Andrew Pescara, frontman with LA anarcho-punks Gottlieb, told us about his Dead City Punx experience...
Andrew Pescara: For all of the talk within punk, so much of the genre's "resistance" is confined to performance. An anti-cop shirt, a monologue in-between songs, a few lines in a verse... while I share a deep love for punk/counterculture, it is naive to think these gestures present a meaningful "resistance" to anything. Our band, like every band, is guilty of these charges. We do what we can to ascend them -- but few do, even in punk.
This story is about a band that has.
Recently, Dead City announced a secret show at 535 N Alameda St -- the Federal Building in Los Angeles, where ICE and the Department of Homeland Security have set up headquarters and hold detained migrants. It's the frontline of organized action against the administration's power in the city. Dylan (bassist) and I share an enthusiasm for direct resistance, and for Dead City. So we rallied some friends to go.
How do you typically dress for a concert? Black bloc, masks, safety glasses, gloves that can withstand the heat of a teargas canister? A protective cup? Laugh all you want, I've heard them rubber bullets whiz past me -- at another Dead City show, actually -- and I'm only a man.
We park a block away and weave through a line of cop cars blocking off the entirety of Alameda. It's dark, minus the sirens and the chopper's spotlight.
There's 100s of protesters at the barriers of the federal building when we arrive, and at least 30 DHS agents across from them. Armed. AR-15s -- "Plain-old-lethals."
We stuck to the front line of the protest yelling at the pigs for about 90 minutes without any sign of the band. Occasionally, a protester would get snatched up. Pinned down and tied up and slunk into the building, all while surrounded by the latest gun-toting douchebags with a 2-week training certificate. It was pretty heated. Maybe the show was too risky to be possible, even for Dead City. We didn't mind too much though; ruining an ICE agent's day is more than entertaining. I was rattling off mental-health statistics for an hour straight. "Excuse me sir, why do police officers commit domestic abuse at 4 times the normal rate?"
Suddenly, the back half of the crowd parted like a school of fish. The same way they do when they're gassed/sprayed/fired-upon. I assumed the worst.
My instincts were wrong. They were running after a grip of tattooed punks hauling drums, amps, and a generator. They'd gotten in. "How'd they get past the police line with all that shit?" I call it Dead City physics. A constant reminder that what appears impossible is usually just improbable.
And they had 50-100 more people with them. Because of their "performance," the resistance gained power, right there on the street.
I couldn't tell you if the guitars were in tune or if the bass amp was even plugged in. What I can tell you is that in the face of a deadly authoritarian state, the band didn't even wear masks, and the mosh pit didn't hesitate. The DIY-flame-throwers that bloomed from the crowd -- typical, for this band -- lit with a realer message than usual. "This is not a performance. This is Los Angeles. You will burn here."
Suffice to say that shit was sick. I don't know if the band left when the music ended, but I know the crowd stayed. It was evident in the face of the pigs protecting 535 N Alameda st. Outnumbered. Mortified. Froggy. They switched out their line for the riot squad, who quietly declared an unlawful assembly and bathed Alameda in tear gas and rubber bullets. A young man was blinded in one eye. Live AR's pointed at the newly-dubbed "violent" protest -- you wouldn't believe the people standing beside us, regular ass folks who didn't back away even an inch when looking down the barrel of a live round. Parents. Shoppers at your local grocery store. Punks. The message had been received. Resist.
Alas, tear gas makes cowards of us all. We got back to our car squinting through tears and coughing up chemical warfare. Nothing ten beers and a frozen pizza wouldn't fix.
It isn't 2016 anymore. The bar has been set. Show up or shut up. "This is not the time to be dismayed. These are punk rock times."
Gottlieb's "What Are You Worth?" single is out now. The Far Fallen Fruit album lands May 1.
