How Punk Rock Failed Me, Part Three
The music itself was usually limiting.
I like catchy music. Some punk falls into that category. Most does not. I used to go to the hardcore matinees at ABC No Rio and feel like a heretic, surrounded by true believers. Did these people know something I didn’t? To this day, I can’t remember a single name out of any of the bands I saw there. Musically, the bar was set pretty low. But the bands all conformed to a mold, a particular style, and this mold was tuneless. It was almost as if each of the acts was ensuring it wouldn’t stand out from any other act, all in demonstration of their “equality.”
These days I listen to many different kinds of music. A few weeks ago, I was loading up my iPod, and I realized there were probably less than 15 tunes in there that would qualify as “punk.”
I had to ask myself, did I ever really like punk all that much in the first place? Or did I just think I was supposed to like it, because I’m a born-and-bred New Yorker, and that ethos gets into your soul?
I suspect it’s the latter. New York is crammed with options, but that city can sometimes make you think there are only two choices: punk rock or the Gap.
The truth is, too much of either one is pretty boring.
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