Laina Dawes - What Are You Doing Here?

The Last Days of CBGBs (Ed Marshall Photography)

Table of Contents

Foreword by Skin

Introduction

I. Canadian Steel

II. Metal Can Save Your Life (or at Least Your Sanity)

III. Im Here Because We Started It!

IV. So You Think Youre White?

V. The Only One Syndrome

VI. Too Black, Too Metal, and All Woman

VII. The Lingering Stench of Racism in Metal

VIII. Remove the Barricadesand Stagedive!

Epilogue

Appendix: What Are You Doing Here?: The Survey

Bibliography

Biographies

Foreword, by Skin

Introduction, by Laina Dawes

1. Canadian Steel

2. Metal Can Save Your Life (or at Least Your Sanity)

3. Im Here Because We Started It!

4. So You Think Youre White?

5. The Only One Syndrome

6. Too Black, Too Metal, and All Woman

7. The Lingering Stench of Racism in Metal

8. Remove the Barricades and Stage Dive!

Epilogue

Appendix A: The Survey

References

Biographies

Introduction

Sandra St. Victor (Rob Fields)

When I discuss black women in the metal, hardcore, and punk scenes, the most common response from people who dont know me is a three-second pause, and then: Huh? Some will stutter and avoid eye contact. People often do not know how to react, and they struggle to find something to say that doesnt sound either offensive or dismissive.

Any reaction is fine and understandableup to a point, anyway. I know by now that they dont know any black female friends or musicians who are into the music. Its not that we, black women, shouldnt be there. But why arent we?

Metal, hardcore, and punk music are widely perceived as giving a voice to the voiceless, hoisting up music and a culture for outsiders who cannot or choose not to conform to societal standards. Many find an emotional anchor lacking in other aspects of their lives, in what is often thought to be a community based on shared musical preferences for loud, abrasive sounds and equally loud and abrasive attitudes.

When I began writing this book, I reread Lester Bangss excellent essay The White Noise Supremacists for the umpteenth time. In the piece, first published in the Village Voice in 1979, the late music journalist writes about the development of his awareness on race while being immersed in the 70s-era punk scene in New York City. While stunned by the casual racism of his friends and acquaintances, Bangs admits to his own racist gaffes; using racial epithets and stereotypes for comedic shock value: I thought absolutely nothing of going to parties with people like David Ruffin and Bobby Womack where Id get drunk, maul the women, and improvise blues songs along the lines of Sho wish ah wuz a nigger, then mah dickd be bigger, and of course they all laughed. It took years before I realized what an asshole Id been, not to mention how lucky I was to get out of there with my white hide intact. He realizes that if people do not take racism seriously, nothing will really change.

Bangs never mentions black women in the essay. While I didnt really expect him to, I had always wondered about that blind spot. Admittedly, Bangs was writing from his own white, privileged background and, despite his honesty, was more focused on his own self-absorbedness than on the perspectives of the people at the receiving end of nigger. He briefly mentions the experiences of his black friends, people with a secondary role in the essay, and their observations about the 70s punk scene resonated with me as a heavy metal devotee. Bangs relays the words of his black friend Richard Pinkston: When I go to CBGBs I feel like Im in East Berlin. I dont mind liberal guilt if it gets me in the restaurant, even if I know the guy still hates me in his mind. But its like down there theyre striving to be offensive however they can, so its more vocal and theyre freer. Its semi-mob thinking.

Pinkstons perspective was interesting to me. I have been in situations similar to Bangss alcohol- and drug-soaked party where he played his nigger disco shit. Im sure many people have been in a situation, regardless of race or ethnicity, where they were affected by uncomfortable silence or conspiratorial laughter after a racially awkward event. But we have never really had the opportunity to talk about it, how it hurt us or at least, made us question our friendships. Those racial gaffesthat silent yet thick tension centered around being in a social space where your presence is considered an anomalystill occur in todays white-dominated musical scenes.

I was about nine years old when Bangss article was first published. Rereading this essay over the years, I always wondered what it would have been like to be my twenty-one-year-old self in that era, someone who simply wanted to go to CBGB or one of the popular haunts of the day. I imagined having to navigate spaces where I might run into someone like Ron Asheton of the Stooges, who, as Bangs described, wore swastikas, iron crosses, and jackboots onstage. As a black person and as a woman, I may not have been welcome, as the stares and a thickening air would have made my presence there uncomfortable for everyone. I would like to think that if a button-pushing punk singer started spouting racially offensive drivel, I would run up on the stage and violently insert my boot into the perpetrators mouth. In all likelihood, I would not. Honestly, I have no idea what I would do. Black guitarist Ivan Julian, a founding member of Richard Hell and the Voidoids, told Bangs that regardless of how much people might have in common, they still draw away.

Today the scenario is not hard for me to imagine. The 70s punk scene sounds very similar to contemporary society, where situations occur that confound me in my very real life. We still sweep discussions under the proverbial rug about why we inherently feel that people should listen to music and participate in subcultures based on their skin color. Among friends and coconspirators, I might grumble and complain, but the fact remains that full inclusion within the metal, hardcore, and punk communities remains incomplete.