A contribution from Graham Masser, son of Randy Masser, bassist of Bad Rabbits.
In 1986 my father was infected with HIV through a blood transfusion with contaminated blood products he used for his Hemophilia, provided by a drug company that knowingly was selling blood from sick, high-risk donors. In 2000 he succumbed to the disease leaving behind my mother, thirteen year old brother and myself at seventeen. His whole life had been spent in an out of hospitals and doctors offices treating his hemophilia and then HIV/AIDS, enduring needles, braces, chemo and immense physical pain.
Regardless of all this, he never complained or felt sorry for himself. He carried on his life and work as a photographer, providing for his family and making the most of his time, knowing it was limited. He lived with HIV for 15 years and no one else in my family was infected, both nothing short of miracles.
Although my father’s life was to inevitably be cut short, a refrain that was often used in our family was “Celebrate Life.” Rather than to focus on and become paralyzed by his illness, our family clung together and cherished the limited time that we had. For my brother and I, we were engrained with the idea that life is short, fragile and incredibly precious. Our mantra was, and still is to treasure your time, appreciate the relationships with your friends and family, don’t sweat the small things, and to go after your dreams with everything you have.
This is the legacy that my father left us with and I will always strive to make him proud, and not just get through life, but to celebrate it everyday.
The featured photograph was taken in 1978 by Randy Masser, in The Grenadines.
I left punk rock In the early thousands, likely in a basement in Philadelphia seeing Burns Out Bright, or on the floor of the old Knitting Factory while Shai Hulud (not Labeouf) convinced me, for the last time, to punch my best friends in the face.
Since then, either the scene has gone very deep underground, or I'm on another planet. There are definitely a few OG's in my sphere still chirping about shows here and there, but for the most part "Hardcore" as a lifestyle, or a community, is pretty unreachable for me. To most millennials I know the Hardcore connotation simply signifies screamie music, having no idea the robust culture from whence some of us came.
Surplus Candy (#supluscandy) took place January 10th, 2014 at 324 East 4th Street. Hometown hero Hanksy (originally from Wisconsin) somehow gerrymandered an East Village landlord to hand over the set of keys to an abandoned building planned for demolition. He invited a slew of local artists to embellish every thinkable surface of the 4 floor walk-up. Hanksy, Icy and Sot, Moustache Man, Royce Bannon, A.S.V.P., Gilf!, EKG, Elle and a gaggle of other recognizable names went hard as a mother fucker for a week and a half, commencing the artistic opus with a free experiential tour de l'art - an open house.
I absolutely marveled over the production and originality of this miniature Five Points right down the street from my front door. After swallowing a very somber moment where I remembered the days before Red Bull and Nike owned every art show in NYC and Urban Outfitters didn't sell Suicidal Tendencies flip ups, I was reminded of someone very important in my personal history. This person doesn't need to be celebrated (so he will remain nameless), but because of him I had a Hardcore phase which helped to give a deeper relevancy and heritage to all that I am today.
The realization that a scene can't exist without a controversial steward to "keep the Sabbath holy" was one I had never had before. As simple as it seems, I always took the assimilator for granted. I suppose when money is involved and a project is brought to fruition, the feeling is different. I can certainly value a producer's role in a production, but that doesn't influence culture in the same sub-atomic, guttural and proud way. It's the difference between a tip of the cap and a full frontal bow.
I've had the pleasure of knowing Tom Hanksy for almost a year, introduced through a mutual friend. We share a circle now and I've been lucky enough to even lightly participate in some of his affairs. This isn't written from a homie's perspective, though. This is written as a spectator.
At its' crux, what Hanksy did with Surplus Candy was Hardcore. I still get that finger-pointing feeling at concerts from time to time, where gang vocals resonate my guts as thousands of strangers all sing our favorite hook and enjoy a moment of true harmony. However, I do not get the feeling of standing in a venue that represents more than an event. I do not get the feeling that something is bigger than I am, worth more than the ticket price or anything but a service an entertainer offers. I do not regularly experience a movement of like minded people for the sake of something free, organic and great.
I am not so blind to see that T. Hanks certainly benefitted from some fair PR and social media coverage and I'll be the first (or second) to tell him how he can make money on this in the future...but none of that changes the inspiration and wonderstruck of Surplus Candy. It reminded me of where I came from.
**All images are of Hanksy's work, plenty more from the other artists at #supluscandy. Follow Hanksy on Tumblr.
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