It’s hard to start this article. Even though it’s not a face-to-face conversation, it’s still hard. I won’t be able to track the real reaction on your face and the furrows in your brow as you take in what I’m about to say. I don’t know if this is easier or harder for you but I am past caring about making it easier; it has to happen so let’s begin.
We need to talk about race in punk… like now. There’s no time to make a sandwich, let’s sit down and talk this one through. I love punk music. I’ve dedicated my life to it, which is a strange thing of a shy, chubby black girl from the West Midlands to do but alas I did. Over the years I’ve blogged about music, put on nights, been in bands, written zines and more. I have enjoyed every second of it but there was something that was worrying me about it. Like a blurry flash of light in the corner of your eye; you know something’s there but when you try and get a proper look, it vanishes.
Don't Dance Her Down Boys 