Hardcore Goes Marching On

I made my way into the dimly lit cinderblock building, elbowing past patrons half my age. I caught the eye of the friend I’d come to see and snaked my way through the claustrophobic collection of youths. Going to hardcore shows in my forties somehow feels wrong and right at the same time.

After watching the band that seemed to pull influences from bands long since retired, I followed the current of the crowd spilling out onto the patio like salmon set to spawn. Perhaps in keeping with this analogy, since there aren’t grizzlies in North Carolina, we avoided crackheads instead of bears. Danger is danger regardless of the species. I digress. Venues never seem to be in places normal folks feel safe, and yet somehow, I’ve never felt more secure than when I was in those places.

Seeing another familiar face outside the small club, I opted for conversation instead of watching the second band in the lineup. This is something that almost felt taboo in my younger days. Never wanting to disrespect any of the musicians spilling their guts, I never missed a chance to hear a new band. Now, sometimes it’s just nice to catch up with an old friend and save what’s left of my hearing.

When it was time for my friend’s band to play, I found a “safe” spot against the wall between the band and the mosh pit. I pulled out my Pentax K1000 35mm and decided to test my skills under duress. Taking photos at a hardcore show is an exercise in briefly suspending my situational awareness to get the shot. I almost paid big time for that a few times as I felt the wind from beefy knuckles breeze past my head more than once. Bare bulbs in the ceiling and a scant lighting setup behind the band posed a fun challenge when shooting with ISO 400 film.

Bobbing my head and smiling like I hadn’t done in quite some time, I knew I belonged here, even in my advanced age. Part of this was just the familiarity with the setting. The gritty space felt like home. It was nice to be back, and incredibly fulfilling to watch my longtime friend Aaron, who is a few years older than me, still screaming his heart out in bands. Hardcore has come a long way since house shows in our first bands. I was glad to see him still spewing passion into dented SM58s. I was more than a little jealous, too.

Still, I was glad to be part of the hardcore community again. This time, instead of holding a microphone myself, I was shooting artsy photos with a relic of a camera. It felt good to be giving something back, even if it was only a grainy black-and-white photo. Hardcore shows made me the man I am today. I hope I never get too old to enjoy them. There’s also a certain solace in knowing that the kids playing shows today took the genre to places we never could have imagined two decades ago.

A few weeks later, when I got the photos back from the developer, I was glad to see that a few turned out and even told a story. The imperfections in the film stock and focusing challenges showcased the movement and dinginess of the space. There was a certain rawness to the images that provided outsiders with an authentic glimpse of a foreign landscape.

Hardcore was the first place I felt that I belonged, and it was the first taste of community for me. Our small music scene showed me that if you have an opinion and can express it, then your opinion matters. Mostly, I just loved seeing folks passionate about anything. Whether I agreed with their position or not, it was, and still is, refreshing to see that passion on display.

My days of playing in bands may be long over, but hardcore goes marching on. So long as guitars are distorted and drums are played at half-time, you’ll likely see me hugging a wall, smiling, and bobbing my head. There’s something timeless about it. You’re never too old to enjoy heavy music, but maybe stay out of the mosh pit, for the sake of your back and feeble old bones…

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Stan Lake is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker based in Bethania, North Carolina. His work has appeared in Dead Reckoning Collective, The Havok Journal, Reptiles Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, and other outlets, and he directed Hammer Down, a documentary about his 2005 deployment in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom with Alpha Battery 5-113th of the North Carolina Army National Guard. For The Havok Journal, he often writes essays and reflections about war memory, veteran life, the outdoors, and everyday experience. You can find his books, collected works, and social media at www.stanlakecreates.com.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.