In the last several months, out of the blue, I have started listening to punk again. All the time, nearly exclusively. It has felt familiar and true in ways I can not describe. I have missed this part of myself. The anger pulls me out of the mundane. It is a needed reminder of an urgency I lost.
Leading up to my Spain trip, I was looking for a punk show to attend. The last punk show I went to was several years ago when Appalachian Terror Unit played at a tiny pizza shop here in Atlanta. Pari found a show of my favorite Spanish anrcho-punk band, Crosta. She is not much for the punk rock (actually, she is just in the closet about it) so she enlisted her punk friend Seva to take me.
The first band was unmemorable. Im not sure I payed much attention and no one seemed to be there yet. The second band was Sect. From what I understand, it was only their 3rd show. They were very good and I really enjoyed them. The Crosta played. They were fantastic.
The show was in another of the squats in Barcelona. It was called Los Blokes Fantasmas. It is one of the longest running squats in the city and has a long history of confrontations with the police and the city. It was a pretty amazing place to see. They even sold vegan pizza while the bands played.
Being there was so comforting. I felt like I was with friends. I felt familiar. I felt like I was home.