East Coast Hardcore

The Showplace

Was a lowdown dirty

Strip bar

Full of bikers

And whatnot

In Dover, NJ

And when they weren’t

Having mud wrestling

They had one hardcore show a week.

I had seen the Dead Kennedy’s

Many times before

But my favorite show

Was at the Showplace.

It was a seedy dive

Fifteen minutes from my house

Which for a teenager

Was heaven

As there usually was travel involved.

I saw many bands there

And slam danced

With the suburban punks

In youthful glory

And the night that the Dead Kennedy’s played

Took it to a whole ‘nother level

For me.

Back around the same time

I also remember

Seeing punk bands

On the ‘Green’ in Morristown

Which back then was

A run down city square park

In the center of a

Run down hole in the wall

Small city of a town.

Chaos ensued

While the bands played

Fast and furious

And we kicked it hard

In the afternoon sunshine

While gunshots would echoe up from the ‘Hollow’.

I bet the ‘Hollow’ has it’s own Starbucks

These days.

We would hit City Gardens

Which we called ‘Shitty Gardens’

In Trenton

And I saw bands like

Black Flag

Circle Jerks

Discharge

Agnostic Front

Nihilistics

Angry Samoans

And many others.

I don’t recall many Trenton punks

Considering the demographics

So people came from all over...

Philly

New York

Jersey Shore.

It was all ages

But we would still get drinks somehow.

It was basically a warehouse

With a separate space at one end

With a bar.

It was fairly large

And a lot of people would show

Filling the enormous fenced in parking lot.

They could crank up the volume there...

LOUD!

Our band of misfits-

Peter Punk, Danny, Paul, Shanks

And myself...

Reject...

They called me that

Cause I was tagging ‘Reject’

Everywhere I went

In marker and paint.

We would travel.

We would hit all of the ‘squats’

On the Lower East Side and Brooklyn

And see parades of bands play

In just a few short hours.

These shows were truly DIY.

Electricity was run in illegally

For the lights and sound

And for several hours

The derelict buildings

Emitted loud blasts of juvenile energy

Interspersed with snotty rhetoric and taunts.

When one band finished

Another was up in just a few minutes.

Fuck the soundchecks!

After these shows

We would share in potluck dinners

That the squatters were cooking

On electric burners

And sometimes crash

From drinking too much cheap beer.

Some of the more notable bands-

And I say that tongue in cheek

Because some of the best bands I ever saw

Were those unknown bands

Playing in the squats and CBGB’s-

Played the clubs in Manhattan.

I think I remember seeing the Anti-Nowhere League

At the Ritz.

They were probably the most violent band

That I have ever seen.

They encouraged BAD behavior

Liberally spitting on people in the audience

Punching, kicking

The guitarist even hit somebody

In the head with his guitar!

They not only taunted the audience

But flat out tried starting fights

In their heavy English accents.

There was Kamikaze’s

Loft parties

Lodges

Masonic Temples

People’s homes

Empty warehouses.

I think I saw the Ramones

In almost all of the above.

The crazy thing about the Ramones

Is as fast and loud as their music is

They would just stand there steadfast on stage

Discharging pure blasts of energy

As the audience would go wild

In the mosh pit

In front of the stage.

At a Ramones show

It was an all out rumble

With bikers, punks, metalheads and jocks

Laying it out

Non stop

Until Dee Dee, Tommy, Johnny and Joey

Called it a night.

The crew would pile in cars

And travel as far as Boston

To The Channel, The Mohawk Club and The Rathskellar.

We’d travel to Pittsburgh

And as far south as Richmond

To see GWAR

When they were just starting up.

There was LOVE Hall in Philly

The Congress Hotel in Baltimore

The 9:30 Club in DC.

These cities had huge thriving hardcore scenes

That took you in like brothers.

The people were working class

Homeless

Students

Teens living at home.

They were skinheads

Or had mohawks or two or three

Wearing leather and denim

And ripped shirts

Combat boots

With chains and metal

Tattoos and piercings.

Some were clean

And some never showered.

Some were straight

And others were constantly high.

Some did crime.

I think of my own appearance.

There were many.

Fucked up hair

No hair

Skulls, chrome belts

Leather

Spandex

Ripped jeans

Pirate boots.

When I see photos of myself

From back then

I see a child

A youth.

Behind all of the menace

The clothes

The patches

The bad shit that I was into

I see a teenager

Fighting the world around him.

We all were.

Peter Punk, Danny, Paul, Shanks and Reject.

We were fighting against

Fucked up parents.

We were against a system run by Reagans and Thatchers.

We moved against the grain

Of safe and complacent fat Americans.

We did not want to be accepted.

I lived for adventure even then.

There was no such thing as safe.

I was constantly on the edge

And many times there was difficulty.

But I was fueled by a life of hardcore

And it kept me going.

Bands like FEAR, Crucifucks, Circle of Shit, SS Decontrol, DRI, Big Black, Big Boys,

Zero Boys, Cheetah Chrome Mutherfuckers, Butthole Surfers, Sonic Youth, The Dicks,

Germs, Sex Pistols, Flipper, Social Distortion, Aggression, Bad Brains, Cramps, Minor

Threat, Jerry’s Kids, Vandals, Reagan Youth, Husker Du, Die Kreuzen

And so many others...

Mapped out a specific period in my life.

I was a reject

In my late teens early twenties

And I was turning up the volume

As LOUD as I could take it

Sometimes living in

Feedback and distortion.

And today

My ears are still ringing

In the

Quiet after the storm.