Scowl’s first show in DFW was at the Ridglea Theatre, October 2021. Months prior to the show, I began to notice friends in the scene getting hip to the Bay Area hardcore punk band. If I remember correctly, the first song I heard from the band was Retail Hell, off of their ep Reality after Reality. I remember telling myself their brand of hardcore punk is what I’ve been wanting to hear for quite a while. It was as refreshing as Gagging Order releasing their self-titled ep. From there, I began searching Youtube videos of their live performances. It was instinctual to search for videos of upcoming bands, visual representations are key to checking out a new band on the radar. There was excitement brewing when it was announced they will be performing Texas before they hit Oklahoma for Promcore. There was a high level of anticipation present. When Scowl arrived in Fort Worth that night, something sparked like magic. I wasn’t able to tell you what it was, but I felt a pleasant vibe from the band when I formally introduced myself followed by a warm, southern welcome. From there on, every time there was a new video uploaded on their performance, a new interview or a new tour announcement, I would always say to myself, “I’m so proud of my friends, they deserve the world.”

It’s November 2022. It’s a bit chilly outside, indicating we are in the middle of the fall season. As I was getting ready to exit my truck, my thoughts replayed the highlights of NSFWKND fest that took place in March. It was fun filled weekend for the metroplex. The fest featured some of hardcore’s finest acts, including Gulch, Scowl, Sunami, Buggin, Mindforce and many more. Certain moments from that weekend I replayed in my head, it was too many to think about in a short period of time. A couple sprays of Versace across my chest and I was ready for the walk to Cheapsteaks. The wind chill was tolerable, brushing against my ears and the back of my neck. It felt nice to put on some layers and be comfortable standing outside for a few hours. The streetlamps shined brighter when I’m in a good mood, watching every step I take. It’s a Saturday night in Deep Ellum, everything looks festive. It was the same bouncer from the last time I was at Cheapsteaks blocking the entrance of the establishment. This time he was in mid conversation with a gentleman about God knows what. I stood directly front and center towards to the gentleman, awaiting my entry. They both turned to give me a good one look before the bouncer motioned the guy to step aside. After the bouncer used the handheld metal detector to make sure I had no weapons, I made a bee line to the bar. My belly was full of a home cooked meal, so I decided a double whiskey neat would be best to quench my thirst. I wanted to try something a little different this time but unfortunately the bar didn’t carry Old Forester. By default, I settled for Jack Daniels. I made my way up the staircase to get my wristband and get my ticket scanned in. By this time, the lower part of my moustache was dipped in whiskey from the first two sips from my cup. Aside from a handful of my local friends, one of the first few people I came in contact with was Bailey, Scowl’s bassist. I look at Bailey as someone I can sit in one spot for a considerable amount time and talk about anything. Nothing short of an endless conversation, not much room for silence, nothing short of good, homie vibes. As we began talking, I shot a quick glance at the fire pit. “I don’t think there’s enough firewood in this pit”, I thought to myself. Another quick glance to my right and I was able to spot the remaining firewood, still didn’t look like enough. I made me wonder what they were going to use to keep the fire going when all of the wood is gone.

I looked at the time on my phone and realized this was the earliest I have ever been to a show. I was a bit proud of myself for the moment. The feeling dwindled away the second I became real with myself; this was the first and probably the last time I would come this early. Suddenly, Malachi popped into my view from the left. His demeanor is what I envisioned a California native would have: a bundle of cool points, relaxed vibe, fun to be around, ready to jump into action within a drop of a dime. He showed me his stylish, pointed toe cowboy boots, causing me to look at my old, beat-up cowboy boots. His boots were probably the freshest boots I’ve seen in the past 8 months. Caramel brown with what I deemed to be a hint of cherry red, His boots carried a whole different swag of their own, it almost compelled me to give pointed toes a try. The statement “you can tell a lot about a man by his shoes” crept across my thought process as I continued to admire the boots on Malachi’s feet. The cool breeze, the fire pit and the rocky, dusty ground underneath my feet held its similarities of being out in the country at an old burger joint in North Texas Hill Country. By this time, Strange Joy was set to perform, and more people began to appear in my line of sight. A couple of weeks prior to the show, I was listening to a handful of songs from the Texas band and loved every second. Their talent in successfully formulating melodies with good ole fashioned raw energy and intensity, transitioning from alternative to hardcore punk and vocal stylings to match, Strange Joy had me hooked almost immediately. With the correct exposure on my camera set, I began shooting photos as their set began. I was thrilled to watch them perform, simply due to the fact their style of music I normally don’t see live. I was a real treat to watch Strange Joy live as their sound filled my ears. It was one of the few times I enjoyed watching a band that didn’t have an obnoxiously heavy sound. After their set, I noticed the show was going to end earlier than I expected. My mind is programmed for shows/fest to end around midnight. From the way this show was going, I was looking at around 11:00pm end time, or probably sooner. The flow of the night progressed as Anklebiter was set to perform. A little beforehand I was talking to the wonderful drummer of Scowl, Cole, about the widespread attention of hardcore and how it is turning everything into a business. I get the nicest, friendliest vibe from him. His smile is the gateway into his aura, it makes it an honor and a pleasure to be able to hold a conversation with him. It’s a feeling I usually get from one of my hometown friends. Anklebiter was a new band I recently got into as well. The Northeast straight edge came to the south hot and heavy with the reminiscent tunes of fast and in your face hardcore. The crowd received their set well as they ripped the stage apart. Their style brought back the essence of originality of the genre I gravitated towards in my early adolescent years.

The evening was progressing at a fast pace. I had to make sure I got another double whiskey neat before I forgot. I was a little disappointed at Cheapsteaks for not having Old Forester Bourbon. I couldn’t blame them, it’s not like many people of this demographic drink it anyways. Although the night was young, more people were showing up, filling in the gaps. I was getting used to see it this way. I have been to Cheapsteaks a handful of times and every show I have attended has had a good turnout. Flatspot Records’ Jivebomb entered the stage, and the crowd was amped. The angst and the fierce vocal styling aligned with the savage characteristic of 80’s hardcore punk, Jivebomb is the tasmanian devil of the current generations hardcore. I didn’t expect to see the crowd reacted the way they did. It let me know I was late to the party in discovering this band. One of the best moments of going to a hardcore is discovering new bands in real time. I sat there amazed and intrigued as I was taking shot after shot of the band and the rambunctious mosh pit in front of me. It gave the new fresh feeling again, the original feeling of being at a show amongst a large number of colorful individuals and not knowing who is on stage until they are done playing. Right after the Jivebomb set, I decided to head to my truck to get my rope. For a while I was contemplating on bringing it out, but a last-minute decision took place. I figured why not have a little fun. I welcomed the nighttime breeze as it tickled the back of my neck again, exposing itself under my tan felt cowboy hat. I wasn’t gone for any longer than 7 minutes by the time I got back to entrance of the on the venue. By the time I reached the top of the steps, an artist by the name of Ghoulavelli was set to perform. I had no clue about the artist until now. With no prior knowledge, I watched as he began to perform on the top of the picnic table near all of the sound equipment. His style of music was something of the current popular subgenres of rap, more alternative than traditional. There was a bit of confusion beginning to settle, I wasn’t prepared for the switch in genres. I was aware of the artist’s name by looking at the flyer but for whatever reason I failed to do my research. I took a few shots and began to look at the crowd’s reaction to the artist. I was able to tell that some were intrigued by the performance in front of them. Other participants of the crowd weren’t impressed. Ghoulavelii didn’t appeal to everyone in the crowd but still rocked the mic. Afterwards, I did a little bit of research and stumbled upon his popularity amongst the demographic of his fan base. I found it interesting to for him to share the stage (picnic table) with die-hard hardcore kids.

Minutes before the Scowl set, I was messing with my rope, doing overhead swings as if I was going to head some cattle. I ultimately decided I was going to stand on the table and try to rope a mosher or two. It wasn’t an intention to rope anyone, but I was going throw my loop out at people as if I was going to rope them. I scanned the pit to take a look at the faces and into the eyes of the wild bunch. They were ready to let it all go, hungry for the release, ready to expel all of the stored energy they had for this moment. I recognized the feeling, a feeling I still feel today from time to time, a feeling that keeps me alive. Not a second later, Scowl began their set and the participants of the pit completely lost all of their marbles. It was the purest form of controlled chaos erupting in front of the eyes of spectators, on lookers and passersby. Kids moving from side to side, kicking up dust with their feet and swinging to the beat. I handed my camera to a couple and began swinging my loop over my head. During the opening song, I threw my loop out a couple of times before I recoiled it back. After wrapping up my rope, I started shooting photo after photo. My index finger felt like a trigger finger on the shutter release button. Capturing the still shots of the mayhem was like watching a hectic scene in an action pack movie starring Jason Statham. People tossing their bodies on top of one another, swinging the air, creating temporary space. It began to hold the resemblance of the scene in the 90’s film Jumanji, where all of the animals were stampeding through the suburban streets. Kat looked like a well-seasoned, veteran vocalist on the stage, conducting the riotous behavior with fierce growls and snarls. There was so much talent presented on the stage and watching Scowl do what they do best gets better and better the more I see them perform. Song after song, the pushers and the pitters gradually increased their energy levels. I felt my face turned with slight confusion. As I looked up from my camera, I noticed that there were more unfamiliar faces in the pit. Has the scene grown to the point where there are fewer, familiar faces? The realization took my attention away from reality for a brief moment before I snapped back to my primary awareness. Watching the spectacle from an outsider’s perspective, it’s amazing to see the human body move in the way it does in a small, confined circle to loud and intense rock music.

The set ended but you can tell no one wanted it to stop. As I expected, it was bit of an early night. I wasn’t as tired as I thought I would. What was lacking was food in my stomach. A low rumble occurred in as I stuck around for a little bit. After a few rounds of last-minute pictures with the bands and a few small talk sessions, my stomach was becoming irritated. I took that as my cue to make a smooth exit. After I said my good-byes and see you laters, I noticed something new to me. Towards the back of the venue was an exit, leading into the alleyway spilling out in the path I take towards my vehicle. With this discovery in mind, I said my final round of farewell before heading down the alley. “Scowl is a DFW band, lowkey” I said to myself when I reached my truck door. There was nothing short of seriousness behind the statement.