You say this shit's about having fun...

Reconciling hardcore's teen angst with my desire to be a grown adult

MENTAL COURTESY OF TODD POLLACK

Anger is a funny feeling 

I felt perpetually lonely growing up. I was slow to make friends in grade school, and when I did, it felt like my social skills lagged behind those of my peers. Whether real or imagined, I always felt a slight distance between myself and everyone else. While boys and girls chatted on cell phones and MSN Messenger, I was wrapped up in my imagination, playing alone outside. I had friends. Great friends, who I still see to this day. We made a sizeable group but were all somewhat the same; a little shy, a little awkward, wrapped in our own worlds. 

I spent many high school nights alone on the computer, downloading music, watching porn and fighting with strangers on social media. Around this time, I started developing a lingering emptiness in my chest. It’s easy to identify what that was in hindsight. My pubescent hormones yearned for gratification and deep connection. I wanted love and purpose. At the time, though, I didn’t know what I felt. I couldn’t identify any of my feelings, so the lingering emptiness turned to anger, which I projected onto the world as the failings of those around me. I hated “idiots” and “the government” and “Tom Brady”, but most of all, I hated myself.  

The only respite I found from nagging emptiness was music. If I buried myself deep enough inside a pair of headphones, the sensory manifestations of my feelings offered a soothing connection to someone who went through the same thing. I related more to Tupac and Layne Staley than I did to my parents, my friends and certainly my teachers.  

I loved sad, angry music because I was a sad, angry person who didn’t know how to express his sadness and anger. I let the music do it for me. I grew my hair out. I bought a hundred band shirts. I developed territorial, overly self-important opinions on whether certain music was “good” or “bad”, informed almost certainly by whether a song could help me transcend the pervasive emptiness in my chest. “Locked in the Trunk of a Car” by The Tragically Hip and “Would?” by Alice in Chains were good. Love songs on the radio were bad. It was that simple. 

Eventually, I came across a type of music built entirely upon frustration. Punk, metal and hardcore speak on many topics, but all of it is filtered through the language of anger. Other appealing facets obviously exist, like the DIY ethos, the community and the music itself. Still, what struck me the most about hardcore and extreme music in general was how it expressed the same type of frustration I felt almost constantly.  

Anyone who’s spent time in this community knows how it can affect your identity. From fashion to ethics to taste, then eventually your lifestyle and your friend group, hardcore can inform your existence on an almost molecular level. There’s plenty of upside to that. If there wasn’t, I doubt I’d spend my Friday night writing a heartfelt missive that 200 people will read (if I'm lucky). One of the downsides, though, is that you can entrench yourself in a feedback loop of anger and negativity. Personally, indulging in those patterns only reinforced the pain felt by the isolated child inside of me. So, while my connection to hardcore thrived, the rest of my world staggered.  

Not to sound like a stinky hippy, but I've been walking a path of acceptance and healing for the past year. A major part of that is not only naming and verbalizing my emotions but learning to accept and be present with them. One thing I’ve discovered is that sustained anger is rarely constructive. It’s stressful to go through life hating everything you see. Anger also often masks a deeper, more painful emotion, so the best way to work through pain is to let go of the frustration and unfairness of it all. That’s not to say I’ll be joining Ray Cappo’s yoga monastery any time soon. There’s plenty to be angry about, and I can still throw an online left hook with the best of them. But I find myself less and less angry these days, which is quite nice, to be honest. 

So how do I reconcile my desire to deal with emotions like an adult and my obsessive love for puerile, perpetually angry music? I recently met a music therapist, who basically cautioned me that the music we listen to absolutely affects our mood, so while it’s tempting to put on music and wallow in our feelings, that’s not always the most helpful choice. For me though, the idea of throwing on “Happy” by Pharrell and dancing a jig in my kitchen when I’m feeling down is anathema. I have a hunch that most people reading this can relate.  

Let’s face it. Every song I like is in a minor key. If I’m not listening to the venomous negativity of hardcore, it’s extreme metal’s horror movie style camp, emo’s all-encompassing sadness or the aggressive machismo of hip-hop. I recently took a long drive through the wilderness, with bad cell service and listening options limited to previously downloaded albums. I started feeling a bit shitty after numerous hours of black metal and needed something to cheer me up. I landed on Agnostic Front’s 1984 classic Victim in Pain, and that’s when it hit me. Hardcore isn’t just angry and negative. It’s also super fun. 

I mean sure, the album is called Victim in Pain. It’s got song titles like “Your Mistake” and “Last Warning”. On the other hand, take a track like “United and Strong”. That song doesn’t just have a positive lyrical message, it’s also so goofy and charmingly unprofessional that taking it deadly serious would be a fatal mistake.  

It’s easy to get wrapped up in the lore. reputation and imagery of hardcore while forgetting that we’re listening to music made by low-IQ teenagers designed to get people dancing. That’s the through-line from the smarmiest smart guy shit to the most mean-spirited beatdown. Hardcore music is written to be physically expressive and foster community engagement. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying that. In fact. if you’re gonna spend so much money, time and energy going to shows, you might as well get a kick out of it.  

When I reframe it, I feel much more like contributing to this scene is a purpose driven exercise to facilitate enjoyment and community instead of a harmful obsession with throwing myself a pity party.