I’m not an Erba or a Rose. A Roder or a Lean Steve—certainly not a Human Frybox. I’d never try to imitate any of those classic Cleveland ragers. Beckett? No way. Begit neither. I don’t have the guts.

Then why why why at this packed basement show at renowned Hardcore punk dump / venue, Legion Of Doom in Columbus, Ohio back in the summer of 2000, did I cast aside all inhibitions and remove my jeans AND my freakin’ undies for Gordon Solie Motherfuckers?

It was one of those nails-on-the-chalkboard moments where time and space seemed to freeze-frame, and everyone turned in slo-mo to glare at me with my fuckin’ junk out. Even the most wasted drooling punk in the crowd instantly gave a look down his nose like, “You are so uncouth.”

That’s right I de-pantsed my own damn self. So what? I am not cool.

I swear I wasn’t trying to be creepy or sexual. I felt liberated, you see. Gordon Solie music is the ultimate. As Tony Erba let it all hang out verbally, I was letting it all hang out… literally. I was free—FREE I tell you!

So that incident happened. Did not go as planned. Then I attempted to get my pants back on. Quickly. But to little avail. Pulling at my waistband like a maniac, trying to get the damn pant legs over my boots, in the most awkwardly futile attempt to re-pants myself. Even the drunks were like, dude, YOU are an embarrassment.

Yeah, pretty much.

But I gotta tell ya, this trip from Cleveland—on some dateless, sunny summer day long ago—to a city that I mostly knew for being the home of Wendy’s Hamburgers (we visited store #1, which was more like a trailer, and I squinted hard imagining Dave Thomas behind the counter) is seared into the ground meat patty that is my mind:

“Where’s the motherfucking beef?”

Skating with Jimmy Rose & the crew before the show. All photos: Sean Carnage.

Jimmy Rose—a badass on the bass guitar. Photo: Carnage.

Sean Filley lets loose. Photo: Carnage.

Looking over Wedge’s shoulder. Photo: Carnage.

Tony riles them up, Lean Steve finishes ’em off. Photo: Carnage.

How the fuck did we fit everything in here? Photo: Carnage.

The CLE HC party crew: Wedge, Kevin, Beckett, Lean Steve, Shaun, Tony, Roder, Jimmy. Photo: Carnage.

Postscript: I may have incorrectly remembered the venue here. Fuck. I’m told this show—while thrown by Legion Of Doom-associated folks—was actually at a nearby art space called “Fire Exit.” I was also reminded GSMF got the show shut down. Why? I’d love to be reminded of more details here. 

Now I’m wondering—was this the show I dropped mah drawers at? Am I conflating this with another GSMF show that WAS at Legion Of Doom? This is the shit that happens (losing your pants, forgetting stuff) when you are (were) a heavy drinker!

One thing for sure—and I had to be reminded of this as well—was that dongs, the bouncy plastic kind, were highly prevalent on this excursion. Human Frybox was pointing one at a driver next to us with one for 20 minutes on the highway while they pretended not to notice. Lean Steve had a black dildo he was waving at people at the show. And a guy had a dildo in Shaun’s face the whole time GSMF was playing. Maybe I was just feelin’ some pee-pee envy? Dildo summer. “Those were the days.”

More Columbus for you: How to hook up at a Hardcore fest

Even more: New Bomb Turks, The Conservatives & more destroy WRUW-FM’s Studio-A-Rama 1998

Chicanery abounds: White knuckle shroomin’, The Basketball & Speak In Tongues, 1999

“Trying to convey an acid trip with mere words”: Speak In Tongues lives again in a wild new book

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