or a nervous feeling of going to a concert and knowing all your friends are there.
I don't think you even understand what a gobsmackingly amazing statement this is to me.
If you were into industrial music in rural America before the advent of the Internet, you were alone. It was you, it was a friend or two, and it was the vast wasteland. You could drive a thousand miles to Dallas and buy a Revolting Cocks shirt and know when you got home, it'd be the only one within a thousand miles. You could go to the music store and leaf through the catalog and order music and know that you might like it if it were on Wax Trax or Nettwerk but you'd never know if it was any good until it got there. True story - we were tormented by a guy named Scott two years older than us. Scott got a really bad haircut his senior year. And it wasn't until I finally tracked down a VHS copy of Skinny Puppy's Ain't It Dead Yet? concert video that I learned Scott had Nivek Ogre's haircut.
We were so alone we didn't even know we were together. Holy fuck what might have changed about my life had our signaling not been so impossibly obscure. I had (still have) a leather jacket with a giant airbrushed Skinny Puppy logo on the back, and a giant airbrushed Sepultura logo on the sleeve... and I had to move to Washington before anybody but my two close friends recognized either one.
Gonna be honest: I relate to exactly zero aspects of this cartoon. I went and saw Severed Heads a couple months ago. First tour since 1992. They were opening for Front 242. They come out about every ten years or so. And despite hating Los Angeles, I was fucking HOME. These were my people. We were all older, we were all grayer, we all knew better, and we didn't give a fuck. None of us were mourning the old days, all of us were celebrating the fact that the fuckin' leather still fits. That the reubinesque chick in too much eyeliner is still eyeing you. That fuckin'A, New Rock Boots are still the shit.
And fuckin' hell if 25-years-ago me heard advice from now-me, he'd be stoked that somebody gave a shit. We were so alone.
And it still brings us together.
Punk? Punk is transitional. You can no more relive Punk Rock than you can reread Catcher in the Rye.