After visiting those two records stores, Portland really
became the first day of tour where we really ran out of things to do, so much
so that we spent a good amount of time parked on the side of the road gestating
in our van. However, that night’s show requires some degree of explanation.
Ages was headlining along with Cruelster, and there were two
local bands, one called “Strikeforce” or “Strike Force” and another I didn’t
know, partially because I slept through most of the pre-show hang-outs and
partially because we didn’t let them play.
We played what I believed to be our most successful show so
far. The performance was streamlined and our songs were free from errors. I
ended up with a scratched face and Yes-Yes earned several new bruises. It was
nice to have a carpeted floor for Yes-Yes to play on. After we finished, Ages
played, then the Strikeforce/Strike Force band went on. From what I could hear,
it was everything I hated about hardcore, so I rested in the van. A few
fleeting punks told us there was a lot of crowd-killing going on, with several
big boys moshing like monsters. More of an intellectual,
read-a-book-over-going-to-a-party type, I have a natural aversion to violence
of any kind, from moshing to military conflict. In a musical setting, it
becomes a “survival of the fittest,” wherein only the strongest men can afford
to partake. This naturally excludes smaller and more peaceful types like me. I
am only 5’7” and I have soft skin. Their violence in a place that is founded
upon the notion of respect and equality for all is what angered me first. What
angered me second is what they said.
Strike Force/Strikeforce dedicated their final song to a
unique pair of people: the singer’s “beautiful girlfriend and her faggot dad.”
To say the word “faggot” in a serious context in front of a large group of
people and especially in such a respectful venue implies participation in the
type of behavior that has and continues to oppress and offend the queer
community. Cruelster and Ages do not, have not, and will never support this or
hate speech of any kind, so I decided to confront them. I first asked one of
the workers at the store if they heard what Strike Force had said. They said,
“Yes,” and that Strike Force will never be allowed to play at Laughing Horse
Books again. Before last note of their last song had fully rung out, I
unplugged the cord from the bass player’s guitar and turned off the amp,
knowing they had borrowed our bass equipment. I stared at him in a
psychological challenge and he offered a white-faced, “Thank you.” I was then
approached by a fellow garbed in a baggy camo sweatshirt. He asked if the next
band, who was comprised of the same line-up as Strike Force, could again use
our bass equipment. My thin red shell of facial skin could barely contain my
anger at such a request, so I asked, “Why did you guys say the word ‘faggot?’”
He gave an honest apology on the behalf of the singer and his band, but I told
him we cannot support that and that we did not want them to use our equipment.
Unless you are known well enough by an entirely crowd, bands should understand
that everything they do as a band is perceived as a collective action. I truly
believe the other members of this band do not share the singer’s views, but
because he has the microphone, because the audience does not know the views of
the others in the band, and because nobody stopped him, all of Strike Force
deserves to be condemned for what their singer said. The camo man asked if I
would hear an apology from the singer himself, as if I was some sort of king of
bass equipment, or, more importantly, as if I was the one who needed to hear
the apology. It should be noted that this was not my bass equipment, but Airick Egan of Ages’; we were just
sharing equipment this tour. Airick was kneeling on the floor nearby,
organizing his cords and pedals. The singer, sweating, tan, and garbed in an
American flag tank top, gave me a sweaty apology, throughout which he didn’t
look me in the eyes. I noticed at this point that a lot of people were
listening to us. I told him to think about who he might be offending, although
I do think that what he said should offend everyone. He said, “I was just
caught up in the moment,” so I told him I didn’t know what moment he was caught
up in. “Wow, this is so awesome, I just feel like throwing around some
homophobic slurs!” They asked a final time if they could use our bass
equipment, so I looked at Airick, who said, “No.” Supposedly they were banned
from the venue and given the option to legally repeal, but instead the band
decided to retract their apology to me say, “That’s gay,” before leaving. Piss
heartily fake laughed, then engaged in a stare-down with American boy.
We blasted out of Oregon and drove straight to San
Francisco. The scenery was enjoyable and we spent much of our time cutting
through clouded mountains. It was too rainy to see the stars but driving
through clouds was just as outer space-like. I drove with Symptom next to me,
and we listened to Dropkick Murphys, NONA, Jeff the Brotherhood, and Cocteau
Twins all the way there. I drank a Mega Monster – they apparently don’t make
BFCs anymore – and Symptom bought a tall Red Bull and a Mountain Dew. I don’t
know what he was thinking. Sugar makes him so apathetic. He eventually fell
asleep and so did I. I knew I was drifting off so I sought a gas station in
which I would either switch with Symptom or buy another energy drink. A police
car started following me, but strangely never pulled me over. I pulled over to
make a U-turn, but the officer had left his car. He told me he saw me swerving
a lot on the mountains and that I was either sleepy or drunk. I told him I was
sleepy and was looking for a place to get another energy drink, glad to be able
to be honest to a figure of legal authority. He advised us to switch drivers
and we did not. Symptom said he was awake but did not want to make me mad by
waking me up while I was falling asleep while driving. He is courteous but also a potential murderer.
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