One blazingly hot Sunday afternoon in 1980-something I went to the Tompkins Square Park bandshell for “Rock Against Redevelopment,” a 12-hour anti-gentrification rally-cum-concert to save the neighborhood. “Give us our land, peace, and bread,” pleaded the posters, “Instead of leaving us stranded, fleeced and bled.” False Prophets -my favorite hardcore band, although they weren’t hardcore …
Hardcore was certainly named right; although it flew way below the radar it had some of the most rabid and devoted adherents of any subculture I was ever part of. Members somehow managed to find and stay in touch with each other across the country, and even around the world, and we did it without …
If I may paraphrase Mick Foley, I’m not Old School; I’m from the school that burned down before the Old School was built. To continue the lucha metaphor -and my regular listeners do know my fondness for the squared circle- , anyone out there remember Paul E. Dangerously? That was Paul Heyman’s late 80s heel …
On Learning To Do Without What You Never Needed In The First Place Read More »
