Knowing that I could go to a concert and dance, without dealing with lame hooligans trying to give me a tracheotomy with their steel toe boots, gave me a warm sense of security. I thrived off the idea of being able to go to a safe environment and listen to some auditorily orgasmic music. I knew I wouldnt be hassled by some bureaucratic big shot, or by people who dont appreciate ska music, and people who dont have the common ideals that we Rudies share. That was the summer I danced in my sleep, and I will never forget it. Those late night rendezvous provided the beat to which my blood pumped. The music followed me everywhere, I constantly heard it, and it made me dance. When I danced, I glowed, and that summer I was luminescent.
As those sweaty nights began to get shorter, and the school year quickly arrived, my nights were filled with intensive all-nighters of not dancing, but of caffeine and my chemistry book. I still made it to all the weekend ska shows, and initially, they still infused my soul with that aspiring rhythm. Yet as the year progressed, the spectacular nature of the shows began to fade. There was a greater number of people at the shows, and the unity between the established skankers and the newbies just wasnt there making the shows less intamate. Also, there was a constant buzz around school, as if everyone was talking of the best kept underground secret, which I later found out to be Slow Gherkin. So the numbers increased, and the following of the band became larger, and the humming became unavoidable. The people that created this noise were quite unexpected. Many of whom were people that the regualars recognized as those who showed no previous interest in ska, or just outwardly dissed it last month. They began filling in some of the dance space, but the more the merrier, so we welcomed them with open arms.
This affection from the masses meant that either the ska sound was appealing to more people, or that Slow Gherkin was getting the recognition they finally deserved. Both I found to be true and both are a blessing. But I began to notice that in some dark recess of my mind, I felt like I was losing something. Was it the bond between the audience and the band? Or was I feeling insecurity because we were petty and territorial? Truthfully it was a selfish fear that as Gherkin became popular, they would move on to bigger things, playing less and less shows in their hometown. Though, I knew that nothing, or the absence of a band could not take the all the memories of those summertime shows, it was still increasingly difficult not to feel bitter. I know that because of the experiences that I have had during summertime, they were unforgettable, which provided great comfort, and inspiration to keep dancing.
There was a surreal contract between the regulars from summertime, that guaranteed you wouldnt be eating rubber soled boots at the shows. This was because all the regulars went to the shows to dance. This assurance was lost when the first pit was formed on the Rudies dance territory. It was sad, but in a very idealistic way I thought that the person who started the pit, would hear the message that a lot of ska music is portraying. This message is peaceful meant to inspire dancing, and though the regulars were frustrated with the moshing, we kept skanking, as hard as ever.
A bond had also formed between the newcomers and Gherkin. Though it didnt seem to run as deeply as ours, we understood how it felt, so we shared the shows; like it was our choice anyway. We took notice that Gherkin became cool, they were the in band to see, and though this attracted people with less than rude principles, some preferred to mosh, and some were just content at their form of hero-worship. We knew that these were symbiotic relationships, as well.
We, at Rhubarb Pie, hope to embrace all of these synergetic affinities, but also hope to create an environment where they can continue their course freely and become what they were meant to be. For some we may just be an outlet of information, a place to find out where the next show is happening. For others, we hope, to become a forum where we can all dance in our minds together, without the flavor of rubber interfering with the sweat-salt on our lips. You too should feel that this is as much your zine as it is ours, so we encourage your response, criticism, advice and contributions. In a round about, and almost abstract way, that is why Rhubarb Pie was formed: to secure, and hopefully educate, and at least to entertain you as our readers, dance partners and friends. We welcome you to our first issue!
Sincerely,
Jessica Reiter, Editor