My SkatePunk experience was abysmal—truely dismal, super superficial, filled with dainty drizzle. That's exactly how it went.

I was feeling absolutely horrible to begin with. I was forsaken by those closest to me, burdened with shitty, 'educational' busywork, and utterly disappointed by the lack of fun to be had. In short, or not in short—I felt like Chris Bailey, Ed Kuepper, and Ivor Hay sitting in their shabby tin shack at the corner of Milton Road and Roma Street in the mid-1970s. After a phone call with my one and only true friend—someone who isn't a mentor, person I've met one, or acquaintance by circumstance, I ended up being without a crew to go with.

She was going through an absolute horrible time due to having to deal with some batshit crazy shit done by her ex-friend. I reassured her and gave advice to her about dealing with the utter shittance, and I considered whether to go to the gig or not. I decided why not, it was free, there was gonna be free food, and whatever. Let's see what all the fuss is about. Good or bad (honestly I supposed it would be bad given the social situation there, and it was), it would be a good way to get the word out about what the pseudoalternative scene's got to offer.

Despite a little bit of sunshine earlier in the day, it would turn out to be a horrid rain-filled day. Unlike many people who rode a train there or decided to pay an incredulous price for an Uber (rich kids), me being a proud southside representative, just hopped on the bus to old Garbo, then to the suburb of Victoria Point—the middle of bumfuck nowhere. I'm a natural fast walker, so walking through the bush wasn't really a problem for me.

So, 'SkatePunk' is now an indoor gig with half the lineup not even claiming punk roots. Sure, we could rename it 'IndoorPunk'—except the absence of punk or rock and roll would make that ironic. Let's call it 'IndoorAlternative'. Funny how a name can survive long after everything it described has left the building.

I arrived at the function spot and I was able to catch some of Whitt's End's set. They were pretty good. If you like emo, 2000s mall goth kinda stuff, you'll definitely like them. It wasn't really my favourite kinda music at all—I like rock and roll—The holy trinity of Shock Value, Piss Off, and Heavy Liquid, though I know a lot of people like this commercialised alternative kinda, you know what.

You know, the kind of shit with literal security going like 'Oi tickets please' when rock and roll shouldn't be about scraping us working class even more bare. In our rock and roll scene, its 10-15 bucks at the door—for anyone who can pay or who's new. Those who have been in for a long time, are mates, or are just broke—you get in for free mate. It's free entry with us. Gigs like these? I'll atend if they're free, but I ain't going if there's a fee. Sure, supporting the bands is good and all—but I ain't the guy you see in Instagram buying new guitars every month—no no. There's a lot of rebuttals people will make but what I will say is that rock and roll is about the community, it's about your mates, it's about comeraderie—not a fucking ticketie going 'Oi tickets please' like the fucking Translink bastards.

I saw a few familiar faces though you just know the feeling when you know people but you know you're not one of them? It's that feeling. It was no longer the good old days of chilling with the guys from Piss Off—no no, it was some shit times I tell you when SkatePunk happened. My best friend was going through some abysmal, truly dismal shit after one of her ex-friends did some batshit crazy shit. My music scene acquaintances were either drinking away their miseries in bars, doing schoolwork (like me) or otherwise doing random shit that wasn't fun. So I just kinda sat there, and lingered about like John Oxley poking around after he landed at Milton to start up the Moreton Bay penal settlement.

So, I was more or less sitting outside waiting for the next band to start—a horrendously long wait time—totally unwarranted considering the gigs I've been to are just 'play hard, fast, strong', without trying to get all the EQ and whatever right—and it fucking works. Populism works. Sometimes getting shit done like what Clem Burke did by getting fucking sewers done quick and dirty is better than letting bureaucratic red tape waste time for something that doesn't require all that vanity. One amusing and pleasing sight that brung some sparkle into my day was seeing one of my ops walking alone and with a ridiculously miserable expression—all miserable in the rain—having failed in their attempts to hang out with people younger than them, and become popular through stirring up shit. I was laughing like a madman. They finally got what they deserved—to live in preposterous vain—leading them to be soaked all over in the rain.

Heatstroke was on for the next set. They were actually really good—minus a bunch of pseudoalternative pizzazz. Despite the novelty of mosh pits having long worn off for me, I joined in a little bit, and there were a lot of new faces—this was probably the first gig for many people, and I'm not gonna lie, I felt pretty sad and happy in a way, because there's all these new people who have already become pretty good mates with a lot of people in the scene. I knew they were gonna be popular—but I wasn't.

Their song 'Queen Street Acid Trip' was pretty good—as a person who had their own pretty enlightening experience at Queen Street—26th February is a day I will never forget.

'I Want to Hate You' encapsulates the feeling of wanting to hate someone, yet still feeling like there's a few embers left in the monstrosity that is a relationship that has left you all burnt out. Really good, I relate to it a lot, having had experiences with people who just love getting your hopes up, then going AWOL, then smashing those hopes down with no remorse. That song fucking spoke to my soul I tell you.

And that was it really. Save for a ridiculously arduous trek back that gave me Vietnam flashbacks. As The Doors would say—the music's over.