Sometimes, You Gotta Riot, GrrrrlAggro Annie Punk is not something I wish to define.

Its exact meaning is long debated within the various international circles that form around that elusive misnomer. I know it personally. Punk is something that offered me another view of myself --a teaching, telling experience. But rather than trying to explain what it is; I will offer you a story instead. In 2008, I was asked to play bass for The Chicklettes, in a local punk band , one that was long established on the scene, having played almost a decade of show with rotating members with almost a decade of shows played. They had broken up for a whiletime, after the last bass player moved on to another band. When I agreed to play with themjoined the band, I was in the middle of rehearsing with another group for a Halloween show; an ad - hock group doing covers of the late great Bikini Kill over the holiday weekend., and Wwe named called our homage band Speedo Sleigh. In both groups I was a complete newbie--a brand new performer. I had listened to punk music, and had seen showshung out in venues like Vinos, Whitewater Tavern, Juanitas, and The New Daisy in Memphis. since I was young, I and read bravewas embolden by punk literature, printed on tiny, handmade zines, but I had never played on a stage before. I had never had any formal training, except a few voice and guitar lessons when I was fourteen. I was never taught by anyone before my band mates how to have stage presence, or what the hell to do with my hands when I sing into a microphone. In the world of punk, there is nowhere on Earth where a person iscould formallyy be taught how to snarl like Sid Vicious or how to throw a leg like Souixie Soux. Though I had worshiped at the feet of the guitar gods, I had never accessed the power for myself, and for every teenager like me, punk is the shining light of a powerful freedom. People have never looked at me at thought theres a performer.. Im not claiming to read peoples minds, but when you are told that your Bonnie[khw1]personality and intellect exhibit potential, and are asked to join the Quiz Bowl team, it becomes pretty obvious that your place in the world exists in the sphere of the nerdy. Imagine a nerd on a stage screaming out Death or glory. Just another story? But when I was asked to join the band, I knew I had to do it. Sophia I was twenty-four years old the first time I played on a stage for a crowd, which is admittedly old in the world of punk; to be honest, I dont really remember the first few shows. We played some small house shows that to this day are fuzzy around the edges, the exact events being logged away as bright, happy spots in my memory, punctuated by loud, roaring basslines. . Even before the first shows there were nerves to be untangled and practice was intimidating at first. Sophia, ourMy lead singer, would look me over and say,

You smile too much. Be tuffyour name is Aggro. .

Aggro is a slang term for aggressive and the Punk name my bandmates gave me. I would shrug my shoulders, explainexplain to the rest of the band that I smiled when I was nervous. I had worshiped at the feet of the guitar gods: Lenny Kaye of Pattie Smith, Lou Reed of The Velvet Underground, Kathy Wilcox of Bikini Kill, Kim Deal of The Pixies. But I had never accessed the power for myself. For every teenager like me, punk is the shining light of a powerful freedom. It gives you a chance to be yourself, to look dissenting people in the eye and say, I dont care what you think. For a girl (or a Riot Grrl of Kathleen Hannahs ilk), Punk is especially liberating. You no longer feel pressured to mimic your Barbie Doll, unless of course she is the Rock n Roll Barbie. Its ok to chop your hair off, if youre Punk; its ok to dye that same, newly short hair green, to rock a studded belt, and to wear jeans. Its ok to yell, if youre Punk. Its ok to read aggressively, expand your mind, and exercise your voice, if you are Punk. But knowing and feeling free-er because of Punk didnt change the fact that I was afraid of performing. People have never looked at me at thought theres a performer. Im not claiming to read peoples minds, but when you are told that your personality and intellect exhibit potential, and are asked to join the Quiz Bowl team, it becomes pretty obvious that your place in the world exists in the sphere of the nerdy. But nerdy is just not me, even if all of my teachers and friends thought so. When I was asked to join the band, I knew I had to do it. But I doubted myself. Was I brave enough? Was I bad enough? Could I back up my sub-culture beliefs with a physical act like this? Getting a grip on my nerves, I would press my lips together tightly, and plug myself into an amp we lovingly called big mamma, an amp that towered over me, and when turned as loud as she would go, was a force of nature all by herself. It is almost impossible to hear the notes played on an unplugged electric Ibanez, but once its plugged in, its impossible not to hear. The pulse jars your jaw, which locks up into a rigorous grin. Your shoulders tighten. The vibrations slapping out of the amp behind you are physical, pushing against you, and you just have to push back. There is so much power in an amplifier that it makes the experience hard to describe, but if you ever get the chance to stand up close, I recommend that you do. Finally, I grew comfortable in practice, looking forward to the blocked out hours dedicated to playing every week. I was twenty-four years old the first time I played on a stage for a crowd, which is, admittedly, old in the world of punk; to be honest, I dont really remember the first few shows. We played in a few small houses to warm me up, and those gigs are still fuzzy around the edges, the exact

events being logged away as bright, happy spots in my memory, punctuated by loud, roaring basslines. I grew comfortable inwith practice, looking forward to the blocked out hours dedicated to playing every week. We played some small house shows that, to this day, are fuzzy around the edges, the events being logged away as simply bright happy spots in my memory. The icing on the cake came when we entered into a battle of the bands contest, and were selected for the initial rounds of elimination. The pressure changed in practice, and we began planning our set, working out the kinks. On the night of the battle of the bandsthe show that would determine if we played the finals, I was nervous in an entirely different way than in practice. I had smoked almost an entire pack of cigarettes from loading the van with our amps and drums and guitars, to arriving at the venue. I drank copious amounts of water but could not rid myself of the my dry mouth. My band mates laughed, old veterans, asking me, Why couldnt you make that face in practice? You look so Aggro. I was finally exuding the proper amount of menace for a bass player. Walking into the bar, a small group of jocky-type guys, wearing college basketball shirts and propping fraternities started whistling at me. I turned and looked at them, Aggro all over my face, and they stopped whistling. I turned back to loading my gear onto the stage, but for a split second I was smiling again, shaking my head at them. I realize that this is the freedombeing able to stop those guys with a look that says, Dont mess with me, is what its all about. My palms were sweaty. The only thought racing through my mind was How will I keep my fingers from slipping down the strings? My lead singer, dressed in a studded leather jacket, slapped my arm and hollered out, Lets go! I gripped the neck of my bass hard; I walked up the stairs and through the curtains; I squinted into the white lights, a serious frown on my face. Everything was in crystal clear detail and my eyes were watering. Time was both faster than usually and also much, much slower. For a second, I wondered if I was dying, having a heart attack at 24. I remember feeling the awesome power of my amp behind me, and I seemed to forget there was even an audience. I felt capable of displayinglike I displayed both my anger and my love in a public place, and when I was finally aware that there were people watching me, I remember that I knew they understood me, that my point I was making with my bass was perfectly clear. I pointed my finger at the jocks, laughing, dedicating a special song, just for them, called Suck My Left One. We won that night.

The next performance was a disaster and a great disappointment, and for that reason I choose to think of the first round of the battle, the round that we won, as the defining moment of this experience for myself. I will say that the second performance was the Punk-est thing Ive ever seenG G Allin would have been proud. The band broke up again after that night for more than one reason, and for more than just losing, and I went on to re- enrolled in college. The other band members focused on other bands, continuing to play. There is nothing that compares to the thrill of performing, and I am a different person because of the experience. I am more comfortable in my own skin; I dont have to wear the leather jacket all the time, because I wear it always on the inside. With or without the Punk hair, Punk clothes, I am Punk now and forever, free to speak my mind, free to disagree with society at large. The satisfaction I gleaned from the stage lends itself to further creation., and even though I thought I would die in the lights of the stage, I did not. Instead, I learned that art is hard to sustain when it is forever kept in private, and that having an audience is like a vein of pure motivation. The idea comes to me like this: once you have worked on something for as long as you can alone, performing it for others allows you to expel that energy, creating more head space for a new idea. Even though I dont play in the band anymore, I am still Aggro.