Author’s Note: We’re talking Saturday night, here. We’re talking cheap beer and swelter in the crumbling edge of Bushwick, spitting distance from million dollar condos and miles away from the forlorn morning of home. We’re talking dirty. We’re talking punk RAWK! We’re talking heartache and amateur chemists at play in the glamorous disarray of a godless country lapping at the flames of history. We’re talking Wharf Cat, man and their subtle showboat that took place during the apex of the Northside Fest. We’re talking Psychic Blood who brought the young tumult with barbed-wire braces and AmRep dissent. We’re talking Ancient Sky and their maximum overdrive/no body gets out alive dirty (as in dirt) wellspring of transcendental fuck. We’re talking Sediment Club who bucked the wild skronk hate funk/no fun chump like a rat out of Lydia’s lunch bag. We’re talking the Ukiah Drag and their cargo cult, blue moon over Bedlam Tet offensive. We’re talking Gun Outfit and their serenity prayer for rock and roll whispered into the bent windpipe of a rusted Winnebago. We’re talking perfect as we are, as we were and as we’re gonna be.
Now please dig, if you will, these pictures.