radical brown punx

All eyes on LA Raw Ponx! This kid named Austin just got in touch with me the other day. He's involved in "Silenzio Statico", a zine that documents what's going on in the South Central LA Latin/Chicano/a hardcore scene right now. Before he'd gotten in touch, my friend Candice highly encouraged me to check out Tuberculosis and I did and I thought they were hella cute and then I watched an episode of LA Raw Ponx video fanzine "Fronteras Desarmadas". They totally got it goin' on down there and I'm so jealous!

When I lived in the Bay Area circa 2005, I remember having conversations with other brown punks wondering if we could ever have our own scene the way women in punk did with riot girl. I know damn well there's a tendency to romanticize past happenings that you weren't around to see first hand. I know it's not like every time Bikini Kill played a show, someone rolled out a pink carpet for them to walk down and then all of these perfect riot girl bands opened for them and then they all got naked, smoked some weed and prayed to Gaia together. But still, riot girl made other girls want to get involved with punk. It made women want to make their own feminist DIY punk culture.

For whatever reason, Afro-Punk doesn't seem to be doing that for black kids. Or perhaps it's doing it for individual black kids across the U.S., Canada & western Europe, but we don't have any kind of political DIY art movement yet. And hell no, I'm not counting the corporate sponsored Afro-Punk tours as signs of a movement. Please.

I think mostly it's just a question of numbers. In LA and parts of Texas, everywhere you look, you see a (light) brown face looking back at you. And since Latinos generally don't have that same kind of pressure to like a certain type of music according to their race, like black people do, it's generally gonna be easier to find LatinPunx than AfroPunx. There's always been a Latino HC scene in Cali, and "Mas Alla De Los Gritos" ("Beyond the Screams") came out long before the "Afro-Punk" documentary did. Of course, it all depends on where you are. I'm thinking about my friends Ana & Mando surrounded by all those white people in Portland, Oregon. They're Latin art punk kids orginally from LA and they play in a two piece called Magic Johnson, in which they sing all of their lyrics in Spanish to an audience who mostly has no idea what they're saying. I hope one day, they get to play with XYX from Monterrey, NL, Mexico cuz obviously not all Latin punx play hardcore. Adding Mutating Meltdown (Austin) to that imaginary lineup = dream show.

Having missed the 80s, I've never been much of a hc kid myself, but I'm inspired by how overtly political many of those bands are. The LA Raw Ponx are no different. From what I've seen, they can't wait to speak out about the fact that we still live in a racist police state that we should all be actively critiquing and resisting. Whenever I'm in a band, my lyrics tend to get kind of dreamy and personal, but after watching that Tuberculosis interview, I finally wanna try to speak what's on my mind instead of hiding behind abstractions.

This is such a cool time for punk rock! I'm so glad I didn't give up on it! MRR is run by feminists, brown punks across the country are trying to get together. This is the moment many of us have been waiting for. We can still change the world, and in fact we already have.

For DIY punk shows in New Orleans or to get in touch: nomorefiction@gmail.com

i can't believe i watched the superbowl

Holidays make me grumpy. All that pressure to be in a good mood on a certain day automatically puts me in a bad mood. At the same time, something in me changed before I moved to New Orleans that made me want to be in a place where people celebrate absolutely everything. People either associate New Orleans with celebration or tragedy. After living in Portland, Oregon for six years, a place you could describe as pleasantly monotonous, I was ready for some highs & lows.

I actually watched the Superbowl on Sunday, or at least parts of it. Being in a town with an actual personality changes the way you live. I look at the scene I was involved in in Portland before I moved. It was pretty ideal, being a queer woman who plays music because there are so many others, and then after a while, more & more people of color started to move to Portland. So by the time I left, in the fall of 2008, I was leaving behind the scene of my dreams, in a way. But everyone who's ever lived in Portland always compares it to a bubble. My whole life revolved around this group of mainly punk inspired, queer, mostly female musicians who were transplants from other states, and all in their 20s. I was a nanny so it's not like I even knew people from work. My whole world was my housemates, my bandmates, other people in bands, people I saw at shows and then peripherally the folks at the feminist bookstore, or the community organization I volunteered with for a little while.

In New Orleans, there's more of a feeling of being a part of something larger than your particular group of friends. You're a part of a city with a strong historical identity and distinctive culture and you'd have to be the most jaded person in the world to not want to learn more about it and participate on some level, which is why I actually watched some football last Sunday. I just wanted to be around all of the excitement, you know? Of course it's half ecstatic and half annoying, like the exhilaration of zipping through standstill traffic in the French Quarter with everyone honking their horns to celebrate our victory, but then almost getting smacked in the face by people on foot & in cars who think it's a good idea to try to high five a biker. It's not just events or holidays, it's the actual culture itself that's so appealing. I've been able to see a few marching bands in second line parades that happen randomly throughout the year, and I also went to see a couple punk brass bands who are inspired by the traditional brass bands of New Orleans. I'm actually thinking about putting Chin Up (aka Slow Danger) Brass Band on a No More Fiction show with a touring band cuz they might as well get a taste of what's unique about this place if they're only gonna be in town for one night.

I was just telling Brontez today how queer of a town New Orleans is. It's the secret queer capital of the South. I mean, I guess it's no secret to people who are actually from the South, but you know how a place like San Francisco, for example, has a national reputation for being queer? Well, New Orleans doesn't have that, but it is. If you think about it, where else are all the freaks from Texas, Mississippi and Alabama gonna go? And I'm not talking queer as in mini version of the Castro, although that does exist here. There are also tons of black, poor & working class queers, too, who have created their own culture all to themselves. There's this hip-hop subgenre native to New Orelans called Bounce and queer bounce rappers created a sub-subgenre called Sissy Bounce, which is starting to gain national attention. And I see black MTF trannies on a regular basis walking around my neighborhood and the Quarter like it's no big deal. Part of me thinks a black transwoman would have a harder time surviving in Portland, Oregon--a seemingly more "liberal" place--than here. Obviously, I wouldn't know for sure.

Honestly, I'm still taking it all in. There are so many layers to this city, it's humbling. I feel like when I talk to people who travel a lot or move a lot, they often try to characterize a city in such a quick & simple way, as if you can really know a place after only being there for a few days, weeks or months. New Orleans is the type of place that defies easy categorization. It's southern, but it's got Caribbean influences; it's progressive and traditional at the same time. It's African, Spanish, French and Native American. It's beautiful and still cheap to live in relative to other major cities. I'm so down with living here. I hate where I grew up, my parents are immigrants so it's not like I have deep roots anywhere in the U.S., and I knew Portland wasn't gonna be my home forever, but here I am for the first time feeling a lot of pride about where I live. Like meeting someone you have instant chemistry with, I want to give this city more time and get to really know it. I don't have any plans to move on.

on tour with deny it

MRR #322 MARCH 2010

As far as I'm concerned, getting to go on tour is the highest privilege in the world. After my last band ended, I walked away from it feeling so extremely lucky, like I never thought I would have the chance in my lifetime to go to Europe for free, meet my heroes and experience that positive exchange that happens with people who are moved by the music you play for them. My experiences touring with that band were so magical and unexpected that after it was all over, I couldn't help but feel extremely satisfied and accomplished--like, "I can die happy now. I've done more than I ever set out to do." Getting a second chance to go on tour with my new band, Deny It, felt like yet another dream come true.

Takiya who plays sax in Deny It travels most of the year, but she told me & Candice that she'd be back in New Orleans during November and December to work on band stuff. As soon as she got back to town, we practiced as much as possible, recorded a 5-song cassette and set off in my 1990 Honda Civic hatchback named Perl on a tiny little tour that took us to Austin, Houston, back through Nola, and then to Pensacola, Florida.

I set up the shows in Austin and New Orleans. For Austin, I got in touch with Mutating Meltdown who helped us get on a show at Trailer Space Records. This band called Metal Bunnies opened for us. Two boys in weird costumes playing instruments and three girls singing songs in unison about weed and getting their pussies licked. It seemed like the sort of band born out of friend hangouts and inside jokes, and I think I heard that the members were all teenagers. The multiple girl singer & minimal music thing reminded me of Delta 5 (even though they sound nothing like them) and it was refreshing to walk in and see a different kind of band setup. I feel like punks don't experiment nearly enough anymore. Three singers singing in unison sounds good! Dare to be different; try something new! We had also asked this band from Monterrey, NL, Mexico called XYX to play that show with us, but one of the members couldn't get time off from work. Booo! Also, when we got there, Mutating Meltdown said they couldn't play cuz their keyboard player, Chad, was sick, but then after we played, they decided to go for it anyway, with a friend filling in on keyboards. Mutating Meltdown put out my favorite 7" this year and I am so inspired by Veronica and Erin who have been in one solid band after another: The Carrots, Finally Punk and now Mutating Meltdown. Erin also plays bass in a two-piece called Hatchet Wound, and I just found out that Veronica is the one who makes all those cute matching outfits for the Carrots. Is there anything those ladies can't do?

I'm not gonna say "Fuck Houston" even though I really want to because I feel like there's gotta be some kindred souls hiding out somewhere in that city. First of all, I know no one in that city personally which makes setting up a good show kinda difficult. Candice got us on some benefit show at The Mink. This dude Jacob that set up the show told her that we'd be going on last and that we were the only outta town band on the show. Already, it sounded fishy to me. Even though setting up a good show for a touring band should be common sense, it just isn't. I would never put a touring band last unless they're a well-known band that everyone already knows about and loves. Duh. Anyway, we spent the entire night watching dude band after dude band (literally 10 bands and not a single woman in one of them! How is that even possible?) We were supposed to go on at 12:30am but everything was running behind. 2am arrived, the Pavement cover band called Davement brought the house down, we still hadn't gone on, and Jacob told us we had no time to play. Booooo on you, Houston. We sat thru DudeFest 2009 for nothing. Houston was the only show my old band played on a two-month tour where no one showed up. And hey, wasn't that letter-writer who called me racist a couple issues ago also from Houston? What's the fuckin deal?? I do think that Houston can be redeemed. Plus, it was cool seeing so many Latin kids in bands. Up the brown punks! If you're in Houston and you think you can help us out with a different experience, please e-mail me! Positives from Houston: 1. Hip-hop duo that used Black Flag sample "Gimme Gimme Gimmee!!", 2. meeting Sean Padilla of the Cocker Spaniels, 3. Getting out of all-lady lala land and realizing how important & necessary girl/queer punk shows are, 4. Realizing that even though we had a shitty experience, there was nothing else I'd rather be doing with my time. 5. Deeelicious vietnamese tofu sandwiches for $2.50.

Next day, back home to New Orleans. Another No More Fiction event! It probably wasn't the best idea to play a show that you're putting on while yr on tour because you get there and you can't just like hang out and let things happen, you have to make things happen. Set up the PA! Make sure someone's at the door collecting dollars! Run back to the practice space and get more mic stands! It was hectic but fun. Ixnay, all-girl folk-pop trio, opened up the night. Kicktease from Baton Rouge was second up. I've written about them before. Adee calls them black Black Flag, and they're getting a better & better crowd in New Orleans each time they play. Deny It played to a very sweet & appreciative audience, and it was Brice's 34th birthday! After ALL THESE YEARS (hahaha) he's still doing his part keeping Nowe Miasto warehouse going and putting out records for his friend's bands. Also I'd like to claim that I put on the blackest punk show in the country, with a whopping four black musicians participating--and all women!

Pensacola really delivered. We had our show at this house called 309 that's been a punk house for like 20 years or maybe even longer. I've known so many punks from Pensacola over the years, and for whatever reason, that scene produces some particularly bad ass women. Kelsey, who lives at 309, set up our show for us and I feel like she totally tapped into the spirit of diy punk rock feminism and made some amazing shit happened. First of all, she started a band with her friend Lara called Feral Pride so that she could play with our band. I know that everytime a group of girls gets together to play music, someone cries out "riot girl!" but I swear this time it's true! They switched off on drums (just toms and snare, no kick) & guitar. All the parts were super simple and their attitude was fearless. Kelsey doesn't seem to have a shy bone in her body. They sang their songs together (let there be a new trend of unison singing!) "Girl yr hair's so soft/Why'd you go and cut it off?" The first band that played was also stellar. They were called Solanas Judgend, that also formed to play our show. They started off with a sound sample from my favorite movie, BORN IN FLAMES. It was the part where Zella Wiley, played by Florynce Kennedy is amping the Women's Army up to take arms & start a revolution. She says something like "You've got to have the right time and the right place and I'm beginning to think that THIS IS IT!" and at that very moment, screaming staticy vocals and noisy guitar took over the room. Somewhere in the middle of their set, which was about 6 minutes long, the guitarist starts reading aloud from the SCUM manifesto. I know this sounds like something I would dream up, but I swear it actually happened. Can't wait to make it back there to play with those bands again. Pensacola, keep up the good work!

Thanks to Veronica, Erin, Trailer Space Records, Kelsey, 309, everyone who came to our shows and even Jacob for an amazing and eye-opening tour experience!

Houstonites, get in touch:
No More Fiction Shows: nomorefiction@gmail.com
Deny It: www.myspace.com/denitynola

everyone's not welcome

from MRR #321 FEB 2010

I work with this 18 year old girl from Mobile, Alabama. She moved to New Orleans a year ago, looking for a more open-minded place to exist. We sling coffee together, bitch about customers and talk about feminism and music. She told me that when she was younger, her older sister played her Hole and then from there she learned about Bikini Kill and started to teach herself about feminism. She told me the first guitar riff she ever learned was "I Like Fucking." Since I set up shows in New Orleans for queer/girl bands, I've been trying really hard to get her to come. After the last one passed and she didn't show up, I had to know why. I kinda had the feeling that she wasn't going because she felt like she wouldn't feel comfortable, so I just straight up asked her and she said, "Yeah, I don't really look like a punk anymore and I haven't been to a show in so long..."

It bummed me out because in my mind, or in theory, someone like her should be easily attracted to that type of show. She's young, white, straight and likes punk rock but somehow she still feels alienated. Then I started thinking about my friend and bandmate, this girl Takiya, who's black, 20 years old, just found out about punk a little over a year ago and is traveling around the country, playing in bands, meeting all these people and just being a completely free & beautiful person. Activists and punks are always talking about trying to make spaces "inclusive". I've talked that kind of talk myself. But in reality, you really do just have to work with what you have as far a community goes. If you're punk, you just are, and if you're not, you're not. I don't think you can really recruit people into this shit unless they were headed in this direction already. We can make all kinds of guesses & judgments about why that is, but it just seems to be a fact of life. If you're black and you're attracted to punk rock, you're not gonna be like, "Oh, I would be punk but there's waaay too many white people." You just gonna roll with it, for better or for worse, at lease for a while.

My whole thing with No More Fiction Shows was to create this utopian punk scene in New Orleans where you look around and you see all different types of people. Not just all queer people of color or whatever, but all kinds of different backgrounds and experiences. It's something I do for purely selfish reasons. I'm a black queer woman in a band. I really don't wanna have to look out at my audience and see a bunch of straight, white men. So booking shows for bands with women & queers in them really does help bring more women & queers to shows. It's just that the crowd remains overwhelmingly white which isn't ideal, but I understand that that's just the nature of the beast. (The beast is white!)

The one thing I will say truly makes a difference are the bands themselves. There's this picture someone took of my old band, New Bloods, playing a show at this bike shop in San Francisco and like everyone in the audience is brown & queer (or at least everyone you can see in the picture). Granted, they were all me & Adee's friends (haha) but still that was a magic moment for me. And it made me realize, if you want to see yourself represented, you have to represent yourself. White ladies love to watch other white ladies play music. Same goes for everyone else. Black people, Asian people, fat people, people in wheelchairs, gay people (especially gay people.) As long as the majority of bands and zine writers and other culture-creators are white, the scene's gonna be real white. But just like how riot girl was kind of a niche in punk rock and not at all representative of the majority of punk rock at the time, I feel like we're making our own niche now. Brown kids, queer kids, white kids who are sick of the same old scene.

Sometimes I feel like I'm being a little bit disingenuous when I write "No More Fiction: shows for ladies & queers," because those shows truly are for everyone, not just ladies & queers, and I'm not really interested in an all-anything scene anymore. But I've found that there is a certain power in putting those words on a flyer. The whole vibe of the show ends up different. The kinds of dudes that show up tend not to be douchebags. It puts a little bit of meaning into the fun. It's not empty, like just going to a bar or something. I think that people who are truly down, don't see it as exclusive to say "a zine for black punks" or "shows for girls & queers." Most people get it and I feel like most people benefit from it.

(I don't mind admitting that this is yet another column encouraging brown kids, queer kids, disabled kids, ladies, everyone on the margins, to step up and participate.)

No More Fiction Shows: shows for ladies and queers ONLY!
nomorefiction@gmail.com

punk rock utopian fantasy

MRR #320 JANUARY 2010

Part of the reason I set up punk shows is that I somehow still feel compelled to work toward this vision I have of punk rock being this thing that attracts & benefits all kinds of people. It's like I have my own utopian fantasy of what I think punk rock should be and some small part of me feels like it's possible, so I can't let it go no matter how many times I get let down. Fantasies of utopia are what get you hooked on punk in the first place right? When you're a teenager, the unfairness of everyday life begins to feel unbearable, and then along comes punk rock, offering you a different way to relate--a different way to have community and live your every day life that feels more fair, honest and free. At moments, it really does feel perfect even though nothing ever really is. When I was around 19 and 20 years old, I believed whole-heartedly in the ability of the punk scene to actually be anti-sexist, anti-racist, anti-capitalist, feminist, anarchist--all of these things existing perfectly inside a bubble.

Numerous people by now have made the point that punk rock isn't as separate from the "regular world" as we'd like to think it is. Many people have also pointed out that no matter how punk we believe ourselves to be, there's still a little piece of The Man inside us all that recreates the injustice we wish didn't exist in the world. After a while, it's easy to feel disillusioned when you start to see all of the flaws in your community and in yourself. Maybe the feminist anti-rape collective you've been a part of tries to confront a known sexual assaulter, fails to make real justice happen, subsequently disintegrates and it leaves you feeling angry and lost. You're queer or a person of color and the isolation you're experiencing in your local super-white, super-straight punk scene is bringing you to the depths of despair. Your band breaks up, or you have a falling out with another punk you really loved. Oh, heartbreak.

I remember reading this Nomy Lamm article sometime before I moved to the Northwest. I think she was living in Olympia at the time. I don't remember the name of the article or what book it was in, but her words probably influenced my next major punk rock utopian fantasy the most. She wrote from the perspective of a fat, queer, Jewish, punk rock feminist with a peg leg. Obviously, her point of view is unique and quite bad ass. Her writing was politically fierce--a lot about self-acceptance, learning to love your body, rejecting the standards of normalcy that make you feel inferior--all of it made me feel like out there in The Great Northwest were a group of truly open-minded, punk rock, riot girl dykes who would readily accept me. Don't we all wish we could find a space where things like race & gender cease to matter (in a negative way)? I just wanted to feel free.

I needed to hear Nomy Lamm's words and to believe that their perfect manifestation existed somewhere in the world. It seems so naive now and kind of silly in a way, but at this point, I can see it both ways, I guess. Nomy was writing from her heart, from an internal universe that we create to exist inside of, to protect ourselves and heal ourselves. That place is real, and writing about it helps it come to exist in a material sense. When I was living in Portland, I met straight girls, queer girls, fat girls, trans girls, and even a couple brown girls who made zines, were in bands, and put on important events around town. There were queer punk basement shows and events like Fat Girl Speaks. It was a utopia of sorts, but then on the other hand, it was disappointing to see the queer punk scene sort of de-evolve into empty gay dance nights and cookie cutter fashion topped off with side swept bangs (this was around 2004). And besides, I hadn't dated anyone in years and I didn't have any other black friends. It felt like time to move on and so I did.

I think it's mostly because I'm black that I never thought of punk rock as forever home. When things start to go bad inside that world, my first impulse is to withdraw or try to leave it behind. At some point, every black punk kid I know has had to wonder, "Do all these white kids really have my back?" But then you draw yourself out of that cynical place and you realize that a select few of them do, and then you make more brown friends and finally things start to feel more balanced. Then after you complete that process, you can say, "Well I've created this dope community for myself, maybe I can do it for others." And that's where the fantasies come in. "Maybe the punk scene could be more like _____. Maybe young queer punk kids or young brown punk kids can have more support now." No matter if many of my utopian punk rock fantasies have been a let down, they still inspire me somehow. It's not so much about making the fantasy real, but using it as fuel to move forward, and being grown-up enough to look back and see all the good shit, not just the disasters.

No More Fiction DIY punk shows for ladies & queers in New Orleans
nomorefiction@gmail.com

show reviews

august 29th 2009
gun outfit/necro hippies/ixnay

the only thing i love better than a basement show is one in the living room because there's always a lamp or some christmas lights shining around the band that somehow make the music sound better. i missed ixnay cuz i was late which is a damn shame because they are the only all-girl band in new orleans' punk scene.

necro hippies have been getting a really good crowd lately which totally worked in gun outfit's favor cuz the room was pretty packed. Candice, the guitarist in Necro Hippies set up the whole show. I have so much respect for that girl! I'm pretty sure she sets up all of Necro Hippie's shows and she helps out so much with No More Fiction shows which put on queer/girl shows in New Orleans. She's a flyer-making machine! Candice reminds me of the ladies of the old school like Alice Bag or Toni Young, this young black lady who was part of the dc hardcore scene in the 80s and played bass in bands like Red C and Peer Pressure. She's like this lady, totally holding it down with all these guys, writing songs, playing guitar, setting up shows, coordinating shit, getting shit done. Candice just started doing shows under the name Look Ma, No Bra! and she's putting on really good shows for bands who come through New Orleans.

Oh, that just reminded me--to all the New Orleans punks: get used to paying a couple bucks for shows PLEASE! Punks all over the country: if you go to a show and you see a band from out of town, you should be prepared to put down just a couple bucks at least! If it's local bands, that's one thing, but if you can pay for beer, you can give the band $1 if that's all you have. Ok, I'm done.

I had no idea what Gun Outfit sounded like before I saw them and I knew little about them except that they are from Olympia, Washington. i liked them and thought it was funny that a lot of the folks that were dancing to necro hippies were sitting down for gun outfit. you can't mosh to gun outfit, it's true. I have to be honest and say that I like gun outfit because they sound old, like they're from 15 years ago. It's just that I've been feeling so nostalgic and missing pieces of the past and then gun outfit plays and it's just exactly what I wanted to hear that night. And to top it off, the crowd was pretty cool. Maybe it's because candice writes "macho punks fuck off" on all her flyers. It keeps the fools at bay.

september 4 2009
mutating meltdown/necro hippies/kicktease

the show was originally supposed to be at Nowe Miasto, this warehouse in mid-city, but Mutating Meltdown were driving all the way from Asheville and running late so we thought we'd have to cancel it, but then the saturn bar came through for us at the last minute. this was No More Fiction's 3rd show ever and we were really looking forward to it. we did a lot of work trying to get the flyers to spots that don't normally get flyered for punk shows, like the LGTB center. needless to say we were bummed during that couple of hours before a new spot was found. but everything always works out in the end, right? i hadn't been to a show at saturn bar yet, so i was kind of glad to have the chance to check it out.

kicktease started things off that night. they're an all-girl rock n roll trio from baton rouge. when you watch them, you can feel that they're a new band even though they're pretty tight. this black girl who reminded me of tina turner was the singer. i told her so after the show and she took it kinda weird and then i thought about it later and figured maybe she thought i meant "what's love got to do with it" tina instead of "river deep mountain high" tina which is actually what i meant. but whatever. she was a really good front person. she's got an amazing voice, and the guitarist is super solid. she was this talk, thin, dark-skinned black girl with a long-ass weave and glasses. the way she was playing made it all seem pretty effortless. i mean, even though it's the year 2009, it just ain't somethin you see every day and you could tell a lot of people were impressed. my friend said he thought they sounded "produced" even though they were live. i think it's cuz they really are more of a rock n roll band than a punk band because i believe they were playing through necro hippies equipment anyway. overally, i'm really curious to see how they change as they keep playing.

necro hippies brought their posse, as usual, and mutating meltdown showed up tour-weary but delivered musically. watching them, i got re-inspired. mutating meltdown is the kind of band that i was searching high & low for when i was about 18 years old. it's the kind of stuff i get excited about more than any other kind of punk. weird girl bands like scissor girls, quixotic, essential logic, erase errata, subtonix. i always related to those kinds of bands so much in terms of their music, image and general aesthetic. so obviously, i was really into mutating meltdown and it felt good to cross paths with the two ladies in the band who i first met when they were playing in finally punk, another one to add to the list above. Mutating Meltdown's 7" is out on a label called M'Lady Records, started by a guy who I started my first band ever with in DC. His name is Brett Lyman and he puts out good stuff so check it out.

nola riot

You know how it is when you’ve been doing the same thing for so long and it becomes so normal that you forget why it was so important that you started doing it in the first place? Well, moving to New Orleans at the age of 30 has reminded me why I got obsessed with girl bands and punk rock over a decade ago.

I spent the last seven years of my life on the west coast, mostly in Portland, Oregon. I moved there when I was 23 and I was instantly so inspired by how active women were in the punk scene there, how many girls were in bands and how many women I was meeting who were influenced by riot girl. Even though I was the only black girl around, which would later prove to be a challenge, Portland felt like a dream to me at the time. There were local bands that were not only all-girl, but all-dyke playing basement and living room shows on a weekly basis. It felt totally normal to be at shows where the bands and audiences were majority ladies & queers. For girls who played music, it was a very safe and supportive environment.

Moving to New Orleans, I knew exactly what I was getting into. There used to be a queer/lady punk scene here but it dissolved a couple of years ago. Lots of people have moved away since Hurricane Katrina and things are slowly getting started up again. Me and some new friends I’ve met since I moved here started putting on shows for queer/lady bands on tour and things are going really well here.

The biggest problem, though, is local bands! An all-girl band comes to town and there aren‘t very many choices of women-fronted bands to put them with. As far as I know so far, there’s Crackbox, a crust punk band with a woman lead singer and there’s Ixnay an all-girl folky/poppy trio. The local scene here is a major challenge, so one of the things I’ve been trying to do is encourage the ladies who live here to start bands. The process of doing that is what helped me remember why I started actively seeking out girl bands when I was around 16 and 17 years old. It helps me remember how finding that music changed my life.

Since moving here, I’ve played music here with other women who are incredible musicians--much, much, much better than I am (which isn’t hard to be) but they have surprisingly little confidence in their own skills and ability. Some of these ladies even have songs that they’ve been writing on their own forever, but won’t bring them out into the public because they believe their songs “aren’t good enough.” There’s nothing wrong with making art for yourself if that’s what you want. But it really does kill me to hear talented people be so down on their own talent, especially because there have already been so many strong women who came before us who have proved that we are good enough.

The first time you try to play along to a Bikini Kill song and you realize it’s just two chords--that’s a moment of an enlightenment. You realize that music isn’t powerful because it’s technical. I can’t even describe where music’s power comes from, but believe me, it has nothing to do with being the best drummer or the best guitarist. It’s all about delivery.

I recently started playing drums for this band called Deny It with this girl Candice who’s in a band called Necro Hippies, and this other girl named Takiya who lives in Florida. I’m not a drummer by any means but I’ve come to realize that singing and playing drums are the most fun things you can do in a band, so I do it anyway. A few weeks ago, we played this show with two all-boy emocore bands from Florida (no comment) and a local woman-fronted ska band. We had to borrow drums from one of the Florida bands and when I sat down at that expensive drumset, I had a moment of feeling like, “Damn, I’m a shitty drummer and these boys are gonna be lookin at me thinking I’m a shitty drummer.” But another part of me knows so much better than that.

Ladies like Erin Smith of Bratmobile and Carrie Brownstein of Sleater-Kinney totally demystified the guitar for me. If it wasn’t for them, till this day I might still believe that I can’t play the guitar. Their single-note riffs were fucking fierce and then like a decade later, every indie rock boy band’s music is filled with jumpy single-note riffs trying to be just like them. I listen to UK riot girl band Skinned Teen and it’s sloppy and minimal but so good. It’s all of the energy behind it that makes it work. You can tell they believe in their songs when you hear them.

The long list of women I’ve been lucky enough to play music with are a definitely inspiration. My ex-bandmate Adee never had a drum lesson in her life and created her own beautiful style of playing. Whenever I pick up drum sticks, I definitely think of her and also my friend Ana Rodriguez who plays drums for Portland band Magic Johnson. Bands like the Raincoats and LiliPut/Kleenex teach girls that it’s okay to experiment and trust your own strange sound. You don’t have to sound like everyone else. You don’t have to be loud; you can sound delicate and be punk. And more recently, we’ve got bands like Finally Punk, Vivian Girls, Mika Miko, Explode Into Colors, New Bloods and others keeping the spirit alive.

I really could go on, but the point is, as people on the margins of punk rock, our lessons have been written for us, many times over. It’s time to look back on that short history and draw strength and courage from it. I have so much faith and optimism for the queer and lady punks of New Orleans to rise to the challenge and create a scene that is welcoming to all people regardless of gender, sexuality, race, or ability.

It’s the year 2009! We gotta get over this “we’re not good enough” crap and start really living, expressing ourselves without fear, feeling the euphoria of getting really sweaty playing music for a small room full of appreciative people. This isn’t just about music or punk rock. It’s about liberation, our self-esteems, and the confidence you gain by making shit happen. Now go start a band!

No More Fiction
Punk shows for the ladies & the queers in New Orleans
www.myspace.com/nomorefictionshows
nomorefiction@gmail.com,

fleabag show

Before I moved to New Orleans a month ago, I had this idea of putting on queer/lady DIY punk shows because I knew that kind of scene was lacking here. During my last couple of years living in Portland, somehow everyone I was close to was either from the New Orleans or had lived there at some point--everyone from bandmates to housemates, even the lady I was babysitting for. It was through those people that I first learned about GirlGang Productions in New Orleans.

GirlGang was a group of three queer women who put on queer shows around town. They started in 2002 after a similar group called She Loves Me/She Loves Me Not went defunct. GirlGang petered out in 2006 after Katrina, but not solely because of the hurricane. The queer DIY scene in New Orleans was always tiny and whenever queer bands came to town, there was just one band to play with, and that band was Tragic Girls End Up Like This. My ex-bandmate Cassia Gammill played keyboards in that band along with Sarah Brooks (aka Sarah Action, ex-Ovary Action), Erin Dwyer (ex-Ovary Action), Elaine Little and Emily Elhaj. Tragic Girls opened for pretty much every queer band that came through Nola and kept the scene alive for women & queers in New Orleans, pretty much until the hurricane hit.

I decided to call the new effort to recreate a queer girl punk scene in New Orleans No More Fiction. I just looked at a list of Essential Logic song titles and picked one. (Runners up: "Music is a Better Noise" and "Born In Flames".) Before I really got started, I felt like it was important for me to get in touch with Mags, one of GirlGang's organizers who still lives in town. I called her up and we talked for a bit about the past and future of a queer girl punk scene in New Orleans. Basically, she told me, she's 40-something years old and in grad school and feels out of the loop when it comes to knowing which bands to invite to town. And if queer bands were brought to New Orleans, who would open for them now that Tragic Girls no longer exists? Mags agreed that there definitely would be enthusiasm and support for a new queer DIY scene in New Orleans. She's really well connected after having been here for so long, and offered her support with spreading the word about shows once No More Fiction got started.

Armed with Mags' blessing, I felt like I could finally start making shit happen. I already had a band in mind that I wanted to set up a show for. Marilyn, the singer/guitar player of Fleabag, this amazing pop-punk band from Oakland, got in touch with me and mentioned that they would be coming through New Orleans on tour in a couple of weeks. Not only is Marilyn's band great, but she's also another queer woman of color in punk. What a perfect band for No More Fiction's first show! I knew I had to get something together for them, but I had to do it fast!

Step 1: Search for a venue.

I exhausted the venue list on www.noladiy.org with no success at all. A couple of weeks notice just isn't enough for most places, and there are very, very few non-bar spaces that have shows here. Nowe Miasto, a punk warehouse in Mid-City, was an obvious choice but they only really do one show a month so I didn't want to overburden them. Dozens of phone calls later, I felt like I had no other choice so I rode my bike over to Nowe, walked through their unlocked front door and up the stairs to the kitchen.

"Hey, who lives here?" I said to the half dozen people crowded in that ridiculously hot kitchen. "I do... What are you looking for?" replied this tall girl with a rattail who was standing at the sink. Her name is Candice and she plays guitar in a New Orleans punk band called Necro Hippies. I told her about No More Fiction, Fleabag and my immediate need for a show space. She was like, "Hey, let me call my friend Hilary. She just moved into this house and they wanna have shows there. I know they'd want to have a show like this at their house." She called Hilary left a message and then said, "Hang on, I'm gonna go get Takiya." She walked out of the kitchen which, by then, was empty except for me. Takiya? Candice reemerged with this tall, young black girl with baby dreads who was visiting New Orleans from Miami. (You say her name: ta-KEY-ya.) Pretty much immediately she was like, "Hey you play music? What do you play? You wanna play right now?" And right then, Deny It was born.

Step 2: Find an opening band.

Or if there isn't a fitting opening band, make one from scratch. Candice and Takiya showed me the songs they'd been making up together with Candice on guitar and Takiya playing saxophone. I asked to sit in and play drums and they both seemed pretty patient and happy with my simple, no-lessons style beats. We decided we would open for Fleabag, Candice & Takiya decided the band should be called Deny It, and we scheduled practice again for the next day.

Step 3: Make a shitty flyer and hand it out.

Hilary and her housemate Becca decided to call their house Witch Cunt. I ran into Hilary one night at a show and she talked to me about how psyched she was to have queer girl shows at her house. We both bubbled about how exciting it was that all these new things were coming together at once. Finally we've got a space for the show, an opening band and a flyer. On to...

Step 4: Carry extremely heavy things over to Witch Cunt, set it all up, play a show, sweat a lot and feel real happy.

I didn't move to New Orleans to do punk stuff, really. In fact, before I moved here, I was wondering if I'd have time to play a lot of music and continue making my zine with everything else I thought I'd have going on. I figured that between work and school, it would be a real challenge to fit other things in. I came to New Orleans to be a teacher because even before Hurricane Katrina, the public schools here have been terribly under-resourced and otherwise neglected. I want to be here for this beautiful city, and do my tiny part in helping to build it back up. For sure, there are more important things for New Orleans than making sure more punk shows happen. And if you want to make it a racial issue, is my priority the predominantly white punk scene in New Orleans or the predominantly Black communities that have inhabited New Orleans? To be completely fair, an awesome mix of people came to the Fleabag show, including a bunch of queers and people of color (most of us Black), and ultimately I don't feel like I have to choose one community or the other, anyway. I guess, I'm always trying to keep my eye on the big picture, and punk rock just isn't the big picture to me. It's a tiny, removed piece of society that I get a lot out of being a part of, but it isn't the big picture.

Unfortunately the rest of the world isn't as laid back as punk is because I am as passionate about the work I can do in public schools as I am about overtly feminist queer/lady-style punk rock. But Witch Cunt didn't make me fill out an application and pay a fee to have a show there. We just asked and it happened. So wish me luck filling out applications, paying a bunch of fees and taking a bunch of silly exams on my journey to becoming a public school teacher. I think it'll be worth it in the end.

If you want more information on Girl Gang, including an archive of the shows they put on during their existence, got here: www.girlgangproductions.com.

For more information on No More Fiction go here: www.myspace.com/nomorefictionshows and you can e-mail us here: nomorefiction@gmail.com. If you're a band that fits into No More Fiction's mission and you're going on tour, come play New Orleans. We'll put you on!

interview with nia king

APPEARED IN MRR #314 JULY 2009

What follows is a conversation between myself and zine maker Nia Diaspora. She is probably best known for her zine, “Angry Black-White Girl.” She also wrote a zine called “The First 7 Inch Was the Better: How I Became an Ex-Punk” a short quarter-sized zine about her experiences as a queer punk of color isolated in punk scenes and her decision to move on. Nia brought together dozens of mixed race writers for the zine anthologies “MXD: True Stories by Mixed Race Writers“ and “Borderlands: Tales from Disputed Territories between Races and Cultures." She lives in Oakland, CA but was chillin' with some old friends at Lo Mas Alla house in Denver when we had this conversation.

Osa: First of all, I just wanna tell you that you're a really smart writer and that your ideas about race feel really well-thought-out and sincere.

Nia: Wow, thank you. “Shotgun Seamstress” was totally a lifesaver for me too. Now that I’m not involved with punk anymore I still value that kind of writing. It validates what I feel or felt at the time, and reminds me I’m not crazy.

Osa: I'm glad that someone out there gets it and could relate. I really want to talk to you about your uninvolvement with punk because you still write zines which I think is a way of participating in punk. What do you think?

Nia: [laughs] I don’t really think of zines as being inherently married to punk subculture. I mean, punk is probably how I got into writing them, but I don’t write for a punk audience. I guess I am trying to use the medium to subvert it.

Osa: Come on! You're at a punk house right now hanging out with a girl that we both just randomly happen to know through punk... Just admit it you're still kinda punk!

Nia: [laughs] BUSTED! Well, I don’t feel punk. I feel really alienated in punk spaces. Lo Mas Alla, where Luisa and some of my other friends live, feels kind of different. Most of the people who live there may still have love for punk culture, but they also view punk with a critical lens. At some point, most of them have told me they are growing out of punk. I could try and defend it further but it feels silly. I am staying with punks at a punk house. Fact. Am I a punk? No.

Osa: Yeah, well the point I’m trying to make is half-silly and half-serious. I do feel strongly about the fact that people of color end up relinquishing so much to white people just because white people take up all that space. I mean, how many times have you talked to another black girl who's like, "I'm not a feminist because I feel like feminism is for white women"? And I’m thinking that feminism is an important tool, just like punk is for me, and I’m definitely not going to let white people define what it means to be punk or feminist. I’m going to use those words, those tools, in ways that benefit me.

Nia: I feel that, but defending punk and feminism can be a lot of work, and a lot of the criticism I’ve heard of both is valid. I guess trying to hold space for POCs in punk is exhausting, not because they're not already there taking up (some) space, but because being the only POC in a room is fucking exhausting in my experience. I wanted to retreat to spaces where I didn’t feel like I had to fight for visibility or have to call people on their shit all the time, and for me punk was not that. Not that I was the lone voice of reason or the lone POC, but often enough, it felt like it. I have nothing but respect for women of color who hold it down in punk rock and call shit out, and make records and write zines, but it's not for me anymore. Or at least I’m a lot pickier about the ways I engage with it and the situations I put myself in. You feel me?

Osa: Yeah I do. I think that's why it's so important to have this conversation because I can see how we're coming at it from such different perspectives even though both are valid. I totally relate to feeling drained to the bone by being in predominantly white "progressive" spaces. And it wasn't just punk. Going to college for women's studies with all those well-meeting white liberal feminists almost gave me an aneurysm. At the same time, for me, it’s not about defending punk or feminism. I just am those things in my daily life. I feel like I did give up fighting for visibility and correcting ignorance and oppressive dynamics in punk scenes. But that just meant that I spent more time hanging out with the brown kids and cultivating those relationships.

Nia: Word. It seems like some punk scenes have more brown kids that others.

Osa: Totally. Or if they’re not there, you seek them out just like I sought you out. I feel like somehow I was lucky enough to meet other black punk kids who made me feel like I could have it all and not give up anything, and that had little to do with confronting white people.

Nia: That's awesome, but for me punk felt like an obstacle between me and forging community with people like me, that is queer folks of color. Not that it was required, but it just didn’t make sense. Having become politicized largely in punk communities was something that marked me as different from a lot of activist folks of color I wanted to build with, that marked me as "white", and as coming from a type of activism that didn't have an analysis around power and privilege when it comes to race, gender, class and queer and trans issues, which my experiences in punk communities affirmed. Or at least if it had that analysis, it wasn't practiced. I also realized how dogmatic I had become as an anarcho-punk, and how rooted some of the ideas that pervaded the scenes I was part of about what made a good activist were in privilege; white privilege, class privilege, privileges associated with not having to provide for a family. I go more in depth on that in "The First 7-Inch."

Osa: So what was your transition out of punk like? Did you have to move or say goodbye to old friends? Was it drastic or gradual?

Nia: I guess the drastic part of it was going through a shitty break-up and breaking ties with the anarcho-punk activist circles I had been part of in Boston. My involvement and my disillusionment with punk began long before that, but the break-up inspired me to leave Boston, which opened up a lot of doors for me to create the kind of community I wanted. I went traveling and sort of unwittingly ended up on the punk-house circuit, not really knowing how to break away from it (or who else but punks were going to take a stranger into their homes.) Almost all the people that lived in these houses that hosted me were white, and involved in the kinds of activist communities I was already starting to feel alienated by. It wasn't until I got toDenver, where I actually did stay at a punk house, but with punks (and non-punks) of color who seemed to be part of a much less segregated

scene. In Denver, for the first time I didn't feel like I had to prove I was a POC. I said I was mixed and nobody took my light skin as an invitation to question my authenticity. I felt like there I could be friends with punks, but not be married to the scene and the bullshit that came with it, and my association with punks wouldn't make my identification as a queer person of color suspect. But again, those weren't the kind of spaces I wanted to be in or felt particularly comfortable in, despite that I met punks I felt like I could trust on queer issues and issues of race (mostly, but not exclusively, queer punks and punks of color.)

Osa: What does your new community look like and elements of punk did you bring with you?

Nia: The communities I've built for myself since leaving punk consist mostly of queer folks of color and a handful or down white queers. Most of them are activists and creative types, using art and music to challenge injustice. I guess the one "element of punk" that comes to mind is that I am still trying to subvert the media through my zines and through blogging, which have been really effective tools for community building with other women of color and mixed folks. Also, in the scene I was part of punk, anarchism and activism were closely linked. I was attracted to anarchism because to me, the abolition of hierarchy meant the abolition of racism, sexism, homophobia, etc. So you could say that that fact that working towards the liberation of all my people constitutes an "element of punk," but I think that's giving punk too much credit. But hey, maybe all that empty rhetoric about "smashing patriarchy" at least put me on the right track, fanned the flames of my militancy and made activism look sexy. I'm also still vegan and still drug-free, although I don't call myself straightedge so much anymore. I might not have gone vegan if not for punk and Food Not Bombs though. Who knows?

Osa: Well, going back to your zine and you writing, I felt like your experiences as a mixed race person are just another example of how our society expects very specific things of blackness. Like that very common response you would get, "Well you don't even LOOK black!"

Nia: I wouldn't argue with that.

Osa: Well the fact of the matter is you're half-black, in your zine you say you identify as black, and in a different historical context, you wouldn't have been able to drink from the same water fountain as the person making that comment. What do you think about that?

Nia: I wouldn't argue with that either. I mean its not always white people saying that shit. But I’m not sure that's really the point.

Osa: Yeah it doesn't matter who's saying it. It’s just about the fact that it's all a construction. What it means to be "really black." Black people internalize it, other people of color buy into it… For instance, the belief that being weird, eccentric, queer, punk, feminist can make you "less black."

Nia: Yeah, "real blackness" is an elusive fucker as far as I can tell. That's very true. On the other hand, it's hard to feel "less Black"when you’ve never been allowed to be Black. My inclusion in communities of color has always felt somewhat conditional, as if Iwere just "passing" as a POC and my membership could be revoked at any time. So for me, the lightness of my skin was a much bigger obstaclethan my queerness or feminism. Maybe if people were more willing to see me as Black I would be getting some of that other shit instead.

Osa: So we’re definitely coming from different perspectives on this, but I feel like in the end, we're both trying to expand all of these categories. I try and do it through talking about culture, music and art, trying to expand our own ideas on how black people can expressive ourselves. You do it through personal writing about your racial identity.

Nia: Sure. I think that zines are a powerful tool in creating visibility for people of color, in punk and out. I guess you could say I am trying to expand people's definitions and conceptions of blackness but ultimately I don’t see my writing as a demand for inclusion in black or POC spaces, punk spaces or anywhere else. I like to think that my writing aggressively calls out and confronts racism, but when you boil it down, it's really, "This is my experience. You should know that it exists. And I invite you to check your assumptions. Peace."

Osa: Yeah. I actually got interviewed by this zinester in the UK. She asked me a question about visibility and I told her I’m not interested in it.

Nia: What did you mean?

Osa: Well, I guess it just depends on what you mean by the word. To me, it means making your struggles, experiences & contributions visible to the dominant group, being white folks. But I try so hard in my zine to speak to other black people and people of color exclusively. Staying in punk requires that I quit wasting my energy talking to white people and that I nurture myself and other brown folks around me. So even though I know I have a white audience, they are just lucky enough to be eavesdropping in on a convo that I’m really having with other POCs.

Nia: That's true. I guess when I hear "visibility," I think, "acknowledgment that you exist.”

Osa: But it's only white people who need that reminder, you know?

Nia: Maybe. There are also isolated POCs who need to know they are not alone.

Osa: Exactly. And this is for them. Any advice to brown kids who may be isolated in punk right now?

Nia: You deserve spaces where you can bring your whole self to the table, where you don't have to leave your culture, your brownness,mixedness, or your queerness at the door. If punk spaces are the kind of spaces where you can be your whole self and be embraced, good for you. If you don't find those spaces particularly accepting but demand inclusion, work to create safe space and hold punk accountable to it's allegedly anti-oppressive ideals, that's badass and I personally am grateful that you exist and are doing the work you do. And if punk isn't that space for you, is never going to be that space for you or you just run out of energy trying to make it that, keep looking. There are spaces you can be your whole self, and you deserve to not have to check parts of yourself at the door in order to experience community and acceptance. It's not an impossible dream and it shouldn't be a privilege. Don't settle. If you keep looking I think you'll find that it's worth the wait.

To find Nia's zines visit: www.strangerdangerdistro.com and to read her blog go here: ab-wg.blogspot.com/. Look for her newest zine "Ungrateful Black-White Girl" also at Stranger Danger.

a race riot did happen

APPEARED IN MRR #313 JUNE 2009

I didn't get called in to work today which means that instead of spending my day substitute teaching in a classroom full of buckwild 3rd graders, I get to sit in bed, read zines and drink tea. Right now, I don't have any new zines that I haven't already read so I decided to go back in time. I'll periodically re-read zines like Evolution of a Race Riot (I & II), How to Stage a Coup, Slander, Quantify, and Mala just to remind myself what punk kids of color were talking about ten years ago. Ten years ago! Even longer ago, in some cases. I can't believe it's been that long.

Anyway, there very well may have been zines by people of color (POCs) before Race Riot, etc. came out, in fact I'm positive that there were. But the zines I just mentioned above were the first ones I found. I like to re-read them because I see the zine I write as part of that short lineage. I'm curious about how the experiences of race & racism in the punk scene has changed since then and how it's stayed the same. I'm always wondering what new perspective I can add to that discussion as a black queer woman in the late 2000s.

The ladies who wrote those earlier zines (mostly women, some guys, a couple of genderqueer folks) were mostly Asian, Latino and mixed race (mostly half-white and half-Asian or Latino.) I think there are only two or three contributions by black punks in both issues of Race Riot, which has always been disappointing for me, but which also kind of makes sense because many of those writings came out of the West Coast where there are tons of Asian and Latino folks and very few black folks.

Race Riot was an anthology put together by Mimi Nguyen and How To Stage a Coup was another anthology put together by Helen Luu. Both came out in the late 90s. These two women, and the legions of punks of color that submitted to their anthologies, had been part of predominantly white punk scenes, including riot girl. They were totally pissed about their experience, and understandably so. These anthologies are straight-up rant fests calling white punks out on their ignorance and hypocrisy.

I think what made racism in predominantly white punk or activist scenes more disappointing and hurtful than the racism one might encounter anywhere else is the fact that these people who are making your life miserable claim to be anti-oppressive, feminist, anti-racist. Naively, some of us expected more from our white peers and got let down harder.

Subsequently, many of these POC punks left the scene. They were bitter and fed up with their experiences. Now this is where my mind starts manufacturing millions of questions. 1. Where exactly did these "ex-punks" end up that was an anti-racist utopia? Where do you go if you're a person of color where you don't have to experience racism? 2. How did these people suddenly turn un-punk? I mean, they're all making a totally diy zine together. That's punk, right? Some of those people continued making zines and participating in punk after that, although maybe to a lesser degree. If you found a home in punk because yr a super weird queer kid, if punk is something useful to you, if it's the way you make art and the way you were politicized, how do you just leave? Where do you go?

What all of these early POC punk zines did for me was put me in touch with other brown punk kids. I remember meeting this queer Asian girl, Celeste at a BBQ/B-day party because I saw a copy of Race Riot sticking out of her bag. Later, we started a Queer People of Color (QPOC) group together made up of about six brown queer kids. It was awesome! We made delicious vegetarian food to share with each other, we shared our family histories and we made real friend-connections with each other. It wasn't an "activist" group per se. It was just us carving out our own space and it really did help.

Other people, like my friend and ex-bandmate Adee, were inspired by the existence of other brown punks in faraway places, and started her own zine called Finger on the Trigger. She wrote from her perspective as a poor, black diy punk, hailing from the dirty south, who loved reading, traveling, sewing and cooking. Her zines were so cute! Through making them, she got in touch with black punks all over the country. The next generation of brown punks took the emphasis off of criticizing whitey and put it on loving ourselves. We started bands with each other, wrote each other letters, wrote more zines about our experiences. Plus, white people really benefited from those earlier POC punk zines, too--at least those white people who were truly interested in educating themselves about racism. They realized they were being stupid and pissing us off and they toned it down some.

It's kind of funny to me that our brown punk rock foremothers left the game while the next generation of brown punks stuck around and really benefited from the work that they did. Actually, it bums me out. When me, Adee and our friend Cassia started our band, New Bloods, we received support from former-riot girls that never stopped caring about women and queers being represented in punk rock. Tobi Vail still works at Kill Rock Stars, plays in bands and actively supports new girl bands. Layla Gibbon, the coordinator of this here zine yr reading, is still active in punk and does her part to support zines and bands that are feminist, and that involve women. But where is Helen Luu now? What's Bianca Ortiz (author of Mala zine) up to these days? What about Iraya from that old queer-pop band Sta-Prest, who also was involved with riot girl and made POC punk zines? I actually sent Mimi Nguyen a copy of one of my zines and she got back to me saying that she really liked it. I know that she wrote a column for Punk Planet for a while after her "exit" from punk rock. I believe she's either a PhD candidate or a college professor now.

Anyway, the only thing I can assume is that it really was that bad for the POC punks who came before me. As far as my experience goes, I can definitely say that the pros of being a black punk outweighed the cons. But ten or fifteen years ago, that wasn't the case, and it may not be the case for many punks of color today depending on a number of factors, including what part of the country they're in. The people who paved the way for us did so and then moved on because they couldn't stand it anymore. So, as much I appreciate all the support that people like Tobi and Layla to give newer, younger generations of feminist punks, it would've blown my mind to see Mimi, Bianca or Iraya at one of our shows. It would've meant so much. It's immensely disappointing that punk rock, a movement that claims to be so forward thinking and progressive has been (and to some extent, continues to be) alienating to people who do not represent a punk rock norm (which, by the way, isn't supposed to exist!).

I wonder what the expectations were of those punks of color who left punk rock. What did they envision for punk kids of color in years to come? Even though the fact that they left the scene is pretty much a sure sign of their pessimistic cynicism, I'd still like to believe that their intention was to leave the scene better than they found it. What was the point of putting out zines like Race Riot & How to Stage a Coup, if not to try to spawn some kind of change in the punk scene? Well here we are! The change (I hope) they wished to see in the world! People of color punks, empowered by the words and deeds of those who came before us, building community with each other, and ready to fuck shit up.

With all of the new books and DVDs coming out documenting riot girl, it's completely unacceptable that those riot girls' brown punk sisters are left out of that history. As much as people try to document punk history, punk rock can still be so ahistorical. People leave the scene and move on, records and zines go out of print, white punks continue to ignore the contributions of punks of color... and it's like all of it never happened. Well, a race riot did happen and I'm living proof. I know I wouldn't be here if other punk rock feminists and POCs hadn't carved out by force a nice comfy space for me to exist.

I guess all of this is just a long-winded way of saying, "Thank you."

my new friend

APPEARED IN MRR #312 MAY 2009

February 14th 2009 was all about my girlfriend not being able to get the weekend off from work to come visit me so I ended up at an anti-Valentine's Day dance party at the Girl Cave with my homegirls instead. The dance party was a benefit for Girls Rock! DC and when we got there, it was pretty packed and some raw-ass reggaeton was moving bodies on the dance floor. I showed up with my friend Bea who was in town from Oakland and her old friend from college, Griffin. A tiny group of black queers rolling only three deep but feeling a million strong.

I was hyped up that night and ready to have a blast no matter what. But as soon as we walked in there, Bea started grumbling about how white the party was. It reminded her of her days at Oberlin College in Ohio. Now, Bea's not a punk but she's no mainstreamer either. She's all decked out in a million bright colors acting all crazy. She's one of the most critical minds I know. She's a dancer. She wants to make music but she's got some kind of block that I hope she gets over someday. She is so much fun and we are in absolute friend-love with each other. People like her make the world a livable place for people like me.

So Bea is trippin about being surrounded by whitey and I understand why, to some extent. DC is a majority black city. Why do all these little worlds and scenes have to be so segregated? On the other hand, I've made my peace with all of this racial business to a large extent. I am a woman, I play music and I support other women and girls who play music. I know that a Girls Rock! DC benefit house party is exactly where I belong even if I do wish, at the same time, that there were more brown faces right there with me in that sweaty living room.

The night wore on, we danced & danced and I started working the crowd, walking up to the few random black people at the party and introducing myself. I met a girl with dreads named Ebony who's a dj and who looked really gay although I could be wrong; a cute shy boy named John with some dope glasses on that had white & black checkerboard pattern on the sides; and another a true gem of a girl named Zachari. Zachari ended up dancing with me, Bea & Griffin for the rest of the night. She was so cool! She knew how to vogue! That was only my second time seeing someone vogue in real life. (And if you think I'm talking about Madonna's total rip-off dance moves from the 90s, yr a damn fool.)

After the party, we went to Ben's Chili Bowl, the oldest Black business in DC, and ate some chili cheese fries. Total gut bomb. I shoved fries covered in nacho cheese sauce into my mouth while I listened to Zachari talk about her favorite books by Octavia Butler and her upcoming trip to Brazil. Who was this cool girl and how did we find her? We all exchanged numbers and promised to get in touch soon.

On the rare occasions that I meet other black folks who I have a lot in common with because we're queer, feminist, punk, artists/musicians, or all of the above, I get so excited! It's definitely not something I can take for granted. In the past, I've put way too many expectations on the beginnings of these friendships, but I've learned not to do that anymore. I know that nothing's perfect and I've learned over time to just wait and see how things turn out. Life isn't that formulaic. You can never say "Well this person has a, b and c characteristics and I have them too and so we're going to be great friends."

At the same time, maybe you understand what it's like to embody certain identities that seem incongruent, identities that very few other people embody. In most people's minds, being black and being punk don't really match up. Adding queerness to the mix can make life even more challenging, if not also more fabulous. Socially, you're in a tough spot. Ultimately, my interests, particularly my love of punk rock and feminism, lead me to the scenes and social circles I am in today. Unfortunately, pursuing my interests means that I have to deal with being isolated on the basis of race.

In the end, I've chosen to follow my passions and I know I owe a lot to punk rock. It's the only arena in which people actually appreciate the kind of art and music I know how to make. At the same time, being isolated in a white scene, being The Only One so often, is a huge sacrifice on my part, and on the part of every brown kid who is isolated in small punk scenes in the towns they live in. Being constantly outnumbered, especially in communities where white people freely discuss their own oppressions based on class, gender, size or sexuality, is in itself oppressive.

For me, being a Black Punk is about constantly trying to achieve balance, socially and otherwise. Because punk is a white scene by default, I have to constantly be mindful of including brown people in my life since it's not something that I can count on to happen naturally. Over the years, through moving around, going on tour, and writing letters & zines, I've slowly built a small body of punks of color around me. When I say "around me," I don't necessarily mean that in the physical sense. All of them live spread out over these 50 states (a couple are in Canada & Europe, even!) but it's a community to me, nevertheless.

As amazing and fulfilling as my experience has been, the unfairness of it all still gets to me. My friend Jacob, from Michigan called me up last night. He's seven years younger than me and asks me for advice a lot. He's just starting off with his art and his music and he's looking for a good place to move where his interests would be nurtured. He's torn. Jacob is a beautiful black, talented punk rock feminist fag who would love to take advantage of the cheap rent and young art kid communities in a place like Portland except he's so afraid of being racially isolated there. He's been in similar situations before, and has no desire to go back. He's thinking about New York, on the other hand, because it is more racially diverse, but the cost of living there will break your back. Also, I'm not sure if the same DIY, riot girl-inspired scene exists in NYC the way it does in Portland. If Jacob were a white kid, I'd say "Move to Portland! It'll be perfect for you." But it won't be perfect for Jacob. It sucks that he has this one extra thing to consider. It's unfortunate that at times, it feels like we have to decide which of our identities to prioritize.

In the last few years, I've become stubbornly opposed to making such a decision. I'm not choosing which side of myself to prioritize and I'm not about to give anything up. I am black, I am queer, I am a feminist, I am a diy punk, I am a musician, and I am all of those things all of the time. Furthermore, I will look underneath every rock, searching for people who are like me who make me feel normal, at peace, and at home.

After my recent move from Portland to DC, a friend, a fellow black queer punk wrote me, "With you and a couple other folks gone, Portland has started to feel super white again and I feel like I stand out now more than ever..." When yr a black punk in an overwhelmingly white scene, that's how much just one or two people can change your entire reality. The upside to that, is when you find those one or two people, your connections run deep and you treasure them. You treat them like gold.