In Los Angeles, amidst impersonal and flashy media, pockets of authentic culture can be found through music. In a decade driven by influencers and fast fashion, there are very few places where kids can exist genuinely.
In 2021, after a year of isolation, teenagers in Los Angeles came out looking for a crowd. Hence, the LA band scene was set in motion. The idea spread rapidly throughout the city, inspiring hundreds of kids to start bands of their own. Distinguished by striking eye makeup and baggy pants, these teenagers find solace in backyard gigs and raw music. Their suburban oases are anything but ordinary, with metal bands segueing into bluegrass, and unconventional moshing; new in the eyes of younger generations.
This unique viewing experience is just as important as the music being played. Instead of a sea of phones filming the entire set, young photographers shoot the shows for individual projects. When separated from modern technology, the viewers are forced to interact with each other.
Now, shows are hosted every weekend at cultural hotspots like the Whisky a Go Go and The Smell. For drummer Murray Zweig, 17, smaller shows create a more personal experience than those held at large arenas. “The tickets are cheaper– if not free,” he explains, “These shows are accessible, and happen all the time across the LA area.”
However, the concerts are not defined by where they’re held, but by who is there. They don’t occur in one concrete place. The essence of the scene moves with the audience, from historical venues to strangers’ backyards. Mae Davidson, 18, explains that “finding shows depends on who you know and who you meet. You’re always meeting people who know people. It’s all connected.”
“We’re the first generation to grow up with the internet,” says 16 year old Stanley Lightcap, the lead guitarist in local metal band, Emissary. “Because of that, we have more influences, and our exposure to different genres of music is a lot more diverse.”
“Elements from bands of past decades are present in the current ones being formed by kids our age,” explains Lou Davidson, 16. Most prominently, these bands mirror 1970s punk ideology by rebelling against mainstream media and conformity. This resurgence of authentic expression marks the return of raw music.
“These shows have very intense mosh pits similar to metal and hard-core concerts from the 90s,” Zweig notes. Because the audience is constantly moving, nobody watches passively while filming on their phone. There is no invasion of technology, which drives the audience to engage with one another.
Surrounded by a sea of people, Mae Davidson and Zoe Brunk, 18, stay connected between cramped bodies. The chaos in the audience forces friends to stick together, whether that be by holding hands or hanging onto one another.
Many bands ditch the classic line between artist and audience by performing within the mosh pit or facing the same way as the viewers. Even photographers get in on the action. Teenagers shooting with digital or film cameras can be seen taking photos within the frenzied crowd.
“A lot of my friendships started because of these gigs,” explains Mae. “At a certain point it’s like, ‘we know each other, we’re friends,’ even though we’ve only hung out at shows.”
From afar, the crowd might seem chaotic. In reality, the audience moves with a kind of synchronization that exemplifies the music’s sound. Everyone is living in the moment. In a time where these kinds of experiences are rare, these shows are helping a superficial city return to its authentic roots.
