Party Crasher

A single, naked bulb illuminates the tiny basement room where Galder
ready their instruments. One of the band’s members tears an empty beer
can and places it over the bulb, creating a makeshift lamp shade. The
crowd is more restrained than I’ve seen at most metal shows, especially
one this loud. Between the full audience, the amps, and the musicians,
this is the tightest concert space I’ve seen in a year, but the
close quarters don’t hamper the band’s efforts. The singer growls
fiercely into the microphone, spinning tension between the closely
packed bodies. The slow and thick guitar sounds span the distance
between heavy metal and the coming of a mythical apocalypse.

Outside, a grizzly looking punk wearing a cap that says “What would
GG Allin do?” smiles and passes his drink around the fire. The flames
cast long shadows against the concrete walls of the nearby warehouse.
It occurs to me that every object in the backyard was rescued from
the garbage: Chapel pews and vinyl car seats make up the seating
area, a storage shed doubles as a guesthouse, and even the clothing is
composed of patchwork fabric and denim bits. The punk hosts for
tonight’s show survive on the discarded bits of consumer culture.
Somewhere, a director is missing out on the next installment of the
Mad Max series. This is my idea of what the end of the world
looks like; it’s a Friday night in the friendly punk community of
Georgetown.

Want The Stranger to feel fine about the end of the world
as we know it at your house party? E-mail the date, place, and
party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.