Here's a little nosedive down the record collecting rabbit hole which will bore most people to tears. Please bear with me while I provide some back story.
Caustic Christ was one of the best bands to come out of Pittsburgh. There is no qualifier to that statement like “best Punk band.” I mean one of the best bands period. The band was Eric Good on vocals, Corey Lyons on bass, Bill Chamberlain on guitar and Greg Mairs on drums. Eric and Corey most notably played in Aus-Rotten before they were in Caustic Christ.
Back in 2006, Caustic Christ released their final LP, Lycanthropy, on Havoc Records. There was a standard version pressed on black vinyl with a green and yellow cover. For the album release show and upcoming tour, there was a silver and black screen printed cover with red or black vinyl. Some of these had red paint splattered across the cover. From what I could find on the internet, there may have been three hundred of these made in total with only a small percentage having the red paint splatter.
Here is where things get interesting. There were also five copies on red vinyl that were encased in old movie film canisters. The canisters were spray painted black, splattered with green paint and had the drawing of a skull with screws in the eyes, which was used on the back cover of the standard vinyl, glued onto the center. Included with the vinyl was a photocopy of the track listing, a poster and a sticker. From what I was told, four of the five canisters were gifted to each member of Caustic Christ and the fifth was kept by the owner/operator of Havoc Records.
I mention all of this because I recently came into possession of one of these five handmade film canisters. The record was gifted to me by Greg the drummer who currently plays drums in Submachine. It was meant as a “Thank You” for the work that I put into helping the band out over the past few years with lugging gear and taking pictures. And the weight of the gesture sure as shit hit this record nerd/Pittsburgh Punk archivist in the heart. Working with that band has been one of my greatest pleasures in recent years. I get to put my meager roadie skills to use for a band that I've listened to since I was a teenager and I get to take pictures of them playing while I do it.
As someone who has had troubles dealing with other humans since I was in kindergarten, being welcomed into the Submachine fold has meant a lot to me. I never went to shows to make friends. I was there because I needed the music and as soon as the last band was done I would make a hasty exit and be off to the nearest place that had coffee and late night breakfast options. I am such an alien that I can't understand why people remain in clubs and bars after the bands are done. My thought process was always: “The music is over so why are you still here?” I have never been able to get it into my thick skull that people might want to spend their time hanging out and socializing with these things known as friends. That's how I went careening into my forties with a list of friends that could fit on a Post-It note.
If it's a local show and I have my car, I still make a break for it as soon as the van is packed. It's the Friday night practices/group therapy sessions that mean the most. We hang out and commiserate for an hour, the band practices for a bit and then it's back to dissecting the week's events and discussing home maintenance issues.
The first time I got the invite to practice may have saved my life. It was during October of 2020 when things were starting to loosen up COVID-wise. I was in a very bad place after being heavily isolated with a head full of grief and nowhere to put it. I was cut off from my usual methods of dealing with the demons because people were so childish that they wouldn't put a small piece of cloth over their dirty mouths. No shows, no movies, no record stores and no restaurants. I was locked in my house with nothing but my thoughts and that's a dangerous place for me to be without adult supervision. That's when I got a text message with an address that said “Hey, come to practice.”
If there's a show somewhere on a Friday night, there's a very good chance that I'll skip it to go to Submachine practice. Unless I really like the bands that are playing or there are tickets/photo passes involved for a larger show, I'd rather be in a basement watching my friends play.
