A thrash Metal act, with associated fake blood and grunting into microphones is, in its highest estimation, regarded as a nostalgic trip; in its worst, a comedy act.
Only a handful of years ago, the music director at that absurd diploma mill, “Liberty University”, was seen sporting a Mohawk.
Punk is dead. Buried and decomposed. Dead. It is no more. So, let’s not kid ourselves, boys and girls. Put away your painted leather jackets and rusted safety pin jewelry. I’ll do the same and we’ll move on from here. Who knows what the future holds.
A few more irritated and gritty details? See, The Year Punk Died