Once trust fund punks lose their savings they are reduced to riding a fixed gear bike, the same means of travel they had when they were in middle school. Their current bike build is actually less sophisticated than the ones they grew up on, but hipsters will always sacrifice the convenience of brakes for fashion. One of the most pretentious of all hipsters, fixies are primarily located in Williamsburg, Portland, San Francisco and wherever else snobs congregate these days. They tend to hang out at cafés, bike shops and anywhere else they can turn their nose at other hipsters. Usually enrolled in some form of printmaking or photography at their art school, the fixie spends more time complaining about things rather than creating them. One should not confuse a nonathletic fixie with actual racers or bike messengers. The latter can spot a fixed gear hipster from a block away, recognizing their bike as just another fashion accessory until they move onto the next trend. Usually a vegan, the street smart cyclist weighs no more than 100 pounds when soaking wet and gets his sole caloric intake from PBRs and plants. A fixie longs for a Bianchi Pista with drop handlebars but instead will custom order their ride from Urban Outfitters using their employee discount. The Fixie likes to tell everyone they are saving the world by having “one less car” but ultimately they just can’t afford one.
This crescendo crazed composer is hard to define by looks alone. His standard wear is so bleak and monochromatic that he could slip into any room unnoticed. Unlike his contemporaries who welcome attention through fashion, the Post Rocker would rather spend months alone in East Hastings. Most aren’t aware, but the good majority of Post Rockers are actually mutes. Their lack of vocals are covered up by songs consisting of long drawn out repetitive ethereal landscapes that try to provide the soundtrack for a tour through Chernobyl. Midway through most of their works you would wish you had radiation sickness to end the monotonous torture. The few who can speak are usually tuneless band geeks who spend all day fooling around in Guitar Center playing with delay pedals. Much like any song they craft, a conversation with a Post Rocker can last 15 minutes and 38 seconds with only about a minute of pretentious substance. Bored with conventional verse chorus verse rock and roll (see: emo), the Post Rocker doesn’t have much time for a social life as band practice can run a bit long, especially with each song clocking in at an average of 12 minute long.
The Nintendocore fan refuses to let go of the video games from his youth, however, his dedication leaves him trapped in an 8-bit world in his parents basement without a warp pipe to escape. This old school cellar dweller won’t touch a controller that has more than two buttons, even after all of his friends and game developers themselves, have abandoned ship. Don’t ask these retro gamers to share their joypad, old titles were rarely multiplayer and you can bet his social skills are lacking because of it. Time away from his console is usually spent rereading back issues of Nintendo Power or soldering old RF cables together. The music in his playlist consists entirely of instruments from the nintendo universe, such as a hacked Game Boy, Mario Paint and songs he’s composed on his Ocarina iPhone app. If this pixel pusher ever has a problem operating something, he will attempt to fix it in the only way he knows how: flip it over, flick it with his pointer finger, then blow in it. This poor gamer suffers from a chronic blistering “NES thumb” from endless Super Mario Brothers time trials, but at least he’s got a top rated YouTube video to show for it. In the event that his current system fails him, he keeps an unopened NES in a safety deposit box, courtesy of his parents. The Nintendocore fan dreams of one day becoming a game tester or perhaps even a reviewer, however, after a 20 year 8-bit coma, adjusting to the complex controllers of today is near impossible. He will eventually follow his destiny, become a plumber and defend the original works of Shigeru Miyamoto to his death.
Armed with his boots and braces, this working-class hero is ready for a fight after a long night of sing alongs and pbr with his friends Fred Perry and Ben Sherman. Your average skin has the “spirit of ‘69” front to back multiple times and can recite any line from “romper stomper” word for word without missing a beat, yet can’t seem to remember why he has a black eye from the night before or who the byrd in his bed is. Unbeknownst to most, not all skinheads are racist, but all of them happen to own the entire skrewdriver discography, s.h.a.r.ps included. they’ll tell you they like them “only for the music”. most find this excuse hard to believe since there hasn’t been a single oi record released that doesn’t sound like it was recorded anywhere but a toilet. Inevitably all skins begin to save up their hard earned money to convert their wardrobe over to all of the latest rockabilly gear as part of his skinhead retirement plan. be sure to ditch that #1 crop trimmer for some pomade, that pompadour is going to need some work!
Just when you think things couldn’t get much worse than electro-ska, black polka metal, or christian punk, the crunkcore scene comes along and makes everything else look perfectly acceptable. The crunkcore movement is one that seems to be a brilliant marketing strategy by some sort of modern day lou pearlman who learned to tap into the brain of misguided emo kids who don’t know where to turn. there is no way such a genre would evolve organically, someone had to have made a conscious marketing decision to create one of the worst crossover genres of all time and throw it on myspace to see what happens. To sum up the stylings of crunkcore, it is a horrific combination of two genres that were bastardized and declared dead several years ago, crunk and screamo, only now with overtly sexual lyrics directed at 7th grade girls. with that said, you can use the following recipe to create your own crunkcore band… 2 ¼ cups t-pain vocoder 4 tablespoons of angst ridden white teenagers 2 sticks of bowel inducing screams 3 teaspoons of shuttershades 2 cups fake bling from vending machines 12 cups of lyrics that would give brian peppers douche chills 205,809 myspace friends
Somewhere on the back of the miley cyrus tour bus the guys in metro station are thanking their lucky stars that bands like brokencyde came along. the crunkcore wave is to dance pop what 9/11 was to gary condit and his missing intern.
To most thrash fans, the “big four” consists of Metallica, Megadeth, Anthrax and Slayer. To the unsuspecting passerby of a thrash fan, the “big four” consists of indescribable odor, questionable stains, yellow teeth and unkempt lice infested hair. No neo thrasher would be complete without his “kutte” or “battlejacket” or “smelly vest with way too many patches”. The kutte is the thrash equivalent of a TGI Fridays waitress vest, the more flare the merrier. Spending endless hours scouring ebay for patches and bedazzler replacement parts, he hardly has any time at the end of the day to watch any of his 80′s VHS troma movies. On a number of occasions his mother has snuck into his bedroom in the basement in an attempt to febreze his beloved battlejacket, but has ultimately failed as it seems he never removes the vile vest. Stuck without a job, a futon covered in beer cans, a Metallica with short hair, a boom box that eats cassettes and a shower that hasn’t felt his presence in months, the Neo Thrasher seems to be at his lowest. Fortunately there is a kegger behind the abandoned gas station this Friday.
You sir, are grizzled!
With a wardrobe that looks like it was donated to a thrift store by either crosby, stills or nash in 1971 and a beard that has its own zip code, this indie icon has a devout army of worshippers who follow his every whispered word. The lethargic lo-fi lethario is known to lock himself in a cabin for months on end to craft minimalistic folksy songs. by the end of his self-imposed exile, all he has produced is a stream of hushed whispers with barely fingerpicked guitar strums. his musical works are recommended by doctors as a suitable alternative for ambien. in a matter of verses he could put down an army of mexican wrestlers hopped up on redbull. One might say his songs give them the chills, but that is only because they passed out listening and forgot to get a blanket.
He’s the last of a dying breed. the prehistoric emo only emerges from the depths of his studio apartment when his favorite bands reunite for one last show- and even then, he shows no sign of enthusiasm whatsoever. Once an avid fan of the underground emo scene, he now cringes at the sight of today’s batch of kids. he avoids mainstream media altogether, would rather listen to npr than podcasts and has no idea why anyone would panic at a disco. his favorite thrift stores are now raided by trend-hopping teens, making him resort to wearing the same vintage tees he has had for years. He cries when he listens to pinkerton and spends days at a time organizing his vinyl collection. he refuses to join the kids on the current social networking sites as he finds them repulsive, yet seems to forget about the long since abandoned makeoutclub account he made years ago. His casual-yet-somewhat dorky look has become the mainstream, and he is no longer identified as the emo king he once was. tear.
With more gaudy accessories than a williamsburg thrift store, this gal uses her daddy’s credit card to stay hip! she is an art school dropout and has no intention of furthering her education. rather, she aspires to become a hairdresser one day; beauty school, here she comes! please note: this will not actually happen. Her taste in music taste changes based upon what’s being spun at whatever club is trendy that week. dance music is her absolute fave, but her friends have no idea about her checkered past. Once a ska queen, she now works as hard as she can to preserve her fashionable hipster image by mimicking the incoming trends, and immediately ditches anything that might have been cool two minutes ago. this behavior prevents her from forming any individual identity whatsoever. She aspires to work in the fashion industry, and she will- folding clothes at old navy for the rest of her life.
The black metal knight is an odd, multifaceted creature; when he is not adorned in his elaborate band getup, he wears green sweatpants and arizona wolf tees. This guy has dreams of one day relocating his band to norway, but in the meantime settles for his mom’s basement. he tries to make ends meet by working at the local comic book store, where he passes the time playing d&d and world of warcraft. with his career choice being unprofitable, he has suffered a series of financial setbacks that relate back to the upkeep of his image. two months worth of paychecks have gone towards having a frank frazetta clone paint his band’s cd cover. in addition, his stage getup has put him well over $800 in debt to the home depot and various bondage stores. if that wasn’t enough, medical bills have been piling up- the fearless knight suffered from a severe case of frostbite while filming a music video during a blizzard. regrettably, the aforementioned music video has enjoyed but 33 views on youtube to date. The black metal knight recently suffered from perhaps the greatest embarrassment of all while onstage at the local dive bar. drunk past the point where he could comprehend his actions, the “kvlt” one accidentally applied his corpse makeup in a manner reminiscent of wcw’s sting. fortunately for him, his drummer was also inebriated and emerged as a passable gene simmons. Unlike his predecessors, he has never set a church on fire. he has, however, slipped and burnt his hair with his mom’s straightener.
Here is “a message to you rudy”- give it up! although most of his favorite bands have ditched their brass sections for screaming and tight pants, the ska kid holds true to his checkered past. There are still two-tone armies skanking the night away, though, to the tune of washed-up bands all across the united states. gone are the days when ska bands lived the high life in big-name clubs. nowadays, the ska kids flock to sweaty vfw halls and teen centers. The rude boy was never good at any sports, so instead he opted to join the marching band which, incidentally, led to the formation of his own group. the band enjoyed their biggest success at a recent high school battle of the bands, where they showcased their originality by covering the reel big fish cover of a-ha’s “take on me”. The majority of ska kid’s funds go towards the repair of his vespa, which he totalled after spilling his pez while speeding. someday the ska kid might be able to afford the fred perry and ben sherman gear he so covets, but for now the hawaiian shirts from goodwill will have to do. This kid seems to have missed the memo about ska being dead; one can only assume he forgot to “pick it up!”
She’s the girl you see at all the “scene” shows, putting her chest piece prominently on display for all her super-indie (see: pop-punk) friends to admire. much like other scenesters, she is completely void of any originality and bases her identity off of whatever she sees everyone else doing. She updates her livejournal on an hourly basis, making sure to keep everyone informed about her ever-evolving and always drama-filled relationships. speaking of boys, she only dates ones with the exact same taste in music, because in the end isn’t that what matters most? Her jeans and cowboy shirts come directly from urban outfitters, but when asked she’ll tell you she can’t stand “that store.” as for her hair color, it changes as quickly as her mood, and trust me, that’s fast! Need to find her late at night? she’ll more than likely be at the local underwear party- just look for the girl with the poorly thought-out nautical stars tattooed in all the right/wrong places!
Looking something like a mix of Pocahontas and a tornado at a thrift store, the Apple Store Indie is your typical #fauxhemian. Masking her love for Steve Jobs products with whatever your blind grandma wore 40 years ago, she blends in seamlessly with the rest of her contemporaries at All Points West Festival. Tweeting endlessly about nothing other than questions to a fake Ezra Koenig account, her main source of news is whatever happens to be a trending topic on twitter. Her iphone isn’t just a means to tell people what type of sandwich she is eating, she also uses it to cover Passion Pit’s “Sleepyhead” using only app store instruments with her hipster friends. Getting musical recommendations from last.fm or whatever Jenny Eliscu and Jake Fogelnest play on satellite radio, her entire “scene” seems to only exist in digital format. The only physical music she owns are vinyl hand me downs that serve as decorative filler for her Ikea Billy bookshelf. She rarely if ever supports her local indie music scene unless it is someone spinning records (see: itunes playlist) at a scenester bar. Unable to make sales of her diy junk through her etsy store, she has set up shop at a number of craft fairs across the tri state area. Unfortunately everyone else was selling the same trite octopus necklaces, owl earrings and onesies she slapped together. Upset with the lack of enthusiasm towards her creations, she will later blog about it to an audience of spambots.
Often considered the neon pink-headed step child of the goth community, the over-the-top fashion of the Cybergoth is typically scoffed at by traditional goths. Looking something like a mix of Rainbow Brite meets The Matrix, they are by far one of the most flamboyant misfits of the goth subculture. The appearance of the Cybergoth actually has nothing to do with the conventional gothic look, making them the very antithesis of the scene. The Cybergoth will often start by dressing in black but then over-accessorize with clashing neon color body mods, gas masks, goggles and live LED circuit boards, none of which serve any purpose whatsoever. The key to being a pillar in the Cybergoth community is having a custom hairpiece, otherwise known as dread falls. This fake hair is typically ordered online and further customized from objects found at yard sales. The end result are dreads made of radioactive neon colors that look like something a unicorn might defecate. These elaborate hairpieces are a true sign of allegiance to their scene, much like a skinhead with a shaved head or an emo kid with scarred wrists. Rave, cyberpunk, rivethead and goth fashion all look ridiculous on their own but combined takes on a whole new level of fail.
The Rockabilly lifestyle is generally what happens when punk scene veterans suffer some sort of trauma in their late twenties. As a result, they start believing they are the stars of a 1950′s period piece, where they can idealize aspects of a simpler time. The Rockabilly kids can be seen attending retro car shows, drive-in movies and burlesque clubs. The Rockabilly male generally works a blue collar job, nine times out of ten at an auto body shop restoring old cars. He longs for a ’59 Cadillac but is seen shamefully driving his ’91 Honda Civic. Other potential jobs include sailor tattoo artist, stand up bass player, or the role of Danny Zuko in the local theater production of Grease. The majority of his paycheck goes towards industrial strength Pomade as he spends hours crafting his magnificent pompadour and mutton chop sideburns. The Rockabilly female is a bizarre hybrid of Betty Crocker and Bettie Page, trying to be part 50′s housewife and part pinup model. Much like her significant other, she swears she was born in the wrong era but the classy Varga girls never covered their torsos with meaningless tattoos. She’ll take pole dancing classes in an attempt to get in better shape for her burlesque troupe, but more often than not falls into a “temporary” career as a stripper. June Cleaver would not approve. The Rockabilly couple are a clear example of what happens when aging punks embrace Johnny Cash rather than Ed Hardy. If at any time a Rockabilly individual adds coffins or zombies to their repertoire, they can instantly morph into a Psychobilly.
Deep seeded in 19th century Victorian fashion combined with a western sci-fi twist, the Steampunk tries his best to resemble an extra from Will Smith’s The Wild Wild West. The Steampunk longs for a time where technology was romanticized rather than mass manufactured. He scoffs at the minimalism of homogenized modern devices and attempts to make them his own. Displaying an unhealthy fascination with steam, valves and gears, the Steampunk will spend hours in his workshop crafting accessories for his wardrobe. Custom timepieces, goggles and Nerf guns are often overly customized to the point that they obscure the item’s original purpose. Modern day electronic devices are modified to look like rusted antiques. Outside of Flava Flav, no one displays clocks as proudly and prominently as this dapper gentleman. When not spending time reading the works of HG Wells and Jules Verne on his brass encased iPad, the Steampunk can be found attending various conventions and ballroom dances devoted to his fantasy world. The preferred method of transportation to these events is via zeppelin or steam engine, but most end up using the city bus. One can say that Steampunk is “What the past would look like if the future had happened sooner” but the reality is that Steampunk is what happens when Goths discover the color brown.
This grizzled scene veteran often works in the music industry but he can’t stand anything associated with it. he tends to be apathetic toward anything and everything, with the exception of the recent hot water music reunion or his yearly excursion to the fest in florida. He daydreams endlessly about moving to gainesville or richmond where he can participate in the scene firsthand, but for now he is stuck behind messageboards. this modern day lumberjack often aims to be “first!” on punknews.org and wishes death upon any band that seeks financial help after flipping their van. While his fashion might not be as over-the-top as other scenesters, he’s just as identifiable with his signature scraggly beard, cowboy shirt, jade tree alumni tattoos, and swamp-like smell. Bitter and beaten, his days of stage dives and high fives are long since over. the orgcore punker is left drowning his sorrows over chuck ragan singles and a case of pbr. recently, after being dumped, his sense of apathy reached a new high; he announced to his ex that he was going to get a sandwich.
Omg! new pix! new pix! new pix! plz comment! she’s got ‘em and she wants you to know. she won’t be legal for another 3 or 4 years and she’s well on her way to becoming one of the internet’s most sought after pieces of jailbait. if only her parents knew what their little darling was doing in their master bathroom mirror! She has 73,512+ friends on her account, and 98% of them are desperate men “just stoppin by to show some luv, holler back” Her musical tastes revolve around whatever is being forcefed to her through myspace that week. whether it’s through spammed “thanks for the add!” comments or through advertisements, her favorite musicians are predetermined by whoever can afford to promote their songs on the social networking site. If you can see beyond the glittery text and the 45 embedded youtube videos on her page, there’s an insecure, attention-hungry girl in there- she just needs to learn to keep her clothes on.
Oi! this reject attempts to relive the spirit of ‘77 but, alas, was born in ‘91. As a lover of music that revolves around the poor and working class, it only seems fitting that this street punk resides with his parents in their greenwich, ct mcmansion. Like most in his scene, he doesn’t know the first thing about politics aside from what his father brings to the dinner table. he has a strong stance against fascism, racism and sexism even though he has no idea what any of those terms truly mean. this punk firmly believes in anarchy, but this does not stop him from posting all day on the rupert-murdoch-owned myspace.com. Although his lifestyle may seem to embrace rebellion and individuality, the pseudo-punk spends plenty of time ensuring that his leather jacket is adorned with enough studs and patches to look just like those of his friends. he claims to be ambivalent about what anyone thinks of his looks, but he will go out of his way to put elmers glue and five cans of hairspray into his liberty spikes so they can stand as tall as possible. When asked about his fashion, he will firmly attest that clothing does not define a punk. rather, the offbeat form of dress is simply a sign that encourages unity and deflects negative nuisances- which is, ironically, how everyone else views them.
This utterly useless scene queen is internet-famous for no apparent reason other than the fact that she looks like a clown and is as naive as she is colorful. She claims that she invented fashion trends like stripes and becomes furious if anyone “steals” her hairstyle or any of her other patented looks. making it a point to hunt down anyone who has a similar style and subsequently spending countless hours chastising others, she still can’t help but wonder why she only has friends in the online world. The scene queen boasts that she is buddybuddy with fellow myspace icon jeffree star, but outside of gender-bending 15 year-olds, who really cares? Like most “artsy” girls her age, she has dreams of being a fashion designer and attempts to pass off bedazzled trinkets from michaels as jewelry. all that she has truly mastered is the art of manipulating mindless fans into buying her cheap junk through endless blog postings. Do mommy and daddy really know what their little girl is up to when she really should be doing her homework?
This bro has gone through every possible scene phase in the past few years, so he reverts back to hip hop- which he vaguely remembers being cool in fourth grade. signs of his previous flings with the “scene” are still apparent in his plugs, hidden tattoos and the swoop haircut that resides under his fitted cap. Inspired by icons such as pharrel and jay z, the faux hip-hopper runs his own urban streetwear line that mainly consists of googled images and all-over gold leaf printing. references to drugs, pop culture, and blatantly copyrighted images are a must. He proudly displays his $800 bape hoodie which is, unbeknownst to him, a fake. his shop of choice is karmaloop.com, and frequently spends way more than he is worth on limited-edition nike dunks. Although he favors hip hop and lists his ethnicity as “of african descent” on myspace, he resides somewhere in portland and plays drums for a metalcore band. to make things worse, the faux hip-hop scenester doesn’t know a single black person and fears for his life when one enters the room.
I’d write something snarky about this…gentleman, but i don’t want to get knocked over the head with an eightball in a sock.
Marilyn Manson, the undertaker, and Bozo the clown- this guy’s a conglomerate of them all! his favorite store is hot topic but a lot of his accessories are found around the house. his mother’s makeup, his father’s ties, and his sister’s socks have all been donated towards the cause of this outfit. Two years ago, he had blonde hair and an abercrombie-wardrobe, but that all changed the second he first heard my chemical romance playing on a random myspace page. from that moment on, his entire existence could be summed up with just three words: “i’m not okay.” His obsession with such angst-ridden music is sort of ironic since he hasn’t suffered a day in his upper middle-class suburban life. his favorite songs revolve around girls covered in blood, nightmares with knives and setting his friends on fire, yet he is terrified of getting a shot. Anyone still dressing like this past the age of 16 should seek immediate psychiatric help.
She’s 14 and spending every dime her parents give her lining her favorite bassist’s pockets! Pete Wentz is her idol and in her eyes he can do no wrong, whether he’s designing teeshirts, sponsoring bands, or posing half-naked for gap. The would-be tattoo on her calf? she stood outside a chili’s for three hours in the freezing Chicago winter in order to wrangle that one. it’s sharpie right now, but the minute she turns 18 it’s going permanent. She’s sick of all the kids at school who claim to be fob fans, she has been there since the bands Inception (2006). she knows no one loves her boys like she does; she may be young, but she’s absolutely convinced she’ll eventually be Pete’s one true love.
He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke, and premarital sex? well, maybe. unlike his nerdy scenester counterparts, this guy takes care of himself. his daily exercise routine consists of 50 roundhouse kicks, performing windmills until his shoulders give out, and at least 10 minutes of mock stage dives into his parents pool. He’s from a rare breed of the hardcore fan; very few exist past the age of 21. due to their adolescent abstinence, guys like this often lose all signs of their former “posi” attitude and become raging alcholics. awkward doesn’t even begin to explain how difficult it is to explain “edge” tattoos to chicks at the bar. If you want to contact him for crucial mosh tips, don’t hesitate to IM him at xedgextilxdeathx
She more closely resembles a warrior from Mortal Kombat than an actual human being. tattoos cover every inch of her body, facial piercings obscure her features, and the subdermal brass knuckle implant wards off anyone who doesn’t take the body mod lifestyle seriously. small children burst into tears when she walks by, and aunt beverly has trouble recognizing her at family reunions. Yes, she might look like something out of Hellraiser, but that doesn’t stop her from posing nude at suicidegirls.com. thank god for the altporn audience, because no one in the “real world” would hire her- not even the local gas station. As soon as she gets her first sg paycheck, she’s rushing out to get that earth crisis facial tattoo she’s always wanted.
He’s prettier than your girlfriend, but don’t let that limp wrist fool you- this guy gets more ass than a toilet! girls love guys who can swing microphones over their heads like a cowboy at a rodeo while holding his other arm out like a t-rex. Even though he’s founded a “screamo” band with his christian friends from orlando, he thinks saetia is a skin disease and that neil perry played dylan on 90210. His skin-tight jeans don’t allow a lot of room for breathing, but his girly figure doesn’t require much anyway.
Here is your quintessential male scenester. an unlikely mish-mash of every subgenre of the current underground music scene, this guy has something for everyone! from his hip graphic tees, down to his extremely snug girls jeans, he garners the attention of all the ladies at the local vfw shows. He gets his makeup tips from the best of ‘em, including Gerard Way and Brendan Urie, two pioneers in the guyliner scene. his parents question his choice of hairstyle, but he assures them he’s just “expressing himself.” Despite listening to pop music written for the radio, he will be the first to denounce a band the second they catch the slightest break. the same kid declaring bands as sellouts is the same kid working at Walmart. Even though his sense of style nor the bands he listens to should be considered “emo” in the traditional sense, he is exactly what the media would paint as its emo posterchild. Somewhere Jeremy Engik and Guy Picciotto are shaking their heads.
When kids get bored of just being “emo,” they tend to migrate toward something more chaotic. this is where the brootal character comes in. almost like parasites, they move from one scene to another, draining all originality from that genre before moving onto the next. Not sophisticated enough to understand technical metal, and too much of a pansy to hang with the death metal crowd, he hangs with the rest of the brootal kids. as a collective, they have no idea where they are headed. they listen to brootal music not because they have an appreciation or understanding of it, but because it is practically unlistenable. He works on grindcore logos in his notebook all day long, as he aspires to one day design band merch. to show the world his poetic side, he renames himself using alliteration- davey deathkill or stevey suicide, for example. Much like the mindless music they listen to, one brootal kid is hard to differentiate from another due to the swarm of white belts and out of control hair.
The skramz subculture was thought to be created out of revolt of modern corny bands such as a skylit drive, from first to last and alesana, but that couldn’t be any further from the truth. as it turns out, it was just a new name substituted for an existing musical genre that already existed in “screamo”, but the skramz kids were in the fourth grade during its heyday. Still playing catch up, the skramz revivalist spends hours perusing the old cmhwak board via archive.org to try and immerse himself in the once thriving post hardcore scene. unable to access this so called skylab that so many posters seem to mention, the revivalist has no other choice than to bootleg tees of defunct bands via cafepress to try and impress other skramz purists. after studying photos of billy werner from various angles, his tattoo sleeves look just right and would fit in at any level plane records basement show circa 2001. Unfortunately all of his favorite bands are either long since broken up or french. luckily the language barrier isn’t a big issue since the vocals usually sound like a strangled muppet having an anxiety attack at 120 mph. The skramz kid is living in the past, but still holds out hope for a new circle takes the square album as well as duke nukem forever sometime in the near future.
In a scene flooded with jet-black hair, piercings, and eyeliner, this spunky dude is a breath of fresh air. unfortunately for him, he looks just as silly as his contemporaries and appears to be suffering from an even worse identity crisis. One could argue that he might be the male equivalent of rainbow brite. his wardrobe primarily consists of brightly-colored american apparel products. this might be acceptable and even cute for a teenage girl, but for a 20-something guy with hairy legs? this is a problem. It doesn’t stop there! he appears to be reliving his childhood; he embraces nostalgia in the form of retro video games, ninjas, robots, dinosaurs, 80′s icons, and anything with a moog synthesizer. Despite his uber flamboyant appearance, his nostalgic tendencies, and his dedication to pop-punk prepackaged for preteens, he does have one masculine quality: a crush on paramore’s lead singer, hayley williams. Sadly, she is nine years his junior.
Are you “down with the clown”? his taste in music is about as painful to listen to as it is to get powerbombed off a bus by mike awesome (youtube it!), but the poor juggalo is too deluded to realize it. He blindly follows two middle-aged, talentless hacks who like to play dress up- so he follows suit! buying into a merchandise empire bigger and more self-indulgent than that of hannah montana, the sad clown mindlessly purchases whatever icp sells… keychains, faygo soda, flags, purses, lighters, and athletic gear that will never be put to use. with his facepaint, lice-ridden goatee, coolio haircut, and outdated jnco jeans, the juggalo often finds employment at gas stations and carnivals. He spends his minimum wages without a second thought at the annual gathering of the juggalos. this is the only place he can find true happiness amongst his brethren, whether it be at a psychopathic records concert lineup or a jcw wrestling event. just watch out for the broken light tubes and barbed wire.
Most kids who are serious about Metal / Hardcore wouldn’t be where they are without the works of bands such Black Flag, Bad Brains and Black Sabbath. Nowadays, the frontrunners of metalcore wouldn’t be where they are if Switchfoot, Five Iron Frenzy and DC Talk weren’t played at past bible camp retreats. In recent years religion has made its presence felt in the metalcore scene moreso than ever before. In order to avoid this trend make sure to keep a tally while listening to current bands. If you hear the word “he” more than “she” then you are either a) listening to bear force one or b) you might be being taken advantage of by Jesus mind tricks. If you find yourself armed with a hair straightener and a wardrobe of v-neck shirts you must immediately listen to NOFX records for the next few hours to cleanse yourself from this form of audio hypnosis. Hardcore wouldn’t be what it is without some sense of passion, but passion about some fictional zombie?
For the most part, Crabcore is an offshoot of Christcore, with similar hairstyles, v-necks, tight pants and religious beliefs. It appears the only difference between the two (besides excessive vocoder usage, eurodance beats and unnecessary breakdowns every 30 seconds) is that followers of the crabcore persuasion will squat like a girl taking a piss in the woods during their power stances. Much like the locomotion, macarena, watusi, cabbage patch, mashed potato, and even the urkel, the crabcore craze will be over sooner than it started. Ripped denim crotches everywhere are thankful.
The Screamolester is what happens when a sexually androgynous mutant with mad rad hair attempts to make pop music but instead racks up a bunch of statutory rape charges. Often claiming to be a model or a hairstylist, this ManGirlPig is nothing more than a beauty school dropout with a vast collection of wigs, hair extensions and date rape drugs. This ladyboy will spend hours raiding its mother’s makeup cabinet and kid sister’s wardrobe in an attempt to look like a combination of Hannah Montana and puke. Buried beneath layers of glam and glitter, it may be difficult to determine the gender of a Screamolester. At first glance one might think they’re looking at a pudgy prepubescent girl but upon closer inspection the creature shows itself to be a gender-bending 20-something-year-old guy, seeking out pudgy tween girls. Using it’s electropop band as a lure for naive underage females, it’s somehow able to make them swoon with lyrics that degrade women. Touring the country with other Pedo Bear approved bands, it has an endless supply of unsuspecting victims to choose from. This predator has had more than a few run-ins with the cyber police when trolling Stickam but eventually it’s actions will catch up to it and CONSEQUENCES WILL NEVER BE THE SAME.
This guy is single-handedly responsible for the commercialization of your favorite bands, childhood television shows, and quirky indie movies. his other favorite shirts include such witty sayings as… “i saw your mom on myspace,” “the voices in my head are telling you to shut up,” and “can’t sleep… the clowns will eat me!” He can’t commit to single trend (no permanent hairdye or real tattoos) because it all changes so quickly. despite his willingness to follow whatever trend his favorite store features that week, his shirts always seem a year or two behind the times. You know your favorite band is no longer part of the underground once this kid starts hawking their merch.
By far the smelliest of all the scenesters, the Crustpunk embodies the D.I.Y. punk ethos with his nihilistic attitude and “freegan” diet. Typically an extremely unkempt individual with patches and pins barely holding together his soiled wardrobe, the Crustie goes months on end without bathing, ensuring his unemployment. When not attending politically radical protests and Food Not Bombs events, the Crustie can be found panhandling on city streets with his banjo and emaciated dog at his side. Despite being anti-corporation, the majority of his earnings goes towards beer. The Crustpunks are also anti-authority, anti-work, anti-government, anti-religion, anti-showers, but are somehow not anti-five-day-old-burrito in the Trader Joe’s dumpster. Even though he lives a nomadic lifestyle squatting in abandoned buildings and train-hopping, the Crustie never strays too far from home. Eventually he’ll need to hit up mom and dad in the suburbs for more cash, so he can stay poor.
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