It only took me four months in Richmond to go to my first hardcore show. I know half of you are wondering what the fuck is wrong with me, which is a pretty legit question, but give me 900 words or so to explain myself.

It only took me four months in Richmond to go to my first hardcore show. I know half of you are wondering what the fuck is wrong with me, which is a pretty legit question, but give me 900 words or so to explain myself.

Since moving here, I’ve heard iterations of a few central themes to this city, one of the strongest and most intriguing being its musical history. When I was interviewing Doug Walker about the hot rod open house, he told me this awesome story about how bands in the punk scene came together in the early 1990s to deal with some Nazi skinheads that were fucking up people at all the shows. Apparently, and this is admittedly third-hand or something so some details might be wrong, all these bands and people in the scene agreed to meet at the Lee statue on Monument Avenue, and whoever climbed the highest could speak first. Ipecac frontman Tom Crawley apparently won the honor, climbing all the way up and riding bitch on Lee’s horse. Ultimately, the bands decided to get together outside the venue of an upcoming show and give the skinheads a choice between getting the shit kicked out of them or leaving altogether. Faced with about a hundred pissed off punks, the skinheads left and didn’t cause any future problems.

What an incredible story, right? I’ve been progressively fascinated with this whole scene since then. If you grew up in this city – hell, even if you’ve just lived here for a good while – you might take for granted the musical diversity this town has to offer. I’m not hating, it makes some sense, but let me tell you: as an outsider, I’m stunned by the constant shows ranging from big band to metal to the guy playing violin on the sidewalks of Cary Street. It’s fucking insane, the music this city offers up every night of every week. That, combined with my complete idiocy when it comes to that kind of music, has led me to be more and more interested in seeing what exactly that whole Richmond scene is about. Right now I can’t even articulate clearly the difference between metal and hardcore, and I know there are all these subgenres that I’ve never even heard about. Growing up in rural Alabama didn’t lend itself to much hardcore or punk; I listened to either classic rock or dirty south rap during my formative years. I had this transcendent moment as a 19-year-old sophomore at Auburn University when my boyfriend made me listen to Sleater-Kinney; I can pinpoint that moment as the beginning of my own personal musical journey, which has taken me to some pretty amazing bands. Hearing about the Lee monument story, and living in this city with all its history relating to bands I’ve never heard of, made me realize there was this vast field of music I’ve yet to know. In the spirit of the new year (like a dork), I made a resolution to listen to all the metal and see if I like it.

And so last week, after RVA’s own Andrew Necci very nicely listened to me scream obscenities about the BSC title game and chain smoke in Bandito’s (War Eagle, y’all), I told him about my New Year’s resolution. Being the crazy-ass musical encyclopedia he is, he started inviting me to these shows he was planning on going to, and being the seriously up for anything dork I am, of course I agreed to them all. Saturday night, then, marked my first ever kind-of-metal hardcore show held at Strange Matter, a bar I’ve heard so much about and had yet to visit.

Double virgin, y’all. But I wasn’t scared. Maybe because I was a little drunk from the walk over.

And what better guy to go see a hardcore show with than Andrew, who knows all the things about all music and is happy to share that vast knowledge with a constantly-asking-questions nosy woman like me? As soon as my friend and I walked in the door, Andrew pulled us over close to the makeshift little mosh pit, managing to tell us the frontwoman of this band used to be in one called Scrotum Grinder, before the screaming melody and unbelievably frantic drumming filled up the room.

I couldn’t understand a single lyric sung. Shit was happening so quickly I could barely keep up with the bass riffs, shifts in time signature, or even the melody. Right now I couldn’t tell you exactly which songs were my favorite, although at the time I sure as shit was dancing with my PBR spilling over the rim of my pint glass. The fucking intensity of the bands was so compelling, so gripping, so encompassing it didn’t matter. That music pulled me into this swirling vortex that divorced me from everything else except the shared experience with the other people in the room. There wasn’t a place for talking; I couldn’t laugh with my friends about the kids slamming into each other during the songs (although we did that a little in between) or chat up strangers at the bar, which I usually like to do when I’m out. I wasn’t thinking about the laundry I need to do, or the article I need to write, or any of the other shit I stress about daily. I stood there, doing a little head-shaking, foot-tapping, fist-raising dance through the whole show, marveling at how the musicians blasted these jagged, screaming rants at the crowd and how the crowd fucking took it and loved it. During the last set of the show, I was enthralled by the drummer; the band set up on the floor, so I was about six feet away and could see in extreme detail the absolute athleticism he poured into those songs.

Pretty sure I was grinning like an asshole during the whole thing.

And I make no apologies about it! What an amazing fucking ride. I don’t know that I’ll be streaming death metal while I’m doing my dishes or walking to work, but you will definitely find me in the crowd at shows, drinking that shit up and rocking out in my own way, navigating this brand new musical experience. I’ll be the weirdo in a miniskirt and polka dots, wearing a shit-eating grin and not caring about the spilled beer all over her shoes.

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A recent transplant to Richmond from Alabama via upstate New York, Laura Confer is primed and ready to experience the city everyone is so happy to show off. As she navigates this new terrain, she’ll be writing about her adventures. Tell her where she should go! Tell her what she should do! Tell her to stop talking about food so much! Find Laura online at thetwors.com.