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Spinning. A mangle of arms and legs, my body swirls to the radically quick pace of heavy punk rock music. Dizzy. In glimpses I see smiles on the faces of my friends around me. They appear blurry against the thrashing whirl of the crowded music venue. Bodies collide in the riptide of the mosh pit, and again my mind flutters away to a distant place. Heat. The single fan in this small, dark, crowded place does nothing to keep me cool. Body drenched with moisture, my heart beats recklessly to the rhythm of militant musical expression. Joy. Even through the feverish heat I feel the warmth of friendship in this shared space. Through the tidal waves of chaotic movement, I am at peace. My mind returns to full clarity and I see my friends around me dancing at the Bullet Farm, one last time.
Kiro. Dark makeup, face piercings and gothic attire. A complete representation of the Bullet Farm personality. With vigor, he pulls me into the mindless sweep of bodies. Squished between the physical forms of my friends, I am disoriented again. Any stress outside of this moment is now distant. Lucas. A face with a smile I can’t help but return. With a toothy grin, he gives me a shove, sending me stumbling into the stage. Hacked Apart is playing. They cast spells upon us all; filling the room with angst and anger — all rooted in a profound love for each other. An honest release of emotion. Dance. Everything makes sense here. No emotion gets the best of me. Real freedom in a strict and confusing world. Kick. Punch. Jump. I follow the two step moves I have learned from coming to these shows for well over a year. Janelle. Colorful tattoo-covered arms up against her face; she shoves me from behind, denying my body any moment of rest. I continue this dance. Now with an intoxicated rhythm. High off the natural release of music and movement, stumbling through the limb-tornado. Eric. One of my greatest friends. The friendliest of souls with the shortest of tempers. The moshpit opens up and I see it is just us, surrounded by the chaos of our dear friends. We both are smiling. I give him a polite shove, and he turns to elbow me in the jaw. The rush gives me the energy to continue this drunken parade of love and music and dance, through the rest of the final Bullet Farm Show.
Following most Bullet Farm shows, my mind is a clean slate. All emotion has been released. I solemnly embrace the cool Vancouver air to breathe clear deep breaths. I usually feel calm, but after the final Bullet Farm show, I did not. Leaving the venue for the last time, walking through the barbed wire fence, through the alley and onto East Hastings, I was emotional. I was overwhelmed, and on the verge of having a breakdown. This was the last time we would be able to enjoy this space. Struck by the tyranny of Vancouver to replace any DIY culture with an expensive, boring, gentrified vision. I was grateful I got to experience the Bullet Farm. I met most of my friends there, and had found my place within this city. I felt like I had belonged somewhere, but at that moment I felt lost again.
I always knew that at some point in my life I would sit around with my friends and reflect on our stories from the Bullet Farm. What I never expected was these conversations to come so soon. Each of these four friends provided a story, impression or description of the Bullet Farm. Rather than representing the Bullet Farm as a whole, these quotes describe the unique experiences of these individuals. Beyond the stories shared here, there are many more lost in the details. Important moments often happen in an instant, in a brief smile among the rage of the moshpit, or sharing a smoke in the shallow peace of the alleyway. We were all there together, and every instant, every movement and moment felt valuable in this time of our life. It brings me sadness to admit to myself the Bullet Farm era is behind us, however, when reading these stories, rather than focusing on what is lost, we must bring attention to what was important about this place, and how this emotion can be preserved.
Kiro:
“Ya I remember the Bullet Farm staff was really really sweet. I remember there have been a few times when someone freaky did get into the Bullet Farm, and all of the staff was very much on top of it. You could tell them like “hey this person came up to me and did this or this” and they will be on that shit like immediately. Especially because there were a few dudes working there that were like 6 foot five dudes, like big guys, it definitely felt really nice to have those people be so protective. You could just go and have a good time and get drunk and not have to worry about someone hurting you. I also remember I was in a pit and someone threw me foreword right as this dude was windmilling and I just got a big ol bop on the back of the head. I went down and I remember not knowing what happened. Someone dragged me into the back room and sat me on an amp. They gave me a cup of water until I came to my senses. I sat there for a little longer until one of the staff came up to me. She didn’t say anything, she just held up a lolly pop. I just felt like a little kid, sitting on the amp kicking my feet sucking on a lolly pop. They are really sweet people.”
The moshpit was often the focus of these shows. They served as a weekly mediation, therapy, emotional release, finding of peace. Kiro resonated with the importance of the mosh pit saying “The moshpit for me has always been a very physical expression of myself enjoying music. Metal especially is very much an angry genre and I always felt that I could get my anger out in the pit but not actually hurt anybody. It’s fun to be able to just grab my friends and throw them around or take out my aggression in a way of love. I always felt very free in the pit. Especially being a very small person that’s born female, I also felt really safe there.” Even besides the deep cleansing of emotion a mosh pit provides, Kiro also noted how simply fun it is to be deep in the pit. “I always love little shenanigans and gimmicks that would happen. Something I would see kind of often is a big guy picking up a really small guy and just swinging him around in a circle. I remember one time there was this girl that brought this gigantic squishmello into the pit and was just hitting people with it then people stole it from her and hit other people with it, eventually the thing ripped open in half and stuffing went everywhere. Eventually she wore the skin of the squishmellow like a hood. That was something I will always remember, just so silly, just like fun. Some people think there are rules to how you can be, like how you can dress or the way that you act in the pit, just like how to be, but at Bullet Farm it’s just anything, everything was fine. That’s why stuff like that could happen because it was just silly. I have watched people bring pillows in the mosh pit before and that’s the thing it’s just silly it’s ridiculous but, does it have to be serious? Does it have to be anything?”
Lucas:
“The first time I went to the bullet farm, or I guess it was the second time. The first time I went I don’t really remember, but the second time I went to the Bullet Farm I saw Hollow Point. They introduced me to the idea of what a mosh was. Oh I remember this so vividly. I remember walking into the Bullet Farm, neon and purple and pink lights reflecting off my face, all I was hearing was Hollow Point going insane. I looked towards the stage to see this mass of people having such excess of emotion and a liberation from what they were supposed to do. I saw these people jumping on top of each other, I saw people throwing elbows and spinning and dancing in a way I had never seen before and it was intoxicating, it was enthralling at a very core human level. I was just happy to be part of a community where people could express emotions in so many different ways. One of those ways being almost controlled violence. The concept of the mosh pit is so incredibly interesting to me and that curiosity was birthed at the Bullet Farm. It was the first time I had ever moshed. I got a nosebleed that show and it was so awesome I felt so fucking cool. That nosebleed was so liberating, I don’t know why.”
“The main reason we all loved the Bullet Farm so much was that it was the first venue for a lot of us. It was our introduction to the entirety of the punk community here in Vancouver. It is where I made most of the connections across what my friendship circle is now. I met you there, I met my ex there, I met half the people I am really close friends with at the Bullet Farm. It was a breeding ground for creativity, and where people could come and not be the fake figures, they have to be every day. No one wore a mask; everyone was genuine and themselves because there was no reason not to be. It was the first time I wore makeup in a public space, it was the first time I was introduced to how gender norms can be challenged, how societal norms can be crushed and smashed apart. It was the place I began to understand that not everything was right with my city, that people were being oppressed and places were being gentrified in ways I never considered. It’s what led me to being part of the community. Now I volunteer at the Black Lab, now I volunteer at the collective that used to be the Bullet Farm. It lets me understand and facilitate growth in a way I never could have expected.”
Janelle:
Janelle echoed the compassionate personality of the space by further describing the Bullet Farm to be a “pretty easy place to talk to people. Everyone wants to talk about the show, they want to talk about the music. There’s always a huge crowd outside of tons of people chatting. If you want to start a conversation you can just walk up to someone and ask them for a cigarette and be like “awe hey man thanks, how are you enjoying the show?” or like “where are you from?” It’s really nice that’s all it takes. Some people approach you too, because everyone there likes a lot of the same things or is into the same physical appearance, so if you are wearing something or look a certain way they are going to be like “hey I like this” or “this is really cool. I don’t feel that comfort at all shows. I think metal shows and punk shows are the easiest ones to make friends at, which I don’t think people would expect at all, but they are like the nicest, most open people. At other venues there are people caring about how they look or what they are saying, or how they come across to a crowd. I think because hardcore shows are a subculture in the first place, people are pretty much out of the binary in terms of music. I think most people recognize this is not something most people enjoy, so you’re surrounded by people who have the same mindset as you who are already different from everyone else.”
Eric:
“This is at a point when I was going to the Bullet Farm as much as I possibly could, having the best time. During this time I was living in essentially a Kitisilano frat house with a bunch of UBC Students. Me and a few too many hooligans lived pretty disgustingly. Every weekend they would invite me out to a bar or some random UBC ski and board event, but I had to see my people. I would go to these Bullet Farm shows. I would always come back all bruised up, telling them how awesome it was. They were like “I don’t see the appeal of getting the shit kicked out of you for two and half hours every weekend.” I was like nah it’s great you just got to come. Morgan and Steven, two really close friends of mine finally gave in and came with me. They don’t particularly like hardcore music, and are more into edm. I was a little nervous on how they might react, and if they would understand the joy of it all, I just told them to have fun with it all. They were mostly excited by the fact they could bring their own booze. For the first band they watched me dance and got to know some people in the mob. Everyone is being the most accepting. Morgan and Steven never felt like maybe they were a poser for being there, because everyone was so loving. They met Kiro and a bunch of other people. The next band came on which was Hacked Apart. And the two guys were going hard. Steven was standing in the middle just bouncing people off of him like a roadblock. He got that look in his eyes that looked like he could kill someone. Morgan with his backpack on had a huge smile on his face and was just bouncing around. I remember leaving the show with them and they told me they got it, they understood why I went there and they got to experience it all with me.”
The Bullet Farm was for some an escape from the *toxic* emotions that eat at them in everyday life. Although there are many different relationships to the venue, the stories selected for this love letter are those that resonated most deeply with me. It was a place where my friends and I could come together and enjoy music and dance with likeminded people. Moshing allows emotions of anger to be expressed in a safe and friendly environment. The Bullet Farm was not only greatly important to those who enjoyed the space, but was also greatly important in maintaining a sense of identity for Vancouver at large. In this dark, sweaty building friendships were made, music was played and life felt a little bit more fantastical. Thank you to the great bands and staff who created a space balancing emotional vulnerability and fun. These were the best of times. Support your local music venues, before it’s too late.