Lee AdcockI’m sitting on the back porch of Joe’s Coffee in East Atlanta. As much as I’ve swung by this joint, I’d never thought to poke out here—there’s watering cans and flowering pots tucked in the corners, standard grey card tables, a cramped little courtyard down the stairs. If I weren’t here for an interview, I’d be quite at home here. As is, however, I’m studying my laptop one last time, racked with nerves. A clerk in a blue floral print dress has stepped out to the railing and lights a cigarette.
If you’ve read anything about Art School Jocks or their self-titled EP, you’ve read a significant amount of glowing coverage, although much of it has centered around their makeup as a “girl” band, and what that may or may not mean culturally or politically. Which, of course, only emphasizes that some outlets still can’t handle women as creative individuals without framing them as novelties. I wanted to talk to the band as one would talk to any band, and skirt around the exasperated anti-anthem “Just A Gwen” to discuss stuff beyond feminism—like other talents, their all-star label Father/Daughter, touring, favorite gear, and wherever else our conversation takes us.
Hence why I’ve come here, to the back porch that I never knew existed until Ali Bragg (drums, vocals) directed me here via email. It’s 6:33, and I’m watching the door while the clerk, who now sits on a bench opposite me with another young woman, studies me while glancing at her phone. At length, she hails to me: “Hey, are you Lee?” Turns out, Bragg works here at Joe’s, but only for kicks—her actual day job entails professional face painting and retail chalkboard art. She’s also the only Jock that hasn’t been in a band before.
The other woman next to Bragg is Camille Lindsley, the Jocks’ bassist and a 20-year native to Atlanta. I’m also told, later, that she’s a “good-ass” writer and poet, and that she experiments with synthesizers at home. We migrate to a table to await the other half of the gang.
Within a few minutes, guitarist Deborah Hudson walks up from the courtyard. By sheer accident, she’s also wearing a blue floral print dress; the two joke that they’ve built up a telepathic connection since Hudson started working with Bragg two weeks ago. Later, she tells me that she moved to Atlanta in 2010 to study literature, media, and communication at Georgia Tech.
Finally, at about 7 p.m., Dianna Settles enters the courtyard. Apart from playing guitar in the band, she also co-owns Hi-Lo Press, a printmaking studio and art gallery off Ponce; she caught the bug at a print show back in 2008, and moved to San Francisco four years later to hone her craft.
Once we’ve all settled into our place at the table—including our photographer, Luciano Giarrano, who’ll assist in the interview later on—the conversation begins.
Lee: OK, so let’s segue loosely into the album. I wanted to talk about the “Laundry In/Laundry Out” segments that bookend the EP. That interested me, and I wanted to know what sentiment you were trying to get across? When I heard it, it reminded me of the Pretenders’ “Watching the Clothes,” which was about doing the laundry before going out for the evening.
Dianna: When we were setting up to record the day before, one of us was doing laundry. So, at the time, Camille, Deborah and I all lived together, in the house that we practiced and recorded in. So our friend Rob [Gal], who was recording it, at some point noticed the drying was running, so he said, “All right, tomorrow, you’ve got to make sure that you’re not doing laundry.” Then we turned it on anyway.
Deborah: In retrospect, I think it really suits the EP, because that’s where the washing machine is, in the basement where we’ve practiced and written all our stuff.
Dianna: Someone asked yesterday if, “Is your EP the length of a drying cycle?” And I was like…! [laughter and exclamations all round] Our dryer is SO inefficient.
Camille: Yeah, mine’s like 45 minutes, and then it doesn’t dry my clothes, so I have to do it again.
Dianna: Yeah, I usually just open it, and I’m like, “All right,” and I just stick them back in.
Deborah: But that’s so funny, and so smart!
Lee: Then I wanted to talk about “Nina,” and the line that’s catching everyone, which is “black lives matter to me.” And I was wondering where, a) those sentiments [I said “politics,” which in retrospect was not the best word choice], and b) why you thought it necessary to include that sentiment in your EP?
Deborah: So I wrote the lyrics for that song. And I don’t know if I felt a need to say it, so much as a desire to incorporate that into music. Like, I wrote that at the advent of Art School Jocks. We had the instrumental part, the three of us had written that after we’d been jamming for an hour-and-a-half. It was really, really fun, and totally unplanned. So we were like, “OK, we have this melody, so let’s provide some lyrics.” It was not calculated. When I originally wrote that song, I didn’t say “black lives matter,” and then before we recorded, I went ahead and said it, because the original sentiment was along those lines. That’s what I wanted to say, but I was afraid it was too explicit, for some reason. Then, after a while, I was like, “Fuck it.” That is a mild fucking statement. “Black lives matter” is baseline shit.
What was the other half of your question?
Lee: How do you propagate that sentiment in your everyday lives?
Deborah: That’s a hard question. I feel, in a lot of respects—and I’m just going to speak personally—like I have no choice but to be involved with discourse pertaining movements similar to and like Black Lives Matter. I’ve grown up in the South, and I’ve seen a huge racial divide for as long as I’ve lived in the South, between black and white communities specifically. Also, I feel like, because of my gender, and how society genders me all the time, I find it easier for me to recognize how society oppresses or opposes other kinds of people. So… I don’t understand how the statement “black lives matter” is political. I mean, I see that, but I don’t really think about it in those terms. It’s political, but it’s also cultural.
I feel like we all try to be responsible citizens in this city, and are accountable to other communities which we’re not a part — but also those of which we are a part.*
Lee: I actually wanted to talk about accountability, and also wanted to clear the air a bit. Dianna, I believe you were the one that caught the mistake in our Mutual Jerk article a while ago…
Dianna: I wasn’t the one that caught it, but I certainly did respond.
Lee: Right. And that was a genuine mistake on our part, and definitely should not have happened, but I wanted to branch off of that and ask, what are the responsibilities of individuals in maintaining a DIY space? Who decides who is in, and who is out?
Camille: I think it’s the responsibility of writers. I personally have mixed emotions about call-out culture, that I don’t care to go into, because I don’t want to open that can of worms. But if you’re being omitted from an article, say yourself that you’re being omitted. I was also angry that Sam Camirand was left out of it, because she’s a great and wonderful human, and I’d hate for the world to be without her. And [to remove her from] a piece of work feels like a world without Sam. Sharon Olds, my favorite writer of all time, said that writing is merely recording, and I think that having a viewpoint of writing as being a mirror, as being honest—a mirror can only reflect as much surface area as the mirror is, and the angle it’s coming from, but if you’re looking at something, you should be able to reflect that.
So I think there’s a lot of power in writing, and a lot of power in recording, especially in DIY music scenes. I’ve seen lot of well-intentioned writers accidentally shut down music venues that were perhaps illicit, just because they didn’t know that posting an address online or in print can alert the fire marshal to go shut the venue down. So being discreet, but being accurate, is a very tricky balance to strike.
Dianna: I’ve played in other bands where I was the only one that was not a cis dude, and also felt overlooked in conversation and interviews, or any sort of attention. And I feel like that’s something that people try to be more privy to, but I just feel like those type of experiences are something I try to speak about more candidly, and with more frequency, just to re-establish the idea that it happens, especially to friends that haven’t experienced that, like all of the people who were mentioned in the article, at the onset.
So I feel like that vocalizing something, or giving it space, or bringing attention to it, and saying, “Hey, this is something important,” it would be—I felt really proud that there were so many people who responded [to the Mutual Jerk article] the way that they did, and were like, “This is a important thing,” and “This is a major misstep.” And I feel like that was just a blip in strength in the community that we get to take a part in.
Lee: Ali, did you want to comment on that, or…
Ali: Nah, they got it covered.
Lee: Going off of that, would you say, then, that this community has done fairly well in being accountable? Or have there been any difficulties at any time?
Dianna: Oh, there’s difficulties with accountability in all communities. There’s plenty of issues in any scene. But I feel like the people that we get to surround ourselves with are, for the most part, very considerate, and very aware of those things.
Deborah: I don’t know what people mean when they say “my music scene” or what our community is, because—not to criticize the way that you worded it, but…
Lee: There ARE multiple scenes.
Deborah: Yeah. And it’s hard to know what the fringes of those scenes are, where they overlap. ‘Cause I feel like, for the most part, when I say “our music scene,” I’m thinking about a handful of people that we consider, or at least I consider, to be very close friends. And then occasionally, we play with a band that doesn’t fall under that category of people. And I agree with Dianna’s sentiment, that there are difficulties with accountability in every scene and circle. I would hate for people to romanticize the scene of which we are a part. I don’t know of a major conflict-resolution space that we have. That would be fucking awesome, if we had that. There’s not an infrastructure to our scene, I feel. Maybe there is one, but I don’t recognize it.
Dianna: I think that’s a very good thing to point out. Yeah, when I was talking about the people we surround ourselves with, I was talking about—definitely thought of Mutual Jerk, Femignome, Arbor Labor Union…
Deborah: And other non-musicians.
Lee: Let’s talk about your decision to go with Father/Daughter as a label. What led to your decision to go with them, as opposed to any other label?
Camille: There was no question in our minds. Jessi [Frick] is awesome, she’s just a badass, and she’s got a good head on her shoulders. And [she’s] done so many things for us that I didn’t think were possible, like getting us on FADER and NPR. Never in my wildest dreams. But yeah, she’s pretty much everything that I feel like most record labels are not, at least from what I hear from stories. Like giving us total creative liberty, and just trusting us as artists, which is very cool.
Deborah: She doesn’t treat us like a business venture, for one. She’s been very accommodating—we’ve told her where we want press and where we don’t, and she’s been very receptive to that. She hasn’t been constraining. And she’s been in direct contact with us, too, which has been cool.
Dianna: Yeah, she’s super easy-going, and hardworking. I sent the EP to our friend Michelle [Zauner], who plays as Japanese Breakfast, and Michelle sent it to Jessi, and she sent an email that was like, “Wanted to let you know that I got this EP!” And [we] didn’t want to assume anything, or overstep anything, so were just like, “Cool, thanks!” We talked to our friends Tracy [Soo-Ming] and Hira [Mahmood], who run Ecology Records, and it’s very much a bedroom operation, and they were talking abut putting out our record. Then, a few weeks later, Jessi sent us another email, which was like, “I haven’t stopped listening to your EP! What are your plans for it?” And, at that point, we’d decided on Ecology, and another friend has a download-only based label called Quote Unquote Records, and so I told her that both of those things were happening, and she was like, “Cool, it sounds like you’ve got everything figured out,” and I was like, “Yeah, maybe we could work something out in the future!” And then, she followed it up really quickly with, “Well, maybe we could do a split release, or something…” So we were like, “Yeah! If you want to do that, by all means!”
It’s really cool, too, because I feel like there’s a sense of friendship, and trust, and respect that washes over everything. The last clause on our contract is “Above all, we will use respect and accountability and friendship to make these decisions,” which is such a refreshing and non-scary music business thing.
But yeah, even with speaking with Tracy from Ecology—that version is going to be very different, with very small-scale [runs], hand-screened j-cards, possibly a zine to come out with it.
Lee: That’s right, I remember reading about that. What are the contents of that zine?
Dianna: We haven’t decided yet!
Deborah: It’s gonna be great, whatever it is.
Dianna: There was a big order that went into the plant that Ecology is using to make the tapes, so it delayed everything, and gave us more time to consider what would go into the zine, too. But, even talking about that, Jessi was like, “Hey, if that’s your thing, I’ll help promote it—‘if you want a fancy, small-run print of this, hit up Ecology Records!'”
Are you familiar with other bands on Father/Daughter?
Lee: Oh, yeah. Yeah, they’re a very good label. Although, there WAS that very recent unfortunate thing with PWR BTTM. What were y’all’s reactions to that?
Deborah: Fucking pissed? It’s almost triggering for me to go through my library in Apple Music—they’re still on there, I haven’t removed them yet, and I have not listened to a song of theirs since that came out, because the thought of it actually hurts me.
Dianna: Yeah, it was a major, major disappointment. We were on our mini-tour when that happened, and Jessi sent us an email that was like, “I’m trying to sort through all of the things that go along with this, before deciding if I’ll take them off.” And I have pictures saved of them in my phone that I’ll find and be like, “All right, great photo, but I’m deleting it.” And I remember talking about it in the van, just so flustered, because I kept getting their songs stuck in my head as we were talking abut how fucked up it was. “Oh my god! It’s so catchy! But I have to shed this!”
Deborah: I don’t know about y’all, but Dianna and I were OBSESSED with PWR BTTM. We listened to PWR BTTM on the way back from your bachelorette [party] at Babyland.
Camille: I forgot about Babyland!
Deborah: Do you know what we mean, when we talk about Babyland?
Lee: No, I don’t know what you mean.
Camille: It’s the Cabbage Patch Kids factory.
Lee: Ohhhhhhh!
[General murmurings about the creepiness of this place, how all the employees wear scrubs. I’m shown several pictures of Babyland, including the exterior, which looks to me like an expensive retirement home.]
Camille: It’s really unsettling.
Lee: So y’all went on a mini-tour? How far did you go?
Dianna: It was abbreviated!
Camille: Short, and then abbreviated! So the plan was to go to Greensboro, where I went to college, Charleston, South Carolina, where Deb is from, and Athens. But in Aiken, South Carolina… I’m driving, and I hear this… I thought I heard some piece of gear had just suddenly… it was weird, so I was like, “Huh! Well, I’m going to pull over and make sure everything’s fine.”
Deborah: And make sure it’s not a tire issue!
Camille: And it was such a tire issue. It was such an ordeal. This happened around 5:30 on a Saturday, so all the tire shops were closed or closing. I tried to call my dad to see if his AAA would tow us, but he only had his motorcycle insurance thing, which actually is awesome, [because] it’ll tow your family members. The American Motorcycle Association (AMA), it rules. Shout out to AMA.
Dianna: This tour is sponsored by…
Camille: So they towed us—but by then, all of the tire shops had closed. So we tried to use this crazy foam latex stuff called Fix-A-Flat, that’s in two of the tires of my car. And it was just going everywhere — what a nightmare. So we ended up sleeping in a Walmart parking lot, which is legal; Walmart doesn’t really advertise this, but you can totally stay there overnight and no one will bother you. It’s pretty awesome.
Dianna: So we slept in the van… and we spent $50 at Pizza Hut, trying to comfort ourselves.
Deborah: And we got travel-sized Clue, which Ali was pissed-off about.
Ali: Well, the pieces were SO small!
Dianna: Everything was incredibly miniature! We were using phone lights to light up the board!
Deborah: You couldn’t make it up, it was so ridiculous.
Camille: And there’s no Uber in Aiken.
Dianna: We tried to get a Lyft to the Waffle House. Yeah, finding food was an ordeal. We walked into the first thing that was open, which was a Japanese restaurant, but it was just Hibachi, so it was super expensive. So we left there, and we tried to go to Wendy’s, but they’d locked up everything but the drive-through. So we were like, “Let’s go to the Waffle House! It’s only a mile away!” But there was no service there.
Camille: I was so incredibly hangry.
Lee: Yeah! Waffle House should ALWAYS be open.
Camille: So we’re in the middle of nowhere, without Uber or Lyft.
Dianna: But then we got Pizza Hut! We ate as much as we could in the 40 minutes before they closed.
Lee: Nice. Well, now, I wanted to ask you, since you actually planned to go to Athens—a lot of people in Atlanta have this weird thing against Athens…
Dianna: We’d love to go to Athens!
Deborah: Yeah, we talk about it often, actually.
Lee: Hmm. Cool. ‘Cause some Atlanta bands are like, “Man, I am NEVER going to Athens!”
Dianna: Why is that?
Lee: I don’t know, honestly! I think some people think it’s too weird, or it’s too white…
Ali: Is it a mutual thing? Do Athens bands not want to go to Atlanta?
Lee: Yeah, sometimes. Some people are branching out more, but Athens people are just stubborn. Stubborn and territorial.
Dianna: But I found out about a bunch of great Athens bands, [when] putting that show together. It would’ve been great to play with them.
Lee: Aww, yeah. There’s a lot of great talent there.
Dianna: Yeah, we contacted about 17 bands in Athens.
Deborah: Well, Dianna contacted 17 bands.
Dianna: It was exciting! Because in the two shows that we did play there, all of the bands that we played with had at least one non-dude. And it was really nice, using that as a preference for finding bands. And then, realizing there were so many active bands there, it would’ve been tight to play there. Maybe we’ll put together a festival.
Lee: Speaking of tours, then—do you prefer being in the studio more, or do you prefer playing live more?
Deborah: Ali, what do you think?
Ali: I think we just tend to go with the flow. Sometimes we take breaks, just to write a little more, but it’s not that we have an aversion to one thing or another. It’s just what makes sense to do right now. I’d say we started playing shows very early in our career. Because I think for our first show we had five songs, but we played 10 minutes. A lot of people would say that’s premature, but…
Lee: That’s fine—I love short sets!
Deborah: Me too.
Ali: Yeah, whether they’re right or not, whatever. So we were definitely itching to play, but right now we find ourselves where we wanna write more. Not to say that we won’t pass up on shows we want to play.
Camille: But it was really fun recording with Rob, just ‘cause he’s a personal friend of ours.
Deborah: We could speak frankly.
Dianna: For sure! He’s been super invested in our band—he’s been to most of the shows, Deborah and I have both taken guitar lessons from him at some point.
Ali: He’s the fifth Jock.
Dianna: Yeah, the fifth Jock!
Camille: Him and I share a birthday…
Deborah: That’s right!
Dianna: Yeah, I think playing shows and recording and writing are all very fulfilling, in different ways.
Lee: One more question from me—a lot of guys are really particular about the types of gear they use. Do you guys consider yourselves gearheads in any way?
Camille: Yes!
Lee: Go on about it.
Camille: I am really snobby. I prefer either Japanese lawsuit guitars or basses. Basically, in the ‘80s in Japan, they made cheaper, but better quality copies of a lot of American or well-known guitar companies, like Fender. I prefer weird antique stuff. My bass I’ve had forever is [from] this guy who had an American factory who just did Danelectro reissues. Deborah has a really great Danelectro that she pulls out every now and then. I’m pretty anal about my sound… but I think we all have our personal quirks. Any musician does. It’s the tools that you use, and you want them to feel right. You can’t have a guitar with a painted neck, because it just feels sticky.
Deborah: When you asked that question, I was thinking—I feel like I’m really technically minded about music, but I have very little vocabulary in gear. But I think there is a way to be very particular about the sound you’re trying to produce without necessarily having an awareness of what brands are out there.
Luciano: I feel like some people get so snobby and techy, but they don’t worry about the songwriting. Like, “I’m gonna buy seven pedals for my pedal board that has 40 pedals—but guess what, my songs suck.”
Ali: Well, the tone’s in the fingers. I mean, gear is a part of it, but if it’s in the fingers, then you can play the shittiest gear and still get the sound you want.
Camille: The colors in the painting, not the painting. I worked at an independent used music retailer, and learned a lot there. We’ve all set up a PA before, and booked shows…
Deborah: Oh, I was just thinking about how your knowledge has influenced my sound in Art School Jocks, because I think you were the one that made me aware of the JC [the Roland Jazz Chorus]…
Camille: Well, you were playing the JC-120. And then it just so happened that we had a JC-77. And then a week after—it was serendipitous. I love that guitar. Siouxsie and the Banshees used that guitar, Johnny Marr in the Smiths used that guitar—it’s THE quintessential ‘80s post-punk thing. I think Robert Smith of the Cure had a 410 configuration of that, and that’s a really rare form of the Roland Jazz Chorus. I’m also a fan of solid-state amps myself, because they’re lower maintenance. Acorn Amplifiers is also great, shout-out to them.
Lee: Ayyyyy, I can attest to that, just because one of my co-workers works there.
Camille: [to Ali] You’re pretty particular about your drums.
Ali: I don’t know. Part of it is just the technique. My drum sticks tend to be slightly thicker than average—I like the feel. I tend to tune my drums very… with not too much tension? Which makes them sound kinda floppy, but I say, not if you hit them right. So it’s things like that—which is funny, because my ride is totally fucking broken. But it sounds beautiful. And it’s getting to the point where, if I buy the exact same ride, it would sound totally different. The beauty to it is that it’s broken and has that tone after the fact.
Dianna: I remember, one of the last shows we were playing, because you backlined your kit, and someone [was] panicking—[they were] trying to use the snare and they were like, “Uhhh, I’m going to get mine,” which was fun to watch.
Camille: I also remember, during recording, Rob secretly tuning your drums so they were tighter, and you got so mad. You actually got angry at him!
Ali: I was! But it more about how it happened—you know, that he just did it? But I wasn’t expecting it all. So I sat down, and I hit it REALLY hard, and he tuned it way higher than I would even think of tuning it. So it was just, to me, this unpleasant loud sound, and I was just — “What?! This cannot…! My poor baby! What have they done to you?” And it’s also missing a couple of screws, so it’s not particularly easy to tune. So I was like, “It’s going to take me 30 minutes to get this back.”
But I don’t know. I like vintage drums—who doesn’t? But I’m not about the particular brand names, as much as the sizes, the depth, things of that nature.
Camille: I mean, what musician isn’t temperamental about gear?
Luciano: What’s next for you guys?
Ali: Well, we have Irrelevant Fest coming up, but that’s the only thing we have right now on our calendar. We’re hopefully trying to write a full length. Obviously, we want to focus on writing. Not that we have any specific deadline or date, but we’d like for that to come together sooner than later.
Deborah: We’d like to meet Jessi at some point. It’s all been email and text correspondence. Has any of y’all heard her voice?
Dianna: Yeah, I talked on the phone with her after the first email. She was like, “Did you read anything about Father/Daughter?” and I was like, “No.” And she was like, “Well, it’s me and my dad. But I’m an adult.” Because I was like, “Oh my god! Am I chatting with a 12-year-old?” I’m sure that Jessi was cool as a 12-year-old, though. Just cool out the womb.
Luciano: You guys need Art School Jocks t-shirts [that say] “Cool Out the Womb.”
Dianna: I think those should be Father/Daughter t-shirts!
Deborah: I’ll propose it. “Jessi, just send me $150. You’re welcome. Plenty more where that came from.”
Luciano: Dianna, did you say that three of you were living together at some point?
Dianna: Three of us did, yeah.
Camille: I don’t anymore.
Luciano: Did you guys find that you were more productive when you lived together?
Dianna: I don’t think so… I think it just made it easier for three of us to get together.
Camille: I think, in a way, yeah. Because it was summer… wait. [A conference of dates ensues between Dianna and Camille.] I moved in on Halloween!
Luciano: You were the ghost roommate!
Camille: I feel like we weren’t playing as many shows back then. This year we’ve been playing out a whole lot and not writing as much, which we’re trying to correct that balance a little bit [now] and retreat from the world just to write a whole bunch.
Dianna: I think it is easier, when you’re living together, to say, “Oh, what do you think this sounds like?” But we also have an active group chat that we send recordings [in]. When we first started playing, we were recording the entire thing, and there was a lot of things to wade through. But I think we’re pretty productive, whether we’re living together or apart.
Luciano: I think it’s interesting, because I can think of a lot of amazing bands that started from living together.
Lee: Mmm hmm, I’m thinking of about two or three right now.
Luciano: And one of the best live bands in town right now, Small Reactions—they lived together for a couple of years and played together every day. But it’s interesting that you mentioned social media. Do you guys record ideas, and then throw them in the group, or do send things with text or email and then play off of it? Or…
Dianna: Oh, totally text. Or sending email.
Camille: Or maybe record something in a voice memo and then clean it up in practice later.
Luciano: Is it a melody, or a riff, or just an idea?
Deborah: Sometimes, sometimes.
Dianna: One time Deborah and I were very vulnerable with one another and shared a lot of our voice memos from each others’ phones.
Deborah: That weren’t meant for anyone else to hear.
Dianna: So we’re just driving and going like, “Do do, do-do-do.” Could we do something with that?
Ali: We’ve been pretty consistent, since the beginning, about practicing twice a week. Sometimes it’s three, and sometimes it’s one, but we’ve been pretty steady about that.
Luciano: And if you’re playing a show that week, it forces you to play a bit more.
Deborah: We prac and pack, as Ali puts it.
Luciano: That’s another t-shirt.
*Addendum: After reviewing the interview and seeing our decision to highlight a specific quote, Debora Hudson wanted to clarify and expand on the answer regarding Black Lives Matter. You can read Hudson’s response in full below:
“The lyric ‘Black lives matter to me’ of course has origins in the political organization and movement that is the Black Lives Matter campaign, the political value of which I don’t think can be overstated. But stating that lyric was simultaneously a deeply personal expression that I wanted to circulate through the socio-cultural clout of being in a band, and not for the sake of inviting attention to the political ‘merits’ of Art School Jocks, because that’s not the point. I FELT like in being told that ‘Black lives matter to me’ was catching everyone, as it was put, we were being told that to say Black lives matter has been regarded as very ‘politically’ provocative, which is a phenomenon I wanted to be critical of. Hence the following comment:
‘That is a mild fucking statement. ‘Black lives matter’ is baseline shit.’
As in, Black Lives Matter is the VERY least of what non-Black allies can be saying, emulating, doing, etc. There are the more specific statements: Black Homes Matter, All Black Lives Matter, Trans Black Lives Matter, Queer Black Lives Matter, Black Businesses Matter, Black Immigrant Lives Matter. There is also the further and crucial step of being present at direct actions and community meetings organized by Black organizations and around anti-white supremacy measures.”
Art School Jocks will perform on Sat., July 22 at the Earl for Irrelevant Fest alongside Mothers, Palm, Palberta, Pallas, Art School Jocks, Shepherds, and Trashcan. Doors open at 8 p.m. Admission is $20-25. 21+ to enter.
More Info
Web: artschooljocks.com
Facebook: @artschooljocks
Instagram: @artschooljocks
SoundCloud: @artschooljocks
Twitter: @artschooljocks