text/gemini
# Reminiscing About Past Hardcore Basement Shows in Central PA
It was a central PA summer for sure. Too many kids packed into my moms car, a skipping tape playing for the 100th time as a hot, heavy farm stink passed us by on our way into Lancaster PA. When exactly the show occured escapes me, but I can mark some contextual clues. I just got my drivers permit, I was in high school, we had flip-phones. It must've been roughly 2008/2009.
The show was at a place called The Stomping Grounds. A legendary space in my 15 year old eyes where full blown grown-up punks mingled to make their own art, their own rules, their own lives. It seemed like the clearest representation of what is possible in this world and it was all happening downtown.
I remember my friends and I arrive feeling, well, nervous. We had been to a few shows before; fire halls, art galleries, etc. But the lore surrounding a "house show" excited us beyond belief. These were our idols. From the bands playing to the friends who got to work the door, these people were DOING it and we wanted whatever IT was. Looking back, that night was an absolutely insane lineup of bands: Those Galloping Hordes, Florence and Libby, Mountain Asleep, 1994!, and Algernon Cadwallader. The fact that there was a moment in time when all of these bands existed, played together, and were downtown for 5 bucks is crazy to think about.
There was No address on the flyer, but finding the house wasn't hard. Staking out King St. like detectives, I remember parking once we saw some punks smoking outside a house still decorated for Halloween last year. Needless to say, it was not hard to find your kin in Lancaster. Once there we never stopped moving. Waiting in every corner was music and conversation, it was like a living being that fed off of collective energy. A now foreign and deeply missed scent of freshly rolled cigarettes and close breath washed over us in the backyard and guided our every move. Things were alive, laughter, people singing in unison, the clashing of instruments squeezing into the back door. We were now in. Just follow the flowing river.
Once inside, we were met with more music and movement. Maybe an impromptu performance in the kitchen? Not sure what was happening, but again, we were sucked in like a sleeping child at the lavy river. Two people poured out classic emo covers from on top of the stove. Was this the show? Did we miss the first band? It didn’t matter, the room was swelling with each breath of the house, feeding off of each guest, and now someone was handing out pots and pans to play along. Pure ecstasy, no one could escape and no one wanted to. But, before we knew it the kitchen band was being swept away towards the basement door.
Once underground we were in the belly of the beast, where digestions of all that materializes in DIY are made. I will never forget this basement, my first experience with the ceiling just above my head, the comforting heat next to the hvac system, the thrill of being shoulder to shoulder with more people than you could ever imagine being in one place. And then the music. Each band felt like they played for years and at the same time seconds. It was never enough. Every song was like the bands closer as we swayed, rocking back and forth as the womb underground tossed us around with the buzz of sounds. And we were ALL playing the songs, the songs. The songs that we memorized, created by friends of friends of friends. This was all of us, all of us sharing the power of two people working together like Chris and Mike in 1994!, or learning later about the fundamental roots that Florence and Libby laid in the local scene (Greg helped countless bands in so many ways), or just jumping up and down with the singer of Algernon Cadwallader as we scream every word together. I remember closing my eyes and letting the basement take over. Each song made us all one big thing, one rhizomatic connection with feelers reaching out to everyone there. Holding you, lifting you with every emotion screamed and shared as the mic gets tossed around. The great swell that was all of us.
There was a strange familiarity, a shared affect between strangers as we all shared our inner thoughts that were usually kept in headphones or on paper. It was my first attempt at doing it myself, being able to build confidence, to take on projects and my future. This show was the beginning of what would help me learn about politics and mutual aide, the revisiting of old tech through cassettes bought at the shows. These were the seeds that planted my ability to be who I am today and I am eternally grateful for whoever it was at The Stomping Grounds that opened their home to so many. Lancaster seemed so small back then, but in those moments in the basement entire worlds were built that were huge beyond belief.
This content has been proxied by September (ba2dc).