Thread: A-Truth! Or Fear and Loathing at a Punk Show

A-Truth! Or Fear and Loathing at a Punk Show
By Kevin Limiti

It started off innocently enough. A simple message from myspace with a request to interview the band A-truth. Never did I realize how bad it was going to turn out.

Although they seemed very receptive to the idea of an interview at first, it became apparent as me and my photographer waited around the corner from the punk venue ABC no Rio that we had been totally swindled; ripped off; screwed over. Well no, not really, but that’s what it seemed like at the time.

“Hi, my names Kevin Limiti,” I said, and I knew immediately that to them we could’ve been no better then a bunch of wild animals that had escaped from the Bronx Zoo. This was, after all, a punk show. Nevertheless, I continued undaunted. “We’re from the Nassau Community College Student newspaper, the Vignette.”

“Oh,” said the snotty nosed guardian of the door, “Well, it’s 7 dollars to get in. Are you on the guest list?”

“I didn’t realize there was a guest list.”

“Well if you ARE on the guest list, it’s three dollars to get in. Who are you here to interview?”

“A-truth.”

“Huh? They’re not playing here tonight.”

“Yeah, but they should becoming here any moment. I guess we’ll just wait.”

“Ok, you do that.”

I wanted to say something very mean and obscene to the girl who was giving us this nasty attitude but I held off.

The atmosphere was very strange and seductive; full of punk rockers, misfits, freaks, and geeks; lots of silver studs and acrylic paint. Even though I wasn’t that much of a far-cry with my denim jacket clad with patches, I still felt like an outsider. When I pointed this out to my photographer she said, “Yeah, I was thinking the exact same thing.” I also had a terrible, creeping feeling in my stomach that something was about to go down.

That’s when our troubles began. Some random guy came up to us and said, “You guys got to move from here or the police are going to shut us down.”

“Huh?”

“I said, you guys gotta move. The cops are giving us a hard time and we can’t have people standing in front of the venue.”

“But we’re waiting for someone. We’re here to interview the band A-truth.”

“Well, wait around the corner or something?”

So we got up and walked around the corner. Things didn’t seem to good though because I overheard someone say that the venue had sold out. And nobody from the band had shown up yet. So I decided to make a move.

I walked up to that snotty nosed guardian of the door and said, “Do you know if Catherine from A-Truth is here?”

“Yes, she’s here. And I’ll DEFINITELY point her in your direction when she comes out.”

What a total and absolute liar. Hours passed and we hadn’t even seen the band yet. When finally I just decided to ask random people where she was.

“Oh Catherine? She’s right there.”

He pointed to the person next to him. I walked right over and shook her hand saying, “I’m Kevin, how are you.”

It surprised me immediately about how she didn’t seem to know who I was. She shook my hand reluctantly and muttered something like, “O.K.”

“I’m here to interview your band.”

“Oooooh,” she said. My disillusionment became a reality, “Did you talk to Chris?”

“Yeah, but he’s not answering his phone.”

“Oh, well he should be here any minute.”

“Well, what direction is he coming down?”

“Hmm. . .I don’t know. Well, why don’t you wait around the corner or something?”

My disiullsionment was complete. “Um. . .Ok.”

I turned away from her, and I said to my photographer loud enough so she could hear us, “F—k this s—t, let’s get drunk.”

So drunk I so did get, with a bottle of rum and a punk rocker willing to share it with a lowly amateur journalist like myself. He promised me he could hook me up with an interview for the Casualities. I made a note of it.

But that’s when Chris actually DID show up. Too bad I was completely wasted by the time he did. We attempted an interview over at the basketball courts. I behaved in a most unprofessional manner befitting a Vignette journalist. Finally they walked out on the interview and I felt no remorse. This day had become a complete waste of time.

Despite being treated like an outsider and a s—thead, I had no regrets. I asked my photographer how the interview went, she said, “It was a complete disaster.” I agreed, though I blamed them and not myself for getting drunk.

As I sat on the train heading back to Long Island, I felt mad at myself and the world for how my supposedly first interview had went. But then I realized A truth. A-Truth was a lowly, small-time, barely known punk band that had barely any following and they should’ve felt honored that ANYBODY wanted to interview them. Maybe they should’ve paid more attention. And that’s todays A-Truth.

If it's an article then it seems as though it's missing an agenda of some sort and so it actually reads more like a short story, or possibly a diary entry (or blog perhaps).

What direction is this piece heading in? It starts off by outlining you and your photographer going to interview a band. But it then turns into a mini review (description of the people at the show) and the dialogue suggested that it was a piece of prose.

It also seems a bit bitter which supports my initial inkling of it being a sort of diary entry or maybe a personal rant.

I live in Nassau too. Yay LI!

Heid: Don't take this the wrong way, but your over analyzing the piece. I simply failed to be able to interview the band properly so I decided to write a story about my experience instead. I wasn't too concerned about the "direction" or anything like that. It's still non fiction though because every word of it is true.

I will admit its one of my weaker stories but hey sometimes you just can't get all, ya know?

I think that's probably why I was being a bit over analytical: because it sounded like it belonged more in the fiction section as opposed to this section. From what you said I reckon the piece would actually work better as a full on short story. I know it's based on actual events but some great (and even classic) literature in the past has been based on things that have actually happened to the author (Sylvia Plath's "The Bell Jar" for instance)

It's just a piece of prose. It does all it has to do. Stuff like that gets published in alt music publications all the time.

It doesn't need a character arc or anything. And there is absolutely no reason to try to call it fiction.