The Future (Ain’t What It Used To Be)
Leeway fucking rules. I mean, look at the photos of Eddie Sutton in his knee-pads and Celtics jersey and the guitar player with his long hair and sweet bangs. Now, pair that up with a hardcore band from Astoria, Queens that wasn’t afraid to add rapping parts, some faux-Ozzy wailing, a funk break, and heavy-ass chugging parts wrapped around a core of mid-period Anthrax, and you end up with two dynamite albums—1989’s Born to Expire and 1991’s Desperate Measures. While their greatness can never be squashed in my eyes, the ’Way also may very well be the impetus for some of the dreck that was passed off as hardcore in the early ’90s and the yo-core and nu-metal to follow. Oh well. When I force people to listen to Leeway it seems to always be met with the same reaction. At first it’s hysterical laughter and usually by the end of “Mark of the Squealer” they’re begging for it to be turned off. You are either born with the gene that lets one be a Leeway fan or you’re not. I don’t think it’s a taste one can acquire. Cue Layla’s classic “I don’t get it!” None of Leeway’s records are in the MRR collection and I really wanna know if they were ever sent in for review or if they were sent packing during one of the great purges. If they were sent in I wish I could travel back to that moment when Tim Yo first dropped the needle on Desperate Measures and seen his expression. Shit would’ve been priceless.
While we’re on the subject of NYHC, I recently scored a copy of Sick Of It All’s Blood, Sweat, and No Tears after only having it on cassette for the last thirteen years…this record straight-up rips. It’s kinda weird listening to a record after so long and noticing how simple and almost Discharge-esque a lot of their fast parts were. I remember how complex and crazy it sounded to my fifteen-year-old ears. Sick Of It All was the first show where I really remember feeling out of my element and scared to fucking death of my surroundings. I had been to many punk and hardcore shows before this but they were all mostly in my smallish hometown where I knew basically everyone there. Even when “the pit” got crazy at those shows, it never felt uncomfortable. On the other hand, my friends and I had driven to Boston for the Sick Of It All show, and it was the first show any of us had gone to in the city. There were some burly fucking dudes there that night. I remember watching from the side and zeroing in on my friend Hans just as this behemoth Tall Paul un-intentionally smacks Hans square in the mouth. It was almost like it happened in slow motion. Every fraction of a second of it registered in my mind.
As weird as it sounds and as much as this might piss a lot of folks off, I kinda miss that element of fear that accompanied those early years of going to shows. It was thrilling and the adrenaline of it all was a big part of why I was so attracted to hardcore at first. Now, I know you’re probably thinking that punk should be a place where everyone can be able to go and not feel threatened or unsafe—and I agree. That’s not what I’m trying to say and I can only link it to the same reasons why people do things like bungee jumping or skydiving. And seriously, where’s the fun of going to a show where everyone stands around with their arms crossed, talking about whatever the fuck it is that people who talk to other people at shows talk about, clapping when you’re supposed to clap, and then going home and telling the internet how much fun you had and how great that show was. How is that a good time? “Clobberin’ Time,” even if you’re sleeping, you’re moshing.
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As Cissie mentioned in her column, this was our first issue as a two-piece. Hubbsy is here to make sure we’re don’t do anything like run full-page nudes of Bruce Roehrs and shit, but for the most part we’re on that iceberg and they’ve pushed us out to sea. Needless to say it’s been time to show what I’m made of. The bouts of “chair mosh,” tons of houseguests, and blasting the new Skitkids records were a great way to break up the workload. To everyone that had a hand in this issue I’d just like to give you all a huge thanks. This magazine is nothing without everyone’s help. For the full thanks list, it’s right next the Top-Tens on page three. Speaking of shitworkers and helping out, Maximum Rocknroll needs you! Yes, you. If you live in the Bay Area and have any interest in helping out with the month-to-month activities, don’t hesitate to call or write us. If you live outside of the area and can help out with editing or layouts also get in touch! And as 2007 comes to a close I’d just like to say that I will do my best to make sure 2008 will be a great year for MRR. Woo hoo!
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Here’s what I listened to this month: SOIA Blood, Sweat, and No Tears, Judge New York Crew, The Hollies, the new Gauze CD, and Life’s Blood. We also received some killer books this month like Punk Is Dead, Punk Is Everything which as most of you probably know already is the new one from the fine folks that brought us Fucked Up And Photocopied, the Live At The Masque photobook which I’ve only had a brief moment to look over, and the epic John Joseph autobiography Evolution of a Cro-Magnon which I am absolutely dying to read. I’m still looking for a copy of the Subculture I Heard a Scream LP. If you have one that you no longer need, get in touch. Also I’d just like to say Brace Belden, Max Retard and the Slapshot/Judge kitchen mosh crew ’07.
As always I can be found at Justin@maximumrocknroll.com
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