UPCOMING EVENTS

As if a drummer marching into war, the steady beat of the death rattle snare announces the descending attack of the guitar, like falling bombs, intending to lay waste to our freedom, our individuality, and our dignity. Our very souls see with clarity the struggle. And then a key change brings a shift—an ascension—the answer of righteous resistance—a message of hope and a light piercing through the enveloping darkness, the dust, the rubble, and fog—a call to arms—a declaration of independence; We Will Not Compromise with Despair. We Will Not Be Intimidated into Conformity—We Will…

The moment I heard the opening drum beat and distorted guitar chords of Black Flag’s “Rise Above” I knew I had picked up the trail to my own adventure. It was September 1984 and the first day of my freshman year of high school. I had left my home that morning wide-eyed, optimistic, and in search of transcendence. Later that day, I met Keith Hartel and Don Bruno in the school hallways and was recruited into their crew of misfits. After school, I followed them to Keith’s basement bedroom, where they proceeded to shear my hair off, school me on punk rock music and skateboarding, and make me a mixtape—the first song on it was “Rise Above”. And later, when I saw the September 1984 “Street-Sequence” issue of skateboarding magazine Thrasher, my world went from sepia-tone to full-blown technicolor—I’d flown over the rainbow. I stepped out into the autumn of 1984 steadfast and battle-ready with a soundtrack and a maxim: Rise Above!

Black Flag attacked the stage with a ferocity and volume I have never experienced since. It was as if this small club in Trenton, New Jersey, had become the very center of the universe, and those of us in attendance were caught in its explosive expansion. Leaving the club that night, ears ringing and drenched in sweat; I could never have imagined that almost thirty years later, I would become the vocalist for this iconic band. That I would share a stage with Greg Ginn night after night and have the honor of performing the song that changed my life and celebrating its message and spirit with new audiences.

Black Flag was my Kerouac. They kicked a door open, and I skated through it. After seeing them play live, I decided that whatever I was going to do from that moment forward, like Black Flag, I would do it with intensity and purpose. My aggressive approach to skateboarding, my relentless touring, my resolute DIY ethos, my fierce self-reliance, as well as my poetry, lyric writing, and music, all find the spark of inspiration in Black Flag.

But, very much like Ginn’s original motivation for writing “Rise Above”, I, too, even at fourteen years old, began feeling boxed in by my friends and the skateboard and punk cultures. After the initial life-changing discovery, I quickly realized that, like everything else, the punk and skate worlds had barriers to entry, codes of conduct, and were filled with people chasing cool. All of that was uninteresting to me. I was and am grateful for my friends and the world that opened to me, but I wanted to listen to whatever music I wanted to listen to, dress however I wanted, and ride my skateboard uninhibited by rules. I wasn’t looking for anyone’s blessing or approval.

And so, my interest in the punk and skate scenes waned quickly after seeing Black Flag. Almost everything in that arena now seemed weak and contrived through my new eyes. Even the good and inspiring music and bands labeled or who labeled themselves as “punk” felt anchored and caged by a culture that wanted to suffocate anything ambitious or with meat on its bones. And I knew then, without question, that I’d rather be a target of the stranglers than to be one of them. Because of that, I chose to be an individualist, and though I existed and pursued my passions within these cultures, I refused to be pinned down by them.

When you step outside of “society’s arms of control” into a subculture, navigating school hallways, shopping malls, and family functions suddenly becomes difficult. Still, you have a uniform to wear, peers to lean on, magazines to read, and meetings to attend. Take one step further, outside of that subculture, and where

do you find yourself? Entirely on your own. That’s where I decided to go. I wasn’t going to ask anyone for permission, and I wasn’t going to wait for the planets to align; I wasn’t going to seek asylum in the safety of the mainstream culture or the boundary waters of the skate-punk culture. I was determined to paddle out on my own and live my own authentic life. I chose to rise above it all. Whether riding my skateboard or playing in a band, I knew that all I had to do was give it 100%, and my efforts would be their own reward. Black Flag transmitted those blueprints to me through their recordings and their live performances.

“Rise Above” endures. Every time I listen to it, it rings true; it cuts to the bone. Every time I perform it with Black Flag, I feel it, I live it, and it speaks to me as I sing the words into the microphone. It is the one song that has made all the difference in my life, the one I keep going back to, the one that matters. It mattered when I was fourteen, and it matters now, maybe more than ever.