Life Soundtrack: Dischord

If you grew up in the DC suburbs in the '90's, you were most likely an indie-rock fan. At least in my case, I really couldn't help it. Despite my devotion to major label bands like The Cure and U2, I couldn't escape the weekend pilgrimages to Black Cat or the old 9:30 Club (located at 930 F Street NW, it was an amazing hole of a space -- the likes of which DC may never see again) where we would see bands that hand me scratching my head for years afterwards. I remember one evening when I tagged along for a Shudder to Think show. About three songs in, I was thoroughly confused by what I was listening to and decided I'd make more sense of the merchandise booth located in the caverns below the stage. I hid in the phone booth (the same one that was relocated to its new location) for some time before someone needed to actually use it. I then found refuge on a couch whose sole illumination came from a pipe of black lighting hanging above it. This worked until two punk girls sat on either side of me and started making chit chat. I quickly got up and rejoined the masses upstairs, nodding along to the odd melodies of Craig Wedren and company.

To this day, I still can't explain my urge to disappear, but I quickly grew up and started to embrace the wealth of DC's homegrown punk and indie-rock. At our beloved Dharma Coffeehouse, I would catch local heroes, The Dismemberment Plan or Vehicle Birth, over steaming cups of sumatra and Marlboro Mediums. And when I was really lucky, I'd trek into the city and catch the greatest band DC has ever given us -- and for free, to boot (unless they were performing a benefit show in which case they'd ask for no more than a five spot). Fugazi was a band that demanded attention. They never took a dime from major labels and never made a T-shirt. They drove their own tour van and did their own taxes. On recordings, they were fierce, aggressive and yes, angry. But there was no sense of artificiality in their sound. And when you saw them live, it was like watching four people become one living organism -- no set-list --- just feeling their way through what already hung there in the air, somewhere between them and the audience -- packed into a church basement in Columbia Heights. Each time I saw Fugazi live, I left a different person -- more connected, more energized, more inspired, less apathetic and yes, angrier. But Fugazi taught me that anger need not be a force for negativity -- that when turned into action, it could rectify wrongs and move mountains.

Below I offer two musical souvenirs of my youth growing up in the DC suburbs, two sides of a Dischord 45: one that marks my invisibility and another that lit the fuse.

Red House by Shudder to Think


Smallpox Champion by Fugazi