Hello! Firstly, I’d like to acknowledge the national holiday taking place today. It is my mother’s birthday, and if you know anything about my mom, you know she’s an actual saint. She puts up with so much of my bullshit, and has for 27 years now. Not just that, but she singlehandedly raised me to be the smart, funny, angsty, political stoner you see before you, with a vastly eclectic music taste and a love for birds. Thank you, Mom, for existing. I love you endlessly!
Now, the real meat of the post. I haven’t touched on this publicly a lot because I don’t care for people sharing in my DM’s how wrong I am, or how my perception of the situation is skewed. But I don’t go to shows anymore, and I’m much happier that way. If ages 16-20 Billie heard me saying this, they might implode, shit their pants, or go into crisis mode. I haven’t been around any music scene in years; it’s just not for me anymore, and I don’t think the ways in which I changed are the reason I feel this way. I don’t think I’ve outgrown the scenes I was a part of; I think I and music just grew apart. I haven’t been to a show in a few months at this point, and I feel like my hesitancy comes from misogynistic edgelords and misogynistic edgelords alone. I think what motivated my decision to not partake in the reindeer fun anymore was the impact COVID had on, namely, the hardcore scene. I used to enjoy hardcore. I used to love the music, the people, and the merch was even pretty cool for a while, too, and I’m extremely picky about band merch. I felt included, albeit for an extremely small window of time. But included nonetheless. That has changed in the past 5-7 years. I no longer feel like a valuable part of the community. I feel shut out, ostracized, and ignored. Hardcore was heading in the right direction pre-COVID. No one made fun of me for being disabled, queer, feminine, or for anything else, for that matter. No one thought of me as lesser, and no one had ever called me a pussy. Last year, around September, I went to a memorial show at the Webster. That pretty much changed everything, and can be attributed to being the catalyst for my distancing myself from hardcore. When I got there, the vibes were already lame. It was a bunch of oldhead white dudes, but not the cool kind who can consider themselves scene veterans. It was the type of oldhead where they’re just there to let out pent-up aggression that they can’t take out on their wives. I brushed it off. I was there early, and maybe other people would show up. Eventually, more people did show up. More old white guys. Some of them would bring their wives/girlfriends, but even they looked like they weren’t having the best time. I wanted to get out of there. The energy was steeped in hatred. Not directed at me whatsoever, but this was a memorial show for Christ’s sake. I’d understand if the vibes were somber, but in this case, it just seemed like grief was being used as a scapegoat to get out the previously mentioned pent-up aggression. Band after band, I only noticed one thing. Old white dudes. No women, no queer people, not even many people of color. It started to gross me out. As I said before, these weren’t your politically charged and upset oldheads playing a show. These were grown-ass men, standing on stage, calling people pussies for not beating the ever-loving shit out of each other. I wish I remembered which band it was that said this, but I remember verbatim one vocalist said, “What are you, a bunch of girls? Fucking pussies, get in there and fuck someone up.” 15 seconds later, I was decked in the face with such force that I couldn’t remember ever being that seriously injured at a hardcore show. I’ve gotten wailed on before, I’ve gotten thrown around, kicked, etc., but not once have I ever had someone lock eyes with me, grab my entire head to leverage the incoming slug to my face, and wail away. Why did this seem personal? I looked around. I was the smallest in the crowd. I was feminine, I was obviously queer, I was an easy target. As soon as I realized who punched me, my stomach dropped. Kevin, this big bald dude known in the scene for being aggressive. Not only was Kevin known for this, but upon seeing his face, I had a stark realization. Kevin groomed me when I was 15. I met him on Twitter in 2014. He lived in Hartford, so naturally, as someone wanting to make friends with similar tastes in music, I gravitated towards him as a teenager. Now, Kevin is a solid 5 or more years older than me, meaning when we were in contact on Twitter and eventually in real life at Westfarms Mall, he was at least 20. 15. I was 15. I just watched the same guy who tried to groom me when I was 15 pick me out of a crowd and let loose on me. Did he recognize me? Probably not. But that right there is what soured every positive experience I’ve ever had at a hardcore show. Do I care about name-dropping in this case? No, because odds are, someone reading this knows Kevin (and if you do, tell him the teenager he groomed says hey). And if I can warn others about him, then I’ve done a good thing. If I knew his last name, I’d post it too. Men deserve to be made uncomfortable for their problematic actions. They deserve to be shunned for grooming teenagers; they deserve to be shamed for meeting up with one and trying to coerce that teenager into having sex with them in a dressing room. Anyways, if you stopped seeing me at shows these past few years, this is why. It’s a woman-hating circle jerk of edgelords. It didn’t used to be like this, either. Even back when I was a teenager, it was different. I’ve heard from others who are old enough to be my parents that the scene was never like this. I feel robbed, I feel excluded, and I am angry about it. That is all. Have a nice day, and think twice before you call someone a pussy. It’s deeply rooted in misogyny. Thanks.
P.S. Why are men in the scene praised for their violence and their capacity to make a seemingly safe space into an extremely unsafe space? Chew on that for a while. Catch you later.
Phrenectomy 