I had a conversation with somebody recently, and a question popped up: "So what exactly is hardcore?" - And me, Mister Bigmouth Punk Rock Knowitall, I was dumbfounded. "Well, you know... it's kinda hard to explain. It's a subgenre of punk rock. It's loud. I fucking love it." - "But what IS IT?"
How the fuck should I explain hardcore? How do you explain why you love a girl even though she takes all your money, has an ugly personality and goes out with other boys? This pretty much sums my relationship with this bitch called hardcore. I love her and I hate her. But every once in a while, she puts on those clothes that make me feel all horny and then she gives me a 13 minute quickie. She calls herself Deep Sleep then, and recites her badly written poetry that made me fall for her in the first place: "I want to fuck. I want to scream. I want to destroy everything. I want to kill. I want to burn. Won't cry now, cause I never learned. I want to do everything. I want to make my heart explode. I want to do everything. I want it now and again and again and again and again." - I love you, babe. Even though you steal your riffs from other babes.
Enter her prettier twin sister who isn't a Virgin anymore (she also went out with other hardcore boys), but a Vrgn. Miss Vrgn offers a nice threesome, and when when get you right down to it, she offers oozin' aah choruses. I'm all hers.
So, well... THIS is hardcore. This lady uses curse words and screams, she sweats and spits and hates everything, she smiles through broken teeth, but she always keeps her head up high. She's not like those plastic boobed girls in porn movies, she's REAL. And no, I can't explain why I'm still a sucker for hardcore. But I am. Thanks for reminding me once again...
Shit, I can't even remember the last time when a band sent me their demo... I think it was around 1912 or something. On a shellac. But there's still punk bands, and to my surprise punk bands still make demos... anachronism rules. Big time. Well, at least in my punk world. (Fuck you.)
So let's see past the "packaging" (which is basically just a CD-R in an unprinted paper sleeve, which - to make things worse - looks like Papa Roach...) and let's see past the horrible band name as well... this could be anything. Skapunk maybe. Or metalcore. But let's pop the fucker in and... aha... interesting sample... holy shit! This is good! These kids thrash! Like fast and ugly! Speaking of ugly, the sound quality sucks, like 8 out of 10 on my personal suck-o-meter. But wait a minute... I stand corrected, because I actually like the sound. The sheer ugliness reminds me of one the few records from way back when that actually stood the test time. There's a little bit of D-beat here, some (how original!) Tragedy guitar wanking, death growls, you name it. The vocals are somewhere between Pushead and that Colohan dude you love to hate, the lyrics deal with all the things you'd expect and then some, but this is how it's supposed to be. Let someone else have the whiny bullshit. I am not going apeshit over this band (yet?), but I guess I will see them in a dirty stinking basement soon enough.
This band fucking rules. This album fucking rules. No, really. I am literally kicking my ass for sleeping on their first four (!) records. What the fuck has been wrong with me all these years?
A gentleman from Dillinger Four plays in this band. They are from Chicago and sound sometimes like that one band you have never heard of. No, the other band. But that's too obvious, isn't it? Phew. Fuck you. I knew it. All right, some more coffee, and then let me try to explain...
Any halfway decent rock and roll album needs an opener that kicks in with a bang (check). It needs melodies (check), punches (check), amazingly witty lyrics (check) that could be short stories (check) instead of classic rock blurbs about girls and cars. (Only one man can pull this shit of, and you all know that I am not talking about Mike Ness.) British pop influence (check) is always a plus, awesome vocals (check) can't hurt either.
So it's all there... a great fucking ass kicking rock and roll album with the potential to corrupt the morals of the youth in a fucking positive way, an album that's your best drinking companion, your co-pilot on night drives, awww... fuck it. Just rock and fucking roll, no bullshit. If you buy this record, you're probably going to hell. But you'll go to hell knowing that you made this world a better place and your life less miserable.
The most retarded band in the history of punk... and it even gets more retarded by the minute. They wrote some of the catchiest songs ever, but why the fuck do they still walk among us?
Yeah, that's right... this is my first real solo art show.
This is what (some of) my loved ones have to say:
"Thomas Reitmayer. A man with a plan. What plan is that? I have no fucking clue. I bet he doesn't either, but that's fine. The plan at hand and the ends to achieve are unimportant. The thing to pay attention to is the means. You see, I know for a fact that Thomas is a big fan of Ed Templeton, of the Dischord and SST labels and artists, and, (in an exercise of lazy journalistic comparison considering this is a brief blurb for a photo exhibit), of Glen E Friedman. Like them, his work ethic is one based on effort and love. Giving 1000% just because you love what you're doing. Rewards and end results are unimportant. You do your shit. And everything else is just filler. Gray area. Bubble wrap around a new shiny toy. This becomes much too evident looking at the images before you. In an age where easily accessible technology makes a 'photographer' out of anybody with too much time and money on their hands, Reitmayer's pictures show an obvious link and a veiled homage to those who made history locked up in a dark room inhaling toxic chemicals. They are alive, plain and simple. Vibrant in their black and white, inanimate objects and anonymous landscape shots seem to have a strange, creepy energy to them. They live. And in this day and age that's pretty much all you can ask of anything that gets pushed your way." - Elías Martínez
"I clearly remember the first time I met Thomas Reitmayer. It was a January sunday night in Vienna, actually my first time there, playing with Obstacles at one of the small venues in the Arena area. After being introduced to him, we quickly found out that we shared common ground with our views on punk rock and aesthetics.
Thomas has always been a loyal supporter of Obstacles, but also one of our most vicious and honest critics - instantly spewing out his opinions, pros & cons with no filter whatsoever. As a friend and an artist, this honesty really means a lot. He always shows a "middle-finger-attitude" towards the world we live in, but when you get to know the person showing this middle finger, you meet a very heartfelt and generous person. Every time we play in Vienna, we know that Thomas will be there, taking pictures of us, sharing what is going on in his life, letting us crash on his floor and giving us lessons on the importance of Bruce Springsteen while we're all, in our drunken state, giving eachother stick 'n poke tattoos until the sun shows its rather unwelcome face in the morning.
Thomas Reitmayer has been a prolific personality in a wide palette of activities concerning the realm of punk rock and skateboarding culture in Europe for longer than most of us can even remember: running a record and skateboard store, releasing records, doing graphic art and posters for bands, documenting all of this with words and pictures along with his companions in the highly regarded GLW/DRK Magazine, and now having his debut exhibition of his photographic works entitled "Here, My Dear".
Until now, I was only familiar with Thomas' live-music photography through his modest, but beautiful spiral-bound book "Listen to Your Heart" - a documentation of various punk rock shows and, even more important, the faces behind the music. While asking me to write a few words about him, Thomas introduced me to his other work for the first time. First of all, I must admit that I, despite my slight interest in art and aesthetics, don't know a lot about this. So, these are not the words from some sort of art critic, but rather words from a person who has no idea about what he's talking about besides what he feels... Folks, isn't that what's the most important thing when it comes to art after all?
What’s striking me when I look at Thomas' work is the subtleties of his imagery. All the photographs are black & white, analog, raw, yet clear, and to some extent very fragile. They seem to have a diary-ish value, as they document sporadic captures of moments that could seem to be very everyday-like, both in their warmth of smiling faces and motives of objects that are fond to the artist, but also in their exploration of random details in the streets that you probably wouldn't notice by the first glance. These explorations, these captures of "common people", tell a bleak yet beautiful story of solitude, but what makes them special is that they never lose a sense of hope! These "common people", static objects, living statues in busy surroundings that are always moving, always on the run, seem peaceful and well aware of their relation to what is going on around them. Maybe they, like the Thomas Reitmayer that I know, show a refusal to be part of this stressful hassle that our world is built upon. I can only guess and speculate about what he wants to tell us. What about you? What do you think? Listen to your heart..." - Jeppe Street Jarlstrøm, Obstacles
There will be a limited and handnumbered fanzine.
January 17th, 2011 through Feburary 19th, 2011 Hours: Mon through Fri 12 - 6 PM, Sat 12 - 5 PM
Depending on which dictionary you use, growth is, among many other things "development from a simpler to a more complex stage", or "something that has grown or developed by or as if by a natural process".
Yes, people still use books to look up things. You know, those funny things with words on paper. Some people even still read books, even punks. And now get this: some punks even read books and put quotes from books in the liner notes of their albums. Ain't that weird? Duh!
Every once in a while, you come across a record that knocks off your feet, for whatever reason. Rebellion is one of these records for me, and yes, I will say it gladly: it's in my top ten of 2010. The title of this record is a fuck you in itself: you look at the cover artwork, you either catch yourself thinking "Ow, so these dudes have grown up, and they are angry about whatever", or, more likely: "Shit, they want to cash in on ths success of Anti-Flag". But my friend, you couldn't be further from the truth... let me explain:
Yes, in some ways this is about rebellion itself, because the music here is much harsher and angrier than on their previous record, but that's where the story ends. You are only scratching the surface here, which is cool, but you are missing out. Big time. So take the record title, and juxtapoze it against the Dostoyevsky quote in the insert:
"One can hardly live in rebellion, and I want to live."
The fists were buried in pockets, now they are clenched. Not swinging blindly, though - this is not a record about scene politics or punk rock gossip, this is a record about personal growth, and trying to find your place in a world you don't necessarily like - because "you need to leave from the edge of uncharted lands. / The dark spots on maps where no person has ever been before." This is a record about hope. Not sitting over beers, sighing, but getting the fuck up, doing what has to be done, getting out of whatever shithole you are in, literally or figuratively: a town, a relationship, a bad situation.
And the music? Oh wow. The first song on the record alone is a far cry from previous The Riot Before songs, more Jawbox than Ann Beretta, and probably not due to the fact that Mr J Robbins has been producing this. From a personal experience, I think it's safe to say that these gentlemen are men of taste (not always when it comes to footwear and belt buckles, though). And these gentlemen know how to write a good song. It is essentially pop punk, yes, but this is a not a four letter word. And fuck it, I just decided I'll not drop any reference points here.
Rebellion is a record that grows on you. It's a record that will love in six months, and a record that you will fully come to appreciate and understand in a year. (If you are me, at least.) Until then, it will be a good travel companion through the trials and tribulations of life. Oh, and the good times as well.
I had a conversation with somebody recently, and a question popped up: "So what exactly is hardcore?" - And me, Mister Bigmouth Punk Rock Knowitall, I was dumbfounded. "Well, you know... it's kinda hard to explain. It's a subgenre of punk rock. It's loud. I fucking love it." - "But what IS IT?"
