were just like the good friends I had left at home. To this day I still meet people because of that moment in time: friends of friends, people I met long ago (though we both forgot, or were in no state to remember), people I should have met 20 years ago but somehow didn’t. The ripple from that little splash in my personal timeline keeps growing outward. I was only supposed to live here for three months. It has been 24 years now and that is, in a large part, because of the people I met in my first few years here. I was in my early 20s, fresh out of school and learning who I really was for the first time. It turns out, I was exactly who I had always been: a nerd, a misfit, an odd one.

The punk scene has always represented, to me, a laid back place where it’s socially acceptable to be lame and strange and not have to always put on a performance for someone else (ironically, as I have played in a punk band for a few years now), but to follow the rules you and your friends have established for themselves. Long long ago I was a young weirdo, wearing shorts and Hawaiian shirts constantly, only listening to oldies and “Weird Al” and feeling very frustrated. I am still that person, but there are other facets now as well, mostly because of that one fateful afternoon in Orchestra class in 7th grade when I first heard Green Day’s Dookie and Slipknot’s self-titled major label debut. Thankfully, an inquisitive nature kept me from stagnating at that phase of development, but first hearing such nakedly aggressive and unapologetically “unsafe” (to my young perception anyway) lyrics and imagery and it was so fast…I was changed forever. A lot of people get introduced to the new music through their siblings but I was the oldest of two and had to blaze my own trail. There were a few years I mucked through the mainstream, ultra-produced schlock of the early 2000’s but, like any addiction, that light shit just leaves you wanting something harder…it was just gateway punk. And, most fortunately for me, my own burgeoning interests in 20th century music were rising on a trajectory parallel to the development of file-sharing technology and streaming services; the more I wanted to listen to something, the more avenues that presented themselves for me to consume it. During college, I got addicted to Torrenting music, sorting the wheat from the chaff, and then hunting down the bands I “discovered” and loved to see them live so I could pay them directly for the music and enjoyment they brought me. Having a place where you can freak out and scream and express yourself physically undoubtedly saved me by allowing me to have an acceptable place to lose my mind every once in a while without burdening those in my life that might not share my…negative and frenetic outlook. Some of the proudest work I have ever done creatively has been with my brothers in Stiff Middle Fingers. We started out as a cover band but, at the encouragement of our esteemed guitarist, we starting writing and performing original tunes…I started writing original tunes and lyrics. Overcoming the anxiety associated with putting yourself out there in the song-writing process can be daunting, especially when writing about personal shit, but the beauty of the genre is that’s what it is there for; unlike pop or country or other genres that have specific contours to their design or certain lyrical restraints, whether it be topical restrictions or dumbing down the lyrics to a specific level for mass consumption or whatever, there are NO such restrictions on punk. Stiff Little Fingers are different from Ramones are different from MC5 are different from The Bags are different from Black Flag (’77) are different from Black Flag (’86) are different from Flag are different from Devo are different from Wire are different from Minutemen are different from Descendents are different from All…well, you get the idea. Besides being uniquely your own voice, punk, to me, is mostly about deciding on building something, regardless of perceived judgment, that is an accurate and unflinching sculpture of the frustration and dismay the creator feels about being forced to play a societal game that has no instructions, makes no sense and has no end goal. Scream your heart out, take off your pants, moon the vice-president, get in peoples’ faces, EXPRESS YOURSELF! We’re all just dying, what’s the worst that could happen?

For me, when I really got into music, it was that delivery from everything that brought me a release from my life as I knew it and opened up a whole new world. I remember spending so much time as a fifteen-year old who was living on the edge of nowhere in the rural outskirts of Lawrence and listening to the then-great KLZR, waiting to hear every favorite song I had at the time. Most of the time I had to call in to request them to play Dead Milkmen, Jon Spencer Blue Explosion, Morphine or anything else that wasn’t overplayed (I know that for anyone under the age of 25, the concept of having to wait to hear something must be a pretty mind-blowing concept).

Thanks to interest in them from their farewell appearance on that year’s Lollapalooza tour, the first group I ever truly got really into was the Ramones. Every song was both funny and kinda scary all at once, but they were certainly a lot cooler than most everything I was hearing on the radio. Around the same time, a friend had a cassettecompilation of punk songs, which was the first place I heard Black Flag’s “TV Party” and
Spizzenergi’s “Where’s Captain Kirk?” which instantly became the soundtrack to every trip around town. From there, I was touched by the punk rock spirit, and although I didn’t immediately wake up the next day adored in a leather biker jacket, a Dead Kennedys t-shirt complete with cigarette burns and a pair of Doc Martins, something of that energy and spirit slowly began to seep into how I viewed art and life.

As you might have guessed, I’m not sure I would ever consider myself much of punk rock scenester, but more of an all-you-can-eat, no artist boundaries, give-meeverything-that-sounds-good type. I certainly didn’t think I looked the part, and I’ve always been hesitant to graft a label to myself. To me, being open to all of it and seeing genre/style as less important as the quality. Having an ever curious, but exacting taste
is more punk rock than just giving in to whatever garbage is being foisted upon you.

Lawrence was a key to all of this, too. It was a great place to grow up as someone who was really into music, no matter what you were into. At the time, we had a number of great record shops that, with the exception of Love Garden, have all disappeared. Contrary to that, a lot of the music venues I went to as a youth still see a constant stream of shows for every taste. I certainly loved to fun and excitement of going to shows in my hometown. By the time I started going to shows, the Outhouse was on the outs, so I didn’t get to experience the concrete shelter with punk cred, but I certainly was no stranger to Bottleneck, The Granada, or Liberty Hall. No matter what type of show I went to, I always ran into people who lived in some of the smaller towns in Kansas who only wished they lived in a place as accepting and eclectic as Lawrence. Somehow, this place has always somehow drawn a lot of creativity to it in a way that no other place in the state really does. Is Lawrence Punk Rock? Certainly being burnt to the ground several times has to count for something!

In my life, consuming music, film, and other artistic forms in the same way that one would try to have a balanced diet. After all, candy is dandy, but it’ll rot your ever-lovin’ soul. Don’t feel compelled to absorb the crap, because there’s so much good stuff out there, that you’ll never be able to see and hear all of it. However, if someone somehow didn’t make what you’re looking for, time to get out that pen and start writing. It’s a shovel and you’re in a hole, so start digging your way out.