This is how I always felt at early 90’s hardcore shows. Except without chicken guts. To young to be there but somehow always able to sneak in. I was the Little bastard child of the Massachusetts hardcore scene. Cut off jeans self-built skateboard like a lightsaber tucked under my older brothers arm to make sure I didn’t get punched. Or to encourage me to get punched depending on the nights lesson.
Months earlier Jay, my brother saw me using the moldy basketball hoop outside the house and asked if I wanted to do something that was actually fun. With no friends and because we were latchkey kids there was no one to say no.
It wasn’t long before I adopted what would eventually be called the middle school life. Except before it was cool. Tossed about by bigger kids and some adults I was so happy to be moshing. No! Slam-dancing, Jay had told me. Get it right or you can’t come back. Okay slam-dancing. Earth Crisis and Shelter and 108 oh my! I wanted so badly to get punched like jay and all his friends.
When it happened it was awesome. Had to tell a few people, guidance counselors and teachers I walked into a door or whatever. I swear was born a decade too late.
Most of the people in Cacophony had steady day jobs -- a lot of postal workers, book store clerks, lawyers -- who needed a creative outlet among like-minded folks. I joined the group once I realized that all my best stories began with the phrase, "This one time when I was in college..." And I didn't want my best years to be behind me.
Interesting. And only having limited time to do the work you love makes that work all the more precious to you. And it unites you with other striving people. The song 'Sultans of Swing.' https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Pa9x9fZBtY
And that’s something you’ve continually reminded me since I started comment on your stuff. I’ve got to stop thinking I'm old and the story is over. The past is fun to talk and write about but the adventure isn’t over. Again thank you.
"This one time when I was in college..." Mine are Army stories. That was 25 years ago. I'm positive people are sick of hearing them, but somehow I constantly find a way to think they're relevant (subconsciously, of course!)
Fascinating stuff. Reading on wikipedia..I don't know if it"s true, it says one of it's central concepts is the Trip to the Zone, inspired by Stalker. What do they mean by that?
This I will have to revisit. Memory fails. But it seems like it was something akin to Chris McCandless throwing away his maps so he could see the landscape with fresh eyes. A kind of shared idea of going to a place where natural laws didn't apply.
Throwing away maps.. makes me think of what some call a return to childlike spirit, or true openness. Don't know, maybe not the same thing but, overlaps a bit.. I would love to read more. Any books on Cacophony Society you'd like to recommend?
The book I show at the top is the only one I know of. It's very expensive, but beautifully produced. It explains how the group grew out of the "Suicide Club" which was based on a Robert Lewis Stevenson story, so you might begin with the story itself.
In college, I was a drummer for a number of basement bands. Each house in the city had a name. The Sports Complex, the Grav Yard, the Manheim. The sun goes down and cars began to park out side as I haul my drums into someone's basement. Amp feedback blares while I turn drum keys on the toms. The stampede of footsteps growing above us as more people arrive. Soon a waterfall of footsteps thud down the wooden basement stairs. Beer cans crack open as studded vests and fishnets stand shoulder to shoulder. Folks perch on stairs and abandoned appliances as room in the poorly lit space becomes sparse.
When the music starts, the people disappear. My focus is on the speaker facing me so I can track the guitar and base. I am brought back to the basement as someone's bottled water slings across the crowd or a drum stick snaps and I snatch a spare. The energy in the room is loud and the crowd moves like one large, wild creature. Everyone is there to have a good time.
Soon we move gear as the next band begins to unpack. I am friends with the person who runs the house, so I help run the tip jar at the front door. More people step through the doorway with brown sacks of cold beer and jingling keys. The next band roars downstairs below us. A few groups remaining upstairs for a good laugh or a smoke.
I notice something beginning to fill the air. It stings in the back of my throat over the smell of cigarette smoke and spilled cheap booze. I turn around on my stool parked by the front door and see a dusting begin to collect on the floor. It seems to be thicker in the back of the house where the basement stairs are.
There is always a few people who do some pretty rowdy and uninvited stuff at shows. Chairs thrown at the Studded Bird. A bunch of broken glass in the basement after one of the shows at Sports. Cars broken into at the Mustache Club. Sometimes it is a big cleanup and if folks don't listen after a few conversation, they will no longer be invited in.
I hand the tip jar to one of my friends and head toward the basement stairs. I slide through the crowd on the stairs. Meat Mist is playing. They have strung up chicken nuggets in front of their set up like they do every show. Occasionally eating them as they play. The air is hard to breathe. Like razorbacks in my air ways. My voice is rough as I yell over the sound to find out what happened. Someone points to someone wildly swinging a smashed vacuum canister over their head. This is definitely a first.
I feel like our old basement shows filled that liminoid space. Every Friday night we played with other local bands. Sometimes traveling bands from other cities played. A lot of good times and stories to be told. Stuff you didn't see at the bars and other music venues.
Agreed. Every band name and presentation and new song is an experiment, and the liminoid events allow you to model the newness. And now I want chicken nuggets.
This essay is dear to my heart. Carrie in reverse. That's all I want. This essay reminded me that I've always been a sucker for the underdog narrative. No matter how old I am or how many times I hear it, I can't get enough of those types of stories. "and they wore miniskirts or Jordache jeans and sneered at everything, like they always do. They took over the dance floor. They took over everything." Ha!
Here's my underdog story: I had an eating disorder growing up as most of us ladies do and I had very low self esteem. By the time I got to college I was getting tired of my starving ritual and that voice in my head putting me down. After a few trips to eating disorder groups I realized just how exhausted I was . I found that we all were. I would often go to hipster bars to see my favorite singer for years. I never said much to him and he didn't say much to me. After a couple years I go up to him to buy another CD and he nonchalantly handed over the CD and said "I just want you to know I think you're very beautiful. I'm not trying to be gross." and handed me my CD. I stammered out a "Thank you" and quickly left the building. I never thought of myself as an ugly duckling after that night. It was like a weight lifted. Having confidence is an awesome super power. Get it as soon as you can!
Thank you Mr. Palahniuk. And your kind words are very motivating as well Sir. I keep saying it...I didn't know I could write and didn't write until l started your substack class/blog/game. Thank you Mr. Palahniuk.
I thought of this awesome Linux commercial today and thought of you sitting in one of the teacher's chairs...It really is a fantastic time https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x7ozaFbqg00
What an awesome story. Love the “I’m not trying to be gross” part as well. That’s a great way of saying that. As a guy, sometimes giving a sincere compliment is hard to do without wondering if you will be taken as a creep. Very glad you found your confidence. I’m finding mine as well! I’ve had the opposite problem — being fat. I lost 40 lbs this year and have about 20 more to go. Finding a way to gain confidence is everything and it isn’t easy no matter what you struggle with. Good for you.
Oh no! You never read the book! I never watched the movie. The book reads like a Krakauer in my humble opinion. And he does that thing where he narrates around the phenomena of puffer fish venom. Like how different cultures have used it and mishandled it. One of my most favorites by far. My ex taught a class on zombies so I know way more than I should about zombies and puffer fish venom. Sir.
My goodness. The example of the group of Japanese men who had puffer fish and all but one were given time to revive. One was buried. WTF. They all were actually alive but what about the one that was buried...Terrifying.
LOL. I have to add. I ran out and cried in my car for about 10 minutes due to the simple fact that I knew from then on every time I woke up I would be like "I'm fucking beautiful. Fuck yeah." every day for the rest of my life. That was about 15 years ago.
I hear you! It does wonders to get compliments from someone you admire.
My sister had an eating disorder. It's a sad story. I hope you're in a much better place now.
And "Herr Palahniuk" (to experiment with a new form of ribbing, as implored) seems to have something for everyone today! haha
I was woefully low on boyfriends in high school, but at the same time was getting to meet my favourite rock stars. I had a better experience with the ones who didn't express any physical interest in me. We mostly chatted about music! :) (I dabbled at being a rock musician). Part of that might be why I ended up on a site like this! haha Old groupies die hard!
Oh honey! Between us girls, I loved being a groupie. So fun. I was good at it too. lol I can drive and have sex like nobody's business. I still dress like a hoe from time to time. Keeps my spirits up. ;P
Well my groupie-hood was a bit tamer. No driving or sex! haha Even when I tried! And you should see how I dressed. At least the clothes were clean haha.
The one main thing I figured out, all these decades later (this was in the 80s) is that it didn't matter at all how I dressed. A girl's interest in a guy is all that was necessary. No matter who the guy was. I don't think I even wore makeup! haha I wore more makeup to Chuck's reading than to meet rock stars! haha (Chuck, if you're reading this, remember my famous eyebrow job in Kansas City? I had my own stylist prep me! haha)
Oh I hear you. You make a great point. I rarely wear makeup. It really has nothing to do with the clothing. I just love clothes. But it never changed what a guy thought of me overall. Very true. What did you do to your eyebrows?
My friends I was visiting are dancers. She gave me a plucking like I never had before! haha (have a little problem with luxuriant eyebrows and need professional help where possible).
Amidst the babbling by both parties, Chuck signed my book "Your eyebrows look great!" Which I only read later, I was in such shock from the whole evening.
I love clothes much more now that there are infinite choices and I can follow my own tastes. I love loud patterns, which are commonly seen abroad.
I'm a little younger than Signore Palahniuk, so would probably not even know the bands you met, but glad you had fun! Those were thrilling times!
First, I invite you to step inside the time machine. I'm talking about the reading in 2006, aka a milestone bday present to myself. From my perspective, barely any time has passed from my first letter to you in 2004, to now. Magic! :)
We could call it "50 first book readings" haha (referring to the amnesia of one of the characters.
I don't recall any such incident, and don't even think you had a clip-on mike. You stood at the podium on the right side (from our perspective), at Trinity Church. At one point during the talk you called my name and I went into shock. "I was there" (you told the packed house of over 500, at the Toronto reading, bla bla bla). Eventually I summoned up a whistle to draw your attention and you spotted me.
I know how you like to intentionally get things wrong so that the other person feels smart. It's clever but I think I have an Uno Reverse Card. See, I love being a troll myself, so I'll just go along with you. Yup, Sylvia Plath was totally a racist for writing The Bell Curve.
Good point. I have new stories, some pretty crazy ones, but most still involve something that would end up on the wrong end of a libel suit or an NDA binder. I guess that's what fiction is for, eh?
This is how I always felt at early 90’s hardcore shows. Except without chicken guts. To young to be there but somehow always able to sneak in. I was the Little bastard child of the Massachusetts hardcore scene. Cut off jeans self-built skateboard like a lightsaber tucked under my older brothers arm to make sure I didn’t get punched. Or to encourage me to get punched depending on the nights lesson.
Months earlier Jay, my brother saw me using the moldy basketball hoop outside the house and asked if I wanted to do something that was actually fun. With no friends and because we were latchkey kids there was no one to say no.
It wasn’t long before I adopted what would eventually be called the middle school life. Except before it was cool. Tossed about by bigger kids and some adults I was so happy to be moshing. No! Slam-dancing, Jay had told me. Get it right or you can’t come back. Okay slam-dancing. Earth Crisis and Shelter and 108 oh my! I wanted so badly to get punched like jay and all his friends.
When it happened it was awesome. Had to tell a few people, guidance counselors and teachers I walked into a door or whatever. I swear was born a decade too late.
Thanks for the story, Chuck!
Most of the people in Cacophony had steady day jobs -- a lot of postal workers, book store clerks, lawyers -- who needed a creative outlet among like-minded folks. I joined the group once I realized that all my best stories began with the phrase, "This one time when I was in college..." And I didn't want my best years to be behind me.
Interesting. And only having limited time to do the work you love makes that work all the more precious to you. And it unites you with other striving people. The song 'Sultans of Swing.' https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Pa9x9fZBtY
And that’s something you’ve continually reminded me since I started comment on your stuff. I’ve got to stop thinking I'm old and the story is over. The past is fun to talk and write about but the adventure isn’t over. Again thank you.
"This one time when I was in college..." Mine are Army stories. That was 25 years ago. I'm positive people are sick of hearing them, but somehow I constantly find a way to think they're relevant (subconsciously, of course!)
You either need new stories or new friends to hear them.
Fascinating stuff. Reading on wikipedia..I don't know if it"s true, it says one of it's central concepts is the Trip to the Zone, inspired by Stalker. What do they mean by that?
This I will have to revisit. Memory fails. But it seems like it was something akin to Chris McCandless throwing away his maps so he could see the landscape with fresh eyes. A kind of shared idea of going to a place where natural laws didn't apply.
Throwing away maps.. makes me think of what some call a return to childlike spirit, or true openness. Don't know, maybe not the same thing but, overlaps a bit.. I would love to read more. Any books on Cacophony Society you'd like to recommend?
The book I show at the top is the only one I know of. It's very expensive, but beautifully produced. It explains how the group grew out of the "Suicide Club" which was based on a Robert Lewis Stevenson story, so you might begin with the story itself.
It is expensive, hot damn. I'll need to live on 3 potatoes a day for a month straight to be able to afford it now. Which Robert Lewis Stevenson story?
It's called "The Suicide Club" and is probably public domain. I'll review my Cacophony book and write a synopsis of the idea of The Zone.
The gist of the story is that members must have all their affairs in order and live each day as if it were their last on earth.
In college, I was a drummer for a number of basement bands. Each house in the city had a name. The Sports Complex, the Grav Yard, the Manheim. The sun goes down and cars began to park out side as I haul my drums into someone's basement. Amp feedback blares while I turn drum keys on the toms. The stampede of footsteps growing above us as more people arrive. Soon a waterfall of footsteps thud down the wooden basement stairs. Beer cans crack open as studded vests and fishnets stand shoulder to shoulder. Folks perch on stairs and abandoned appliances as room in the poorly lit space becomes sparse.
When the music starts, the people disappear. My focus is on the speaker facing me so I can track the guitar and base. I am brought back to the basement as someone's bottled water slings across the crowd or a drum stick snaps and I snatch a spare. The energy in the room is loud and the crowd moves like one large, wild creature. Everyone is there to have a good time.
Soon we move gear as the next band begins to unpack. I am friends with the person who runs the house, so I help run the tip jar at the front door. More people step through the doorway with brown sacks of cold beer and jingling keys. The next band roars downstairs below us. A few groups remaining upstairs for a good laugh or a smoke.
I notice something beginning to fill the air. It stings in the back of my throat over the smell of cigarette smoke and spilled cheap booze. I turn around on my stool parked by the front door and see a dusting begin to collect on the floor. It seems to be thicker in the back of the house where the basement stairs are.
There is always a few people who do some pretty rowdy and uninvited stuff at shows. Chairs thrown at the Studded Bird. A bunch of broken glass in the basement after one of the shows at Sports. Cars broken into at the Mustache Club. Sometimes it is a big cleanup and if folks don't listen after a few conversation, they will no longer be invited in.
I hand the tip jar to one of my friends and head toward the basement stairs. I slide through the crowd on the stairs. Meat Mist is playing. They have strung up chicken nuggets in front of their set up like they do every show. Occasionally eating them as they play. The air is hard to breathe. Like razorbacks in my air ways. My voice is rough as I yell over the sound to find out what happened. Someone points to someone wildly swinging a smashed vacuum canister over their head. This is definitely a first.
I feel like our old basement shows filled that liminoid space. Every Friday night we played with other local bands. Sometimes traveling bands from other cities played. A lot of good times and stories to be told. Stuff you didn't see at the bars and other music venues.
Agreed. Every band name and presentation and new song is an experiment, and the liminoid events allow you to model the newness. And now I want chicken nuggets.
I will never forget their band name because of the nuggets. Someone took the time to thread those every show.
Definitely a space that cultivated a lot of creativity and good times.
This essay is dear to my heart. Carrie in reverse. That's all I want. This essay reminded me that I've always been a sucker for the underdog narrative. No matter how old I am or how many times I hear it, I can't get enough of those types of stories. "and they wore miniskirts or Jordache jeans and sneered at everything, like they always do. They took over the dance floor. They took over everything." Ha!
Here's my underdog story: I had an eating disorder growing up as most of us ladies do and I had very low self esteem. By the time I got to college I was getting tired of my starving ritual and that voice in my head putting me down. After a few trips to eating disorder groups I realized just how exhausted I was . I found that we all were. I would often go to hipster bars to see my favorite singer for years. I never said much to him and he didn't say much to me. After a couple years I go up to him to buy another CD and he nonchalantly handed over the CD and said "I just want you to know I think you're very beautiful. I'm not trying to be gross." and handed me my CD. I stammered out a "Thank you" and quickly left the building. I never thought of myself as an ugly duckling after that night. It was like a weight lifted. Having confidence is an awesome super power. Get it as soon as you can!
What an excellent story. And a reminder of how small gestures can have such a lasting, positive effect.
Thank you Mr. Palahniuk. And your kind words are very motivating as well Sir. I keep saying it...I didn't know I could write and didn't write until l started your substack class/blog/game. Thank you Mr. Palahniuk.
I thought of this awesome Linux commercial today and thought of you sitting in one of the teacher's chairs...It really is a fantastic time https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x7ozaFbqg00
What an awesome story. Love the “I’m not trying to be gross” part as well. That’s a great way of saying that. As a guy, sometimes giving a sincere compliment is hard to do without wondering if you will be taken as a creep. Very glad you found your confidence. I’m finding mine as well! I’ve had the opposite problem — being fat. I lost 40 lbs this year and have about 20 more to go. Finding a way to gain confidence is everything and it isn’t easy no matter what you struggle with. Good for you.
Yes! It gets easier with age too in my humble opinion.
Zombie culture and voodoo rituals...Have you read Serpent and the Rainbow by Wade Davis, Mr. Palahniuk? What a wonderful book!
No, not read it but I liked the movie. Is the movie faithful to the book?
Oh no! You never read the book! I never watched the movie. The book reads like a Krakauer in my humble opinion. And he does that thing where he narrates around the phenomena of puffer fish venom. Like how different cultures have used it and mishandled it. One of my most favorites by far. My ex taught a class on zombies so I know way more than I should about zombies and puffer fish venom. Sir.
It's the premature burial aspect that troubles me. I'd ask for EXTRA venom, please.
My goodness. The example of the group of Japanese men who had puffer fish and all but one were given time to revive. One was buried. WTF. They all were actually alive but what about the one that was buried...Terrifying.
I would love to hear your thoughts on the book if you ever get some time to read it. I love it so much.
It feels good to disembark from that giblet trip I was on. Thanks again!
Maybe the "in crowd" thought the party was for the "phony society," which is why they attended.
(just warming up here).
I had a hell of a time in middle school, but wusiwug's story about the singer reminded me of the bright moments, which is mostly what I remember now.
LOL. I have to add. I ran out and cried in my car for about 10 minutes due to the simple fact that I knew from then on every time I woke up I would be like "I'm fucking beautiful. Fuck yeah." every day for the rest of my life. That was about 15 years ago.
I hear you! It does wonders to get compliments from someone you admire.
My sister had an eating disorder. It's a sad story. I hope you're in a much better place now.
And "Herr Palahniuk" (to experiment with a new form of ribbing, as implored) seems to have something for everyone today! haha
I was woefully low on boyfriends in high school, but at the same time was getting to meet my favourite rock stars. I had a better experience with the ones who didn't express any physical interest in me. We mostly chatted about music! :) (I dabbled at being a rock musician). Part of that might be why I ended up on a site like this! haha Old groupies die hard!
Oh honey! Between us girls, I loved being a groupie. So fun. I was good at it too. lol I can drive and have sex like nobody's business. I still dress like a hoe from time to time. Keeps my spirits up. ;P
Well my groupie-hood was a bit tamer. No driving or sex! haha Even when I tried! And you should see how I dressed. At least the clothes were clean haha.
There's still time! ;P
There's also marriage vows haha I look back fondly on that chapter but don't miss it.
Have a nice evening (finally tearing myself away from the computer).
The one main thing I figured out, all these decades later (this was in the 80s) is that it didn't matter at all how I dressed. A girl's interest in a guy is all that was necessary. No matter who the guy was. I don't think I even wore makeup! haha I wore more makeup to Chuck's reading than to meet rock stars! haha (Chuck, if you're reading this, remember my famous eyebrow job in Kansas City? I had my own stylist prep me! haha)
Oh I hear you. You make a great point. I rarely wear makeup. It really has nothing to do with the clothing. I just love clothes. But it never changed what a guy thought of me overall. Very true. What did you do to your eyebrows?
My friends I was visiting are dancers. She gave me a plucking like I never had before! haha (have a little problem with luxuriant eyebrows and need professional help where possible).
Amidst the babbling by both parties, Chuck signed my book "Your eyebrows look great!" Which I only read later, I was in such shock from the whole evening.
I love clothes much more now that there are infinite choices and I can follow my own tastes. I love loud patterns, which are commonly seen abroad.
I'm a little younger than Signore Palahniuk, so would probably not even know the bands you met, but glad you had fun! Those were thrilling times!
All I recall about Kansas City was taking a piss with my clip-on microphone still activated, then having to go on stage and take a bow for it.
First, I invite you to step inside the time machine. I'm talking about the reading in 2006, aka a milestone bday present to myself. From my perspective, barely any time has passed from my first letter to you in 2004, to now. Magic! :)
We could call it "50 first book readings" haha (referring to the amnesia of one of the characters.
I don't recall any such incident, and don't even think you had a clip-on mike. You stood at the podium on the right side (from our perspective), at Trinity Church. At one point during the talk you called my name and I went into shock. "I was there" (you told the packed house of over 500, at the Toronto reading, bla bla bla). Eventually I summoned up a whistle to draw your attention and you spotted me.
Wait...so an audience heard your streak of urine pelting against the puddle of water? That's hilarious.
I could have sworn that happened in Mr. Pissy, and later in our northern capital, Ituqaliq.
Did anyone else catch the title of the post where "Cacophnoy" is misspelled?
As is Society. Made you look.
Oh wow, you got me. Don't know how that one slipped by me!
Did you read the post about typos? They work by making the reader feel brainy, and giving the reader a little dopamine rush.
I know how you like to intentionally get things wrong so that the other person feels smart. It's clever but I think I have an Uno Reverse Card. See, I love being a troll myself, so I'll just go along with you. Yup, Sylvia Plath was totally a racist for writing The Bell Curve.
What do you say to that?
Ha! Very good. That's what I'll say the next time someone inevitably finds an unintended typo in one of my important writings.
Chuck, you're certainly no one-trick (caco)phony! Enjoying the stories (again). Back in the saddle (incidentally my favourite song that I can't sing)
Not today ;)
It's just one shocking plot twist after another. 😃
He asked for it. 🤣
I'm scum. Don't be fooled.
Scum on! (I love the lines that would cause AI to crash if it tries to interpret it)
Is this Mr. Palahniuk's second account to mess with us? My final answer :p
Oh my. That's never good.
Good point. I have new stories, some pretty crazy ones, but most still involve something that would end up on the wrong end of a libel suit or an NDA binder. I guess that's what fiction is for, eh?
One must usually wait seven years before telling the best stories.
I picked up the livers and took them home to make paté.
Love you, Chuck!
Love you back!
How brilliant! Would've killed to be there.