Here Are The Punks: Live at the Capital Punishment
Tour With Nascar Aloe
By Jagger van Vliet
“Never mind the track. The track is for punks. We are Road People. We are Cafe Racers.”
-Hunter S. Thompson
Photography by AKMO – @akmozzz
Photography by Colin Rodriguez – @visualsinmyeyes
Photo By Subi – subiagainsttheworld
Punk… what does this word really mean in relation to modern music as we know it? If you’re judging by the new generation, you’d be led to believe it’s a sort of half-aesthetic, composed mostly of vampire cosplay, shell-toe Rick Owens, and vaguely provocative pentagrams. It’s clear that somewhere along the line we massively lost the plot. We took our eyes off the ball, and now you have to really work if you want to reach the heart of the beast. You’ve got to do some real digging. That’s exactly what’s landed me at Market Hotel, in Brooklyn. I’m here to find the real punks. Do they even still exist?
Inside Market Hotel, sound check is currently underway. This is stop 27 on a 36-show run dubbed the Capital Punishment Tour. Nascar Aloe, Jasiah, and a number of other talents have been road-tripping across America for the better half of the summer, so by now, the crew has load-in down to a science.
My contact for the night is tour manager, driver, photographer, and moonshine aficionado, Yarri. If ever there was a photographer who could capture the splendours of a Nascar Aloe show, it’s this guy. Yarri has a 6th sense for capturing the ever-elusive mid-air puke pic. (If you’re starting to feel squeamish, I invite you to review the lengthy catalogues of GG Allin, and then return to this article knowing it could all be much, much worse).
Yarri and I are sitting near the merch tables, which are covered in dozens of hand-printed tees. Yarri’s got on a leather jacket and biker goggles— something of a uniform around these parts. He’s been with this motley crew since the tail end of 2021, and has photographed everyone from A$AP Rocky to Sheck Wes.
But, much like the load-in squad, this is nothing Yarri hasn’t seen before. “It’s honestly the same shit, different day, ” he says.
I ask Yarri what sets a good photographer apart now that anyone with a working film camera can stake a claim at being a “tour photographer. ” Yarri believes it’s a combination of knowing the beats an artist will hit, having a quick trigger finger, and a fair share of dumb luck. “Even after all this time, I’ll still miss a good shot, ” Yarri says. “In Dayton, Ohio, Nascar smashed his head with the mic. It’s all dented and red now. I wish I got that on camera.”
At this moment we’re interrupted, as a member of the crew reacts to something on his phone. He’s reading about the departure of White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt. This sets off another crewmember who brings up the more-than-murky status of the USS Abraham Lincoln, where just last week it was reported that a sailor went overboard. I’m shocked that we’re talking geopolitics at sound check. Yet, the more I think about it, the clearer it becomes that this is exactly what should be happening.
Subi (AKA Subiagainstheworld) agrees. Hands down, Subi will go down as one of the most passionate people I meet all night. He’s got Eat The Rich sewn into his jacket, a wildly contagious energy, and an ongoing beef with underground rap pariah, Nine Vicious. Subi is the kind of guy who truly understands the mentality.
“We just want the world to know what’s going on… So when we speak about genocide, war, and oppression, it’s because in order to become better as a society, we need to know what’s actually happening. ”
Across tonight’s many set-lists, there are songs from every artist that touch on hot-button political issues. “We’re getting new people accustomed to this music now… to what we’re speaking about, ” Subi says. “This is a new era of punk; One that is evolving with the sounds of the time. ”
In practice, this looks like a musical blend of old-school punk, new-age metal, fusion dancehall, and hyperpop EDM. It’s overwhelming, discordant, and acutely ear-drum-liquifying. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that Nascar Aloe’s newest full-length project is titled Audio Shrapnel. But unlike some mainstream artists, Subi’s ball knowledge runs deep. In fact, the whole touring crew is well-versed in the rich history of punk. “We gotta keep it alive, ” Subi says,
“Obviously, a lot of this shit was curated by the industry but… I’m never gonna lose touch of what being punk was… It was never about looking cool or wearing leather and spikes. It was genuinely about being yourself, and standing for the right things, and being able to be around anybody, no matter what they want to be as a person. You can just adjust and fuck with them as a person.”
I decide to put that idea to the test. Outside, on the curb, the openers for the night are mingling with the afterwork exodus. It’s an age-old oil and water situation; Punks versus Plains. And who’s that shouting “Sorry for the smoke” at passing businessmen? Why, that’s none other than Dirtybutt. He’s got all the charm of a rabid ocelot on speed, and currently he’s smoking a blunt the size of my forearm. “Every tour we go on is the same, ” he explains, “We are unchangeable people… and the crowd, they always know what to do. Everybody knows protocol when it comes to us.”
That is an understatement if there ever was one. Striking up a conversation with some of the Nascar Aloe fans, I realise this collective has attracted more than a cult fanbase. The way Nascar’s fans talk about him, it’s like they’ve got a terminal disease.
“When did you get it?”“Around 2018, right around the Feet era.” “See me, I got it back from his old name, Baby Suzuki.”
Somewhere behind me, Dirtybutt is launching into a new vocal stim. Something along the lines of, “Fuck Vampires! Fuck Dracula!”
Behind me, a line has been steadily forming at the door for the last hour, so I figure it’s high time I get acquainted with the main events. Back inside, the air has become hazy, and the dance floor is covered in palls of thick, artificial smoke. I spot a little girl darting in between the clouds. We’re wearing nearly-identical black-tinted shades, and diva to diva, I have to admit she’s pulling them off better than me. Her name is Loyalty: Jasiah’s little cousin. It becomes clear to me that I will never be as cool as Loyalty. Her first concert was a Nascar show, and she was only 2 years old. Jasiah, for his part, is a true man of the people. He’s simultaneously balancing a meet-and-greet, his extended family, and one bleach-blonde interviewer who just won’t quit. We end up bonding over having a J name, which we both agree makes for better signatures.
“My tag is turnt, ” Jasiah tells me, “Plus, I just love signing shit.”
This has been Jasiah’s first tour with Nascar Aloe, despite numerous past collaborations. Jasiah is no stranger to success, having worked with the likes of Denzel Curry, Rico Nasty, and Travis Barker. But, even after headlining massive North American tours, he’s an unwaveringly grounded person. “I haven’t been this happy about myself in a long ass time, ” he says,
“And you’re going to see that love on stage… I’ve been getting healthy… I don’t even be using my inhaler… It’s like I don’t have asthma.”
Jasiah is in a good place. It’s an objectively good time to be in New York. As for America… Jasiah doesn’t mince his words.
“The state of America pisses me off more and more every day. Fuck capitalism. Fuck Trump. I mean, damn, you got lettuce giving people juice dookies now.” Could any decent journalist be expected to resist putting such a deftly-constructed phrase into print?
Especially when the last thing I’d want is to disrespect the hours Jasiah spent on the can at a truck stop in Salt Lake City. “We’re good now though, ” he assures me, “Now they’re all solid. ”
Jasiah is especially excited about the live band accompanying the performance tonight. The band, Next April, is fronted by a curly-haired, blue-eyed rockstar named Mazerot. It’s his birthday tonight, and what better occasion to celebrate than his band’s first-ever show. As the doors open and dozens of fans spill into Market Hotel, Next April strikes up the first, long-awaited notes of the evening. On my end, it’s becoming more and more evident that there is only one remaining objective: the white whale, the big fish. Thank God the bar is open. I make my way into the greenroom, where four walls do little to keep out the sounds of the crowd as they cheer for Next April.
Up to this point, everyone on the tour has been graciously human. I mean that, when you spend enough time watching bands load-in and load-out, you notice that music people tend to develop a sort of terse earthiness. What is an exotic one-night performance for the audience is just a day job for these guys.
Basically, no one has seemed out of my league tonight. Not until now. Nascar Aloe is reclined on the green room sofa. His hair is teased into long yellow liberty spikes which stick up like a halo around his head. He’s wearing a studded leather jacket over a black lace shirt; an all-too-befitting image of a rockstar. It’s almost easy to miss his pink-haired partner dreamily resting her
head in his lap. Nascar and I are both from North Carolina, and judging by his face when I mention this, we have similar
feelings about the place. “I spent 18 years just there, you know… No shows, no live music, just like shitty honky tonk bands… Not
even the good kind of country music. That’s why, for me, it was important to at the very least have the internet; a place where I felt comfortable diving into music.”
Nascar Aloe is essentially an institution at this point; a doyen among the early ragers. Onstage, he’s a modern Sid-Darby-GG chimaera; a raging storm of blonde hair and face tattoos. But offstage, he’s a fascinatingly composed individual. He speaks evenly, in a been-there-done-that tone. And he’s smart too; wicked smart.
“A lot of my shit came from growing up in a red state and seeing people close to me—people in high school— get racially profiled or have racial slurs strewn at them. It blew my mind, ” Nascar explains, “I’m the son of a Cambodian immigrant. I’m first generation and not being taught about my country in school, that fucked me up.”
Nascar’s political jabs have ramped up accordingly in recent years. He’s always been outspoken, frequently taking musical digs at the Trump presidency and police brutality. But that was back in 2016. The political landscape was totally different then, and so was music for that matter. The only thing that has apparently stayed consistent, even after all these years, is Nascar, himself. “To put it bluntly, the world is shit. Let it go.”
There you have it, folks: The official political stance of one, Nascar Aloe. You have to admit, it’s pretty on brand.
“I remember a few months back, someone told me no one wants to hear all the political shit… you gotta be fucking kidding me… ” Nascar groans,
“Now that we’re in a war that makes no sense to put our country into— all for the sake of the greater good of the American empire— Now we want to turn to escapism? Yeah, now they want to listen to something a little more fun. Fuck that.”
Out onstage, Dirtybutt is finishing his set with the help of standout feature, TRAUMA. The two performers have churned the crowd into a frenzy, and now they’re hungry for more. TRAUMA, a young blonde with too much swagger for his own good, has made a particularly strong impression on the crowd, and they cheer for him the whole way off the stage.
By now, there’s nothing else in the way. The rock has been overturned. Here are the punks! Here’s the moment! Jasiah starts the joint performance with a haunting opera, a feat the crowd doesn’t question for a second. (Remember, it’s all about adjusting). Instead of jeers, the crowd sways pensively to Jasiah’s solid libretto. Then, the beat kicks out, the lights go down, and it is on.
You want to know where the real punks are? They’re shouting “free Palestine” in Market Hotel. They’re thrashing through a moshpit to the dulcet sound of Nascar Aloe, howling American Wasteland. When he plays the track Move to America, the crowd is fiercely unified around the line, “Man, I wish that shooter didn’t have bad aim.”
Together Nascar and Jasiah rattle through hit after hit, as if reminding the doubtful that they are and have always been the ones paving the road for the next generation. For every new-age Carti-head, with a face full of clown makeup, you have Jasiah to thank for popularising the sound of metal-inspired trap music.
And Nascar Aloe, for all his irate political stands, has remained an exemplary figure for underground musicians speaking out on important issues. Where you see many young artists merely ripping off punk aesthetics, Nascar Aloe and Jasiah are much-needed reminders that it’s a philosophy first and foremost.
Every day you’ll hear a million oldheads try to tell you that punk is dead. They’ll say that nothing is real punk anymore. It’s a downright ignorant stance— one that requires a calcified kind of logic to justify. But let’s honestly consider punk’s underlying ethos and judge the Capital Punishment Tour accordingly.
At its purest, punk is loud, unapologetic music, made by the people, for the people. It offers a space for every freak and oddity under the sun to join in a glorious rapture of the senses. When I look out at the sea of faces in Market Hotel, young and old, all dancing and screaming the lyrics, Fuck all 45 presidents, I can’t imagine anything more pure.
Real punk shit. Signing off from Brooklyn. Godspeed. Full stop.
Photography By JAY CANNZO
