N E M E S I S K N O X

Last month I started talking about some of the things I have learned from working in groups and collectives. I had wanted to write something about the absurd and unique experience I had at Katarameno Syndromo, so, after my rather short column last month, plan to rectify. I know running a gig space vastly differs from place to place, so I believe sharing my shenanigans might be of some use to some punk out in the sticks somewhere. It probably won’t, but hell, you gotta try right?

To start with, some people found this concept absurd and could not imagine why anyone would want to spend their precious free time running about for a crummy old basement, and what, for free!? We wanted to get away from all the paid/bar/club shit and make our own space, with our own rules. We weren’t making a space for other people, we were making it for us. No bouncers; no sexism; no racism; no rockstar shit; no violence; no hard drugs. Bands that floor without the use of a stage, merely a brick-high platform and a roomful of happily drunk and cheery punks. No moshing that could give you a concussion, just lots of dancing and cheering. No astronomical entrance fee, even when European bands were visiting from abroad or Japan or the US; just a bashed-up donation box and a well-stocked bar. There were ten of us involved; some more than others, and for three years we ran some of the best shows in the country—no shit.

Katarameno Syndromo means “cursed syndrome,” as we were all cursed in some way or another. It was located in one of the dingiest parts of town—we were, after all relatively illegal. It was however close enough to downtown activity, so as to remain within easy access. We were located a few blocks down from the main Polytechnic University in the centre of Athens and just a couple blocks over from Villa Amalias squat. KS was within seven minutes walking distance from buses, trains and the underground. It also created for a handy triangle of support in the event of trouble—which was always within seven minutes walking distance from KS. We were situated on the corner of a small crossroad, between a couple whorehouses, an Egyptian kebab shop and a motorcycle repair shop that could have potentially been a dumping ground for stolen motorbikes, but I could be wrong. Almost across from our entrance was a paved pedestrian road, lined by half a dozen semi-abandoned buildings. One summer, one of them had been turned into a crackhouse, and one day we were astounded to see our street corner on the evening news under the headline “junkies with Kalashnikovs occupy building.” Boy am I glad we didn’t have a gig the day the cops decided to bust that place!

The surrounding area was not only rather dodgy, especially at night, but it was incredibly filthy and so smelly you just knew something, or someone, was decomposing in those rubbish bins. In fact, our main entrance would often be used as a toilet, by cats, dogs and humans alike. I also remember once the rubbish problem was so bad we had to call the health department to come take care of it—the rubbish collectors were on strike and there was literally a rubbish heap about three metres high in front of the building. In addition to health hazards, there were also other dangers. People would often come to the basement and go back to find their cars broken into, or their windows smashed. In some cases punks would get followed or chased by fascists, who roamed the area, mainly looking for vulnerable immigrant bate; something to call in to their pals the cops, then they could have a clobbering gang-bang. Across the street from us about fifteen immigrants from Bangladesh lived in two apartments that overlooked the road. When situations got really tough, usually around riot season (May, November and December) and we needed to have people on guard on the roof, they would often smile at us through their broken windows, perhaps comforted in the knowledge that, whoever we were, we disliked like the cops as much as they did. We made sure to maintain a very, very low profile and when asked we responded by saying we run a music studio.

It was a 100 square metre basement, with one window, one tiny bathroom and no ventilation. It actually used to be a music-recording studio and consisted of four small rooms, but, by the power of DIY and by the light of a single, bare bulb, some of those walls were torn down and Katarameno Syndromo was born into grubby existence. Fifteen white steps below ground level, a bamboo bar welcomed you right as you got to the bottom. Coat hangers with dead rocker names above each one lined the wall on the left. To the right was a recording studio, another small bar counter, which was used as the distro area, one “lounge balcony” (an elevated corner where we placed a coffee table and some armchairs we found on the street) and a platform where the bands played. The space in between easily filled up with sixty people. It was small enough to be cozy, with surreal dark corners and exotic decorative touches, but big enough to make it easy for 80% of the people to circle the band and lift the guitarist in the air. For the first year and a half the floor was dusty concrete; so every time someone would drag their feet or dance, a small puff of dust would form beneath their feet—sort of like Pig-Pen the Peanutes character. The next day our boogers would always be black. From the outside, you never would have guessed this tropical paradise dwelled six feet underground. I say tropical not only because in the summers it got so damp and hot that nicotine, dirt and sweat would literally drip from the ceilings and pipes; but also because it was an exotic haven in the middle of all the grey misery and bland depression.

Harry was a very laid back sound engineer and did sound at the shows, along with Mike who knew how to set up the PA and figure out what each band needed, and hence what other equipment we had to borrow. To book a gig there needed to be, either a) group consensus, or b) enough people from the group to agree on it and run it themselves. The later rarely happened. Depending on the gig we booked, and which one of us booked it, jobs would rotate. When Panos arranged Crude, Ermis and Peio managed the bar. When Mike and I arranged Bernays Propaganda, Nodas and Skaf took care of the door. And when Alekos booked the Movie Star Junkies we all just thumped our feet and pounded our chests and drank until the night turned into day.

Our donation box looked like the head of a cardboard robot and we had a suggested donation of three euros—of course we found buttons and Canadian pounds in there too and so oftentimes Gareth, the hearty Welsh bikey, or Vaggouras the obscure-hardcore-lover would take over greeting duties. We had a sign above it that said, “Your donation helps touring bands with their expenses.” Everyone ignored it. The money from the bar helped pay for the electricity and water (which were higher than normal, as that seedy basement was on the books as a “business space”), plus the two hundred beers we would need to get for the next gig, cleaning materials, and other space-related expenses. Peio, Ermis and I would cook, and champagne and cake would be a frequent phenomenon.

The rent was covered by the studio room. Four to five bands rehearsed there, so their collective rent was pretty cheap, given that each band had an average of 4.3 members. They were in change of keeping the studio tidy, which usually meant finding the carpet drenched in beer, ashes all over the console and things missing or laying about in disarray—ha ha ha! It was hard to control and I laugh about it now, but we appreciated them very much nonetheless. That studio has spawned some great acts, which would probably still be in some dingy basement in Athens right now, were it not for KS.

Ideally four of us had to be there to open up, sweep and mop, clean the bathroom and bar, and scrub the main entrance and pavement area with as many buckets of bleach water as possible. The stench was so bad, it was vomit inducing. But better shit that cops, you know? Four people at least had to close up; put the booze away, pay the band, give a quick sweep, make sure all the equipment was back in the studio room and all seven locks were tightly shut. Of course, things will go wonky if they can, and people have different priorities, so it was usually the same few buggers doing all the dirty work, starting at four in the afternoon, going until three in the morning. But it was still pretty damn splendid. Sure, not everyone pulled their weight, and sometimes we had communication difficulties, but you stuck your neck out. Not only because you couldn’t be sure someone else would do it, but ultimately because you really cared about what you were doing.

I can remember many a night, stumbling out of there, drunk and happy, locking every door and heavy duty padlocl, only to get to the top and realize someone had forgotten their phone or bag. There was absolutely no signal down there, so all our phones would be lined up by the single bottle glass window behind the bar, the big pirate flag hanging above it. Gig posters and a hologram of Jesus hung just to the left of the bar, a hand-made collage of naked men hung on the right, below a framed collage of old punk photographs, made especially for KS by one of its trusted friends. We also had a backstage area, where we stored all our crap, booze and guest band equipment. It was connected to a tiny dirt yard (more like a hole in the ground!), which was where we cooled off on hot summer nights, or smoked up, or just took a break from the marvelous mayhem inside.

There was a handful of people would help behind the bar, or stay late to help clean up; they donated their art for posters, and their time and money or other random things we needed. Some people would leave ten euros at the door, then they would pay twenty euros up front at the bar and just drink for the rest of the night. In the beginning we didn’t even have drink prices, just a sign that said, “Pay what you want for this drink, for your drink.” By the end though people were just too confused (dumb?) and asked us to name a price, so we suggested one euro for beer and three for drinks. It all worked out fine though and by the third year, we were saving some money for future plans. Things were going great until one day they weren’t. In the summer of 2012 Katarameno Syndromo closed its doors. My last memory of it was my going away party, which I organized with my favourite local band Hibernation. I was not around when it eventually got locked up for good, as I was already here in SF. But, I admit, I’m actually glad I was not there. Even though it went out with a bang, it would have been too sad.

Maybe it was the unique combination of the people involved, or maybe we had just stumbled upon a golden section of time and space. Despite all the troubles and stress, the hour-long meetings and countless emails exchanged, we did it. And in spite of it all, whacky landlady, the fascists, the drug dealers and shit outside, we loved it. The memories created there will be with me for life, as will the lessons learned. One of the nuttiest people I have ever met once made a poster for one of our gigs. She was a regular and often cooked treats for touring bands and obsessively cleaned up empty beer cans after shows. It was a drawing of a cyclone and said, “thou will be safe in the eye of the tornado.” And it was true; for a few hours a week we had our secret getaway. Even though we didn’t feel much safer from the savage world outside, it was, in its decadent and disorderly nature, rather fucking glorious.

Until next time… who gives a shit?

“No man is an island. […] Each man’s death diminishes me, For I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know, For whom the bell tolls, It tolls for thee.”

—John Donne

Working in collectives is highly rewarding. Not in any selfish sense, but in the true sense. Working with like-minded people you respect or even admire, working on a worthy cause together, in the knowledge that what you are doing is making the world a little bit better… Yes, but. Punks don’t live in a vacuum—at least not all of them—so working with others means having to consider everyone’s differences, similarities, strengths, abilities, possible weaknesses, etc. Just because everyone wants to work together in harmony doesn’t mean it can actually happen. So while most of us agree on what that we want to get shit done, we take ages dancing in circles around the who’s, how’s and why’s.

I remember back in Athens, when I was part of the Katarameno Syndromo gig collective. We used to run a tropical wet basement in the dingiest part of town. It was just glorious. We knew what we wanted to do, we wanted to book cool gigs, with bands that we enjoyed, in a feelgood punk environment (nearly every show was like a festive party), standing against the norms and having complete control over our basement as possible. It was our stèki, our hangout spot, and we learned to love it despite the difficulties; and more probably in spite of them. We were no club and people who had never made an effort to come down and actually meet us, and just sent us messages on facebook along the lines of “Hey we’re a new rock band, can you book us a show at your bar?” would not really be appreciated.

Of course we were open to new friendships and encouraged people to help out. We were also a little wary and maybe even a bit disbelieving, as we had all been through enough weird, amazing and downright bad situations in our own experiences with punk, collectives, gigs etc. to know how easily something can turn sour. Of course, a lot of people got easily excited, but then their commitment quickly deflated, like a balloon left out after a party. Like with any relationship or venture, when you realize that actual work has to be put into it, you can suddenly change your mind about how much you want to engage. And, as easy-breezy or reckless as some punks may be, they aren’t usually the ones who are getting the job done, know what I mean? The real doers are usually to be found behind the scenes doing their thing, focused on the cause, too busy to sit and moan, or gossip.

            Of course we wanted people to come up and talk to us or ask questions on how to get involved. We wanted to uphold the DIY ethic, spread it even, but we were not giving workshops, ey. We were not going to take each person by the hand like a small child and sit and explain why and what and who and how—hence why we didn’t really. After a certain period in your (collective) life, you like to work with people who already knew the deal, who didn’t need the introduction, but instead already know what the conclusion should be and how to achieve it—people who would take action, as opposed to waiting for instructions.

That’s where that fine line hovers. The one right between “taking initiative” and “getting consensus from the group.” Yes, there are certain things that need to be run by the group, but then again, the whole idea of a DIY collective (what an oxymoron) is that each person’s own effort is why the combined efforts of the group are fruitful. Each person is good at something and you apply that skill to accomplish your goals. That’s why ganging up on a project is often a good idea—more brains, more skills, more ideas, more critical thinking and more positive effects The actual group tasks shared among the group though are the trickier ones.

Inevitably there will be shit that no one wants to do, in any collective, no matter what it does. Menial tasks, complicated shit, odd shit, risky shit, dirty and smelly shit. You can have ten people show up to a meeting, but you’ll usually only see the same two or three people actually doing all the shit you discussed. We are all but feeble humans, bound by certain biological, psychological and physiological factors, which we cannot often deny or change, even if we try. So no matter—we work with what we have and do our best to improve.

And this is where mutual respect and investment in the cause comes in. If something is overall bad for the group or the final outcome, it should probably be reconsidered. I know collectives obviously want to achieve change and whatnot, but seriously, if you let it rot from the inside out, or let your ideals get tainted from exterior randomness, you’re gonna be in a pickle. Yes, we all like things a certain way, but we do so in our own time, we don’t do it to the detriment of the rest of my group. We are individuals but we must also remember that, to create as a group, we must move and work like one, or else we don’t develop a group consciousness—a devilishly rare thing might I add. The über-general idea being that we care about the well being of the group, and jeopardizing its ability to continue and thrive, or treating it badly only gets in the way of actually doing something.

End Notes: I have been so busy these last few months, that I haven’t really had the time to just sit and reflect on things. I have however been mulling over certain patterns that come up along the way. Between doing my solo month after six months of training in the shortest month of the year, getting a new job at an awesome bookstore, navigating various personal legal issues, doing the day to day at the coord desk and managing one more issue Han style (solo, that is), I barely had time to write this column. But you already knew that.

        I don’t want to go on another sociopolitical rant, but I have a hard time blocking out the real world. I’m afraid “artisanal bagels,” free yoga workshops and bike-rides in the park aren’t enough to distract me from the raw reality of the world we live in, sorry. It’s an easy thing to do: surround yourself with a version of the facts that you find digestible, ignoring anything that doesn’t directly affect you. “As long as I’m OK that’s all that matters,” right? Fuck that!

I know improving your quality of life is supposed to be something one strives for, but at what real cost? It’s a bit like charity: people do it once a year, feel contempt for making the effort and then go back to living in their bubble. Similarly, people consume “organic fair trade” and think they’re doing some “third world” country a favour. Yet what about the actual communities and economies supporting these bourgeois habits of the West? Do the farmers in Bolivia get to live the high-quality lifestyle that SF people do? Do the farmers in Africa get to enjoy the fruits of their labour before it gets shipped off to Germany? Did the people cultivating the land get anything from it? I think not.

It’s all very well for the upper-class alternative hippies and the rich hedonist yuppies, but who else can actually support such a lifestyle? (For lifestyle it has become.) Not the unemployed youth, the poor families or the elders; not the immigrants or factory workers or single mothers. Such notions are endorsed by the kind of people who already have all their other bases covered and are now looking for something more to do with their free time and money—in other words, the wealthy fuckers who were over-consuming in the first place. And it is all very well for the wealthier countries to “go green” and “eat organic” but they are still doing it at the expense of the usual poor buggers at the end of the food chain. They are still (ab)using the resources of other countries, promoting a culture of waste and reallocating wealth from the (poorer local) farmers to the (richer foreign) producing companies. The starving continue to perish by the minute on the other side of the world, the only difference is that the people in the wealthier countries can now sleep a little easier in the knowledge that they didn’t make the problem worse. Even though the actual problem still remains.

In my mind, it’s a bit like saying “now, with your help, we can recycle all the Amazon trees we chopped” or that “because of all our conscious consumers, we can give our slave workers healthier meals” when the whole point is that they shouldn’t be chopping trees and there should be no slave labour to begin with! So many Western companies are now declaring that they deal “fair trade” when my question is “Why was it ever unfair trade to begin with?” I feel the same way about fancy restaurants: they’re too hedonistic and self-indulgent for me to stomach; they’re a blatant declaration of wealth, a flaunting acknowledgment of the class system and the inequality it creates.

OK, I know what a lot of you are thinking; “but recycling and eating organic and shopping fair trade is good, isn’t it!?” Sure, it’s better, but I still see it as a temporary recovery device from a virus that continues to thrive across the globe (it’s called imperialist capitalism, if you hadn’t already guessed). I find them to be reactionary tactics to a system suffering of gangrene; instead of chopping off the limb completely, they try and remedy it with perfume and ointments. Instead of looking at what actually creates the problem, they simply find temporary, ethical-sounding diversions to cover it up, or diminish its importance in the eyes of the public. They appropriate the problem until it becomes another mundane fact of life that can never be resolved—and why should it, the masses have been convinced that they are doing their part, while the conglomerates and corporations still manage to market this idea for profit.

But then again, I’m just a Balkan vlaho-punk, so what do I know?

***

            I was watching a documentary the other day about the Copenhagen squat Ryesgade 58, called Nine Days Behind the Barricades. It documented the nine-day battle between the squatters and the local authorities. It was translated into Greek—with horrible voice overs may I add, but regardless of that—I really appreciate the effort, as it was done by the Libertatia squat (in Thessaloniki) in 2009 to share the information and perhaps learn something from what the Ryesgade 58 squatters went through.

The cops had planned to evict Ryesgade 58 on September 14, 1986 and warned the squatters to evacuate. The squatters reacted by organizing a demonstration, which ended up almost right outside to squat. The cops were unable to contain the crowd, which entered the squat and swiftly set up barricades around it. Within a few hours the blockades multiplied and soon the whole block was closed off. 50 cops tried to attack but got a shower of resistance. The protestors used materials from a construction site nearby and sometimes the barricades were four or five levels deep. They equipped themselves with slingshots, bats and iron bars, bits of broken cobblestone from the pavements and, of course, some Molotov cocktails. Over 600 people stayed within this fortress of sorts to defend Ryesgade 58.

By the second day they were surrounded. Hundreds of people stood outside the barricades and in the surrounding area, making it impossible for the police to attack. Eventually 150 of them in riot gear charged in, but the squatters were organized and pushed them back with petrol bombs and rocks. The cops were out in 10 minutes. Then they tried the side-streets. Again they got bombarded with more molotovs, rocks and tear-gas. Finally they retreated and waited for back up from the rest of the Denmark police force.

Meanwhile, the squatters stayed well prepared and took care of everyone within the barricades. They made sure the children were protected, that the older people got their medication and they communicated with the locals and all the people showing their support. Eventually they decided to allow media behind the barricades and provided them with an announcement stating their purpose and demands. The squatters wanted full control over the building and the ability to organize freely. Some suggestions were made but eventually all of them were denied by the unbending city council. 1500 more cops were brought in, this time equipped with military tanks and machine guns. The cops officially declared that the assault would end in the death of several people.

Faced with this, the squatters escaped. From an emergency underground tunnel created for that very purpose, they silently left in the night. They evacuated in the knowledge that if they were to stay any longer, they would be risking their lives, or in the very least facing years in prison. For what?

I ask myself this question at night. I wonder how we are going to continue when push comes to combat? No one wants to have to fend for the right to shelter with their life, yet so many do. While I type this, my friends back home are going through similar situations. While attacks on numerous squats is always bad news, I can only hope it opens up people to the alternative of self-organized communities. Now that so many people are losing their homes because they cannot pay their mortgages, or because they are unemployed, the emerging thousands, if not millions, below the poverty line will be faced with the same issue of homelessness. And the way I see it, squatters are the only ones who have tackled this issue on their own, instead of depending on the system to do it for them. They claimed what should be rightfully theirs as a human being.

They were fighting for more than a building; they were fighting for the freedom to live their own lives as they chose, outside the guidelines and rules imposed by third-party political puppets. Not reckless lives, or violent or abusive; in fact lives that are more creative and well-natured than any fucker downtown in a suit. The point is, to be able to be your own authority and not get prosecuted for it. And while the media and authorities think of those people as fighting the system, calling them “terrorists” and “threats to society,” what they are actually doing is fighting the idea that a system is even needed. People think squatters relish in some primal notion of destructive anarchy and disorder, when in fact they are the ones who are self-organizing; the ones creating a life for themselves independent of political promises and administrative support—ideally making state intervention and authority control irrelevant by default.

And it is then when the dictatorship feels really threatened; when it realizes that people can do it own their own. When not only will the people make it through, but they will also resist with passion and determination. I mean, when the government feels the need to bring a whole army to a squat of a few hundred, ready to shoot them all down, stripping them of the right to self-governance…you kind of have an issue, don’t you think? Sounds a bit like a tyranny to me…

***

            The new Antimob LP is so good that I fear some of its power was lost in translation in this month’s review of it. So I’m going to tell you here and now: it is more than a simple hardcore record. It is more than what might appear to be a concept album. It is more than a personal account of being a punk in a country that has drastically deteriorated in the last few years. It is rather an organic documentation of Greece circa 2012 and everything that comes with it—it is what punk set out to be: release, reaction, redemption and resistance all at the same time. Natural and necessary. No empty riffs or wasted words, but songs bursting at the seams with energy and conviction; lyrics that capture the physical anger as much as they do the mental torment; the daily struggle and emotional toll of living under the regime Greece has right now. It is, simply put, a pièce de résistance, containing within its grooves the fury of a lost generation. Stunning!

The MRR record collection reorganization has already started! We are refilling all the seven-inch records and putting them in seven-inch boxes. This will not only protect them from dust and dirt, it will also deter people from stealing. This is a very important project, as it frees up space in the compound, plus is helps preserve the largest punk record collection open to the punks in the world! You can support us in this project by making your donation to our paypal account, mrr@maximumrocknroll.com and help us maintain this amazing archive! For posterity’s sake; for punk’s sake.

It is a shame however that I will not be around to witness the final results of this labour of love, as I have been contacted by Immigration services and been asked to leave to country, thanks to dubious information concerning my political background. I will be a fugitive, but I will continue to coordinate the magazine from afar, as I will be under the protective umbrella of the Anonymous hackers, in a high-tech, high-security secret location somewhere off the coast of somewhere very cold. I can say no more for now… top secret mission and all…

Lastly, if you want to get in touch with Melvin, our cover artist for this month’s issue, reach him at seriz@seriz.fr. Though right now he’s trekking the Australia deserts doing a sort of remake/retake of Mad Max… Crrrazy French!

To avoid all the other shit that’s going on in my head right now, I’m going to stick to the theme: great records of the year that just left us. The generally tepid year 2012. The year we all expected change to come about. The year we all survived.       What happened in that year? Well, mainly my country finally decided it was time to show its true racist, fascist self. I officially closed three years of unemployment. I also packed up a suitcase and left. Moved to SF to help run this here magazine. It was no easy thing to do and I am still working my head around the fact that I’m actually in this situation. Everything is new, I am learning so much, hearing so many new bands and records—it’s quite overwhelming, in a good way, most of the time.

So, what makes a good record? Well, I will not talk from the point of view of a musician, for I am not one. I have never played in a band and couldn’t strum the first notes of a Ramones song if I tried. But, as a listener and appreciator of punk music, in all of its many magnificent expressions, I do know what I like to hear. Certain qualities stand out for me that make up a good record.

Originality: OK, not all bands have to push the boundaries. Not all bands can. Some go with tried and tested methods and become huge—people like a familiar jams. Others forge their own way regardless of what the current trend may be, only to go horrible overlooked; until their eventual break-up that is, by which time they are “the most underrated band of the year”. While I am not one of those harsh critics, who expects every record of every band to be sublime and ground breaking, I am also not one to stick to the same ol’ same ol’—I like me some innovation, some peculiarities, quirky thinking and outside-the-box action. In fact, the more complex and seemingly undecipherable your approach, the better; show me you use your fucking head! But also, play from your fucking heart!

Some bands effortlessly manage this; it is just in their blood and it is remarkable to say the least (a prime example are Sonic Youth). Others try hard and still fail. “No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” The important thing is that you tried. And then, some bands don’t even try at all. Half-arsed copy-cat crap you can see through from a mile away. Shameless, arrogant and self-entitled—like a lot of the modern USHC. (Yes, I said it, so sue me). But hey, that’s also fine with me; I’m just not going to be part of your fan base. Each to their own, you know; one man’s thrash is another man’s torture.

So…not all bands will go down in punk history, that’s OK. I know a handful of people, punk lovers and critics, who expect every record by a (once) ground- breaking band to be good. When they discover it is not, they shout and complain in protest, passing judgment on what the band did wrong and why it failed. Maybe I expect less to get disappointed less. Or maybe I just realize that other people’s expectations often weigh down, rather than encourage. Maybe what I find matters more is…

Energy: A quality that I think can ultimately make or break a band. You could have the dumbest, most generic punk music, with songs about pizza and beer…if the delivery is true, chances are you’ll sway an audience (however small) into appreciation. Maybe five records down the line you’re still playing what some people liberally term “shitty Euro crust” and you haven’t really evolved beyond your demo material—so what? You’re making music you like, right? (At least I jolly well hope you are!) If that is what you like and that is what makes you tick, and it comes from a true place in your heart, then hell, who are the music critics to tell you it’s crap? At least you own that crap 100%, so there.

Because so often you’ll hear a record that may not be reinventing the wheel of punk per se, but the delivery will be so earnest and contagious, that you can’t help but get carried away with it. Oi! and street punk (and post-rock) are great examples of this quality. So many bands replicate recipes but only few of them can actually pull it off. The purity and engagement are so strong, the passion so intense, that it leaves a distinct mark on the sound. However, one thing that can write all of this good energy off is…

Message: Something of utmost importance to me. After all, what is punk if not a message in and of itself? That says—nay, screams the truth: people/punks are capable of both self-governance and collective collaboration, proven by the persistent independent, DIY ethic and strong community output, both past and present. People/punks are capable of wonderful and valuable creation, proven by the countless formations of punk expression and ways of counter-creative production. People/punks are facilitators of change, proven by the environments of equality and support that they create.

Yet not all punk scenes around the world move at the same pace, thus the collective consciousness of a scene is, in some way or another, related to its history. Not to say that some places are “late-bloomers” (there was no one birthplace of punk, so get over it). Ultimately punk is a reaction and as long as there is fucked up shit going on in this world and sensitive who people respond/react to it, punk will manifest—even if like a mutant spawn of something else equally fucked up. The important thing is that punk remains by the punks, for the punks. If the punks are bitches, that will affect the final outcome. And if the rest of the punks don’t give a shit, they will eventually acclimatize to this new state of being (getting comfortable are we?), maybe even fall into a coma (brain dead zombie punk!), or become host to some horrible virus (caught off the internet), which will sink in and contaminate the whole darn thing into a decadent, ruthless cannibal addicted to battery-acid and gambling. … But I digress.

Punks that passively nullify everything are fine in my book; rather useless but harmless nonetheless. It’s not counter-productive or creatively coming up with solutions to anything (it is in fact rather defeatist since you are actually here now) but it exists. Staying home because the world is a cruel, twisted, unfair place; only spending energy on expressing how useless and depressing everything is, sung in a long-winded poetic fashion maybe; maintaining minimal relations with people because getting involved is too heart-aching when you really care—true, true and true. Been there, done that, rose from the ashes like a phoenix, returned back stronger and wiser. No, nihilist punks who purposefully chose to discuss only the horrid curse that is life don’t bother me; I suspect they’ll self-nullify at some point and be no more. (“No future for you” if you let it be that way. Time is relevant and so is “success” and “happiness”.)

No, the ones that really bug me are the punks that live in a bubble of self-important arrogance, wasting time shit talking and getting into fights, trying to outpunk each other; perpetuating shitty attitudes and eventually giving in to the very bullshit punk originally wanted to avoid—it’s all rather unpunk if you ask me. Of course, this is a “free” world (for some) and (nearly) everyone is allowed to say whatever they want (or so we are led to believe), so anything goes, right? Wrong! I’m not saying you have to express (your) politics in your lyrics, I’m just saying that if you have an abhorrence for anything political, then yes, I will think that your record sucks. Then again, you could be the nicest dork on the planet; I’m not saying you’re a shitty person, I’m just saying you’re not punk. You’re a musician/entertainer. You could be the biggest rocker since Joey Ramone, or the brightest brain since John Cage; but if you employ shitty politics, your lyrics and visual message—your outlook and opinions, you attitude—are against the punk ethics, then hell yes, I will think that your record sucks! (no more shock-value swastikas please, it is highly distressing and offensive given that that shit is very very real!) And the number of apolitical wishy-washy douches that can make punk music is undoubtedly and disappointingly very high, because they can, because apparently it’s easy: three chord guitars, tupa-tupa drums and yelling dissonantly at top volume (or so the word on the street is). But making punk music is not the same as actually being punk. Chances are (the right kind of) punks will see right through it and move along. However, those lines have always been slightly blurred to some, especially in places where listening to and playing punk music is more of a privileged, leisure pastime than an actual crime. And I’m not generalizing, I am just pointing out a fact. Watch that film No One Knows About Persian Cats and you’ll get what I mean.

Which brings me to my final point: Purity of Heart. Let’s face it, not all bands get big because they’re innovative or because they have something truly meaningful to say. They might even be shitty people. Some bands get big because punks who like them are stupid (yes, I’m afraid those punks exist too). Other bands get huge because of internet hype (and yes, of course, they could very well be excellent, hence their reputation); and others go viral merely because talking about something validates and grosses its actual existence and hence, potential value. If a group of us started talking about a band from Somalia, and continued to do so long enough or spread the word wide enough, or both, “that band from Somalia” would be on everybody’s lips before you could say “paroxysm”!

And this is the wish I will leave you with, or perhaps word of advice. If your goal is to make a truly great, memorable punk record, ignore everybody! Do what you do because you want to. When expression is a need, fans are merely a plus. Do it with conviction and no fear of failure. After all, mistakes are there to be learned from. Stand up for what you believe in and “be the change” (cliché but true!)

Going over my picks for my 2012 Year End Top 10, I can’t help but think of all the oppressed, imprisoned, “trapped” punks…Those who have been punished for their punk politics, who have suffered for their ethics and who, despite everything, have never given up the fight. None of this is in vein! Don’t put punk to shame!

Endnotes: Happy Birthday to both my sisters! Miss you, love you! For more art by Ermis who did our awesome cover this month, check out www.ermisart.com.

Holy bollocks, it’s been so long since I was back at this here spot, I feel horrible! It’s as if I have been sucked in by a time warp, sort of like groundhog month, he he. but it’s all good! Every month we have a great issue to show for it and getting into a systematic loop of productivity helps. In the meantime, a couple of unexpected events happened. For one, I was contacted by Kenji, who does El Zine in Japan. He wanted to translate my (long ass) Greek Scene Report for his zine! I was so chuffed! It looks absolutely beautiful so I will let you check it out for yourselves. You can find the English version in MRR #349.

More updates and columns soon! Stray tuned!

“What was once my jungle is now my zoo”

Wow, December started with a bang! Right after coming down from the food high that was Punxgiving, Subversion grabbed us by the scruff of the neck and threw us into the pit! Probably the best hardcore punk festival I’ve ever been too in yonks—maybe best so far! I know many people gape at the line-ups for Chaos in Tejas and other similar festivals (myself and friends back home included), but down in old pit-of-fascist-spawn Greece, we don’t always get to see too much of those—so we did them ourselves. Now, being here, I feel lucky to have witnessed such a solid congregation of bands. As far as I’m concerned the bands that played at Subversion encompass some of the most current, compelling and accomplished out there today. There is little point in listing the ones that were good, as almost every band that took the stage was freakishly tight and powerful, truly blasting a sound that was just electrifying to watch! The two stages meant you would circle the venue, like a revolving door of hardcore after punk after post-punk after D-beat after hardcore…Fucking sick! Congratulations to Kat and Jeremy for organizing it and I’m already looking forward to the next one! I’ll quote Kat here and say that “2012 was the best year in punk yet.” Indeed it has been! Next issue the truth shall be revealed and enlightenment shall come to all ye disbelievers!

* Then, no less than a week later, I got another pleasant surprise. While perusing SF Weekly on a particularly cold and dark Thursday night, nursing a hangover with some red wine, I saw, jumping out from a bright yellow ad, Dylan Moran, the Irish comedian! The man who, in Black Books, had, essentially, what is still one of my (many) dream jobs (to own a bookstore and drink wine for breakfast while swearing at customers who ask questions before 11 am), was going to be in this town tomorrow! By the power of the internet I bought tickets right away and, the following night, the brain behind some of the wittiest comedy and modern truths stood a mere nine rows in front of me, sipping red wine, jolting up and down, waving his hands as he pondered on the evolution of the modern world. “[Crisps] are not awesome, they’re crunchy! If I opened them and haggard shafts of light and cherubim and angelic music comes out, they would we awesome OK? Mountains and rivers and the fact that I’m still breathing are awesome!” His inability to deal with harsh realities, like sunlight and sound first thing in the morning, make me feel a bit better about my own self-loathing and petrified anxiety about everything. (“Why do I even dare to think I could dream I could imagine I could hope?”) His feel-good self-mockery was at its best and it was a thoroughly needed experience, an excellent balancing force for my rather charged spirits.

* You hear about horrible things all the time; positivity can be elusive. Friends getting laid off or hit by giant SUVs, others losing a loved one, or getting mugged and beaten up… You read the news and the horror continues. Then you hear about one case, with relatively few victims, and the story goes on for weeks, as if it were the first time someone picked up a gun and fired bloody murder—because it’s not. Yet the Connecticut shooting blew people’s minds, despite the fact that the same government responsible for legal rifle ownership here is also the one in charge of blowing people up in far off countries.

People seem to only care about what’s going on in their own back yard. Until their neighbour fucks up, in which case they are ready to swarm over and dictate their disapproval and punishment. “The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple,” said the great Wilde. And that’s why you can’t trust what mainstream media tell you. You can’t trust what “independent democratic” media tell you either. (Just don’t trust anyone and you’ll be better off for it, K? K.)

* The recent rise in neo-fascism in Europe has been one of the things keeping me up at night. Reading an article about the Polish ONR and MWP nationalist groups officially uniting and calling for the overthrow of the Republic and the formation of the “National Guard” reminds of what’s going on in my backyard, Land of Zofos, Greece. Golden Dawn may be the only fascist group we have actually elected into parliament by so-called democrats, but it’s not the only one out there. In fact, an undercover scheme by Chicago anti-fascists exposed Golden Dawn supporters in New York! Right on!

* Back home, the usual suspects, and in particular the parliament/street bullies of Golden Dawn, pressured police, who went on a crackdown rampage. Arresting a whole block of protesters at an anti-fascist march in Volos, raiding the independent radio station 98FM run out of the ASOEE University campus in Athens and evicting the Big House, the Villa Amalias squat.

On Tuesday December 20, one day before “the end of the world,” cops invaded the historic squat, situated by Victoria Square in downtown Athens, Greece. The Big House had been snatched from us. The abandoned school, brought back to life in 1991 by punks, has been the meeting point and cross-pollination spot for countless Greek and foreign bands since its beginning. The building that represented so much more than the rickety foundations it stands upon, was boarded up by police and eight people were arrested and detained at the police HQ until Monday, when they were to be trialed for felonies (Bologna I tell you! No evidence or proof whatsoever). A massive wave of solidarity ruffled across Greece and other countries and on Mon. the 24^th all of them were set free; five of them were granted bail and have to sign up at a police station monthly.

The anger boiled inside of me and I felt so helpless from so far away, unable to do anything to actively help my friends, to help get our punk house back. I truly felt the distance and all the things I could never forget rushed back into me, never too far to begin with it: The constant state of fear, the feelings of injustice and absurdity, the blinding rage and the guilt of time wasted.

* I am trying to stay focused and use this anger to propel myself forward, and being inspired by MRR has always been one of the things that kept me going. Looking back through old issues, getting emails of thanks from columnists, small gestures from people that tell me I’m in the right place at the right time, these have all helped me on this quest to steer MRR into yet another year of punk existence and resistance.

I’ll admit I have had some bouts of self-consciousness, but I’m here to offer my services, help and advice and, with the guidance of those that came before me, this magazine shall continue to do great things, as it is what you make it! (We just coordinate). Should you have any questions, just ask. Assumption is the mother of all fuck ups, so let’s stay as connected as possible and keep the dialogue open. Apathy and disregard for fellow punks is not what punk is about, so let’s focus on evolving beyond our own insecurities and rising above our first world prejudices. We have so much to do and so little time, let’s put aside our differences and retain our purpose: punk for change.

I wish you all a happy, creative and courageous 2013, stay strong and don’t let any fucker get you down! I know that you’re two months in the future right now, so New Year resolutions will be long past by the time you read this, but welcome to my reality, which is to be stuck between both all the time—it’s as exciting as it is trippy, this warped concept of time and space! Keeps things interesting.

* Lastly, a small thank you note to all the people who have given me encouragement along the way, you know who you are. Hellos to Beenie in Tubingen, Dee Dee, Melvin and Jacque from France and our new gang of Russian friends—visit us again soon! Also, a giant thank you to all of our contributors from around the world, your submissions are greatly appreciated. A round of applause to all the people who made donations and/or thought of MRR for their holiday gifts…We have more cool things on the way, so stray tuned! Solidarity with all squats! Fuck apolitique lifestyle punk! No to guns, yes to fun! Free the pit! Dance!

This was such a crazy year for me! Moving to the MRR compound means I am spoiled for choice and constantly exposed to new and exciting things! So many good punk shows and sooo many releases! I will admit, I was not carried away (too much) by the recent wave of raw punk (back home we call it “kàtsa”), so I often found myself longing for sounds that would travel me to other places far and wide, the soundtrack to a surreal black-and-white dream of urban misery and longing. These records helped. (I could keep adding to this list every time I think of one more thing I forgot, so I won’t)

1. ANTIMOB – LP (Εξωτικος Παροξυσμος)

Words fail me. They usually do when it comes to the big, important stuff. There is so much to be said of this monoliic Greek band and their sound, but the music does it much better justice my ramblings. I love and admire these guys immensely, and their music speaks volumes to me, more than I can begin to descibe! Get this now!

2. CRINIMAL CODE – “Cold Thought” LP (Inimical) and “Hollowed” EP (Deranged)

Band of the year from Tacoma, Washington! I kind of knew it the second I heard this—esoteric, dark and mysterious. It all meshes so well, each track with the next, each release with the next. I liked every single thing they released this year and their live show was also a complete high! I hope they can keep pushing themselves and will continue to amaze us in the coming year! Well done lads!

3. NUN – “Solvents/Cronenberg” (Nihilistic Orbs)

The surprise of the year! Blip/synth punk from outer space (well, Melbourne)! Hearing this makes me as happy as it does angry. Happy because it is sonic bliss to me ears, and angry because I can’t understand why punks are so reluctant to fucking dance! Dance dance dance dammit!

4. YOUTH AVOIDERS – “Time Flies” EP (Build Me A Bomb / Destructor)

Dark, tight and melodic! French hardcore punk that screams my ear’s language. Jolting and actually danceable, though still legitimately angry, the self-titled track is one of the catchiest of the year! Give me more!

5. RED DONS – “Ausländer/Mauvaise Fois” (Dirtnap)

De facto one of my favourite bands in the last decade, they have honed a style all their own and blaze on untouched! “Ausländer” is probably my most played (and heart-felt) track this year (that opening riff is pure gold!) and their show with the ESTRANGED was just magical.

6. LOWER – “Someone’s Got It In For Me/But There Has to be More” (540)

Record of the season from Denmark, I cannot flip this fast enough. Two tracks of carefully-articulated genius. I had been waiting for this for so long, I am enthralled!

6. THE WAR GOES ON – “This Shitty Life” EP

I listened to this so much when it came out! I’m a huge NO HOPE FOR THE KIDS fan, and while this is not exactly the same, it still exhumes that great Danish melancholy I so love! The self-titled track is one of the best and catchiest of the year. Oh, and they also sing about football! Score!

6. PARALISIS INFANTIL – “Demo ’87” EP (Metadona)

Oh man, this Argentinian band is so good, you just feel it in your bones when it plays! Amazing sound, compositions and atmosphere! Their track “Hijos de Burgueses” still rings in my brain at random moments, especially the opening riff—it’s contagious! I’m so glad this exists, it makes me smile!

7. ACID BABY JESUS – LP (Slovenly)

Best band to dance to! Before I left Greece for SF and they went on a bunch of tours around Europe and the US, I danced at their Athens shows like there was no tomorrow! Dreamy yet twisted, garage-tinged inventiveness that should be experienced in tropical wet holes, drenched in beer and surrounded by friends!

8. DESPERAT – “Början På Slutet” EP (Hardcore Victim)

Frenzied crashing hardcore from Sweden. Scream and pound and blow your house down. Circling your room in a furious rage, like a lion in a cage. This is medication that wakes you up and it soothes your raw nerves.

9. ILEGAL – “El Aire Libre Fuera de los Dientes delo Monstruo Tirano Y Canibal” LP (La Vide Es Un Mus)

Noisy and no bullshit harshcore (did I just coin a new punk term?) from Montreal, this is punk as fuck, in every sense of the word! Nothing sounds excess or unnecessary; this is a furious exposition from beginning to end! You have been warned!

10. PARAF – “Prekinuti Koitus: 1978-1979” LP

One of my favourite Yugoslavian punk bands. I am in love with the female vocals (that make appearances on later recordings) but was glad to be introduced to their earlier, more unhinged work. A time travelling machine of a record.

Top 3 tapes from the Demo box:

BLACK COFFEE – tape (Bezerker)

Old-school yet completely relevant no-fills hardcore, with a minimal to-the-point expression, exactly how I like it! I would love to see this band live, so someone book this Oz wonder!

DAMAGES – “Defection” tape (Silenzion Statico)

Urgent, fresh and driven. Melodic and angry, this tape is a rocker! Young punks from/around LA, taking us into the new era!

DEHUMANIZED – tape (self-released)

So dark, so brooding, so mean. So good! Black metal blasts and hardcore experimentations from Olympia, Washington that go deeper that you dare to venture.

Top 5 live shows:

ΠΑΝΔΗΜΙΑ (Pandemic) at Villa Amalias, Athens, Greece

HIBERNATION at Katarameno Syndromo, Athens, Greece

CRIMINAL CODE at the Swamp, Oakland CA

THE RED DONS / ESTRANGED at 1-2-3-4 Go! records (Oakland) and Thrillhouse (SF)

NUX VOMICA at the Swamp, Oakland CA

Would be Number One, but it was officially released at the end of 2011:

ANTI – “Aντι…” LP (Είρκτη)

One of the best punk records to come out of Greece and one of the best punk records I have ever heard! This is a masterpiece—how to explain such a special glimpse of a time now past, this is fucking historic! Overcast by the dark political shadow of the time (and the time now is always), drenched in glassy synths, stone cold beats that fuck with your head and vocals that sing lyrics that make your insides ache with anger and despair. Like a static shock, this will electrocute you and leave you shivering on the floor. This record brings new meaning to the definition “Greek punk” and, if you can truly grasp it, it’s a life-altering experience.

(It’s my birthday today, send me Marmite and Greek coffee!)

I know I can come across as a pretty positive person but that’s all in fact bullshit. I’m a bipolar anxiety case that self-medicates to keep my head from spinning of its nut. What people see of me is what I want them to see—what they conclude is their own business. I used to get so upset when others got the wrong end of the stick about me, when they believed the easy-to-swallow version of whatever stereotype they thought I replicated. Fuck ’em; assholes will believe what they want anyway—and complete fucking assholes aren’t people whose opinion I need, nor value, so fuck ’em too. I have since created some rules for myself that allow me to continue living without being a) homicidal or b) suicidal. Of course, I am too nice and seldom live up to my own expectations of being a Viperine Fatal, a Humain Terrible.

A man named Karl Lagerfeld once said, “Never compare, never compete.” It must have worked wonders for that fucker as he makes billions in the highly competitive industry of fashion. It does, however, sound like good advice for the punks of today, as it appears Punk is also becoming a highly competitive industry of fashion—and those last three words should never show up next to Punk, not even in the same sentence. For it seems that, in accordance to the capitalist market system that commodifies what it cannot destroy, Punk is suddenly big business. And by the same logic that a factory worker can be reconceptualized as a profit-making cog, punks are reconceptualized as both enablers and victims of this commodification. Looking punk (following fashion), owning punk (obsessive consumerism), selling out punk (profit-driven businesses) and assimilating punk (getting mainstream acceptance) is all hot stuff right now. The antipode of that, however, is that Punk is being expelled onto the world at light speed, thanks to the internet; so billions of people who’ve never heard of it before now can. It’s as exciting as it is depressing really. No one can guarantee that people who adopt the music and style also adopt the ethics.

Like anything, punks are products of their environment. A punk from Jakarta will probably have a slightly different set of practices to a punk from Ljubljana, and equivalently a punk from Utah might carry a slightly different set of values than a punk from St. Petersburg. However, many modern-day, ‘first-world punks,’ over-saturated and forgetful, feeling dared by this dissimilarity, allow themselves to be consumed by petty competition, shortsighted criticism and ignorant comparison. It is almost as if inner scene politicking and punk policing is now preferable to any sort of meaningful exchange of ideas or action. Instead of listening to what other punks have to say, and potentially learning something new or reevaluating something old, certain people will always prefer to preach their own gospel to anyone willing to listen. Any topic is an opportunity for them to show off how punk what a dick they are, to dictate their opinions and why they are better than yours, to brag about how many records they own, how often they kicked someone’s ass at a show and why they are the complete shit… Errr… “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to listen to anyone who believes that whatever doesn’t fit in with their narrow view of the (punk) world, is wrong. For me being able to think outside the confines of normative thought is what Punk is about; and being able to discuss these new, unconventional ways is what I think punks should be doing. Discourse is more than just shooting the shit you know. It’s pushing your own boundaries of perception and exploring the vast potential contained within each of us; it’s just a matter of unleashing it. Yet if you’re going to be judged by other punks for not fitting in, or for expressing yourself differently to them, then let’s just call it a fucking day, because, correct me if I’m wrong, isn’t Punk about the very fact that you don’t fit it?

As far as I’m concerned, when it comes to the music, there can be as many types of Punk music as there are humans alive right now. If you disagree, my answer is that “no one knows what tomorrow knows,” so there. If Punk has to sound like [enter band falsely associated with what Punk really is], then fuck it! Let’s close up shop squat, because Punk shouldn’t have to follow any rules or trend, it should sound like whatever the fuck you want it to sound like—that’s Punk. And that’s why I believe more so that it’s about the people who make Punk happen, about how they make it happen and why—be it music, zines, distros, labels, shows or squats.

Punks don’t have to do anything; the idea is that they think for themselves and do what they do naturally, because they want to; and they do it themselves (so the Punk is Personal; and the Personal is Political). If they don’t want to be considerate, counter-creative, independent and proactive in the fight for equality, justice, freedom, peace and the right to noisy music…well, then they were never really Punk to begin with. Because, while for some people it’s part of who they are, for others it’s nothing but an easy excuse, a masquerade, a ticket to anything-goes. And shit goes nowhere.

Being a pessimist is not the same as never giving people the benefit of the doubt. Being socially awkward is not the same as being a rude, arrogant prick. Disagreeing with someone doesn’t necessarily mean they’re challenging your punkness, or doubting how legit you are, or shit-talking on you or saying they’re better than you. Learn to get over yourself mate. The sun doesn’t shine out of your arse, it doesn’t shine out of anybody’s arse; and it’s OK, not is everyone out to get you. If someone doesn’t like you or your effort, so fucking what? It’s yours.

I’m an empathetic person; I’m sensitive to the particularities and quirks of each and every punk and want to know all about where they’re from and how they came to be who they are. I’m also the kind of person who will turn the other cheek, just to give you a second chance at being an asshole. You prove me right and I go back to doing more important things. Because a wanker is still a wanker.

ENDNOTES: We’re still looking for a new coordinator to become my partner in crime here at MRR once Mariam leaves (snif) in early May. If after what you read you still think you can work with me (he he), then get in touch for an application at mrr@maximumrocknroll.com! You will be in charge of a large range of (*)tasks. We need someone with an a vast knowledge of hardcore, punk, garage and everything in between (from all over the world, not just USHC, not just Skandi crust or Japanese noise) with a strong vision for the global punk community, ideas, excitement and excellent organizational skills. You’ll also need to have an eye for (editorial) detail, a strong work and DIY ethic, feel comfortable working with strict deadlines and following specific guidelines, be able to delegate and coordinate others, as well as be capable of resolving issues in a mature, level-headed manner. We want someone who loves punk and is dedicated enough to spend a couple or more years on this one amazing job. You get to live at the MRR compound rent free, along with 44,000 records and a couple of roommates in (usually) sunny SF. You will have time for a part-time job but your main focus will MRR. Can you dig it?

Lastly, I want to briefly describe the monthly process, as people often get confused. This is a all-volunteer run magazine. No one gets paid for their efforts and everything is done because of the volunteers’ love for punk. As far as the coordinating part, we work on an issue two months in advance. So right now you are reading the January issue, which we worked on throughout November. At the end of November it went to print and returned at the beginning of December. As you know we have readers all around the world and distribution can take a while, thanks to postage services, distances, customs, California’s notoriously bad postage system, etc. By January 1^st (hopefully!) every reader has their issue, which they read throughout the month, hence why it’s the January issue.

Now, we pick and lock down content for each issue within the first week of each month. We assign records and zines for review on the 6^th of every month, so if your record or zine arrives after that, it’ll be reviewed in the following issue.

Demos are picked up and reviewed by reviewers at their own free, hence why it sometimes takes a bit longer for them to get printed. Patience young punks! Our demo reviewers are passionate dedicated music nerds, with busy schedules but a keen desire to serve the punk.

If you send us an interview, don’t demand that it get published right away. We get a lot of content and the only reason you’re reading MRR is because we strive to keep the quality high (we hope we’ve succeed). Five hundred word interviews with the same old boring questions, aimed at simply promoting your band isn’t good enough. Tell us something we can’t find out online, surprise us, make us think; push the boundaries for fuck sake—this is punk! And obviously sexist, racist, homophobic and other equal crap will be rejected!

We make sure to keep a good mix in every issue. This means that while we may have half a dozen interviews with Scandinavian hardcore bands, we can’t really run them all at the same time; every issue’s content gets pieced together in relation to the overall amount of content we have and can fit in each issue. So, if you haven’t noticed, we try to include something old, something new, something hardcore, something punk rock, something on the pop punk/garage/weirder side, something overseas, something local, something with punks of colour, anything other than the straight white male formula (women/queer/trans), scene reports, photospreads and guest columns. Thus, while your submission may be killer, dearest punk, you may just have to be patient.

It’s basically two people (*)coordinating everything that goes inside the magazine every month and one person making sure it reaches you no matter how far you live! We work every day on this magazine without cease, and we love it, so fear not that your efforts go unnoticed. How good those efforts are, is up to you. Punk is what you make it!

Instant gratification was never a characteristic of print publications. If you just want a “quicky,” use one of the many message boards.

Svoboda Punk!

(*) gathering/generating content, editing approx. 80,000 words per issue, doing layouts and photo editing, assigning records, fact checking record titles and following a style sheet, answering dozens of emails a day, functioning as the advertising/accounting department rolled into one, dealing with the bank, landlords, post office and neighbors, maintaining books/accounting, paying bills and the rent on time, plus reviewing records, CDs and zines, and writing a column monthly. Can you dig it?

Last month I continued to talk about how football and how I came to appreciate and love it. I also talked about Asteras Exarhion (Exarhia Star). I want to make a correction here and say that it is indeed Star (singular), not Stars and also that I accidentally wrote ΟΦΗ as being the acronym for Olympiacos FC, when it is in fact ΟΣΦΠ (that dreaded ΟΣΦΠ written everywhere, usually in the tackiest, often misspelled, tags and graffiti, hahaha). That was a stupid mistake on my part, as I know very well that ΟΦΗ is Heraklion’s team on the magnificent island of Crete. So sorry ΟΦΗ fans, I know you aren’t anchovies (γαύροι)! Also, to clear up any ambiguity, in 1976 was when PAOK fans started organizing officially at Gate 4, the Toumba stadium itself and all its gates have been around since 1959.

In this final segment on football (and how even just writing about it has my heart racing faster), I want to talk about the Ultras. Often confused with hooligans, the Ultras are the fans you will see at football games waving the flare around in tifo choreography; the ones who organize the crowd to chant in a round and the ones who create and set up those ginormous banners you see floating over the thousands of spectators. The Ultras have more invested in the team because, unlike the players who play the game, the fans live the game.

Some of these banners make political or social commentary and there have even been (surreal) situations of (Greek) cops chasing fans, interrogating drivers and searching cars in order to find ‘the anti-establishment banner’, which said Corrupt Politicians, Parliament of the Affluent, the Wrath of the Revolted Will Choke You; a banner reacting to the EU and IMF’s recent austerity measures. A couple more examples might better illustrate my point. In the chaos of burnt forests, freedom burns, which was in response to the political corruption regarding forest fires, a common occurrence during the summertime in Greece. Bribe Takin’ Gun Totin’, Trigger Pullin’, Nazi Thinkin’ Power Crazy Police Force – ACAB G4, in response to recent police violence during demos against the EU and the austerity measures. In Turkey, the famous diehard Beşiktaş Ultras raised a banner that said We Are All Black, after rival fans made negative reference to the French-Senegalese Beşiktaş player Pascal Nouma. The Beşiktaş fans even raised a banner saying We Are All Pluto, after an international committee of astronomers stripped the planet of its planetary status. We all know that’s preposterous and Pluto is indeed a planet, and an awesome one at that!

Going back to the Ultras, some groups have been known to align themselves with extreme (political) ideologies. A fine example are S.S. Lazio Ultras, Red Star Belgrade, the Bad Blue Boys from Zabgreb’s Dinamo, more recently APOEL fans from Cyprus—but that’s just fascism for you, sneaking its way into everything! The real Ultras are obviously antifa and they use football as a platform for critical thinking and positive influence. One world famous example is Hamburg’s team, Sankt Pauli, which you may know of by its Jolly Roger logo and passionate fans. In some cases, like in Turkey, or Poland, , Ultras must meet at secret locations so as to not get their families involved, for fear of being attacked by rival fans, most commonly fascists or neo-nazis.

One of the focal points of the Ultras culture is also the anti-commercialization of football, but at the end of the day, it’s about keeping football away from harmful, exploitative powers; much like punk must protect itself. It ends up going beyond the confines of the football field and the idea of football as merely just a game. Because it is obviously so much more.

A football match is like a micrography of society—people from every path of life, cutting across every demographic, all jumbled together for two hours, with only one thing in common: the game. Not everyone even likes the team in the same way, or for the same reasons, but everyone loves seeing that ball get kicked around. And this is and should be the fundamental reason people play and watch football, for the love of the game. However, you know as well as I how convenient it is for the wrong parties to use something like football as a means to fanaticize people into ethic, racial or any other kind of prejudice or hate. Fascists, cop pigs and other scum often find their most ready recruits among football crowds, an easy pool from which to proselytize young and angry youth. This is excatly why the Ultras take action. They create a ‘safe space’ for fans while voicing their anti-establishment/anti-cop/antifa sentiment and challenging convention with their DIY spirit.

A local collective that does similar work based in Athens, Greece, are the Radical Fans United (RFU). Every summer they set up their RFU festival to focus on this love of the game, the social and political meaning of sports and the exhilarating experience of witnessing it all up close. Every year, dozens of teams enter for both a football and basketball tournament, which last three days and are accompanied by film screenings, exhibits, talks, freshly cooked souvlakia, live shows and hundreds of people! I really wanted to score some fucking goals, so last summer I decided I wanted to be a part of it too! A gavros friend of mine from Asteras Exarhion jokingly talked about coaching a girl team to take part in the 5×5 tournament but I quickly made sure it remained no joke and joined the team. The RFU headquarters were just below Strefi Hill, which is where Asteras Exarhion has its stadium (for its female basketball team, which have been kicking ass in the first national league for a decade straight!) so we decided the shady basketball courts of Strefi Hill would be the most suitable for us to train.

Another four girls I vaguely knew from the square, anarchist demos and Asteras joined the team and we got started. All five of us were pretty badass ladies who didn’t take shit from men anyway, and our coach/friend was notorious for being a bit of a cheeky chauvinist, so we were more than happy to show them all that we could kick some ass! In fact, our goalie’s dumbass crush even went as far as to say said ‘I can’t believe a girl is fucking up something I love. There’s no place for women in football.’ Fuck that. I’ll bloody my shins and scrape my knees everyday buddy if it means I can score a goal, prove you wrong and make you sore. Of course, minor detail, none of us had ever actually played football before, but we didn’t care, the momentum and determination were there and that’s all we needed. We trained once a week for two months, then twice a week for the last month leading up to the tournament at the end of July. Sure, we took breaks to buy cold beers from the kiosk, shared smokes right after we were done scoring perfectly off-side goals, and usually all ended up partying together in the square right after practice, but that was half the point. We were the Skyles Exarhion (Exarhia Bitches!) and we were ready to bare some teeth!

Of course we lost, 0-1, but hey, our rivals had two semi-pro players and a girl who could maneuver the ball like a fucking champ! They actually made five attempts, so for our awesome goalie to save us four times was pretty kick ass! I think the ouzo she made us all drink before hand gave us that extra energy and ballsyness we needed! However, we were determined to show them that we play by our own rules, so we devised a devilish plan! We gave instructions to the DJ to blast a Greek punk song we all loved just as the last minute of the game clocked in. Eva and Hara made sure defense was tight, I kept the centre clear and Haroula drove the ball towards our goalkeeper, who then grabbed tit, ran across to the opposite goal and, to everyone’s dismay, slam dunked that thing right into their nets! The crown went wild and they cheered us on, booing the other team and throwing their empty cans at them, shouting at them to treat us nice because we are dangerous—it was mythical!

***

            On a completely different note, it is almost Halloween as I write this, Slapsgiving soon to follow, then X-mass. That horrid time of year when you feel compelled by that hippie dude named Jesus and all his followers to celebrate with family and friends, the fact that you are all still on speaking terms and survived another year, without going to the ER, the morgue or worse, jail. If this is indeed almost the end of the world, then make sure to give them hell! Do not quietly into that good night! Get mad! Upset their ‘safety’—revolt!

Because if you owe the system, it owns you and these scum-blooded crooks are cornering us into submission by any means possible. Fascism, religious conflict and economic austerity, they’re all nasty by-products and convenient preservers of the oligarchy. They will wring humanity of every last cent and penny, run every river dry, cut every forest down, kill every animal and ‘enemy’. And when that is all pillaged, they’ll take everything else—your property, your freedom and right to justice. Then your family. It’s already happening, don’t you see? It’s called democracy. And you help keep it in place.

At the end of it, hopefully humans will realize that money, and the whole goddamn system that goes along with it, is nothing but a fictitious noose around their neck; and if they really want to—and they will need to—they will free themselves of it. There should be no more human power fueling the totalitarian machine of profit; walk away. There should be no building, institution or legislation higher than the rationality and self-governing integrity of man; resist. We are only as free as our governments allow us to be. And when people finally have nothing but their very lives left to loose—and everything to gain—then they will fight. I only hope it is not too late.

Holy shit, it’s been such a long time since I had any time to write something for this here blog. Being so busy with MRR means I limit my uploads to past columns and occasional record reviews.

I thought about making this blog more focused on new releases and old things i discover that i find exciting, but then realized two things: one, there are enough blogs out there that are updated on a regular/daily basis chock full of the same shit i would be uploading and two, i simply don’t have the time. I could type in a couple lines about each one, but what’s the point in that? It’s unfair to the bands and it perpetuates the lightning-fast access to information you won’t necessarily digest, just hoard, like the info-nut you are. It’s also half-arsed journalism and i have a degree dammit—after all, we are professionals! You can get your dose of hardcore and punk and obscurities and hyped-bullshit and real rarities on better blogs than mine, honest. I might as well schtick to running the magazine and i’ll leave the online vultures to find their prey elsewhere.

And, seeing as i am violently sick today, after having too much beer and wine and champagne yesterday, i am bed-ridden. Hal of MRR radio fame and his lady Neddy were darlings and took myself and M. out to a Mediterranean restaurant for dinner, to celebrate our recent engagement! Turkish and Greek goodies, with delicious tzatziki and melitzanosalata that had me missing the simple yet tasty Mediterranean diet (unlike the fatty super-sized jumbo-food people eat here).

Then Hal drove us around the city like the great host that he is, showing us the best spots! We went to Twin Peaks to see the skyline and get frostbite, then we rode down  famous Lombard street and went up to Coit(us) tower, which was lit up like a giant red phallus (where we also used the Beam Me Up Scotty public bathroom). Then we stopped in for a drink at the legendary and beautiful Vezuvios bar in North Beach, just by the famous City Lights bookstore (i would buy every book in there if i could!), before riding through Chinatown and heading home! What a night!

View from Twin Peaks

Coit Tower

Vezuvios / City Lights

I still have to finalize my Top 10 for 2012 and it’s going to be tough because there really have been some incredible releases! For now though, all i listen to on repeat is the cover German-based Greek punks Free Yourself did, of Γκούλαγκ‘s epic, epic, epic, epic, epic, epic, epic track called Addiction (Εθισμός).

And time is an addiction. And time is the punishment.

And, in accordance with my sentiment, the doorbell rang and the postman showed up with a packet from my good friend Apostolis of World’s Appreciated Kitsch, stuffed with goodies like records, calendars, flyers, pins and posters! Oh what joy! I am listening to the new My Turn record and hearing him scream his lungs out reminds me of all the hard work he puts into the local scene, in Athens, Greece and the Balkans at large!

I keep bugging M. to do an interview with him for MRR! I am also working on finalizing the questions for crust legends Hibernation, plus this week I hope to do the Greek Punk radio show i keep meaning to do! I also want to plan a show in solidarity with all my friends back in Athens and the historic home-away-from-home, Villa Amalias….

Man, i really miss my friends back home, it makes me sad. It’s a weird feeling to be in a place where no one knows who you are. It can be extremely liberating and insanely pressuring all at the same time and I am constantly trying to remain true to my roots and not lose the strength and courage my local scene equip me with. I must take all it taught me and continually put it to good use. Or else, i might as well have stayed in Athens to fight the cops for our turf.

I bought the ticket, I’ll take the ride.

Thank the universe for $1.99 thrift stores and i have Hunter Thompson’s collected columns from the SF Examiner in one book aptly titled Generation of Swine. Now I bid you a due, i have to curl up in my bed of pain and listen to some more Greek punk and wallow in my drunken melancholy.