The sensation of the Gillette Fusion gliding down my left cheekbone was refreshing. As the four-blade razor reached the end of my jawline, clumps of fluffy shaving cream containing jet black facial hair fell into the gaping sinkhole, making a soft splash with the residual water from the sink head. The valve was opened enough to allow droplets escape from the rim after every 4th count. My facial skin and the hair follicles were exposed to the fluorescent light that filled my bathroom, followed by the cool rejuvenation from the after shave. The masculine scent of the aftershave tickled my nose, indicating the end of shaving my 5-o clock shadow. I stood in front of the mirror for a moment to reminisce of the times when shaving was the least of my worries. It has been a couple of months since the last show I attended. It felt like a lot more time has passed due to life and everything it tends to throw at me, it wasn’t difficult to see the genesis of the present feeling. Before leaving the house, I took at mental note of everything I had on me to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. The last thing I wanted to encounter was realizing I was lacking what I need to get the photo. A casual exit took place, and a long stride began to reach my mode of transportation. Fortunately, I didn’t have to go far to attend the show; it was located at Andy’s Bar, one of Denton’s prominent venues.

A soft breeze with a hint of humidity floated by, creating a bit of erratic movement on the corners of my buttoned-up shirt. The sweet, masculine aroma from Giorgio hovered above my moustache; I accidentally rubbed my nose after releasing the wrong side of the spray nozzle from the glass bottle. The concrete was hosting each step that I took towards Andy’s Bar, located on the corner of Locust and Oak St, facing west. Andy’s is one of the oldest buildings that occupy the Denton Square. The establishment consists of three levels: a basement level equipped with a full-length bar, bathrooms, pool tables, etc. The second level, or what I consider the main level, is the venue. The dance floor seemed a bit narrower as opposed to the last few years. Recently the building was remodeled, and it seemed necessary. It wasn’t able to tell how necessary it was until I revisited the location. It was a bit difficult to realize there is a bit more standing room now. The stage is high enough for an individual who is 5’5 and up to comfortably rest their elbow on. The bar area is below the staircase the leads to a seating area containing a few tables and highchairs overlooking the general area and the stage from a bird’s eye view. The third level is a higher end bar for a fancy date, Paschall Bar. The size of the space is tiny compared to the other levels. If I were to briefly describe the setting, I could only translate it from a late-night vantage point, modern vintage elegance with hipster undertones. Inside has a sizeable window for the casual drinker or the reserved couple to gaze in the eyes of a summer night and enjoy a strong mixed cocktail, relishing the simple pleasures.

About 15 paces ahead of me intersecting my path were two white males. Both ranging around 6’3 in height, they possess the walk indicating their destination in a less hurried demeanor. Dad hats accompanied their lengthy hair, gently brushing through the air and mimicking the bounce that matched each forward step. As I gained closure on the distance between us, I was able to recognize they were members of the Fort Worth hardcore band Ozone. Walking up to the entrance of Andy’s resurfaced memories from the past recent years. Flashbacks began playing on an old movie reel in my head as I edged closer to the door. I hopped back in the present to greet friends in the scene I haven’t seen in the past few months. I was forced to buckle down for a bit before I was able to step out again. This evening was meant to relieve the stress I have endured during the time. I contemplated on bring my camera but like every other time, I end up bringing it. I found myself waiting to be checked in as a hint of impatience begged for my attention. I didn’t feel like standing there any longer just to walk in. Moments passed as I made eye contact with a tall and slender male with green eyes and round cheeks sitting above his smile, Andrew from Gagging Order as he was walking towards the door. With quick foot work in one swift motion, I slid past the individual checking people in. As I stated before, Andy’s Bar underwent some remodeling in the past, the result of it confused me a bit. I wasn’t used to the change, but I wasn’t opposed of it. Chit chat was in a form of an invisible blanket, hovering over the head of groups of people engaging in sarcastic exchange. The assortment of blue and red stage lights dimmed the exposure, creating large, purple shadows. The natural light coming from the side exit door was only available to those standing next to it for a short time as the evening crawled away. I made it a point to myself that I was going to get a whiskey neat before the end of that night, it almost felt imperative. I wasn’t able to remember the last time I had the taste of Jack Daniels in an ice- cold glass.

The first band set to perform was Visions of Mortality. Prior to the show, I’ve became aware of the recent moniker that bands from Fort Worth had adopted; H817. To me it seemed quite fitting to the musical style of the hardcore bands from the area. VOM is one of the latest and perfect examples to fit the mold. It was the band’s first show, but they looked like seasoned veterans. The way they occupied the stage showed their experience. The answer was the realization that the members were in former and current bands. Their style possessed remnants early Hatebreed, which is proven to showcase an intimidating and compelling performance. After their set, I couldn’t help but to notice the beautiful faces in the North Texas hardcore scene. The vast diversity amongst the crowd occupied the standing room was filled with youthful energy, carrying with it all shapes and sizes of people. The communal aspect in the environment has reached newer heights lately, the feel of camaraderie has also increased with the past six to eight months. I stepped outside to get away from the congestion of huddles. At this point if there was a breeze, it was non- existent to me, only the still, cooler air that catered the evening.

Deepincision were getting ready to perform before I was aware that they were on stage. Sketch’s hair was a dead giveaway as I glanced over my right shoulder to match the consistent movement on stage. The one characteristic about Andy’s I wasn’t aware until now was the amount of space on the stage. For a hardcore band, the space seemed very limited in size, but I was only going off of my personal opinion. Each band so far has made great use of it. Eventually I shrugged the thought away like an intrusive buzz from a fly. I never felt so proud of an underground band the same way I felt of Deepincision. The rate of their exposure has gone up significantly in recent times and it’s well deserved. Their style of metalcore is as chaotic as the energy portrayed in the pit. Watching the band live has always been a treat in my eye for the sole purpose of being able to witness talented musicians ripping the stage apart. Along with the soaring amount of pride, Gagging Order was up next. I remember the feel I got after listening to their ep when it was released a little over a year ago. Their sound was a refreshing bath filled with the pleasantries of lavender after a workday. I was excited to hear a modern hardcore punk band from Dallas with strong roots in the genre’s historical foundation. Timeless in sound and overwhelming, unrestrained energy, Gagging Order never ceases to deliver a raw performance. Robbie hopping into the crowd with the severe lack in hesitation shows exhibits the intense spirit of a true hardcore kid. With the identical amount of energy, he continued with set without skipping a beat.

The sky was the darkest shade of blue, the late evening spilled into the night. It didn’t get much cooler though; the breeze was now absent, yet the temperature remained the same. The orange ambiance of the lights hovering about the Andy’s entrance and the glow from the changing streetlights illuminated my vision. The participants of the show occupied the sidewalks, making it a tad difficult for casual pedestrians and middle-aged couples to walk a straight line without saying “excuse me”. If one were to look up and out in front from where they are standing, a panoramic view from one side of the Denton square would become the subject of focus. Judging the brick of the old historic shopping stores that make up the town’s square maintained its traditional look without sacrificing its sturdiness and modern appeal. I spent a bit of time chatting with friends and fiddling with my camera flash before noticing a group of distinguishable gentlemen. They were roughly 15 feet away from the door, semi-huddled towards the edge of the curb near the uncomfortable, curvy, ugly green benches. They were unfamiliar faces in a familiar place. It was my curiosity sending signals to my brain to get my legs to walk toward the huddle. I wanted to meet them and figure out who they were and why they were there. From the outside, the group fit right into the crowd from the show, so much so that they were able to blend in well enough to become invisible to the glancing eyes. I approached the group without having prior knowledge of who they were and why they were there. When it was brought my attention that the individuals were the members of the headlining bands, I wondered if was out of touch or not paying attention. I held a nice conversation with a member of DOM about the south, our respective DIY scenes, etc. It’s always a pleasure to shake new hands and converse with new minds.

It was the night of Holy Order’s return on stage. It seems like they have been on hiatus for quite some time, a couple of years or probably more. It was more than apparent that I wasn’t the only one anticipating this set. From as far as my memory can go, the last time I witnessed Holy Order on stage was at the Gas Monkey a few years back at the Trouble n Texas festival. Watching the band perform live again was like watching a brother who came home from the war and celebrated his homecoming by sharing war stories. From the looks of it, it was like the band never stepped foot off stage, as if they never skipped a beat, showing true musicianship. Collectively, the DFW scene knows when they see Ty on stage playing guitar in whatever band present at that time, it was going to be a good show. To top it off, the kids occupying the pit were nuts; the heaviness in the Holy Order’s sound was equivalent to a denotator let off explosive moshers in the general standing area. From where I was standing the pit was really compact, leaving minimal room for error. Nonetheless, the crowd gave a welcoming response to their return.

Oddly enough, my salivary glands produced more saliva as the second thought of a whiskey infiltrated my mind. It wasn’t an itch that I needed to scratch, it was more of a treat to myself, a drink to my accomplishments and surviving life. A few steps to my right from the position I was in and a turn of the shoulder was the bar counter. Warmth from an friend reached my heart again as I shared smiles with my favorite bartender Erica. From as far as I can remember, I have known Erica since middle school. I was shocked when I first saw her again in Denton roughly 7 years ago, I assumed I was never going to see her again. I would’ve never thought to see a such a familiar face, deep within my adolescence, in a town full of eccentricities and questionable incidents. From there on, every time I see Erica, there has been nothing short of the purest of love and the spirit of friendship. The single whiskey that was poured into a small glass, the gentleman glass, was refreshing. With age the sour mash taste becomes diluted, almost nonexistent. My taste buds have grown immune. I took a stroll outside to capture a few candid shots for my sake; candid photos are something I adore to the heart.

Be All End All was beginning to play so I hurried back inside before people began to mosh. The first thing striking my immediate awareness was the energy from the vocalist, His movement, the way he took advantage of the stage and stage presence was amazing. It was in harmony with the fast pace and rhythm of the band. The bounce from the punk overtone, equipped for the hardcore two stepper was satisfying. The powerviolence element is very fitting; sonically I believe BAEA curated another nice blend of the two subgenres. With that said, the energy was matched from the crowd as well. It was almost mesmerizing to watch. It was impressed on how the band kept my attention through their entire set. I glared at the vision of thick dreads dancing in the air on their own accord, tracing its print above the spectators. The passing minutes welcomed the final act to the stage. I didn’t know what to expect when it was time for Division of Mind to play. I heard a few tracks from them in recent time, but I was still as curious as a newborn. Few of the finest hair located on the back of my neck began to stand upright. A moment before they began, it felt like it was going to get a little heavier than I expected. Subconsciously, I took two steps back for safety and awareness. My intuition was correct; they were heavier live. DOM offers a brand of metalcore that appeals to grown men, coming in at the weight of 225+ who exhibit unchecked male aggression in this pit that has been built up throughout the week. I would like to point out the level of fierceness I was smacked across the face with the sound from the band. It was feeling that reminded me of the reasons why I enjoyed live shows again. Midway through the set I moved toward the opposite end of the pit for a different point of view. It didn’t make much of a difference but in between steps, it felt as if the energy was becoming more intense. At the point, I decided to turn my camera off. I wanted to get the full experience of their set and savor each moment as much as possible. Involuntary twitches began to occur, it was my brain sending signals to my muscle groups to begin spin kicking and swinging for the fences. Committing to the act failed as it reached to the decision-making aspect of the action, I was worried about my camera, and I wasn’t fully aware of my surroundings. I didn’t want to step into a flying limb while trying to enter the pit, I be damned. It wasn’t long afterwards when the set ended. It felt like they weren’t on stage long enough but only time could tell. I made sure that I thanked them for coming to Texas as I began to say my goodbye to my friends in their own separate huddles. Another great night for Texas Hardcore.