Why be something that you're not?

Dissecting the inferiority complex around discovering hardcore in your twenties.

I did an AMA on Instagram a few weeks ago and someone asked my thoughts on finding hardcore later in life. It’s an interesting subject, especially considering how much things have changed since my earliest show going experiences.

Back then, there might be one person of my current age (33) at a local show, and he was usually a dusty weirdo bragging about how he saw Madball in ‘94 to a bunch of apathetic teenagers. Touring band draws would skew a bit older, but not much. For a genre that made a big deal about being “true til death” or “down til you’re underground”, it was surprisingly hard to find someone who’d been around longer than five years.

Something’s changed. I don’t know if we can thank the classic band reunion wave of the mid 2010’s or if social media makes it easier to stay connected, but it feels like there’s less dropout. Also, people are getting in later. This scene used to be exclusively for high schoolers, to the point where “hardcore KID” became the de facto identifier for fans. Nowadays, a band comprised of high school kids is so rare that people almost feel inclined to point it out.

I’m hardly ever the oldest person at a show these days. If I am, it’s not by much, which is crazy considering I already felt old and out of touch when I started coming around. All my friends were scene vets at that point. They knew so much more than me. They’d seen so many cool shows. I felt a sense of inferiority that followed me for a long time.

I went to my first real hardcore show when I was 20, which is after what most people consider their “formative years”. I’m still jealous of folks who started listening to hardcore when they were 14. They just know the classics like the back of their hand. You know what my analog to that is? Back in Black by AC/DC, brother.

At the same time, I feel like finding this shit later in life has allowed me to stick around longer. I don’t listen to the music of my teens anymore and I probably would have outgrown hardcore by now if I was really into it as a child. The kids who took me to my first shows, by and large, are long gone.

Still, it’s crazy that I feel the need to defend myself for getting into hardcore at age 20, like if I found it two years earlier when I was still in high school I would somehow feel so much more of a deep connection. Although for me, “getting into hardcore at age 20” is even somewhat of a misnomer. I was an online lurker for many years and I didn’t really start “going to shows” in a participatory way until I moved to the city in 2017 at age 26.

S.H.I.T. AT FAITH/VOID CIRCA 2018, COURTESY OF PHILIP MONAHAN

I feel my age definitely made people leery of me — seeing some strange adult man wearing Under Armor and shitty Levi’s talking about the latest Axe to Grind episode at the local DIY spot. It probably would have been easier to make friends if I was closer in age to the other newjacks. Then again, maybe I just wasn’t likeable. That’s the duality of the inferiority complex. Was I thrust into an awkward social situation or did I act like a punisher by trying to prove my legitimacy to people who could clearly see through me? I guess I could ask these folks who I’ve now ostensibly known for eight years, but that seems like a really awkward question and one that, quite frankly, I doubt I want the answer to.

As someone whose primary creative outlet is reviewing hardcore records, I place intense pressure on myself to “know my shit”. Nothing is scarier than the thought of getting “well actually”’d by some cool guy and then subsequently dogpiled on Twitter for being a casual. Yes, I know that fear is immensely stupid. It’s called imposter syndrome, sweaty. Look it up.

On one hand, the fear of being wrong pushes me to dig deeper, learn more, and ultimately get closer to my goal of immersing myself so deeply that hardcore becomes an inexorable part of my existence. On the other hand, I’m sure there’s healthier ways to get there than perpetually lashing out at myself for not knowing the Side by Side 7” well enough.

Let’s face it. I’m in my thirties, so I listen to podcasts and read Substacks. Every “taste maker” in my sphere of media consumption is my age or older, and they’ve all been into hardcore for way longer than I have. Trying to catch them is a losing game. These people aren’t going anywhere at this point, so they’ll always have 10-20 years on me.

It’s maddening. Until I take a step back and realize I’ve also been writing for like fifteen years. Comparison truly is the thief of joy, but it’s hard not to look over your shoulder when you’re listening to songs about posers and sellouts all day.

Every subculture I’ve encountered places a premium on perceived legitimacy. Being legit feels important because it helps establish an in group/out group dynamic that distinguishes these spaces from culture at large. In hardcore, a music genre whose best songs are arguably written by high school juniors, the idea is that you should get in young and stay for life. If you show up too late or leave too early, you’re false.

To skirt poser allegations, hardcore kids often develop an “origin story” explaining how they became involved in the scene. The veracity of these tales usually falls somewhere between job applications and folklore. From a cynical lens, you could say origin stories are a way for people to impress others and stake claims at legitimacy in the social pecking order. I prefer to think these stories are people’s way of developing their self-concept and identifying how they fit into the space around them.

The only problem is, some origin stories are “better” than others. When I got into hardcore, everyone wanted to be the kid who discovered Minor Threat and Gorilla Biscuits in middle school, started going to local shows before they could drive, and never had a phase where they liked anything anyone could consider whack. I think the baseline “cool” origin story is different now, because the 2011 version has become less and less common, to the point where it’s no longer remotely believable. These days, I think people are saying they got into hardcore through thrash metal or something.

Whatever. The point is, nobody wants their origin story to be “I liked really whack music until age 25 when Knocked Loose went on tour with Beartooth and I discovered the ‘arf arf’ song.” People get self conscious. This scene places a high value on being a “lifer” and having “roots”. People also see it (somewhat falsely, in my opinion) as a “youth movement”. Nobody wants to be the guy who had a company pension before he heard “Young Until I Die” for the first time. It’s a bad look.

I think the older you are when discovering hardcore, the further you stray from the platonic ideal of who a hardcore kid “should be”, at least when it comes to dick measuring contests around legitimacy. And what do people with small dicks do? They overcompensate. Late bloomer hardcore kids tend to stretch the truth and exaggerate small snippets of their past as being more foundational than they are. Tell me why I still feel the need to mention how Guns N’ Roses introduced me to Fear and The Dead Boys in high school, knowing damn well those bands had peanuts to do with my punk trajectory and I’m really here because my college roommate and I both loved Alexisonfire?

I should be ashamed, except I’ve heard the same type of bullshit white lies from almost every person I’ve ever met in this scene. The saving grace might be that this is an almost universal experience. Unless your mom’s labour and delivery playlist included the Raw Deal Demo, you’ll always feel like someone out there has more cred than you. There will always be an old head who saw some legendary band before you were even born. Once you realize that, you can start to let go, and once you let go, you’ll realize this isn’t a competition. It’s actually cool that knowledge gaps exist, because if you knew everything, there’d be nothing left to discover.

That’s when you start collecting old zines and listening to YouTube playlists with titles like “Obscure Metalcore 96-01”, pushing your brain further into a deep psychosis where the only cure is death’s sweet release or some really good pussy/dick from a partner hellbent on moving to the suburbs.

Anyways, I think I’m finally getting to the point where I feel comfortable knowing hardcore is a fundamental part of my life and not caring when that happened. Because of that, you need more than some cool merch and a harrowing backstory to impress me. I’m not jaded. I’ve just been around long enough to know what’s real and what’s not, or what matters and what doesn’t. I either see you at shows or I don’t, so I’m not gonna judge someone who’s here every week for a cringey backstory. I’m always more impressed by the earnest, enthusiastic newjack than someone on a podcast or the internet spinning a highly exaggerated tale about how legit they are. I wish everyone would just be themselves and embrace the cringe.

Then again, it’s only natural for a niche, esoteric, sometimes violent subculture to attract people who have trouble admitting they aren’t cool.