For Florida's sole remaining sex surrogate, love is a many splintered thing.
It's not just giant companies cashing in on America's defense industry.
How a throwaway idea at the Barkley ad agency became the "Sonic Guys."
A diner's guide to Texas's oldest Mexican restaurants.
Punk is the perfect format for airing societal complaint. Or, to put it another way: If the punks don't say it, who will?
Mamas, don't you want your babies to grow up to be punks?
Anxiety Attack's record's liner notes, however, remind us of what's so important to any punk scene — and what our town lacks.
"Thanks," says Anxiety Attack, to "Jordan at Valhalla, Mott-Ly at the MoMO, Mean Caffeine, Jeff and Noah at the Haunted Kitchen, John at the Slaughterhouse (STL), Ricky at the Anchor, and all the other places that gave us a place to play."
Look at the picture on this page. Betterton took it in 2006, at El Torreon, when the all-women group Crap Corps had packed the joint and was raising holy, sexy hell. Look at that kid down front, with the jawline beard and the ridiculous but also perfect outfit of the velvety swim cap and goggles. Look at the bodacious punk-rock chick onstage, pointing her microphone at him. Look at Barack Obama Jr. over on the right, signaling his approval with a pointed finger and a Yeaauh on his lips. Or that girl to the side of the stage, frozen in the act of taking her own picture of the picture.
Don't you wish that could happen again here?
Maybe this year, Kansas City can give itself a present and let the punks have a fuckin' place to play.