ok, time to take a break from politics.
i know, i can get a bit long winded when it comes to my political blogs.
i use the word ‘blog’ but i still hate it.
can’t we come up with a better word?
‘journal’? ‘update’? something?
blog just sounds like a clogged toilet.
so rather than write about politics i thought i’d write about punk rock.
or, to be specific, the 3rd time i saw black flag(i think i ended up seeing about
20 black flag shows in the early to mid 80’s, actually).
it was 1952(actually it was 1983…still a long time ago)and i believe it was a thursday night.
black flag were playing in new rochelle, new york(i don’t remember the name of the club)and i really wanted to go, even though the next day was a school day.
none of my punk rock friends were willing to go with me, so i borrowed my mom’s car and took i-95 to the aforementioned nameless club in new rochelle.
here’s where my memory gets hazy…were adrenalin o.d on the bill as well?
i’m not sure. i liked a.o.d. we had a barbecue with them at jeff cud’s house in bridgeport.
ah yes, i remember it well.
so i went to new rochelle by myself(feeling very adult, i might add)and staked out my place at the front of the stage. 10pm rolls around and black flag come onstage.
the line-up was, i believe: gregg ginn on guitar, robo on drums, dez cadena on guitar, chuck dukowski on bass, and henry rollins on vocals.
and they were spectacular(thus my seeing them 20 or so times in the early 80’s).
so insanely loud and aggressive and perfect. this primal, guttural, raw noise.
a lot of the hardcore bands in the early 80’s were really tight(minor threat, for example, who i also loved). but black flag were messy. orchestrated, but messy, owing more to the stooges, say, than to the clash(an aside: i love the stooges and the clash, not criticizing tight or messy, they’re just different).
so black flag just made this sound. this big, all encompassing sound that pulled you in and made your head feel like it was going to explode, david cronenburg-style.
and, as i was a 15 or 16 year old punk rock kid, i did my fair share of stage diving.
this was before the scene had become really violent. if you fell down you got picked up.
if you wanted to get on stage the band would give you a hand up and pull you onto the stage. it was a very communal, friendly, scene, even if everyone was beating the shit out of each other. we were beating the shit out of each other with love…ha ha. but it’s true.
so on my 5th or 6th stage diving trip i decided to really, really launch myself off of the stage. which i did. but, uh, i kind of launched myself a bit too far and went over the phalanx of kids at the front of the stage and landed on my head in the pit.
if you’ve ever fallen 8 or 9 feet onto your head you might know the very odd feeling that i hope to never experience again. the feeling of ‘ow. that really hurts. and…have i really hurt myself? oh boy. i hope i’m ok.’
so i took myself off to the side of the club and did a little mental check of my well being.
a-i’m standing and walking around: check.
b-i can turn my head: check.
c-i can see and hear and smell: check.
well, then, i guess i’m ok.
and, being a resilient 15 or 16 year old, i immediately jumped back into the pit and reclaimed my space at the front of the stage just in time to hear ‘rise above'(which i guess has some magical restorative health giving properties that i had heretofore been unaware of).
i guess i’m glad that i’m still here. or, rather, that i’m still here and still able to walk around and turn my head and taste and smell and occasionally jump up and down.
maybe some other time i’ll tell you about how i got the scar on my face while dancing to a black flag song.
it’s not such a sexy story, as it involved dancing to black flag record at an all ages club long after black flag had broken up.
ok, that’s my punk rock reminiscence for today.
-moby
