NSFWKND 2022: DFW

Midmorning, roughly 9:52 am

The residual energy from the Pre- Show the night before felt like a caked-on layer of enthusiasm, glazed on the surface of my skin. The mid-morning sun blessed each moment with a subtle warmth, equivalent to light sunbathing. It’s slowly becoming second nature to gaze outside before stepping out into my large backyard with the Classic rope in hand, ready to practice. In a few ways, roping has become therapeutic to the mind and fun to my senses. It has become a skill I believe to be necessary in life and for personal reason, a skill worth having. Fifteen minutes became the past, stroking my awareness, but I wasn’t fully ready to head back in. Ultimately, I was led to the decision to step back inside the 1960’s suburban home with a modern touch. As the moment passed, I was second guessing the decision to bring my camera. I took a glance up at the clock that was about ten feet away, looking down upon me at a 35-degree angle. Without much hesitation, I headed towards the garage to grab the free weights. I figured the best thing for me to do for the day was get a little more exercise to really get my heart pumping, just in case I changed my mind. A cool shower lathered in Bath and Body Works Peach soap suds, a chocolate protein shake, a creamy bowl of maple brown sugar oatmeal and a canary yellow banana later, I was sitting in the comfiest spot on our vibrant red couch. By this time, I was shirtless and vulnerable against the lack of natural light in my living room due to the lack of windows. My Texas belt buckle, as southern as it could be, occupied the belt loops on my Wrangler 935, dark blue, cowboy cut jeans. Shortly after sliding into my plaid, red Wrangler buttoned down short sleeve shirt, I grabbed my jean jacket for comfort instead of warmth. The most recent weather patterns expressed its bipolar symptoms in the past few weeks. I never put anything past Texas’s high level of moody weather. Entering into my clutter of an office decorated with unopened mail, scattered guitar picks and unorganized office desk, I spotted everything that I needed to complete my checklist. Camera, camera bag, external flash, battery being the most important, followed by my tan felt cowboy hat, 32 oz hydro flask, phone charger and boots. One last thing caught my peripheral vision on the yellow chair with repetitive floral print: my rope. Within the moment, my rope and I began staring at each other. My conscience began to take form in between the coils of the rope as a mouth, ready to follow the cowboy script of persuasion. I immediately shifted into defense mode, ready for any attack of conversion. There was a weak spot in my armor; the 22–26-year-old me began cheering in spirit for a night of fun, while the other age groups of my former self ceased to exist. It didn’t matter how much time has passed, the high level of energy towards fun and entertainment maintained its consistency. The rope began to speak to me in a low, baritone voice with an old, mythical, southern accent that was fit for a storyteller with thick mustache. Its voice carried me away down the dusty trail of the late 1800’s, on its way to find land of its own to settle. My conscience was as simple as a cowboy could be, just ask questions until it got the answer it was looking for. In my office was more than enough natural light to give the rope its moment to shine as it began to interrogate.

“I just don’t get it, I don’t understand. What’s wrong with bringing me along? All I’ve seen was horses, cattle and three of other people. Don’t you think I want to have fun just like you?”

“This isn’t the place for you to be, there will not be roping of any kind at a music event.”

“So what? You can’t change that?”

I felt my eyes roll as I noticed a bit of frustration from the rope. The nagging thought of ‘why not’ presented itself more as a question of character than the concern for safety.

“What I don’t understand is why are you so pressed about coming to a festival, what do you want me to do with you? Stay put in the passenger seat?”

“No”, the rope responded, “I want to have fun and hang on to some of those crazy kids that reminds me of young mustangs, you don’t think folks would enjoy that?”

“Seriously?” I asked, hoping that was a rhetorical question and not a serious one. It was difficult not to image how funny it would be to see a roper on stage, in the middle of a sold-out hardcore show, roping moshers and stagedivers as they run rampant across the stage. For a moment, I thought it would’ve been better at the pre- show but that was too late.

“Listen” I began, “It all sounds fun but what if I rope someone’s neck? That’s an injury I don’t want to have on my conscious, and I don’t rope people!”

There was a moment of silence. The art of persuasion was reaching its climax. The wind pushed the leaves on the trees in the frontyard into a dance, catching my eye but I refused to acknowledge the movement. I was able to tell the sun slowly edging towards high noon. I was ready to end the buffoonery.

“You’ll be at a loud rock and roll show with people throwing their bodies off of God knows what, kicking and punching each other and loosing teeth every so often, what’s it going to hurt if a couple of them get roped?”

I took a deep breath. If anything, I could just have my rope with me. I could just swing it around on stage and not cast my rope out to catch anyone if I became cautious. Sure, I’m a decent roper but what are the odds of roping someone’s neck. This was one of the few times doubting my skill level made a decision easier to make. With a sigh and muttering under my breath, I grabbed the rope, along with my Iphone, adjusted my camera bag, threw on my hat and headed out the front door. As I loaded up into my truck and entered the driver’s side, I looked over my right shoulder at my rope as it sat with gratitude behind the passenger seat. “Let’s enjoy ourselves tonight, partner.” the rope grinned. I put on a smile as I backed out of the driveway, listening to Jesse Daniel’s song, Tar Snakes.

Ridglea Theater

It was 20 minutes past noon when I felt the heat of the sun through my windshield cover my hands, gripping the steering wheel. I was reaching the halfway mark towards the venue as my attention spent a brief amount of time contemplating whether I should stop to get gas. The tank was about a quarter full, just enough for me to continue onward to my destination. I know my vehicle well enough; a quarter of a tank would get me to Ft Worth with ease without worry. It’s a breeze on a cool autumn day to drive to any part of the metroplex within the nick of time, especially for the average Texan (excluding traffic). In my rearview mirror, I spotted a pearl white GMC crew cab truck speeding behind me. It got closed enough behind me to the point I was able to tell who the passenger was and what emotional state they were in. A Caucasian female, in between the height of 5’5 and 5’7, shorter torso, longer legs, blonde hair touching a little past the shoulders wrapped in a half- assed bun. Her eyes were wide with confusion and anger as she screamed in into the screen that sat in front of the center console. A grin shaped the corner of my mouth as the driver quickly switched to the left lane. There was no question to her reckless driving, only humor with a dash of concern trailed away as the driver sped through the afternoon. It was difficult to remember a Saturday afternoon as beautiful as this. It seemed to be a sign of the spring season that was edging around the corner. The recent unpredictability of north Texas weather has kept many of its citizens on their toes, in hopes that it reaches an end. It was also my first Saturday after the LDB fest weekend and this weather was a literal, warm welcome back home. Roughly 10 minutes to go and I was getting closer to the Ridglea Theater, anticipation grew, and I was trying my best to make sure that a couple of friends were able to snag last minute tickets to attend the fest. One of my goals was to hug as many friends as possible throughout the day and if that meant linking people together to make sure everyone attends, that’s exactly what I was going to do. Moments later, I turned left off of Camp Bowie and entered into the Ridglea parking lot, creeping towards the back parking lot and backed into the space adjacent to Bryant Irvin Rd.

As far as my knowledge goes, Ridglea Theater has been around since the late 1940’s. Along with the Ridglea Room and Ridglea Lounge, this 20,000 sq ft establishment is the result of a number of modern renovations and has been saved from demolition thanks to Jerry Shults. Easily accessible, The Ridglea sits smack dab in the middle of the Camp Bowie district, along with neighboring restaurants and other attractions that caters to an evening of middle-class fun. As I walked around towards the front of the theater, I noticed the older characteristics of the buildings I wasn’t able to notice at night. What was presented to me was an original, vintage tone, courtesy of the restoration. I couldn’t help but to stare at the stone tower of the front of the establishment that looked out onto the street and beyond. I found pleasure in observing its classic, old school, southern movie house style. One could tell the amount of history this place held for many decades. After retrieving my wristbands, I observed the inside of the theater and continue to take note of the renovations, holding on to its past yet appealing to the younger generations. To my knowledge the capacity inside the theater is 1000 people, I could see how the theater was the perfect spot for this event. The standing area in front of the stage is massive, enough for large circle pits and ultra-violent crowdkillers. Behind the standing area are several rows of seating for participants who rather watch the show then to watch for unsuspecting, flying limbs. Aside for the unoccupied balcony area hovering over the general standing area, the large velvet red stage curtains are the one characteristic about the theater that struck the nostalgic chord for the boomer generation.

Friends. How many of us have them?

I couldn’t help replaying the interaction I had with the lady in the seat before entry. I felt my face form into a dissatisfied, confused look when she said, “Only two re-entries.” In that moment, I wasn’t able to tell if I was offended by the condescending tone in her voice or the content of the statement. “She must be tripping.” I whispered to myself. The previous weekend in Louisville at the LDB festival, the young eccentric gentleman at the door said something similar to me. In fact, his welcoming tone overshadowed the statement with ease. I figured it was the way the lady presented the information to me that made me cringe. I didn’t grasp a good feeling from her. What rubbed me the wrong way was the fact that I’m in home state. The southern in me expected a little more hospitality but I was compelled to remind myself everyone isn’t as hospitable as I would like. Toot was right behind me, so I asked him if he heard the same thing. His confirmation didn’t make me feel better. I took a quick note of her attitude and judging by her posture and body language, she was Ridglea Theater staff.

As Toot and I made our way towards the incline that led down in the standing area, I took one good look at massive, black NSFWKND banner with a skeleton hand covering the state of Texas. California band Extinguish was on stage showcasing their brand of metallic hardcore. I was nothing short of impressed by the band’s sound, very raw and heavy to say the least. My attention was fixated on Extinguish for a bit before I made the recurring observation that this wasn’t an ordinary fest. More than anything, NFSWKND was a front for the official California takes over Texas weekend, considering a good number of the bands reside in the Golden State. The preceding hype around this festival was warranted, due to the fact of the Bay Area band Gulch’s final hooray. There was no wonder as to why the event sold out as quick as it did, it was going to be the one for the books.

The theater began to fill out a little more with the beautiful faces of my friends that I have watched grow for many years. As seconds turned into minutes, my heart expanded and increased in warmth; it’s a natural response when I’m engulfed by the reciprocated love from my peers. Love and gratitude quickly became the forefront emotion, embraced by warm hugs and handshakes every time I turned around. The smiles revealing the pearly whites of Texas hardcore flooded my vision, overwhelming yet non- intrusive. Seeing everyone all in one place, all there for the same reason, to enjoy the music that brought us altogether was by far the most wonderful experience an individual could ever experience. Along with the familiar faces followed by the newer, younger individuals that became a part of the scene in recent years. Being a dad of a 13-year-old daughter, father mode kicks in when I see the younger generation, almost as if I have to protect like they are my own. The thought was a bit silly to me for a while but as time passed, it made sense to me as to why the feeling occurs; father-like tendencies. As the thought occurred, Bella introduced me to Isaac, the newest young gun on the block that shared the same age as my child. “Hmm, maybe I should start to bring Audrina to shows.” I told myself. The notion changed quickly minutes later as I noticed the moshers, “I’ll be damned.”

Is this the line for the merch?

There was no way the 2-re- entry rule was going to cut it. Not only did I make the mistake of not fully charging my camera battery, but I also had plans on taking photos outside of the venue. Of course, I was going to eat, walk to the 7-11 to get a slurpee and if I see someone I didn’t know or haven’t met yet, I was going to hold a conversation. It was imperative for me to find a loophole. Spidey senses were tingling behind me from behind the curtain, there was an obvious exit sign that spilled out into the parking lot behind the venue, in plain view of my truck. Feeling like a found the golden ticket to the chocolate factory, I scurried back inside to take photos of No Right. No Right is a heavy hitter from California that I wasn’t aware until they began to play, I felt ashamed of myself for not being aware of them before. I was exceptionally pleased with their set; their blend of screeching vocals and chaotic metalcore in my opinion. The crowd moved in closer as they began to play, and the pit grew a bit. I became a fan of No Right within an instant.

After the No Right Set, I began making my way up to the merch area. It was pointed out to me that merch area was taking up the entire Ridglea Room. It came as to no surprise that the room was packed, considering the number of bands that were present. Walking at steady and even pace up the incline, I gave out more hugs and shared more smile with familiar individuals and carried a brief conversation or two. There was a line starting from the entrance of the room, outlining the front of the bar and disappeared after it curved around the seating area. My stride carried me around the outside of the line and ended up in the sound booth, lacking equipment for obvious reasons. It was difficult to tell if anyone was getting shirt or if they were in the middle of a conversation. It was easy to pick out the participants that were sitting down, it was the ones that were standing near the table that were hard to tell. If this was a part of a movie, this scene would be resembled a packed flea market or vintage clothing convention, swarming modern young adults conversating, consuming and socializing. I felt the essence of what it is like to be a photojournalist; an observer with a camera in hand, ready to steal a visual in real time to tell a riveting story. I found myself posted in parts of the room possessing enough elevation for me to take a photo of the entire scene, to capture everyone and everything all at once. From my vantage point on the stage, I was able to spot more familiar faces. First of contact after I came down from the Ridglea Room stage was Patrick. Pat is a stout, solid man with the beard of a Viking and a nice full belly to match. His broad shoulders add to the intimidation to his figure. On the contrary is hard for me to look at him anything more than teddy bear with a temper. After a conversation with Pat, I bumped shoulders with Bailey from the band Scowl. Up until that moment, I never recognized the size of his ears. Uniquely shaped and distinctively positioned, I was a little envious. My ears are small, it makes certain headwear look funny on me. Bailey’s ears are situated a little further from his head and sit higher up. Along with perfect head shape, any form of headwear would look perfect on him. A few more candid shots later and I headed back towards the exit, leading into the narrow hallway that led into the theater. The afternoon was still a bit young as I entered the auditorium. The most difficult thing of the night was to avoid staring at how deep the color red was on the curtains. There is a scene in a horror movie from the late 80’s- mid 90’s with the same curtains during the climax of a scene. I wasn’t able to figure out the name of the movie, but I remember the brooding chills it gave me. I shuddered mid stride, disguising itself as minor itch between my spine and right scapula. The space of the room grew with congestion, a mildly drastic change. Things were quickly heating up; participants began stepping forward to create a tighter circle within the pit and moshers were ready to go. This was only early afternoon.

From California with love

I figured out what Aaron Heard was present in the Lone Star State, he plays in Action News. Earlier I spoke with Aaron, but it wasn’t at the best time; it was during a set. Although I was able to hear the conversation, the amplified music from stage stripped away the normal, conversational tone, causing a friendly, screaming match. Afterwards, I just assumed he was there to tag along with one of the bands on tour. I felt like a half- wit when I realized he played in another band outside of Jesus Piece and Nothing. Action News’ latest 7 song ep offers some raw and favorable characteristics of hardcore with a dash of rock n roll, sprinkle a blast beat or two. Another awesome live set checked off the list. Following behind was the Chicago hardcore punk band BUGGIN, led by Bryanna Bennett. I had my attention on BUGGIN for the past 6 months and have been intrigued by the intensity I’ve seen on YouTube so far. The night before they killed the stage at Cheapsteaks in Deep Ellum. I was so awe- inspired that after their set, I didn’t move from the spot that I was in because I was still processing what I witnessed. To have the blessing of witnessing them for the second time in one weekend is something I will never forget.

A low growling noise rumbled from the lower torso region, and it was one of the loudest noises in a festival I have ever heard. I was in disbelief. I couldn’t believe my stomach had the audacity to let out a noise like that with impudence. Not a moment later I was feeling the gut-wrenching twist of hunger. Initially it was a nagging ache, but it quickly felt like a swift kick to the belly. Right before Ingrown was set to play, I grabbed water from the bartender to see if it would help my current state. Ice cold water flushed down my throat and reached its end at the bottom of my stomach. It was important for me to grab food within the next ten minutes before my mood started to change. I was determined to capture photos of Ingrown. The style of hardcore Ingrown offers is very fast, heavy and brutal in my opinion. The Idaho three-piece came to Texas to destroy the stage and they did just that. After their set, my hunger gave me no other choice but to turn around and head out through the front to check out some of the food vendors that were a part of the festival. Earlier it was brought to my attention that there was a Mexican vegan food stand and I immediately thought of the one guy I know that would be behind it: Planta Potosi, the vegan taqueria stand. As I took position in front of the stand next to Patrick, another smile appeared on my face when I made eye contact with Cedric, assisting Paul with taking payments for each order. I remember back in the early 2010’s when I became aware of Cedric. One of my first memory of him was flying off the stage at the Door in Dallas (rip) wearing a neon yellow fit, it was impossible to miss and impossible to forget. There were a handful of conversations that occurred, but the smell of the food cooking was what grabbed the majority of my attention. By the time my order was ready, I was on the verge of flipping tables. As I began reaching for my plate of tacos, the pungent aroma of cilantro and onion filled my nostrils with delight. My mouth began to water, and my stomach moved with anticipation. I politely grabbed the green sauce and moved away from the stand with patience and ease. I didn’t want to make any sudden movements, the chances of bumping into someone or completely spilling my meal on the ground were high and I wasn’t going to ruin this moment. With my plate rested on my right hand, I carefully pop the top on the green sauce and pour an even amount of each taco. It seemed as if the sauce laid perfect on the savory tacos on its own, it was just as ready as I was. The next step was to fold the taco up to without spilling any of the contents, I was trying my best to not embarrass front of people. Right before the first bite, I kept thinking about getting a cup of horchata at the 7/11 store within walking distance. Before I changed my diet, a cup of horchata was the drink of choice for the occasion. Since then, it has been years since I have had real Mexican tacos. The next the ten seconds sent me to the heaven that you’ll watch in fictional movies; white doves began circling around me, angels with huge white wings were present and a golden ray of light with no light source shined upon me. Every bite was an experience. For a second, I had doubts, telling myself I was eating meat, but I was fully aware of the false assumption. There I was, standing in the way in the middle of a walking path with no care on earth, vibing and eating. After that wonderful experience, I gave Paul a hug. It was necessary to show my love and appreciation for his existence.

I wanted to lay down, or at least sit down in a comfortable armchair. After eating good food of any kind, I generally want to relax my body and think about what I just ate. Not this time, not in this environment. If I was serious enough, I’d go sit in my truck, but it was way too far for me. To my left was a bundle of congenial energy. It was from a lively, active fellow with a distinctive nose with enthusiasm in his eyes. From his voice and his tone, I was quickly able to tell he’s from California, the obvious surfer overtone in his speech. It was none other than Sammy for the Santa Cruz band Drain. The first few seconds of the conversation was a reminder to why I love hardcore; no sign of pretentiousness in his casual vocal delivery. The initial greeting felt like a friend I haven’t seen in forever, a rare feeling coming from meeting someone for the first time. I have no clue about the history of his background but off of first impression, Sammy either had good home training, raised right or something beyond my knowledge. Out of curiosity and the for the sake of the conversation, I asked him what his favorite thing about Texas was. “Everyone I have met here is so nice and welcoming here”, he replied. I felt my southern, hospitable pride expand within my heart. My chest stuck out a little more than usual in response to his answer. He continued by mentioning the part of California he resides isn’t so welcoming. There was a bit of confusion leading into curiosity helping shape my facial expression. I never been to California before, I was eager to gather as much information as I could to understand what he meant. “Yeah, people in my area aren’t so welcoming to strangers. If you are from there, yea sure, they are your homies. Not everyone is welcoming to newcomers.” Texas is all I know, followed by how my mother raised me. Hospitality is one of those character traits that is embedded in me, anything outside of that is foreign. In that moment, I wondered how I would react to different parts of the nation where hospitality isn’t the cultural norm. Sammy proceeded by asking me where I was from and what do I do. “Born and raised in Dallas for majority of my life, but I am currently living in Denton which is about 40- 45 minutes north of here. So yeah, D/FW!” I replied. I continued on with the deep dive into the cowboy culture along with the love, respect and admiration for the lifestyle. “On weekends, I’m riding horses or I’m practicing roping, hoping I’ll be able to become a part of the rodeo circuit in my future.” Sammy was intrigued as I continued, “ I even brought my rope with me” I exclaimed. Sammy’s eyes widen with excitement, like a kid’s first time in LegoLand. He then tells me that one of the members in his band is deep into the cowboy culture where he is from and he would love it if I brought my rope on stage. “ Alright now, I’m not going to be responsible if I rope someone in the neck”, I laughed. “Well you definitely have the green light from me!” Sammy replied. In that moment I thought about the sudden burning sensation on the skin from the blend of the twisted nylon and polyester filament of my rope. “Oooo wee”, I spoke to myself, “ that is not going to feel good”.

I headed back inside to take photos. Bib was next to hit the stage. Prior to the previous night, I never heard of Bib before, nowhere near my radar. Their set at the pre-show was amazing, full of maniacal energy that ignited out of nowhere. Bib is definitely hardcore with a blend of the kind of dirty rock and roll that inspires cheap beer and bar fights. Watching this Omaha, Nebraska band live was nuts, especially with the exceptional mosh parts that had me jumping in my boots. Up next was Pain of Truth, heavy hardcore band for New York. There has been a lot of light shining on Pain of Truth recently. Their 2020 ep No Blame, Just Facts gained a ton of attention in the hardcore community. Their level of straight- forward aggression, mixed in with a bit of groove and stylized NY vocals, Pain of Truth didn’t come to Texas on bullshit. Every stage the band has stepped foot has been nothing short of a riot, probably one of the most hard- hitting pits I have seen in a long while.

Royal Rumble ‘96

At this time, the early evening was setting in. I walked outside to get some air and retrieve the rope from my truck. The continual breeze was a gentle reminder of the season that exposes the bluebonnets and opens up local shaved ice stands. The image of a tall cup of blue raspberry Slurpee appeared in my mind, it reminded me of my adolescent summers. I made a mental note of it as I headed back inside.

The viewpoint from the stage offers a different perspective on what’s going on at a sold-out, hardcore festival. Looking into the crowd, you are able to observe the facial expressions of many participants all at once. Majority of the crowd was able to maintain their high level of energy so far. By this time the standing area and the rows of seats were packed. From then onward, it was going to be non- stop action. Los Angeles’ very own, Zulu was setting up to play. Their name and their stage presence alone are enough for you to what you need to know and why they are one of the hottest bands out right now. All black power violence band with their signature groovy flavor in hardcore, thunderous breakdowns and a powerful message. I had the pleasure of watching them perform at PromCore late 2021 and the previous night at Cheapsteaks, needless to say, both performances have been electrifying. Feeling the energy in the room was catered by intensity: people were READY to go off. This was towards the tail end of the bill with Gulch headlining. People that had to work the morning shift at their job were spilling in just in time to catch the height of the festival. With a flash, the first note strummed, and the pit erupted in, Zulu was in full effect. It was a beautiful sight to see young, talented, Black musicians showcasing what they do best in front of a multicultural audience. It was gratifying to share this moment with the band and all of my friends as we witnessed.

Oddly enough, it felt as if the set was shorter than expected. I wasn’t totally sure if it was meant to be that way or was my mind playing tricks on me. Judging by the body of language, the set was done. I stood up from the kneeled position to check out some of the photos that I took, my knees felt a bit sore from kneeling during the other sets. Braxton, the guitarist of Zulu, begins to talk on the microphone. Curiosity took my attention away from my camera screen to give him my ears. “Shout out the sound guy for putting on a fucking MAGA hat during our set” he yells into the microphone. The blood that was circulating through my veins began to rise in temperature, but I was also a bit confused. Throughout the day, I made a few observational notes on the staff at Ridglea, mainly to distinguish who they were. I was totally unaware of the sound guy throughout the entire day, completely under my radar, I immediately skimmed through the photos of the band playing prior to Zulu, to see if I was able to spot the hat. I wasn’t about to tell, I had so many photos to search through just to find one thing. My nerves started to get the best of me, I was getting a bit antsy, but I was able to pull myself together for the time being. From the right corner of the stage, I walked a few steps forward, ending up four feet behind the drum set, directly behind Braxton. The sound guy ended directly in front of him, antagonizing him to fight. I wasn’t going to allow the sound guy to make a swift move on Braxton, not while I was standing right there. That was moment I realized there was an irreconcilable situation brewing and it had to run its course. I found myself behind the curtain as the sound guy brushed past me. I was to see the contents of his hat, “Make America Great Again”. Tensions were now extremely high. Band members of other bands were becoming increasingly upset. The sound guy continued to harass and antagonize people on stage. He began to antagonize people in the crowd, screaming threats, slurs and other vulgarities that no one deserves to endure. Things were getting too far out of hand; my intuition was telling me this wasn’t going to end well for someone. The next few seconds was filled with silence, an eerie calm before the storm. Growing up in Dallas, I knew all too well what that meant. The brief pause was only momentary, just enough to raise the hair on the back of the wolf that is half a step closer to pouncing on his prey. It was as if things slowed down in that moment, the perfect time to become aware and prepare for the sudden jerk of excitement. I took a deep breath allowing more airflow into my lungs, giving more push to the flow of adrenaline in its present state. “Not so fun weekend”, I chuckled to myself. Sudden, sporadic, unusual body movements began, followed about a lot of noise from the crowd and obstacles clashing into each other. People that were already on the stage began rushing to the left side. We were now in the middle of a full-blown royal rumble on the Ridglea Theater stage. Fists and feet went flying, aiming at the oppressor. Screaming and shouting hovered of the brawl like a thick cloud of smoke during a forest fire. Faces of anger and aggression filled my vision, followed by the staff poorly detaining the situation. The chaos ensued while somehow ending up behind the curtain, right in front of the exit door. It was then that I was able to look into the eyes of the oppressor. His face was bloody and lumpy, but I was able to see the ignorance in his soul and the deviance in his character. The audacity of this man to spread his hate amongst the innocent was inexcusable. In response, he served a cold plate of resistance and consequence of his actions. The repercussions were well deserved. After a few more words were said, and he was physically removed out of the venue. The show was able to get back to where it needed to be.

Texas Size Hardcore Rodeo

Tension calmed down a tad after the sound guy was kicked out of the venue. One was able to tell the adrenaline was still pumping in some individuals, all too familiar, lingering effects of a brawl. After retrieving my rope, cowboy hat and camera, I found myself behind the curtain on stage right, adjusting my camera setting. I felt a bit of anxiety coming from the right. My peripheral caught sight of a rose red dress pacing in the tiny space. The white Chuck Taylors continued to move in a nervous pattern on the floor. I looked up to see Kat having the pre-performance jitters. “I don’t why I get so nervous before performing.” she said, continuing her pace. Empathy began to settle internally as I notice the small bit of stress in her face. “You got this, trust and believe you got this. This is just a cake walk for you.” I said, in attempt to help calm her nerves. I don’t know if it helped much but I wasn’t going to sit there without saying anything, every little bit helps. I took a half of a step back to get out her way, I felt like I was crowding the area a little bit too much. I glided over to my usual spot as I watched Malachi, Bailey and Cole set up. Within seconds, Scowl began rocking the stage and Kat came blasting to the front of the stage with a burst of energy. Watching Scowl is nothing short of a good time, like watching rowdy kids hyped up on Kool aid and honey buns, having a buttload of fun at the playground. The bigger part of me didn’t want to take any photos of them. I had so much fun watching Kat running back and forth across the stage, handing the mic to the fans as they sang along and screaming her heart out. I admired her ability to shrug off her anxiety with in the drop of a hat. There was an abundance of energy filling the entire theater and I was so grateful to be witness them on a huge stage like this. I started to feel proud of how far they have come and for their future, it was inspiring to say the least. I tried to enjoy as much as I can without forgetting to snap a photo here and there. It’s extremely tough being a photographer at a hardcore show, the urge to stagedive or head walk was nearly unbearable. It made me happy to look out into the crowd to see my friends mosh, two step, and show off the acrobatic skills as they flew off the stage.

Before long, Scowl’s set ended. I wasn’t ready for it to end but we still have a handful of bands left. My energy was beginning to wear thin; I was getting hungry again as I was thinking about those delicious tacos I had earlier. I decided to step outside to grab my hydro flask to chug some water. The wonderful thing about hydro flasks is the water stays cold and remains refreshing. I nearly gulped all of the water out of the flask before closing my truck door. I intended on going back inside until a nice eastward breeze brushed against me. Sunami wasn’t playing yet, so I stayed outside to socialize and conversate. I always feel socially awkward when I’m surrounded by people. It was a short-lived awkwardness though; I was surrounded by familiarity which ultimately calmed my nerves. Every so often I found myself keeping an eye on my surrounding. Each individual possesses their own beauty that made them who they are, their own style, their own way. It was amazing to see so many unique individuals together in one setting. The intriguing part was you weren’t able to tell who was who or why they were until you held a conversation with them. From there I was able to tell their purpose. There wasn’t much an ego present, just people enjoying life, or at least at face value. From an outside perspective, it looked like a bunch of ungodly heathens sitting outside waiting for trouble. After I snapped a few candid photos, I made my way back inside to watch the San Jose band, Sunami. There has been a significant amount of hype around the band for a while. Every since the video of their first show that popped up online a few years ago, they seem to be the powerhouse of their scene. Their style of modern beatdown is austere and intimidating. Most people prefer to stay on the sidelines instead of being in a Sunami pit. If my glasses didn’t snap during LDB, I would’ve been a willing participant but, it was best for me not to. Watching the band was an experience more than anything. It felt like a happening rather than a performance, like an awe- inspiring event.

It was imperative that I charged my phone for a little bit so I had to go back to my truck to solved the low battery issue. Surprisingly, my camera battery last this long as well. I was adjusting the coils on my rope the same way I was taught as I was walking back into the theater. Earlier in the day, while adjusting my camera, I was approached a bald, stocky gentleman with glasses by the name of Brandon. He spotted the rope in my hand and proceeded to ask me if I was a roper and or if I was holding it just for show. I told him that I picked up roping not too long ago and practiced every afternoon in my backyard. That conversation motivated me. I was eager to show him that I am a decent roper by roping some bat- shit crazy stagedivers during Drain. I wasn’t aware that I ended up front and center on the stage fixing my rope until I heard the crowd cheer. That was the least expected response of the night, almost as if I was going to perform something. It felt like it was all eyes on me. Within the second, I was able to understand why Kat’s nerves were wrecked before her performance. The anticipation was rising again, this time it was for Drain. The Santa Cruz band is a band you will never forget. They are such a phenomenal band to witness on stage. Although they been to Texas before, this was my first time watching them live. Needless to say, I was just as excited to watch them. Youtube videos of their live set is a treat to view; Sammy always has this intense amount of energy that I was finally able to observe up close. Almost immediately, the stage was filled with rowdy stagedivers as Drain began to play. I began to swing my rope high above my head as I watched each individual. Roping stagedivers was a little more difficult than roping cattle or roping a dummy. When roping an animal, especially on a horse, you’re swinging a giant size loop around your head and then casting the loop in a downward angle, towards the head of the cattle. Roping fast moving humans is a different story; their arms are flailing everywhere and its so many people moving around at once you can’t tell who you’re going to rope. The first time I casted my rope out was a failure. I immediately snatched my rope back, recoiled it to try again. I studied the divers more intensely now and I decided that I would aim at the feet. Right as things started to get hectic, I took two steps back and casted my rope downward. I saw a kid step his left foot into the loop and immediately pulled my slack to lasso his ankle, nearly tripping him into the crowd. I thought it was the coolest thing ever to see my roping skills to being put to use on stage. After loosening the rope on his ankle. I recoiled my rope again and told myself I was going to rope one more person before I take photos. Chris Rissler was holding my camera at the time, he and I both agreed that he wasn’t going to shoot the entire set, he wanted to stage dive as well. This time I was certain I was going to rope someone else. I swung my rope around 4 times, waiting for a group on people to crowd the stage. As Drain was reaching towards a breakdown, I cast my rope into the air from the mid corner of the stage towards the middle. My loop began to float over everyone for a split second before gravity pulled it down. I felt my rope touch something and yanked back in swift motion. As I pulled back, I felt a sudden jerk with a corresponding tug, as if I caught someone with the loop. My heart skipped a beat, the last thing I wanted to happen was someone gasping for air because I tighten the loop on someone that couldn’t get it off of them. A second or two later, the lasso came flying back at me with force and I recoiled immediately. I put my rope away, took the camera back from Chris so he can have fun and went back to shooting. “Damn, I hope I didn’t rope someone’s neck” I whispered to myself. I felt bad for a second but began shooting Drain, hoping no one was injured.

When a roper catches a bull

It became a pattern to walk outside after every band. I figured “why not”, at this point the rude door lady was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t care about the staff at all after the brawl that took place earlier. I had the proper wristband to walk in and out as I pleased but even then, no one cared. I put my rope away in my truck, it was going to cause more harm than good. It was fun while it lasted but it was time to retire the rope, maybe for another show in the future. I found myself listening to Marty Robbins for a couple of songs and watching John Douch videos on Youtube while my phone charged for a bit. I felt the sudden urge to get out of the truck, knowing me I would’ve stayed there listening to country music as time went by. I wanted to talk to more people anyways, almost as if I needed to meet more new faces. As I walked up, I hear someone yell my name. It was Brandon in the middle of a huddle with his girlfriend, his friend Nevin and Left Hand Leather Goods co owner Nathan. I sped up my walking pace to figure out what he wanted. “Hey! Did you rope my neck?!”he asked with a heighten volume in his tone. My eyes widen in shock, I was right! I did rope someone in the neck! It was the same guy I had a conversation with about roping earlier in the day. The apologies came spilling out of my mouth, followed by a roar of laughter. I felt even worse as he explained how he felt the rope catch onto this neck and how he caught it just in time before it got too tight and threw it back. “Boy you done roped a bull and you were about to get these horns!” Brandon exclaimed. The laughter continued for a good while, followed by a good conversation. I was just glad the situation didn’t get any worse, I wouldn’t know what to do if I got on his bad side.

It seemed as if it was getting crowded out back, almost as if the festival was ending. I was a bit puzzled at first, but I brushed it off to conservate more. More candid photos took place, and more people began showing up. As time passed, I was more puzzled as to why more people continued to spill outside. As I asked around, I finally came to the conclusion that I missed N8NOFACE and Mindforce was setting up to play. I didn’t want to miss not a minute of their set, so I went back inside to make sure I wasn’t going to make the same previous mistake. Hours ago, I walked into the 7/11 to get Slurpee. As I headed toward to the Slurpee machine, I spotted Jay, the vocalist from Mindforce. He had a welcoming energy that I didn’t expect, I assumed New Yorkers weren’t so nice to strangers, but Jay proved me wrong. When I asked him about Texas, he simply replied, “I love how warm it is here!”. As a Texan, his response threw me off. I explained to him that here in the Lone Star State, not only is our weather bi-polar, but our heat is also nothing to be played with. With every comment I made about the heat, he countered with how much he rather be here than in New York. That was the first and longest conversation I ever had with a gentleman from New York. “What a great guy.” I said to myself as we parted ways. Seeing him onstage, get ready to perform was heart- warming. Having a conversation with an artist before they perform changes your perspective on them. It shines light on who they are as a person in real time. Mindforce was one of the sets people were dying to see. I was waiting capture dog pile after dog pile and some kick boxing in the pit. Jay’s heavy New York accent was blast through the mic and the hyperactive crowd showed their colors. For the first few songs, I didn’t snap any photos. I didn’t want to take anymore photos at this point, but I had a purpose to be there. What I found interesting about Jay was his ability to control the crowd and the way he moved about the stage. His movement displayed the skills of a veteran singer with years of hardcore under his belt. It was comparable to watch a masterclass on how to cover the stage. It motivated me to learn from him and his tactics for whenever I perform. Watching Mindforce up close was refreshing, as opposed to watching them from afar in Louisvile.

Gulch

I didn’t move from my spot; it wasn’t necessary for me to do so. I took time to read the room. This was the band folks have been waiting on all night. There were people in the crowd that I haven’t seen until Gulch was setting up. Some of the audience members were on their last breath, mischievous eyes lurking the stage, re-energized one last time. It sucked in a deep breath and caught a whiff of body order. I chuckled because I knew someone on Twitter was going to make a post about hardcore kids lacking deodorant at a show. The collective energy felt like a pressure valve on its way to reach its end, pipes attached to the water heater on its way to burst. Excitement filled my senses, but I remained calm and focused. I wanted to become a part of the mayhem but again there was no way i’ll go back and forth shooting photos. The inner 17-year-old hardcore kid was beating the inside of my chest and I fought back. My purpose was to capture these moments and write the corresponding story, my selflessness prevailed. In front of me it appeared to be some sort of a bunny pinata. Malachi changed into a Pain of Truth jersey; I took it as an indication that he was about to turn into a mosh pit menace. The stage itself was as crowded as the front row, like a 2012 Chief Keef concert. Seconds turned into minutes as Gulch was getting ready to incite the final riot. I made swift decision to move to the other side of the stage, a good decision on my part. It was like watching a orchestra of wolves, awaiting the alpha of the pack to give the signal of war. From my point of view, I was able to see more faces of participants and band members alike. There was a noticeable level of suspense as moshers and stagedivers kept moving around, as if they skipped their anxiety medication on purpose. Elliot kept pacing back and forth, exchanging glances and banter with his bandmates. I admired his chops outlining the sides of his jaw. Although short in height, his body frame was sturdy, his boots planted firmly with each step that he took. The set was bound to begin as the band member took as shot together. Moments later, Elliot expressed his dislike and intolerance for racial injustice and cursed those who disagreed with his stance. With a drop of a dime, it felt like a bomb was detonated. Tumultuous, explosive energy erupted in front of me, I nearly had to duck for cover with camera in hand. Elliot displayed incredible movement and impressive bob and weave skills as attendees took over the stage. Objects and debris were sailing through the air as the pinata was destroyed, including a flying trash can. The scene that unfolded in front me was the purest form of insanity as its finest. Every instance was overshadowed by the last as the disorder continued. There was no room for solace and I loved it, I loved it all. I was in the middle a situation that normal people would fear. From a different perspective, I was surrounded by volatility. To me it felt like home, this is where I needed to be, a place I rather be. Spectating this event reiterated to me one thing; people that attend hardcore shows aren’t regular people, far from normalcy. People who invested their time into hardcore had more than one screw loose and this is the place and time to loosen up more screws. Flying bodies landed on people, people getting hit. At one point, people started throwing their belts on stage while others began using them on each other. It was by the most hilarious sight I have every witnessed at a show.

The Gulch set reached an unfortunate end. For many, that was first and last time they were going to able to experience a set as legendary as it was. Many will go home with bumps and bruises that they will be proud of for days to come, make post and talk about it to the ones that missed out. For Texas folks, the entire festival is going to be talked about for a while. I dubbed this event as one of North Texas’ legendary festivals, amongst the few we experienced over the recent years.

Thank you to:

Extinguish

NO RIGHT

Action News

Buggin

Ingrown

Gel

BIB

Pain of Truth

Zulu

Scowl

Sunami

Drain

N8NOFACE

MindForce

Gulch

and to the man who made it all possible

PARADE OF FLESH