Urban Paradise
Urban ParadiseI’ve never traveled much. Frankly, I’ve never felt the urge to leave Roseburg. If you’ve never heard of Roseburg, that’s a pretty good description of it. Maybe I’m not being fair. I guess Roseburg isn’t a shrouded glen or lost hamlet; the Dixie Chicks played in our most prominent city park just two summers past. Strangely enough, when offered the chance to go to Portland to see one of my favorite bands, I seized the moment.
The Vandals are a punk band. Stereotypical punks resemble infested lepers. These unwashed adolescents are rebels without cleanliness. The pierced, tattooed freaks don’t rabble rouse, because they are the rabble. Sadly to say these guys are too hardcore for me, for two reasons. My current financial situation seems to be one of perpetual poverty. Self expression costs money, that my parents wouldn’t be willing to pay. They seem dead set to never see me in a lime green mohawk. My second reason has already been briefly mentioned. My parents represent the more conservative party in the house. Dregs still need a place to sleep and food to eat.
I was shocked when my parents agreed to let me go to Portland with two of my friends. The advanced plans were made and we left. The concert took place at La Luna. La Luna is normally a dance club, but on certain, rare occasions it mutates into a concert hall. When we arrived the show had already started. The first punk band had just finished. We were a little disappointed at missing Longfellow, for they are very talented. The condition of the interior was strangely frightening to this country boy who had dared to invade it.
The floor was packed with a wide assortment of punks. Some had dyed mohawks towering above the crowd, signaling position and radiating the mood of the mohawk bearer. We had an assortment of Rude Boys and Mods there also.
As is custom, the Mods were dressed in dark suits and frying on acid, while there similarly dressed cousins, the Rude Boys, where eyeing the skinheads. The skinheads or skins, obviously stuck out like sour middle fingers. It was quite apparent that many of them had recently shaved their heads. Some SHARP’s were there also, leaning against a shadowy corner, smoking and drinking. SHARP stands for SkinHead Against Racial Persecution. I am half-Asian and shouldn’t fear these benevolent skins but maybe they should be called SHAFF’s, or SkinHead Affectionate For Fighting. The embodiment of fury and urban desperation stalked in the shadows. Chances are they beat up the “bad” skinheads after the show.
After two more cover bands it was time for the Vandals. My adrenaline was pumping through constricted veins. Their crew purposely took an eternity to setup....
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