Texas evenings wear the alluring disguise of the early afternoon in the summer season, almost identical but not quite. The unwarranted, blazing heat penetrated through layers of sand that are formed and shaped into the modern windshield with facile precision. It’s early June and this is only the beginning. In Texas, the superficial layer of the human epidermis sizzles against the unwelcoming, ultra-violet rays. As I travel through the memories of the distant past, my thoughts stopped abruptly at the memory of an older gentleman in his early 40’s that I have encountered at a local hole in the wall less than a decade ago. A thin layer of fog clouded the clarity of this memory. The correlation between the memory and the present day was unclear until I remembered the connection between time and space: it was another hot summer, not quite like this, not yet at least. The gentleman was inebriated, a half-full can of Lone Star beer danced in his left hand with a tilted cowboy hat and a home-grown southern accent that reeked with ignorance and southern comfort. “The only difference between hell and Texas is a cold beer'‘, the gentleman said as he towered over me. The sound of a muffled chuckle made its departure through the small opening of my lips as I shifted back to the present. Moments after, I began to wonder about the health of the intoxicated southern gentlemen in my memory.

I noticed the absence of clouds from the audacity of the natural light bouncing off the pearl white coat of my truck, exposing the mud and dirt on my tires and the front-end bumper. A part of me despised the thin layer of orange dirt that laid three inches above the bottom of the crew cab. I parked in the adjacent lot that was located across the street from The Rail Club in Fort Worth. It held its place as an unofficial lot, considering the lack the yellow or white outlined parking spaces & how uneven the land is. It contained small, grassy inclines that seemed to be the adversary for sports cars. The sun was beginning the last song for the evening as I observed the familiar environment I found myself in again. There was a line of contemporary youths that wrapped around the building that sat on the corner of Slocum Ave and Joyce Dr. Between the observing moments of consciousness and awareness, I was able to make the comparison between today’s youth and the youth of the past generations. What I appreciate about the past is it can foretell the future from many perspectives. What I was witnessing in front of me was the current underground diversity that has taken place in this nation decades before. Youths from a wide variety of subcultures co-existing in one building for one purpose and exchanged US currency for one reason: entertainment. Curiosity appeared, taking a brisk walk down the lane of questions in my mind as I stared at a few participants that wore layers of clothing. One of the participants in line wore the classic crust punk uniform; black leather vests with spikes nestled between the fabric on top of the shoulder. Lord knows I couldn’t stand outside with all of that on, I had an episode where my consciousness shifted from internal thoughts to external speech. I wasn’t able to fathom the temperature between the participant and the layer of clothes. I’d died if I didn’t have a least a gallon of water at the hip!

I made it clear to myself that there was no way in hell I was going to stand in line. Long strides began after looking left and right to make sure it was safe to cross the street, something a loving mother always teaches their children. As I approach the back of the venue, one of the first few faces I encountered was Elijah Heaps. Four or maybe five years have gone by with a bit of swiftness since one of my first few encounters with Elijah. The amount of time that has passed between us stunned my awareness momentarily. Witnessing his growth and evolution is similar to observing the growth of children. With the credit given, it was heartwarming to see Elijah alive and well, in the flesh and for that moment, in spirit. With full embrace, we exchanged a hug and I was able to let go of the seriousness and stiffness I possessed beforehand. I was able to relax. It was good hearing his voice as we engaged in a conversation to catch up on life. He maintained his tall, lean figure and his lengthy, brunette head of hair that possessed a bit of a bounce to it every step that he took. I always thought he would be the perfect goth-alternative model, even from years ago. My awareness kicked back into gear as I observed the face paint that he wore for the night. This wasn’t the first time I have seen him with face paint but at that moment, a tad of prescience settled in and made it clear that I was going to see more painted faces soon. An energetic yet distinctive baritone voice with a southern accent double dipped in Texas BBQ sauce caught the attention in my left ear. Immediately, I matched the voice to its owner; Lil Texxan. I’ve carried an abundance of admiration for Lil Texxan; his ability to be unapologetically himself over the years that I have known him is a testament to individualism in my perspective. My memory takes me back to when I encountered Lil Texxan at the Green Elephant years ago. He carried the same energetic vibe that he carries in the present day as I shared a blunt with him back then. It’s infectious, to say the least. There are people on this earth who possess the kind of energy that is not only welcomed but appreciated. The contagious energy that leads to no harm, the energy that perspires laughter and promotes a good time. Lil Texxtan is one of those individuals that have the energy. Shortly after catching up with Texxan, I fell back into observation mode, examining my surroundings.

Small groups of artists and their associates occupied small parts of space behind the venue, loitering and engaging in casual banter. I find myself making mental note of the current fashion trends and finding amusement in checking out what threads and fabrics young adults decide to come out of the front door with. Many young adults wear t-shirt & pants or shorts with an attractive logo from an underground fashion company that many are hip to. Sometimes the footwear is where it makes a difference; Vans, White or Black Air Forces, Jordans, YUMS, Bapes, etc. There are always a number of individuals that put more effort into their appearances; adding various colors to their hair and outfits, more face paint, decorated vests, fishnets, combat boots, etc. One might suggest a fusion of the punk rock anti-fashion with modern hip-hop characteristics, a Mad- Max twist covered by a vibrant rainbow. I realized how close I was to the back door when a pair of blue eyes tucked behind the brow bone, surrounded by pale skin with a chiseled jawline that sat underneath a mischievous grin. Another head of long, brunette hair trailed behind the heavily tattooed neck; it was Ashxs. He barreled out of the door, pulling with him a tub of water balloons that he filled up with a few helping hands. A few water balloons launched from his hands and into the air that contained Texas’ signature humidity. The first thing that caught my attention was his outfit. After the short water balloon massacre, I greeted Ashxs to let him know I have arrived. The black button up was decorated with a flawless red, pink, and green floral print with matching shorts. The black slip shoes what stealth logo that shined as a result of the reflection from light at an acute angle. It was at that moment I realized Axhes was GUCCI’ d down, GUCCI to the floor, GUCCI from head to toe. His drip was impeccable. That's a considerable amount of drip on a man.

Fortunately, I made it at the right time because the show has yet to begin so I found myself walking around the stage, checking out all the colors that were screaming from the stage lights that exposed the patience of the crowd or the lack thereof. Through blind eyes, one can still see the magnitude of the energy coming off of the bodies of participants like steam evaporating out of a container. It was electric, it was magnificent. As I edged around the corner of the backstage area, I ran into Ch3xican, photographer and close friend to Elijah. He always had a cool, mysterious vibe to him, similar to a young Johnny Depp after his role in Nightmare on Elm Street. His shades amplified his demeanor, almost as if he was too cool to be there. I always imagined him, Elijah, Ashxs, and Elijah’s brother Nikolai as the modern adaptation of the 80’s movie Lost Boys. Trust me, when you see the comparison, you’ll agree. A sudden blur flashed before my eyes and I found myself engaging in a lengthy conversation with SpaceMan Zack. During our conversation, I was engulfed by his aura and his aesthetic, a lovely comparison between SpaceMan Zack and the local punk scene presented itself to me; authentic and genuine with a fun-loving spirit and a carefree attitude that sparkles in the eye. Shortly after, I picked myself off of the couch and headed back outside to get a quick breath of fresh air. In between the distance from the couch to the outside, I ran into Meka Jackson, CJ Topoff and Auntie Aj, carried a brief conversation with each of them.

The aura of impatience hovered over the crowd like a gloomy cloud hosted by a grey night. The anticipation settled on their faces with beady, attentive eyes. The consistent murmur fell behind a muffled silence; the participants paid the fee for the entertainment and they were ready to unleash whatever they were holding onto all week. An explosion of sporadic movement began to form in the middle of the standing room that immediately caught my attention. Dj Kimblee ignited the riotous bunch with the good ole fashioned Lamb Of God’s wall of death as he played System of A Down’s Toxicity. It was showtime. I scurried to the front of the stage that was loosely barricaded; the makeshift safe zone that wasn’t so safe for photographers. Through the eyes of a hardcore kid, a barrier anywhere in a show that is expected to get rowdy is wholly frowned upon so it was quite normal to feel a high level of disdain at that inexcusable eyesore.

The stage was set for the artist to showcase their energy and talent on stage. Intricate details in a setting like this can be overlooked by the human eye who isn’t observant enough: the height of the stage, the colorful, vibrant fluorescent lights directing the attention to the middle of the stage and whoever is occupying the space, the placement of the speakers, etc, all are apart of creating the godlike illusion of the artist as they perform.

It was apparent that every artist graced the stage emanated impressive showmanship. Some of the artists that stepped onto the stage exposed a bit of nervousness on their faces moments before, but when it was time to let it go, each artist seemed to do exactly that. Through observation and analysis, what catered to the immense amount of energy wasn’t the headliners alone, it was the fact that this event was a multi-genre event. Ashxs’ natural ability to seek a unique group of artists for the proper occasion is a derivative of the rambunctious side of his character, which explains his on and off-stage antics of the night. From an onlooker's perspective, the night was progressing smoothly. If there was an issue between the rotation of each artist performing, its invisible to the naked eye of the general participants. Each artist showcased their ability to make use of the entire stage; casting out their energy and engulfing the crowd effectively. If an audience member wasn’t entranced by the consistent display of entertainment that every artist displayed in their own artistic way, they were creating chaotic, synchronized movements roughly ten feet behind me like a school of fish darting through that water in multiple directions within their diameter.

Restlessness began to show on some of the audience members as time sailed into the night and impatience reared its head for another time; the kids were ready for the headliners to appear. Anticipation began the second brewing as it was edging closer to midnight. There is always a brief moment that everyone knows that headliners are about to present their selves to their fans on the platform they paid to see them on. By this time, the average individual’s pores were involuntarily open, perspiring sweat from the enormous amount of body heat and odor that was trapped inside the tight formation of 800+ people. My cowboy hat created a sizable draft of cool air briefly as I used it as a fan. I came to the realization that the audience members who stood a little over a foot behind me took advantage of the draft when I overheard an exclamation from the voice of a young, petite woman of Hispanic origins say “ I hope this guy doesn’t move, his cowboy hat is kind of like a fan! Girl step in front of me, you feel that?!”. Suddenly, Eddy Baker entered my peripheral vision and began performing, bouncing around on stage as if he was patiently waiting for this moment. The makeshift barricade was shoved all the way to the stage and the Rail Club staff hurried to the front to push back. From my vantage point, it looked like an intense, volatile situation. I shook my head in disapproval momentarily and the shutter on my camera began to fly. The rush of excitement created an amount of unparalleled energy I haven’t witnessed in a long time; I was home. A sense of peace swept over me in the midst of excitement and elation. In a peculiar way that I have yet to find a plausible reason for, I was in my safe space. There was a distinctive roar that began to overwhelm my senses. The crowd erupted into an unpredictable frenzy: Xavierwulf enters the stage from the left side, his right side. It was as if he was a god amongst men, a king amongst his land, a martyr amongst the common folk. This is who the massive sea of people came to see. This is who they came to turn up for. Fans felt exhilarated as the energy heighten, nothing short of an organized riot. By this point ( or way before then in my opinion) that was no use for the barricade, it was non-existent at this point. Although I did understand why it was there, my disapproval didn’t care for reason or safety. Artists and concertgoers began performing acrobatic stage dives into the crowd, somersaulting on top of heads. For a moment, I had the urge to run from behind the stage all the way to the front and catapult my slim figure onto the first few rows of people. The thought of my glasses and my camera breaking quickly concluded my decision. Many artists on stage watched the spectacle with wide eyes that heightened the sense of observation. From the artist's point of view on stage, looking out into the crowd produced an overwhelming sensation; standing above a crowd, and receiving that insane amount of vibrations as your spirit transcends into the atmosphere, similar to an out-of-body experience. Before my awareness kicked in, the show was over. People began to spill out of the front and back entrance to catch a bit of fresh air from the mugginess inside. I stuck around for a little bit to have a chat with Robert and Chance from Gagging Order before I headed to the truck to head home. “Well, I think it’s time for me to get a new pair of boots,” I whispered to myself as the dingy, orange, and white light perched 20 feet above me on the south wall of the Rail Club betrayed that scuff marks on my boots. It was worth it in my opinion. Needless to say, Ashxs brought the summer back.