The sounds of distorted guitars and whiny vocals shot through the air. Through a chain-link fence I saw a stage no bigger than a car, surrounded by a small, scattered crowd of punks and skaters. I searched for an entrance. It was a hot summer day—89 degrees and humid—and I was already sweating. After much searching, I found a way in: a path a half mile walk from where I had parked. The walk took me past the large Kia dealership that made a direct entrance impossible. Once I went around it, I could finally make my way to the source of the music: the skatepark.
A menagerie of misfits stood before me. Nearly everyone in the crowd wore clothing from their favorite artists, from The Strokes to Pachinko to Mest. The brunt of the crowd was in their late-teens or twenties, but I also saw young kids with their parents. Some in the crowd bobbed their heads to the band onstage, some formed small mosh pits, while some skated with the music in the background. A few times, groups of friends gathered by the stage so one lucky friend could crowd-surf. One group carried a cardboard sign emblazoned with “Band member wanted. Must live close.” They were still waving that sign around hours later when I left.
I had discovered the event through a chance Instagram recommendation and, despite the hour-long drive to Milford, Connecticut, decided to attend. I had been a fan of punk music for most of my life, but rarely had the opportunity to engage at a local level. Most of my punk concerts had been national touring acts, so I wanted to get a feel for what punk music was like a little closer to home.
Circling the park, vendors were selling wares: Each band had its own merch tent and many vendors sold clothing,art prints and posters. One tent was exclusively stacks of CDs and vinyl records with a paper plate reading “Cool Stuff” taped to the canopy. On the other side of the park, a person in a banana suit going by “Yellow” bartered for goods and gave away free bananas.
The band onstage—called 2/14—finished their set and the crowd thinned. The emcee instructed everyone to stay outside for the next band: Don’t Go Outside.
“The first time I ever got in a practice room in a basement with two of my friends in high school, I was just like, ‘Yeah. This is it. This is the only thing I’ve ever liked to do,’” Sky Carlson, lead singer and guitarist of 2/14, and New York City native, told me. He appeared nervous when I spoke to him, clutching his arms and hardly meeting my eyes. This was unlike his stage persona, where he sang and screamed without hesitation. His comfort while performing makes sense: music, more than anything, is his lifeblood. “Go through school,” he said, “You don’t actually want to do it. You just live for the stage.”
Twenty years ago, people like Carlson had a strong foothold in mainstream culture. Bands like Blink-182, New Found Glory and television shows like “Total Request Live”—all mentioned as influences by the artists present at the event I attended—were all over the late 1990s and early 2000s. While punk’s prevalence has faded since then, society’s predescribed pathway has not stopped people from choosing their own way. There will always be artists.
By day, Jacob Russell, whom I approached after seeing him play, is a tattoo artist from South Windsor, Connecticut. However, he brings his artistry wherever he goes. “You can be creative with everything. Cover art, lyrics, it’s the same thing,” he said. His band, Solgyres, plays a unique blend of so many styles I cannot name them all. They are a nine-member band and the only group that could not fit all its members onto the stage. Their second percussionist and two horn players had to stand on the grass in front of the stage. Their style is a reflection of the cumulative creative power of all their members. “We all listen to everything from punk, jazz, reggae, hip hop,” Russell said, “It’s kind of an amalgamation of everything we like.” While I was there, Solgyres filmed a music video for an upcoming song, putting another part of their creativity on display.
When punk culture is a refuge for so many people, creating a space for the art is as important as the art itself. Russell spoke of how difficult it was to keep these spaces afloat. “Trying to keep places all-ages is tough,” he said. “And half the DIY spaces get shut down within a year.”
This struggle was echoed by Jimmy Barbetti, organizer of the event and, lead singer and guitarist of Scooped Up. “We had nowhere to play,” he explained. “Everything was closed, so we just played at the park. There was usually like 30 people here anyway, so we played for those 30 people. We kept doing that and it’s grown and grown over the years, along with our band. Now we just throw these huge events. We’ve been throwing them at this scale for the past three years.”
Despite his band having a merch table, profit was the last thing on Barbetti’s mind. The show was free to attend and for all ages. There were cases of free bottled water to keep people safe from the hot day, and Barbetti planned to give away 15 skateboards to people in the crowd. The event ran from noon until around 8 p.m., and 10 bands played. Such a large bill allowed lesser-known bands to play for fans of the others, giving them an opportunity hard to find at for-profit clubs booking three bands a show. “It’s all for the community,” Barbetti said, and it showed.
Whether you are a wayward wanderer like Carlson, a fusion creative like Russell or a skater shooting the breeze on a summer Saturday, a place for you lives on at the skatepark.