I thought Punky Brewster wore pig tails…
“Hey Im goin to a punk show tonght, wanna come?” was a text I received one Tuesday evening.
“F*uck ya,” I told my phone.
I set a course for Ailee’s and sailed. I surmounted the six story stair extravaganza and entered her humble abode. I sat down on the couch and began rolling a cigarette to the tune of Flogging Molly.
“Man, that hike gets harder every time. Good thing I have these asthma inhalers,” I commented, holding up a cigarette. “I need to open up the ol’ alveoli,” I said making slight, chest-level circular motions with my hands.
“That’ll do it,” volleyed Ailee as she plopped down on the couch and pulled out her own inhalers.
“Yes indeed,” I said, rollie clenched between my teeth, as I fired up my lighter.
Marika, Ailee’s roommate, was to escort us to the show. She has the capacity to slip into shows free of charge, so we were gonna tag along and ride her coattails. Marika’s a bit of a trip. A crazy grunge rocker with pink hair and a magazine called “Provokator.” The magazine is actually quite impressive. Last month they did a spread on torture. Hard fuc*king core. I recommend it fully. Provokator.org.
We left taking pulls from a bottle of Frankovka wine and wound up on Prague’s public transportation. 15 minutes later we rounded a corner to find packs of punkards milling about. Following Marika, Ailee and I watched a master at work. She walked up to the bouncer, gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, “They’re with me,” motioning towards us. Boomshakalacka, we were in like flint.
Walking through the corridors of the forgotten locale took me back to the old days. I haven’t been to a punk show in a fortnight and it was a crude awakening. For the first time in about a decade, I felt like a square. Every skull in that place was bedecked with foot long mohawks, an assortment of metal, and a cornucopia of colors ranging from Rock ‘n Roll Red to Punkabilly Purple. Leather squeaked and moaned like sexually gratified bedsprings. I saw more flags than I would’ve in an army surplus store.
For the first stretch we honed in on the bar. Slammed a few drinks, had a few laughs. After a short time, the main attraction was going on. The Casualties. We made our way to the showroom and grabbed ourselves some positions.
The crew came out and saddled up for rockin. The lead singer took the stage with a leaden explosion of spikes. He had a dawning sun hairstyle. Golden rays of railroad spikes catapulted from his scalp in every direction possible, buffered by equidistant spacing from one another. It was a work of art. He took the reigns and said something undoubtedly profound. I wasn’t really paying attention.
The tunes then turned on and up. The crowd began swaying and undulating. Moving to the rhythm of the rough riffs, it was a sea of sweaty SOBs. Sooner than later a pretty heavy duty mosh pit formed, and elbows could be seen flinging and flying, connecting with whichever stray face chance presented them. Ailee and I began backing up slowly because frankly, we’re pussies. I wasn’t in the mood for cranial collapse. But, hey, you know what they say…”you are what you eat.”
“This next song will be done in our native language, Spanish. Se llama ‘Ocho Maneras de Matar’,” claimed the lead screamer.
“Daaaah daaaah raaaaah aaaaaah aaaaaah vaaaaah….”
“Wow that was moving,” I yelled to Ailee.
“Ya, definitely.”
“This next song is in the Incan tongue, Quechua. It’s called U_hu_a,” said our esteemed director of said rocking.
“Daaaah daaaah raaaaah aaaaaah aaaaaah vaaaaah….”
“Ooooo, that was even better than the last song,” I commented.
“Ya, I don’t know. I think the last song was a little deeper,” followed Ailee.
“But that song had a pinch of class.”
“True, true,” said Ailee. “It’s a tough call.”
“Both genius,” I offered.
“Mmmmmhm,” I barely heard over the din.
They did a few more songs. Body surfing and devil-horn hand-gesture bobbing ensued. The show came to an end with a double encore, not too shabby. The band performed a hardcore kneel at us to show their allegiance and bolted. Ailee and I took the initiative to get our coats and head out. On our way, I noticed the place was still littered with the same motley crew, but everyone looked as though they’d been drenched by a bucket of water during the show. As we were waiting outside the venue, someone asked me for a rolling paper in broken English.
“Is that for marijuana?” Ailee questioned the stranger.
A subtle head nod greeted us.
When the rolling had come to completion a stray j found our welcoming hands. We each took a solid hit and sent it back from whence it came.
“Ooh, that was nice,” I said lifting my head to the heavens and giving my neck a good stretch.
“Ya definitely.”
After waiting for 15 minutes we each agreed that Marika was a big kid and she’d be able to find her own way back. The problem was that we weren’t big kids. Neither of us really had any idea where we were. Marika had acted as navigator on the way over, leaving us in the dark. Walking around for a bit, we eventually spotted the castle and used that to pinpoint our location. I love it, we used a f*ucking castle as a coordinates marker. Prague kicks a*ss.