American Hardcore

American Hardcore: 

I first saw a sticker on a light pole on Bedford Ave. in Williamsburg and I thought, "They made a documentary of the '80's hardcore punk scene?" This question came to my head because I didn't think there was enough documentation of this period to constitute a film. This thought was combined with the idea that it would be hard to find anyone from then to interview. Then I saw the trailer and the way it was cut made it look heavily west coast biased which is fine but it dampened my initial excitement created by the sticker.

The movie was to my surprise very even handed in its coverage of the country wide movement. I am sure some will say that there are holes but nothing is perfect. I was gripped by a feverish nostalgia while watching it and this should be accounted for when reading my review. I was partially correct in my assumption that there would be little raw material to work with from that time but the director cleverly spread out the little that was available and mixed it with interviews with some of the most influential characters of that time.

The hardcore punk scene was built to destroy itself in a giant ball of flames leaving little trace and few living humans to recount a collision of creativity and destruction that shaped the thought, music, fashion, art, and numerous other aspects of our lives today.

The film lays out the general movement and all of it branches in a concise easy to follow pattern so that even the casual viewer can get a handle on the vast array of scenes that were created out of raw energy fueled by anger and a desire to create.

So grab a six pack, turn up the volume and experience a piece of American history.

-Bitter MacGregor

When I first heard about “American hardcore” like most god fearing patriots I immediately thought of a Crisco laden arm half way up some dude’s ass. Funny story, I’ve actually seen a Crisco laden arm halfway up some dude’s ass, it was in a film called “Horse Fucker”. I watched “Horse Fucker” in my teens and no matter how much alcohol I consumed or drugs I abused those painful visuals can never be erased. I’ve tried meditation, I’ve tried hypnosis but as soon as I hear the words “Horse Fucker” my animated fun land comes to a screeching halt and depraved greasy men take its place.

And who do I have to thank for these memories, who do I have to congratulate for this detour from my promised land, why my elders of coarse. I was but a young innocent simple hearted boy when some derelict college men lured me into their house and forced me to watch the vile filth named “Horse Fucker”. Of coarse they lied to me, they said it was a funny fun film and that I would laugh and laugh and laugh but to my dismay there were only tears.

Then these man bullies told me if I watched it again it would numb me to the dirty pain I felt. So like a fool hearted child I believed them. Over and over again I watched as women made love to sheep and men made love to pigs that made love to sheep that made love to women. I must have seen a thousand arms disappear into a thousands asses only to find the memory permanently stamped into my mind instead of the contrary that was promised me. “There is no god” I screamed, fleeing their house a shattered youth.
All hope and promise was stripped away from me that fateful day and in their stead torment and ridicule have clung to my sorrowful soul.

So children of the world let this be a warning. When the cool older boys down the street beckon you into their abode with promises of visual antics, say to them, “nay is my mind a play thing of yours foul beast” and then run like hell home to your mommies.

-The plow