Reflections from a punk rocker at the end of the night
I had a conversation with a younger punk rocker tonight at a gig and realized I’m officially old now. She was talking about bands I’d seen live twenty years ago like they were historical artifacts. She was right. They are. I am.
There’s a strange moment when you realize your rebellion has become someone else’s nostalgia. When the music you fought for is now background noise in coffee shops. When the scene you built is now a commodity being sold in boutiques.
I read an article somewhere about the death of punk as an authentic force, and it made me laugh because punk died the moment it became profitable. We all knew that. We were complicit. But at least we had fun while it was still alive.
Tonight I’m going home alone, which is something I never thought would happen. I’m content. I’m tired. I’m no longer trying to prove anything to anyone. Maybe that’s the real punk moverefusing to perform authenticity anymore and just existing as you actually are.
