In hardcore, the flyers, vinyl and shirts measure the passing world. This culture is urgent, finding it in our youth. When the inside is catching up with the outside. The music is a reverberation of a ‘I won’t go quietly’ attitude.
Do songs only glue memories? How are they born? Can they die? Do tunes serve the past or future?
To know hardcore is to be there. The explanation is in the experience.
One comprehends it after a stage dive. After reading a typo-heavy zine. After hanging out in a record store for hours, digesting opinions and witnessing characters. You grasp it during a sing along, when all the oxygen has been sucked up and over used, in a basement or a small club.
