I came through The Backdoor hot off the heels of a kitchen shift as draining as any other. Up the stairs, let all forms of frost, both mental and physical melt away. You step through those doors, you'll find a hundred kids young and old horseshoe'd in front of the stage, making our own heat. See thats the thing about The Backdoor: its the kind of venue you really don't get to experience often. Its as expensive for the talent as much as it is for the audience, but you absolutely get your money's worth. The wide open space harkens to the likes of Stone Circle Theater down in Queens, a dance floor wide enough to hold every spectrum of violence and chaos that the human heart can muster. Thats foreshadowing for later.
Work had locked me in too late, rushing through those doors and handing off the bills I got there just in time for Mercy Whip unleashing their legendary dogpile at the end of their namesake song. It was the type with a gravitational pull comparable with a collapsing blackhole, one with enough bodies that you NEED a venue this wide to handle it. Skirt trailing behind me and my purse bouncing at my side, I dashed across that wide open Backdoor floor and jumped into the crowd with a smile on my face, screaming at the mic as much as I could. "My Whole MercY: WHIP" and with that it was time to let yourself loose with reckless abandon. My arm struck someone in the face, and I caught a wild one to my head. We were back, and nothing outside those doors concerned us.
Monument of a Memory took that gunblast heat and smoothed it out, let us all stew in the chaotic aftermath with their 2010's era synth-heavy metalcore. All good shows need contrast, a time to breathe and a time to recover. Theirs was to be that vital pause between the carnage. And as much as I would have loved to see more movement in the pit, I've still got Earn your Flowers on even while I write this. Odd one out in the lineup, but who wouldn't want to be?
Foster Village up next, Rockland legends as far as I'm concerned, and up to now the only notable thing about this wretched parking lot ocean of a county. These kids are the firey engine of the pit, take a step back when you see them going at it because they live and breathe hardcore in every sense of the word. Best of all, they are as gnarly on the stage as off it. Way of the Transgressor let off a flurry of two-steps with a beat so enrapturing you'd be kicking yourself for not joining in. A kid in a decked out wheelchair rolled through waving their arms, getting collateral against the crowd as they blasted through. Finally they hit Through Violent Means. Spying an empty stretch of pit, I hyped my bones up and split the air with a flying kick. Then as quickly as they came through, they were gone.
A pitstop outside and not a moment too soon. That last set had left me a fucking sweating panting beast. Stepping back into that frost was like dumping ice cold coolant on a white hot nuclear reactor rod. We struck into it as conquerors this time around, not victims of its bitter winds. As you do in the local scene, I had finally made friends with those bouncing hairdo's I'd seen over and over again but never stopped to give a name. A choice couple of gents chose to relieve themselves around the corner, thankfully out of sight. With friends new and old we basked in the worldy air conditioner, the stars of Nyack looking down on us. I can bet anything they were bright with envy.
Up next: Death before Dishonor, my first time seeing these hardcore legends. You could feel the Boston Hardcore in their very bones, a kind of uniquely rugged nature seasoned with history. Up to this point I had never seen real classic hardcore in the flesh before, my only exposure being that one Sick of it All music video. But these guys and their guitar heavy breakdowns as clean as they are gnarly, they were professionals of the trade. Whatever energy I recovered was burned away like rocketfuel, standing still was no option. The swirling ocean they got moving was a sight to behold, the pit turned into a laundry cycle before you knew it. A human vortex through and through. Coffin Nail off Better Ways to Die is my pick, but everything these guys have goes consistently hard. These mean sonsabitches are walking institutions of the practice, and sweet as can be with a fistbump and a smile at the merch table.
Shattered Realm lived up to their namesake, more than that I cannot say. As much as I would have loved to, it was difficult to take in their sound from the floor, deeply disoriented, mouth overflowing with blood and teeth smashed into the back of my head. Wrong place wrong time while standing at the edge of the crowd, ironically if I was in the pit itself I would have been spared my fate. But for some reason, everytime I attend a Bayway headlined show, something keeps me from being able to finally see them. And the curse was all too happy to continue this time around.
I was terrified. My mouth never felt this WRONG before. But not only did our people rush to my aid when it became clear I was in trouble. They came through and stuck by, holding me close and telling me everything was gonna be alright, fetching ice and tissues while diffusing tensions with the streams of flashing lights and glaring uniforms that now occupied the space outside. It was a reassurance, kindness, even levity, both from old friends keeping you calm as much as newly met strangers driving you to the hospital. In a place like this, even if everything goes wrong in the blink of an eye, you will always have people who will drop everything to help you. Theres not a lot of other places where you can find that.
Midnight in the ER. I sat there in frustration, tending my shattered teeth, waiting for the doctor to come back to maybe, eventually, set my teeth back in place. I wasn't keen on waiting until they fused to their new deformed lot in life, though. So I took a handful of gauze, grabbed the offending teeth, grit the remaining ones and set them back into place to the agonizing symphony of cracking dental organs. They hurt like hell, shattered in five different places, but they were there. I'll be decked out with a hockey mouthguard for all future shows, thats for sure. And be it easier to lead a camel through the eye of a needle than to find a dental surgeon who takes medicaid. But sitting there waiting for the CT scan results, my thoughts fell on one of my many inspirations: Hunter S Thompson. His tendency was not to just record the story, but BE the story. Hardcore offers that like nothing else on Earth. Witness history, learn from it, and be part of it too. When we consider this deeply, we can break it out from the confines of places like The Backdoor. We can take it, and apply it to a whole lot else in this world.
