Musings on the state of punk at The Garden’s West Coast Tour

It was a cool Saturday evening when my friend Sabrina showed up to my apartment, white face paint and black eyeliner in hand. We excitedly applied the white base, our eyes flickering between the mirrors in the bathroom and pictures of Wyatt and Fletcher Shears of The Garden, both donning their famed clown makeup. Trained hands adorned our white bases with thick, black lines, each stroke intentional and calculated. Sabrina replicated the Shears twins’ most recent iteration of their clown makeup, her lips progressively curling into a black smile. I, on the other hand, attempted to create a corpse paint look, broad black lines snaking their way up and down my face. We were getting ready to see The Garden, Show Me The Body and Deli Girls at the Fox Theatre, one of Oakland’s oldest and most iconic venues. Initially, we thought Show Me The Body (SMTB) were the headliners, which prompted us to purchase the tickets in the first place. Upon discovering that The Garden were actually headlining, we knew that we were in for a treat! Their reputation precedes them. Known for their electric and riotous shows, The Garden has become one of the most sought after acts in recent punk rock history. Pairing them with SMTB, a band equal parts violent and community-driven, and newcomers on the scene Deli Girls, was a stroke of genius. 

My friend and I never heard of the night’s openers, Deli Girls, before, so we believed we could show up fashionably late. We missed much of their set, arriving as they were playing their third to last song. What a terrible mistake that was! They were a thrilling act. They skillfully borrowed from the booming percussions of hyperpop and the harsh, fry scream-filled melodies of hardcore punk, successfully combining them into a fresh genre of their own. Frontperson Danny Orlowski sauntered on stage, breasts exposed and their orange hair styled in classic punk “liberty spikes.” Their stage presence played with the cocky cis-machismo of the punk scene by bitingly interspersing it with notes of brazen queer-punk attitude. Their performance almost felt ironic in that it felt like a big ‘fuck you’ to the conventions of the cishet punk ethos. I wish I could’ve seen more of them. 

Sabrina and I were most excited to see SMTB, a band we’d found and connected with at about the same time. We love talking about what Show Me The Body stands for. They embody what we both believe to be the true punk ethos, one that is centered around community, mutual aid and civil justice. Their New York-based music platform and record label, Corpus, is aimed at fostering a community built on mutual respect, solidarity and political empowerment. They are an inspiration. Show Me The Body opened their set with a single off their most recent release Trouble The Water (2022), “Out of Place,” a hauntingly bare song with only a reverberating synth accompanying lead vocalist Julian Pratt’s droning voice. The crowd pushed forward towards the stage, enticed by the growing tension of the increasingly layered synth.

 

 

The song suddenly exploded into a medley of fuzzy basslines and frenetic banjo melodies as it seamlessly transitioned to “Food From Plate”, and with it the crowd. Admittedly, Sabrina and I were a bit terrified of what the mosh pit during SMTB’s set would look like. They are known to be quite violent, and unabashedly so. I was pleasantly surprised at how helpful everyone in the crowd was. I did not feel as “out of place” as the opening song implied as I hoisted people up from the ground with other concertgoers, our bodies collectively working towards one goal: helping people and making the show as safe as possible. Someone even pulled me up after I fell in the pit. I distinctly remember arms shooting out to help me up. I remember how it felt to be held up by this complete stranger, of completely trusting them, of having my back patted once I was steady on my feet again. I remember patting my rescuers back. I remember going in for more. I also remember the flurry of fists swinging in the air, one notably landing upon my jaw. I remember not caring, instead reveling in the pain. I remember the embrace I shared with a girl after I inadvertently headbanged into the back of her head,  both of us apologizing and laughing. Finally, I remember moshing for the first time without caring about how stupid I thought I looked, and instead moved with an infallible sense of belonging and fearlessness and peace.

 

 

Soon enough, The Garden’s set began. I do not listen to them much, but I am familiar enough with them to know that their pits get similarly crazy. As soon as they came on, I was crushed between hundreds of bodies, all shoving to get to the front. To be honest, much of the show from that point on was a blur to me, sequences of being crushed then released over and over again. Progressively, I started backing away from the pits and fully retreating to the back, only to be thrown in against my will. Don’t get me wrong, I was having a blast, but there was a marked difference between pit etiquette during the Show Me The Body and The Garden’s sets.

 

Personally, I did not feel respected at all. I can’t tell if it was because I had gone too hard during the previous set, or because of how unrelenting the action felt during the headliner, but I just wanted to leave. This, of course, has nothing to do with The Garden. The Orange County outfit are amazing performers. Wyatt Shears tirelessly ran back and forth across the stage, his voice unfaltering despite his exertion. Fletcher Shears is a force of nature on the drums. Each fill was as energetic as the next, and he even graced us with two electrifying drum solos over the course of their show. The duo’s production value was perfection: every ounce of reverb, delay or distortion felt right and precise. Even the echoing sound of clown cackles that was played in between every song triad was deliberate, a testament to the wacky yet intentional musical behemoth that is The Garden. Their set, much like their music itself, was unpredictable. It was marked with abrupt stops, isolated drum and bass grooves peppered throughout their distinctive electronica-punk core. To me, the only weak link was the crowd. Eventually, Sabrina and I retreated to the lower balcony where we remained until the end of the show. There, I feel like we could actually enjoy the show for what it was, in all its singularity and brilliance. 

 

Once the night ended, Sabrina and I headed outside the venue and enjoyed hotdogs courtesy of the many vendors lined up outside the exit. While we were eating, a unhoused man was walking around screaming “does anybody want to help the homeless tonight?” At first, we just looked at each other and kept eating, not without questioning whether or not we should help him. We kept glancing around to see if anybody was paying attention to the man as he kept repeating “does anybody want to help the homeless tonight?” No one was paying him any mind. In fact, most people were actively ignoring him and physically avoiding crossing his path. Again, Sabrina and I exchanged anxious looks, silently urging each other to do something, anything. Eventually, we made our  way to the man, whom we later found out was Derrick Hayes. His mission that night was to educate people on the notable and completely street-run “Street Spirit” newspaper, of which I have an issue of in my room. The newspaper is aimed at empowering the unhoused community and fostering more empathy in the larger Bay Area for the hardships of unhoused people. It is a celebration of unity, collective action and justice. We spoke to Derrick Hayes, who excitedly told us about a mural just a few streets down from the Fox, which was made in tribute to him. Hayes, like most older unhoused folk in the Bay, is somewhat of a local hero, one that has inspired generations to advocate on behalf of the Bay Area unhoused community. He was incredibly passionate about his work, and we felt honored that he shared that with us. He went on about how our generation was the “generation of change” and how we could really make an impact on how our society views and treat not only unhoused folk, but all people from all walks of life. We made donations to his cause and continued talking with him until our Lyft arrived.

On our way back from the venue, Sabrina and I mused on our disenchantment of what unfolded outside the Fox. We both felt that the attitude people displayed was extremely antithetical to the punk ethos, which fights for the unity and political empowerment of society’s underdogs. Frankly, the blatant dehumanization that people outside the venue displayed was gross, even as Hayes repeatedly screamed “I am human!” at the crowd of concertgoers. We both felt disillusioned with the state of punk right now. It felt like the political aspect of the politics-based genre was gone. All that was left was cool music and cool hair and cool makeup with nothing to show for it. This is why I respect Show Me The Body and their Corpus initiative so much, because they embody what punk really means and how it can be used to help people in need and fight for their rights. We were both disappointed because people from our generation, especially those in more alternative spaces, cling to aesthetics of leftist thought. They have no backbone though, no soul. A sweeping generalization? Maybe. A scathing critique? Absolutely and unapologetically so, yes. But that was how we both felt in that moment. I am guilty of ignoring unhoused folk too, but I think we should all try to be there for each other in any way we can. I will end off this article by saying please support Street Spirit, please talk to the vendors about their lives and their mission, please humanize them.

Written by Emmanuelle Mphuthi