“Where can I find a good punk scene?” she asks.

“What exactly is it you think punk is?”  I reply to the adorable pixie-girl with a purple mohawk.  She giggles and admits she doesn’t know.  It’s surprising how often I hear beautiful young people complain that the punk scene is just not what it used to be.  There’s a subculture of post-punk children that are brainwashed to think they have come too late to be involved in a real punk scene.  They shave their heads, sew patches on their denim and pay too much money to see old guys play music that only mimics days long passed.  How can they be nostalgic for something that’s literally right in front of them?

The core of punk is less a music genre and more a way of life.  The music ranges across a vast spectrum of styles but there’s a consistent energy almost bordering on angst in every group.  Something soulful and genuine that can’t be cultivated – only unearthed.  The best way to maintain legit punk status is to continually not care what other people think of you and your art.  That’s exceptionally hard to do, especially in today’s instant-gratification social mediaverse.  And the irony is once you’ve discovered what it is to be punk, the meaning changes again.  It’s a concept that never stops moving because it’s so close to the beating heart of society.

The calling card of any healthy punk scene is having fun on stage.  But that is a temporary part of the underground whole.  There are very few days of glory for someone living a truly punk lifestyle.  Most days involve working for someone you don’t respect and complaining about things you can’t change.  The monotony of everyday life washes up against you like waves on a beach until you’re so fed up you can’t hold it in anymore.  That’s when the artistic element of punk emerges, raw and gasping from underneath the cruel nihilism of entropy.