The state of Atlanta hardcore

• Steve Pomberg
• SCENE STAPLE: Josh Feigert (right) performs with Wymyns Prysyn and Uniform, books shows and releases LPs, 7-inches, and zines via State Laughter.

The surge in young bands such as Criminal Instinct, Foundation, and P.D.C. embracing hardcore's whiplash tempos is nothing new for Atlanta. Their adherence to classic straightedge form and philosophy, however, veers stylistically from the thrash and murk that has defined the inner-perimeter's more recognized hardcore delegates, G.G. King, Wymyns Prysyn, and Dead in the Dirt. While a new generation of cut-and-dry hardcore bands gains attention, a wholly different scene still upholds the city's raw, lo-fi take on hardcore, tempering relentless energy with black metal, post-punk, and garage rock.

A slew of releases from bands such as Nurse, Uniform, Paradox, Rapturous Grief, Waste Layer, and Slugga continues to push hardcore's extremes into expansive musical realms. Each one belies the strictly regimented music and lifestyle the term "hardcore" conjures — after all, it's a vocational music scene that's often embraced with the same tenacity as religion. "The punk and hardcore scene in Atlanta is mostly mid-to-late 20s to folks in their 30s," says Josh Feigert, who plays bass in Wymyns Prysyn and guitar in Uniform. "Punk is classically a youth movement. So it's a double-edged sword: On one hand, the lack of all-ages venues doesn't allow a large flow of younger people to rejuvenate our scene. On the other hand, being older, we've all been exposed to an array of music and culture, and bring these influences into the music."

This genre-defying attitude allows groups to share stages seamlessly with post-punk, noise rock, and garage-punk bands. "Our music is aggressive because we are legitimately restless, confused, paranoid psychos," says Mark Bonner, an Orlando transplant who fronts the band Slugga and plays guitar in Nurse. "That shit comes through in a way that's not phony. When bands do that, it doesn't matter the sub-genre because it has become more than that."

And there is no shortage of scene participants playing and promoting shows, and running record labels simply for their love of the music.

Feigert releases tapes, zines, 7-inches, and LPs, and books shows under the moniker State Laughter. "Josh books the bands, makes fliers, gives them a place to stay, and pushes for the best turnout, and he doesn't make any money," Bonner says.

At a time when redevelopment is robbing neighborhoods of their identities, the helpless feelings and dystopian landscapes reflected in the thrashing and acerbic chords turned out by bands such as Uniform, Waste Layer, and Paradox hit close to home. "We are writing about how bleak every facet of our world appears," Feigert says. "It's the hologram, the parallel impending world. We are on the brink of our world going into some sort of coma network. No need to leave the house anymore. No need for human interaction."

But for those looking for human interaction, building a community, and dancing away their worries with clenched fists, the scene is growing stronger than ever.

— Bobby Moore