When I was a kid, this is what I assumed punk-rock shows looked like: dudes in leather jackets, tough-looking ladies with homemade haircuts. Check out the dude sitting up by the speaker cabs, dancing like his ear’s attached to one of the cones. Other people stand around, passersbys look bemused or confused. Someone hands out some kind of flyer; the lady with the bad haircut takes one without missing a step.
But nobody ever told me when I was a kid that this was what a punk-rock band could look like. Or sound like, for that . . .
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