The Straight Edge Review

Past the deep concrete forest of Cedar Rapids, and through a maze of flood damaged buildings, lies a garage known as the Straight Edge. It is a haven for the local music scene to show up, plug in, and thrash out for a handful of hardcore metal fans. My friend, after years searching for a legitament band, finally found his metalcore calling with the local group "How Vivid The Memory". After only a week of practice they decided to play for the insane Straight Edge-goers. Against my better judgement, and will to survive I owed it to him to watch at least one show. I went into my closet, and chose the blackest clothing I could find and navigated my way through the stink hole of downtown to find the structure. After what seemed an eternity of rotting wood and paintballed stopsigns I finally found the alcove that hid the Straight Edge. Perhaps 10 cars were parked outside and I could see band members moving instruments and stacking boxes as I carefully made my way to the enterence. I looked into the garage and knew instantaniously that I would not leave without some kind of injury. The size of the Straight Edge was probably smaller than your garage at home. It was small, it was dank, and it was somehow kickass. It was like that hideout people always find in zombie movies, only music was our weapon. The first band romped onstage (the far corner of the small garage) and the 30 people packed like sardines began to cheer in unison. Noise ensued. Normally, what sound would have caused me to vomit, pumped me up. It was not a music-listener relationship, it was one of deisel fuel to a fire. Suddenly it became my life blood, my energy, instead of just audial noise. I jumped up in the air and shoved the people next to me in an endless mosh, and I didnt care about the pain in my ribs from the last engagement, it was only more fuel.