It was about that time of evening in Texas for the degenerates to come out to flock together and huddle at their ceremonial event, and I am a faithful participant. Late evenings feather our skin and leaves behind a layer of the residual humidity from the scorching afternoon. The ruthless Texas predator known as the mosquito is an evil blood sucker that will attack at any time from any angle without detection. By the time you realize you have been bit, it’s too late, you have been bit nearly twenty times within seconds. DFW residents are fully aware that if you plan on going to the neighboring major city, it takes roughly forty-five minutes or more to get to your destination (unless you live in the Mid Cities). It’s not much of a bother unless you are pressed for time. On this particular Saturday, I traveled to Grand Prairie, a city that sits smack dab in the middle on Dallas and Arlington. I can’t recall the last time I stepped foot in Grand Prairie so I considered this occasion one of the first few times I’ve entered the city limits. The drive doesn’t rattle my nerves, it is the questionable weekend traffic that yanks my chain hard enough for me to let out deep sighs of agitation. To my knowledge, the show starts at 8 and I was running a bit behind, coming for the northern tip of Denton. Mild anxiety dissipated into the wind after I asked myself the question, “ Has there ever been a hardcore show that started on time?” Before going to a live music event, I have the tendency to listen to music from a completely different genre on the way to the event. Fifteen minutes before I reach my destination, I listen to music similar or the exact genre of music of the event I’m attending. I don’t have a particular reason as to why I do such a thing, it’s something I’ve done every since I was able to attend shows in my own vehicle. The opposite happens if there is a passenger that’s accompanying me to the event.

Kyle Buck from Something You’re Not, shot by Gray Muncy

Natural light began to fade in the blue hour, and the sun shared a yawn as I pulled into the occupied, residential street. There is no better navigation system to finding the location of a show than a group of hardcore kids entering a venue space, in this case it was a backyard. The only issue is parking, which is extremely limited, considering the residents that live there. Eventually I found a parking space that caused my tailgate to stick out, so I made a better decision and parked on the .25 acre of land across the street from the house where the show was taking place. There was nothing that stuck out to me about this Texas neighborhood. Most houses were at least 45-50 years old, similarities in modern renovation with its own custom detail that gives each house a bit of character. I assumed that most houses on this block had tile floor in their kitchens. This particular neighborhood had a number of houses with a decent backyard, perfect for a small- mid size family with pets. The first group of people I came in contact with were all of the members of Gagging Order and Eddie Tatum, the guitarist of Soledad. A bit of warmth began to stir my spirit as we shared conversations with genuine smiles and humorous moments. Eddie expanded my awareness by putting me on a couple of bands I have never heard of and informed me of a few things that invited momentary excitement. Our social group chat didn’t last long though, it was about time for the show to begin.

To enter the backyard consists of walking through the wooden fence door that provides a border between the neighboring house to the right, and taking a few steps down the pathway that spills in the spacious yard. My earlier assumption couldn’t have been any closer to the truth, the yard is a nice, decent size, obviously enough to host a live music show. After paying to enter, my attention was being pulled in many angles so I chose one thing at a time to notice. The back porch is accommodated with a concrete slab big enough to fit amps, a drum set, microphone stands, and up to 15 people under the extension of the roof held up wooden porch pillars. Familiar faces flooded my vision, the feeling of comfort made its presence to relax my shoulders and loosened my stride. Majority of us were in uniform; all black attire with a band shirt or different color band t-shirt with shorts. Zane did exactly what he said he was going to do and wore a BOLD shirt and to no surprise at all, Chance wore his signature FUBU jersey. The day he doesn’t wear his jersey will cause nothing short of confusion for me. Josh Baez wore his fresh braids under a black bucket hat, I was hoping to see his beautiful afro but not this time. The first band that was set to play Something You’re Not, fronted by Cedric Santillan. It’s usually difficult for me to separate Cedric from his former band Pulled Under. Although time has passed and things have changed, it’s the reminiscence of PU that follows him, in a good way, or maybe I’m the only me who thinks this way. It also came to no surprise the level of energy Cedric maintained throughout the set, the familiarity was unable to go unnoticed. His hair growth gave him a bit of flair as it bounced around his neck, mimicking Cedric’s movements. I loved that Cedric dedicated his set to the late Riley Gale with a “Riley Gale Forever” sign in hand and spray painted on the drum set.

As the night progressed, it was a necessity to go to the truck in between bands, I needed to breath without being within close proximity to everyone else. It’s a shame and a tragedy for those who don’t A/C in their vehicles in Texas. No one deserves to experience the sensation of being slowly cooked with a thick glaze of sweat obtruding from their pores like a savory rotisserie chicken rotating inside the oven in the supermarket deli section. By this time, I started to notice a few individuals with a corn on a cob dressed what appears to be butter, drizzled with seasoning and other condiments, gnawing on the edges like starving dogs. It was brought to my awareness that the family who lived in the house was making elotes for everyone who showed up to the show. The moisture of my tongue began fading into nonexistence; dehydration was imminent. As I re entered the backyard space, the hunt for water commenced. My eyes and ears scanned the area for any signs of hope. At this point I have seen only a few individuals gripping half empty water bottles. Gagging Order was about to perform next and I refused to enter the pit without guzzling down the elixir of life. Right before the set was about to start, I was able to locate Alex Yanez and asked if there were any water bottles left. He pointed towards the direction of the individual that collects the entry fee. My stride carried me to the small table and the seat that contained the individual who complimented my hat earlier. The southern gentleman in me made an appearance as I proceeded to ask for water. The white cooler from under the table opened and gold began spewing out from under the lid. I grabbed a bottle, immediately gulped down half of it and was ready to expel a large amount of energy.

This was Gagging Order’s first show. There was a healthy amount of hype that surrounded the band for good reason. Their style of hardcore punk is celebrated through the genre’s history and the corresponding energy that acts as the fuel to ignite the flame. As soon as Robert began screaming into the mic and the band played the first note, the pit erupted. Dust began kicking up as the young buckaroos began to stampede from side to side in a synchronized fashion. The velocity from the swinging arms, the exaggerated steps of the two-step and the swift movements created a spectacle of enclosed chaos. My mind was clear and on auto pilot as I entered the pit. I held on the top of my head to keep my cowboy secure as I executed the two step. The way my cowboy boots feel on my feet and the way my Wrangler 935 cowboy cut jeans are made caused me to widen my stance as I was two-stepping. It felt as I was in the middle of a rodeo, riding the wildest, most obnoxious bull on the land. The Gagging Order set was non-stop fun and action and didn’t cease until the last note was played. The immense level of energy is exactly what I expected. I was thoroughly impressed by their first performance, they killed their set. Simultaneously, it showed onlookers and participants of what’s to come in the shows they perform there after.

The following bands that played afterwards exhibited an equal amount, if not more, energy and leveled the playing field. Monument of Fear was highly anticipated for me. Monument of Fear showcases a unique blend of highly favored Texas heavy music genres. If I were to take a stab at describing their sound with less intricacy; upbeat tempo from the essence of punk rock with the thickness and distortion from metal, the ethos and song structure of hardcore and the brutality of the breakdowns that carries the heavy weight of death metal. At one point as my awareness of the upcoming breakdown sharpen, I was forced to step back to avoiding getting hit. I wasn’t ready to stand that close to the pit. Luckily my awareness didn’t match my momentary lack of energy or else my glasses would’ve went flying over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. Think Twice is DFW’s newest straight edge band that was really cool to witness as well. Although I am not straight-edge, I find myself favoring straight-edge bands over non straight-edge bands at time. It’s the pride in what straight-edge stands for and how these bands carry themselves with purpose that attracts me to them. Zane Daniel and Chris Johnston are two straight-edge warriors that I personally know that occupy the band. My heart felt the same warm sensation from earlier as I witnessed these two individuals exercising their musical talents and Zane flexing his kicks as he demonstrated how high his hops are.

The final band to perform was The Kinky Bastards, lead by Olan Martin. It was then that I realized multiple band members were pulling off double shifts, performing in more than one band in the same night. Before The Kinky Bastards set, Eddie and I engaged in a conversation about the future of DFW hardcore. The one thing that stuck out to me is when Eddie described Olan, stating that Olan possessed that same energy that Riley Gale possessed well over a decade ago. To my knowledge, Olan is one of youngest cowboys in the DFW scene that is causing a ruckus, throwing exploding firecrackers at everyone’s feet. I became aware of the young lad a couple of years ago at a show or two, a young buck just making his way. I can’t seem to view him outside of being an energetic ball of punk rock fury. The way he covers ground as he performs almost seems hereditary, as if it was built in him, an interesting observation to say that least. His vocal delivery behind a contemporary version of classic hardcore punk is favored amongst punk rock and hardcore kids alike. Truly cut straight to the meat and potatoes. DFW hardcore punk is truly alive and well with The Kinky Bastards leading the way.

Robert Clark from Gagging Order, shot by Gray Muncy

The last note indicated that the show was over, everyone began pouring out the wide open wooden door to head to their vehicles. A few stayed behind to clean up and mingle as the majority of participants made a hasty exit. The grin that held the perfect amount of mischief appeared across my face, a small bit of recklessness put a damper on my concern for safety. There was no intention of harm present, only a fun and semi dangerous way to end the night. I maintained a cool pace to the truck, casually opening the door to grab a lighter and a roman candle. I ignited the one and a half foot candle, pointed it upwards into the sky and aimed for the stars. Six balls of fire exploded from the tube with 2 second intervals , each reaching up to 25 feet and following behind was a long, dense trail of sparks. Immediately, friends and band members gathered around to see what was going on. “ Who is trying to catch a roman candle fade?!” I yelled. I had 7 candles left, perfect for the roman candle fight. I passed the candles out to as many people as I could, I wanted to have as much fun as possible. Chance and I began to spread out into the field to be safe as possible. Within seconds the field contained large group of mischievous hardcore kids getting ready to shoot fireworks at each other. “Is everyone ready?” I yelled as I lit my candle. Before I was able to blink, fireworks began screaming through air, the screeching echoes filling our ears. The loud, erratic, popping noises were sounding off in the midst of the frenzy. Balls of fire were soaring at every direction, mainly at eye level, near misses of the torso and the heads of us all. The constant movement made each shot extremely unpredictable to detect where each one was coming from. An episode of my imagination seeped through my consciousness. I imagined myself as online character in Call of Duty, fighting against the opposition, ducking and dodging bullets as they flew by. Judging from an outside perspective, it could’ve been viewed as a violent warzone with multiple injuries. On the contrary, it was a joyous roman candle fight where no one was injured, all in good spirits. Shortly after it began, it ended. Some stayed behind to conversate but eventually we all dispersed and went our separate ways. This show was a true indication that DFW hardcore is definitely on the rise.