The Orlando Problem

A forewarning. Do you get it?

Florida is one of the most unfortunate places in music. Any touring musician will attest to this. Geographically, the state is cut off on three sides with only one exit in sight; the rest of the country’s influence trickles down, and those brave enough, or able enough, to make the trek north will have to pass over several hours of absolute nothing before they see any form of return. Arguably, there are four hubs in Florida with varying degrees of prosperity: Jacksonville, Orlando, South Florida, and Tampa. Whether it be pride or logistics, these four hubs are effectively separate islands with minimal, if any, interbreeding.

When I moved out of South Florida in 2017, I could have settled anywhere. I chose Orlando because, logically, it’s the most central city in the state; the other three hubs are all less than three hours away. I figured Orlando would be the best place to meet passers-through, and with one of the largest on-campus student bodies in the country, I could only assume it would be a hotbed for hardcore and alternative genres alike.

I was wrong.

For my first few years here, Orlando was a bit of a wasteland. The city had been plagued by shifty promoters, unaware bands, and street violence. The emo revival/flavor-of-the-week indie scene had a bit of a pop just before the pandemic, but very few recognized that scene as more than a college fling. Hardcore, screamo, and other extreme genres were absent. When Memento. started playing shows in 2020, we had to resign ourselves to mixed bills with shitty “coworker core” bands and incredibly niche prog bands. Simply put: there was no one else. Every valid opportunity we took was one we had to make for ourselves. It felt like a hopeless fight, something of a black comedy filled with irony. Then, by the end of 2022, things began to change.

It was first noticed with increased show attendance. Then, increased interest from touring bands. Within a year, local bands started forming. Shows were becoming more frequent. Musicians from the other three hubs started asking “Is Orlando actually worth playing again?” The city’s momentum felt unrivaled, but there was a creeping issue felt around the country that no one really knew how to address:

How to unfuck hardcore.

As long as I’ve been around, there’s always been a degree of musicians who, simply put, “don’t get it.” They call themselves hardcore, or metalcore, or emo, but their sound and ethos could not be more the opposite. It’s not a genre-specific issue. In hardcore, it’s the difference between Counterparts and xNomadx; Kublai Kahn and Seed of Pain. It’s a bastardization of labels. For years, all you could do is ignore these bands. Once upon a time, you could write them off as “scene kids” but Y2K nostalgia has successfully rewritten that piece. Today you might hear them referred to as “scene 2” or “otherhood.” Painfully, some of the musicians in these bands are actually nice people. Some of them even come to shows for real hardcore bands. For many years, it was mostly an issue of sonics and image. Then TikTok found hardcore.

Around the world, seasoned show goers debated how to address the new faces. Not simply young or curious kids, but more specifically this new breed of phone-in-your-face, bad style, quick-to-cry people that were coming out of the woodwork. It was a conversation you couldn’t escape, but admittedly not one I cared much about. What really concerned me was the new not-so-subtle desire to meme-ify shows.

There’s an Orlando band, who I won’t name because I like and respect half of its members, that represents nearly everything hardcore kids hate about this so-called meme-ification. Criticism of their music aside, they’ve built a promising career around internet virality. They got their real start in this world a few years back when someone decided to throw a couch during their set. It got some buzz on Facebook (which is a telling sign of the types of people this behavior interests) and the band wouldn’t let it die. It was weeks of constant reminders of the incident, and weeks of pleas for similar moves. Obviously pit dancing can be, in and of itself, dangerous, but most of my peers would agree that dancing with props is lame. It’s corny, it lacks style, and it’s harmful. The average showgoer can take a fist to their head. Most people cannot take a piece of furniture to the head. Or a ladder. Or a filled-to-the-brim garbage can. Personal wellbeing aside, this behavior tarnishes the reputations of bands and promoters who put in the work to keep shows happening. Venues are a privilege, not a right, and any one from Orlando’s before times knows this. All it takes is one stupid accident for the city to turn their sights on our little community and shut it down. For the South Florida heads, remember what happened to Anonymous Guitars? The Talent Farm? The loss of venues is a sureshot end to scene growth. It’s the beginning of dark times.

I bring up this band because around the end of 2023 The Coop started booking shows at an MMA gym full of heavy lifting equipment. The first few shows went well and I immediately started getting requests from this band and its peers to play at the gym. The gym, Iron Life, was a blessing. It provided a much needed, strongly fought for, space in Orlando. Why would I jeopardize its entire existence booking bands that don’t get it? One stupid mosh call, and kids would start throwing weights at each other. Think I’m exaggerating? It happened. A couple times, actually, and always by the hands of someone who didn’t get it. It’s a tough call to not book bands with adjacent crowds and, in some cases, definitive pull, but the health of this scene is so much bigger than a single show. Eventually, these characters found their own solution: The SPOT.

For those unaware, The SPOT is a venue was a garage that built its reputation around “anything goes.” Selling beer to minors, smearing poop on the walls, shooting guns in the air - all were repeated incidents here. Effectively, it became a safe space for people who don’t get it. To the unindoctrinated, the kids going to shows for the first time, they saw this behavior under the false flag of “hardcore” and adopted some pretty heinous habits. I’ve said before that one of the biggest issues with scene politics is that children who don’t know they’re children and adults who don’t know they’re adults intermingle and save face for some almighty, biased social ecosystem. This interpersonal grey area was well manifested at The SPOT. As one of the only all ages spaces in Orlando, it reached something of a cult status within our budding scene. It homed Orlando’s newest “crew,” hundreds of stupid mosh reels, and dozens of bands that still don’t get it. In other words, it became the HQ of otherhood scene 2 bullshit.

Within a year, many people took issue with The SPOT. The same grievances that led to Orlando’s waste had begun to return: shifty promoters, unaware bands, and street violence (not to mention the inflated egos). Bands from the other hubs no longer wanted to play in a city where kids celebrate and exhibit SPOT culture. Any one who spoke openly about their concerns was threatened. Orlando started to backslide.

To the newbies, this can be overwhelming. In the last three months I’ve seen more faces drop out than ever before. I’ve seen grown men mistake some general dissatisfaction with a singular venue space as an attack on Orlando hardcore as a whole. People have been willing to fight for The SPOT and very quick to discard bands that expressed any hesitation toward playing there.

I feel pretty hard for the ones who haven’t been around long enough to see the difference. I hate the behaviors and attitudes that have been normalized by this culture. I hate the Internet and what it’s doing to our community. What Orlando faces right now is a proxy war: petty conflicts between those who get it and those who don’t. If the players can’t learn to put their egos aside and look again toward building upward, then all is lost. There are no winners in this, and the forthcoming reality is one many of us are all too familiar with.

This pervasive culture has grown to be much larger than a handful of bands. It’s become greater than just a physical space. Orlando is being whored out for a shallow sense of pride and some Instagram views. Where’s the breaking point? Is Orlando doomed to repeat this cycle forever? A year ago, show attendance matched South Florida and easily surpassed Tampa and Jax. Is Orlando going to throw that away for a couple egomaniacs? This scene, this city, is the sum of ourselves. Our attitudes and our choices define this community. Cut the posturing. The time is now - do you get it?