That being said about the genre, Rachman's film (based on the book of the same name by Steven Blush) is exhaustively thorough, with rare, raw concert footage and extensive interviews with musicians from the scene. (The film's Web site is an even better document, with an interactive map detailing hardcore scenes all over the country.) It also is obviously and unrepentantly the view from within. Rachman got into film in the first place by shooting bands like Agnostic Front, which performed around New York and New Jersey while he was going to college there. That work got him lucrative gigs directing major-label music videos in the '80s. A note on the Web site's map says, unironically, that "DC was the first Hardcore scene in which a handful of hot, bitchy girls hung out, a welcome relief because many HC chicks -- although certainly not the majority -- cultivated dysgenic affectations as an art statement." In other words, this is a home movie, not anthropology.
The pure energy of the music is replicated absolutely in the chaotically cut film and the enthusiasm of all the interviewees. Notoriously grumpy and now practically middle-aged rockers like Black Flag's Henry Rollins and the Circle Jerks' Keith Morris overflow with juice during their segments. Rollins grins like a schoolkid when he swears, "It sounds like someone's exaggerating, it sounds like you're just making it up, but no. I've never seen anything like it." They're talking about the ferocity of the sound, but also the general violence of the scene -- what amounted to a messy, dirty, ugly culture of loud and smelly violence set to music that either hurt your head or was patently addictive and spawned a youth culture, the rebellion of which was ultimately positive. The do-it-yourselfers published their own writing, released their own records and distributed their own films. The film's release is especially timely (and because it's timely, kind of depressing); the stultifyingly conservative climate engendered by the two terms of the Reagan Administration gave birth to some of the rawest, most authentic American music ever. As we count down toward the end of George W. Bush's second term, one wonders what's not on the radio?
Coincidentally, the '90s punk and hardcore legend Ian McKaye (Fugazi, Minor Threat) -- the founder of the seminal indie label Dischord Records and the man who probably put at least one of the letters in D.I.Y. -- will be giving an open-to-the-public Music Industry Studies presentation and Q&A at Loyola University's Nunemaker Auditorium at 5 p.m. Tuesday, Nov. 14. If anyone has something thoughtful and relevant to say about punk rock in the 21st century, it's the almost annoyingly earnest and accomplished McKaye.
Benefit for Tom Haulard
In October, French Quarter resident Tom Haulard was hit by a car while riding his scooter through the French Quarter. Haulard, who has no insurance, broke his arm, pelvis and leg. Luckily. One Eyed Jacks (615 Toulouse St., 569-8361) is sponsoring a benefit show on Monday, Nov. 20, to help defray his medical bills. The Happy Talk Band, Blair Gimma, the visiting Glaswegians, the Craft Brothers, the Good Guys and Silent Cinema play.