Photos courtesy of Tyson Heder
If one were to choose to walk through the layered depths of the punk rock community, they should strive to find themselves wallowing in the heat of the Punk Rock Bowling Festival. The festival is held on a parking lot adjacent to Fremont, and its largely open space lacks cover from the blistering heat of the sun. One can always purchase a $2 water to stay hydrated, although I’d wager that more money is probably spent on pints and whiskey cokes. The festival attendees are as diverse as the variety of punky hair colors, though there is the fascinating commonality of wearing all black, as if to tempt the wrath of heat exhaustion. The unforgiving heat aside, this gathering serves to inspire community and camaraderie under the banner of all things punk rock. The festival is a space where one can feel at home and comfortable while surrounded by those who celebrate the varied degrees of a storied subculture. Here, one can get all the applicable accessories from clothing, pins, hats and rare records from stalls like that of Anaheim, California’s Radiation Records. Unlike years past which have been largely apolitical, this year’s Punk Rock Bowling has an unofficial theme of denouncing Republican presidential nominee Donald J. Trump—a sentiment that is easy and popular to get behind.
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MUTINY AT MUSCLE BEACH
Fat Wreck Chords
Night Birds = Sharp Objects + OFF! + Ramones
This is a must-have album, plain and simple. Night Birds never fail to deliver the stunning perfection of a solid-anger, no-bullshit punk sound. Their new album, Mutiny at Muscle Beach, enacts this sound through its 12 tracks of definitive, razor-sharp riffs, angst-filled vocals and beats so ferociously fast that it might as well invoke the insane speed of the Ramones.
Read the full album review published @ SLUG Magazine.
Peter Bywaters of Peter and the Test Tube Babies Photo: Lindsay Beaumont
Anti-Nowhere League’s Animal. Photo: sqerl
Keith “Monkey” Warren of The Adicts. Photo: sqerl
Traveling to Las Vegas while nursing the effects of a broken heart, I am all too aware that the romantic appeal of this colorful hellhole is a bit lost on me. This place quite literally represents the euphoria of broken dreams. Even the bright lights can’t eclipse the desperate smiling faces that fail to shine through the scum and filth of the streets. I’ve always loved punk, as it seemed to provide a moral backbone to rock n’ roll, giving it a philosophy filled with romantic notions while critiquing the very fabrics of the society it resides in. Though, I confess that the spirit of this musically led agitation seems to overcasted by the overwhelming hedonistic atmosphere that only Las Vegas can contain. This is, no doubt, extenuated by the fact that one can experience a sense of freedom by opening up a beer and drinking in the streets with nobody really giving a shit. The feeling of irony regarding this whiskey-fueled rebellion is not lost on me, however, as the first thing I do after checking into the hotel is running off in search some Newcastle Brown Ales…
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