HOW TO EARN HATE EMAILS

Sep 26 2024

on the night of september 18th, 417 hardcore let their cocks swing with the might of barry wood, og mudbone himself.

*DISCLAIMER: CERTAIN SUBSTANCES WERE ENJOYED DURING THE “RESEARCH” OF THIS ARTICLE. DETAILS ARE HAZY, WE’RE NOT SURE IF DRUNKEN MEMORIES ARE RECALLED RIGHT, WE’RE JUST HERE TO DO A JOB.  WE’RE NOT POLITICIANS, AT LEAST WE’RE HONEST ABOUT OUR DRUG USE.

[PISS]

it was two thousand and twenty four, the year of our lord. the weather was steamy for september, with no breeze to grace our presence. the full moon was out, and the degenerative werewolf nature was seeping through our blood streams. we ignored the monotonous drone of life around springfield, for today was the day to mosh, and mosh we did.

the porch consisted of dice and i, a neighbor girl talking religion, mitchell and mike. we discussed different views as the joint was passed around; marijuana increasingly clouding our vision. she was talking about the lifestyle she lived before she found her lord and savior, how she partied. sort of like us.

between the shopping cart in the front yard, the overflown ashtray, cans of pbr, drugs, a ‘stang without an exhaust, we’ve become full blown pieces of shit.

maybe that makes us dung beetles. we THRIVE rolling in the shit. embracing it. living in it. how else are we supposed to accomplish everything we’ve ever wanted?

before i knew it, we reached the entrance to the tavern called lindberg’s. *NEW LOCATION UNLOCKED*

BLEGH love <3

this picture represents our dear friend

[DICE]

Still contemplating god and pleasure, I entered Lingberg’s Tavern religiously high. The air was thick with dread, sweat, and bleach. We had just missed A.W.E play their second show at lindbergs. I was distraught as I sharked to the stage from the portal doors looking for some space to breathe, leaving my comrade skinny p behind out of pure fear. The red stage lights strobed my anxiety as I searched for the strength to connect with the fellow “freaks” of the hardcore scene. No amount of piercings, tattoos, or cold liquor could mask my aloof awkwardness. Thankfully I saw a golden opportunity to calm my shaking hands, an old friend stood across the pit holding a camera. After a few goofy waves, Skinny P and I waddled across the room to pull our associates into this full moon drama. Feeling hesitant after a forced introduction I chose what I do best and put my fear into the camera body. In that moment exploring creativity I saw a glimpse of connection deterring me from disassociation.

Isabelle had found her way to the hardcore scene shooting a story for a college ran magazine, SARTORIAL. She was worried she was being too intrusive with the flash and I believe that collective anxiety fueled our paranoid high. Just by association it felt like we were all fakers in that moment. All leaching from the scene as outsiders trying to steal emotion to feed the void. No matter the donation, imposter syndrome never fails. No matter how many ticket stubs and broken 21+ wristbands I collect sometimes I just can’t find home. Trying to find comfort in the spontaneity, P and I let Isabelle take our photo. Among the loose flowing genders, hanging plants, burning weed, and local rockstars P and I gave in to our vulgar shame on full display.

buck

Photo by Isabelle Stomboly 9-18-24

(left 2 right)

SKINNY P & DICE

[PISS]

THE FLASH WAS AS BOMBARDING AS THIS TEXT. bright light filled my iris as my cheeks flushed. the staring eyes on the patio made me second guess the participation. too afraid of what others think, i found solace inside, away from the eyes of the patio.

mic checks, guitar riffs, and a brightly lit stage were the only things i was able to process in the dark tavern. i had no clue what band was about to go up next, the only thing i was excited for was chain of command. the inner machinations of my mind were skewed and thoughts were bouncing left and right, until the righteous axe of KALOT fell down upon springfield.

the set was a blur. “FUCK COPS” the band proclaimed. twin cities hardcore knows how it goes down. i was separated from dice and stuck in the back, trying to peek over the crowd, but i couldn’t see shit. i gathered myself and moved my way up to brave the pit. the swarm of sweaty anger spun around the floor in a tornado as the conductor directed his orchestra.

“TWO STEP”

“SIDE TO SIDE RIGHT FUCKING NOW”

“MOVE”

and move they did. a flurry of bodies slammed into the wall of flesh that lined the sides of the floor. i found my accomplice in the front row as soon as they picked the tempo up. it was time to go to battle.

SIDE TO FUCKING SIDE ✯

[DICE]

I’ve never fought cops or pistol whipped sex offenders, but KALOT has. With a display of rage like that you have no choice but to get sucked into the emotion. Mob mentality is rich and lively in dusty bars like Lindberg’s, where you’re free to explore the politics of fear. Once a motherfucker starts screaming on stage it’s every they for themselves as the room churns in some chaotic ritual. Kalot was breathing fire and tapping harmonic lightning. That’s how I experienced the set at least, slow off the weed gummies dodging backfist to the teeth. At that point you have to let your nuts hang and hit a few kicks, swings, even a cartwheel, who gives a fuck. It’s truly addictive to hop in the pit, when I’m not scared to try it, I’d call getting hit an enjoyable grounding experience. Just make sure no one turns the lights on or we won’t look good as a unit..

“dun dun dun, show me your heart, dun dun dun, maybe even your private parts”

{Dill hiding offstage looking mysterious in a blue winter coat and racoon eyeshadow? }

CHAIN OF COMMAND!!

[PISS]
holy fuck.

the time has come.

NOW ENTERING CHAIN CITY.

population: 4

phil on the muthafuckin bass, sean on the muthafuckin drums, garrett on the muthafuckin guitar, and dill muthafuckin dunn on the mic. shit was bound to get wild. if you haven’t taken the trip, the grass is simply greener on their side. THE LAND OF THE BEAST.

their ep released the day of the show. it fuckin rips. if you haven’t listened to it, please do so now.  a week or so before the show, dice and i ran into dill at the flea.

dill

our ep comes out september 18th

dice

how’d you guys record it?

dill

we’re just figuring it out ourselves, we wanted

to have our own sound.

i could go into more detail, but the cigarette tar stains my memory. if you weren’t there, you’re a pussy. you’ll just have to witness chainage at their next show october 10th with MAUL and a new springfield band: WRATH.

written by pace evans & bryce lake

last edited 2/27/25

LOVE <3