NYC Punks: Alistair Bane and Eddy Laughter

Truth or dare, how about both?

This fall, the Moth is challenging what it means to be daring.

We're not just talking about jumping out of airplanes or quitting your job, we're talking about the quiet courage to be vulnerable, the bold decisions to reveal the secret that changed everything.

This fall, the Moth main stage season brings our most powerful stories to live audiences in 16 cities across the globe.

Every one of those evenings will explore the singular theme of daring, but the stories and their tellers will never be the same.

So here's our dare to you: experience the Moth main stage live.

Find a city near you at themoth.org/slash daring.

Come on, we dare you.

Welcome to the Moth Podcast.

I'm Sarah Jane Johnson, Director of Creative Operations at the Moth and your host for this episode.

Growing up is, well, you can plug in a bunch of synonyms for awkward from the thesaurus and you probably still won't come close to describing how awkward it actually is.

So, senior year, high school auditorium, I was on the basketball team, but I didn't play much.

But one night, all eyes were on me.

I had been asked to sing the Star-Spangled Banner at the Friday night basketball game.

The night comes and there in my blue and white Bennington Badger uniform, I begin.

I start strong.

I'm getting into it and I'm looking out at the sea of faces, so many of which I recognize for my super small town.

And just barely into the second section, the words disappear.

I mean, I am perfectly on key, but the words remain the same.

Where I should be singing the Rockets Red Glare, I'm still on broad stripes and bright stars.

Now my teammates have started singing, shouting really, to help me get back on track, yet my ears are ringing so loudly, I can't hear them.

I somehow recover by the last line, and it mercifully ends.

I wish I could tell you that I went on to shoot the game-winning basket that night, but alas, I warmed the bench for most of the game like I always did.

If you can believe it, this is the first time I've talked about this experience.

Ever.

Anyway, point is growing up can be hard, but there's something special and sometimes freeing about sharing stories from that time.

And our new show, Grown, that's G-R-O-W-N, the very first spin-off of the Moth podcast is focused on exactly that.

It has the great moth storytelling you've come to love, plus conversations between our fantastic hosts, Eliza and Fonzo, and so much more.

If you're looking for something to recommend or listen to with a young person in your life, I think this could be a perfect fit.

But don't just take my word for it.

Here's one of our favorite episodes all about how music can shape how we find our identity.

Don't worry, none of the stories are about the Star-Spangled Banner.

I'm in Williamsburg.

I'm with my two best friends.

Got my boy Ruben, my boy Billy.

And we're going to this venue, which is a bar, but a venue in the back of the bar.

When we got there, I didn't buy a ticket.

And what do you know?

We get there and the bouncer lets us in for $20 each.

I think there was a DJ there before the performance started.

And so there were like songs playing.

The cool kids were there.

You know what I'm saying?

A whole bunch of kids with grills, Williamsburg, Brooklyn vibes.

Whole bunch of people who want to follow me back on Instagram.

And

it's Baby King.

And he makes his way 20 minutes and then all of a sudden he jumps out, kills it.

It was really a remembrance experience because literally right after this concert which was in the winter time

it went into january and then covet struck and like that was you know i didn't see my friends for a long time so god last concert before the pandemic this must have been like a crazy bonding experience for you guys

it was it was it really was even today like i feel like me and my friends um really bond over like just the fact that we would know baby Keem, like we know every song.

It's really a part of our friendship, especially like that was the last thing that happened before like we were all secluded from each other.

I think it really helped.

Grown.

Grown.

Grown.

Grown.

I'm Eliza.

And I'm Fonzo.

And this is Grown, a podcast from the moth full of stories about what it means to grow up.

On this episode, we've got two stories focused on the strange and beautiful ways music can shape your life.

First up is Eddie Laughter with a story that will leave you wanting an encore.

I'm on my way to see live music for the first time, and I'm so much more anxious than I think I have any right to be because this band I'm about to see, I'm completely and utterly obsessed with.

And I have seen every interview YouTube will physically let me watch, and I have listened to them so much.

At this point, it's probably doing something unhealthy to me.

I don't know how that would work, but it's happening.

and when I listen to and this is because when I listen to them all of a sudden I feel like I'm big and like I'm powerful and like nothing can touch me when I'm walking down the street which is really not something I feel at this like ever at this point in my life and I feel like so small and clunky and like I don't fit into my own body right and I'm kind of I'm kind of starting to think that the middle school mentality that I'll never fit into any scenario I go to is just going to be how I live my life and I feel like I'm like I just have to accept this at this point.

So it doesn't make any sense that I'm this anxious to see this band but I'm trying to think about what I can expect and I'm just kind of thinking about how in movies punk shows are always like a bunch of loud aggressive intoxicated white boys and that doesn't really seem like my scene and I'm spiraling a bit and I'm looking around on the train and I see this girl who's about like nine or eleven.

I don't know how age works but she's there and she's with her dad and I'm like wonder if they're going to the punk show and then and then

I'm more of a mess and I'm still spiraling and then I get off the train and we get to the venue and it doesn't look like a venue but it definitely is a venue because I get inside and it's dark and everyone's bigger than me and it's really loud and I pick a direction and I just start walking and I see my eighth grade math teacher and

because of course I see my eighth grade math teacher so I go up and talk to my eighth grade math teacher because that's who he wants to spend his Friday and I get up to him and it was a lot less awkward than you would think and he asked me about music and what bands I listened to and I forget every single band I've ever heard of ever and I'm like this one

and thankfully I'm interrupted by the first band that's up, and they have this very, they introduce themselves, and they have this very nice, welcoming

speech about just accepting everyone who's at the show.

And I'm like, oh, well.

And then they start screaming, and they sound like they're wounded animals.

But then there's this weird pop music playing underneath it, and they're still screaming.

And then after each song ends, the front person goes, Thank you, and then continues screaming for the next song, and it's awesome.

And then this goes on for a bit, and it stops, and then I kind of creep out of the corner that I'm in, and the next band is up, and these guys just they legitimately sound like they're demons

and like just from how they're moving to the way this man's like eyes look and whatever the noise is that's coming out of him and for some reason I start to relax a bit and people are starting to dance around me and in like this sort of like way where it feels like there's a big sense of unity in the room and I don't know where that's coming from and then this lady behind me goes well that was aggressive and I'm like yeah it was aggressive and then that band is they're done and then I'm like like, my band is next.

So I kind of like creep up to the front middle of the room.

So I'm next to this woman who has, who's bragging to her friends about all the new patches she's put on her jacket.

And I'm like, I support your DIY craft so much.

And then my band has gone up to tune their instruments.

And I'm like,

and then I text my friend and I'm like, I see the front woman.

And she's like, ah!

And I'm like, ah, and this is all of her text.

And then...

I'm so excited.

And I can feel everyone else is just as excited as I am.

And it feels like the room is like buzzing, which is so crazy because no one's ever excited about what I'm excited about.

And then they start playing and it's like all of the air and sound gets sucked out of the room and we're all watching them and we're all just so excited to be there, but it's like beyond excitement at this point.

And it's like everybody is where I am in my head right now and

we're all just...

there together and we're all having the same experience.

And they start to play more songs and they start to like get into the music a little bit more.

And everyone else around me is doing that as well.

And they start to play my favorite songs, and apparently, everybody else's favorite songs, too.

And then people are starting to dance more.

And there's this woman in front of me, and all she's doing is jumping up and down, which in any other context would look ridiculous, but it doesn't at all look ridiculous now.

And like, I can do that too.

So I start to like move and like jump around a bit.

And then I'm, I get that same sense of power and freedom that I get when I listen to it normally, but it's like fresher or it was like revived or something.

And then someone kind of nudges me and like pushes me out of the way and like takes my front middle spot.

And I'm about to like get internally offended because conflict is scary.

And

then, but then I just see that this woman was just making space for her girlfriend to go up next to her.

And I'm like, this is a room full of punk queer women.

And I just...

I didn't know that was a thing.

And I just need a minute to like sit and process that.

And I look around and I see the girl from the train sitting on her dad's shoulders with like these big clunky headphones so her ears don't get all messed up.

And

I

would think that it would be weird for a kid to be here, but she looks like she's exactly where she's supposed to be.

And I feel, and I start to realize that I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be too.

And so I just let myself hold on to that.

And the last thing I want to do is run away and hide in a corner.

And I really feel like I belong here.

And I'm so happy.

And I've never felt this kind of happy before.

And then like the band is still in a show and there's like a mosh bit that's forming next to me, which I don't go over, I don't go in because I would get squashed like a little tiny person pancake.

But I'm like on the side of it and I can still feel all of like the energy from it.

And I'm just, I'm still like kind of like riding off of that excitement that I'm feeling and that everybody else is feeling, as previously mentioned.

And then eventually the band and like they stop playing and I feel and I come back to my body and I realize how much I have to pee and get a glass of water.

And I really don't want to leave the room, but I realize that I have to.

And I kind of look at the front woman and I'm like, ah, and then I leave and get on the subway and I'm looking at all these other people who are at the show with me.

And I can tell because they're holding like little various bits of merch or whatnot.

And I'm looking at them and I'm realizing that they're all like me in some way.

And in so many different ways they're like me, which I really didn't think was a thing.

And I didn't.

I didn't realize that I had something to grow up into before.

I don't really know what I thought would happen to me, but I just never had an image that my life could go somewhere and I could stay being like the weirdo person I am and have it make sense in the world around me.

And I started to realize that the small feeling that I'm holding on to, I don't need it anymore, and I never needed it, and that I'm not that small person, and

I'm not going to be small forever, and I don't need to be, and that I'm gonna be okay.

And it's just so crazy to think about.

Thank you.

That was Eddie Lafter.

We asked Eddie how their younger self would describe him now.

She said, little or littler Eddie would expect me to be less confused than I am right now but would also be so excited and impressed at how much I've stopped hiding myself.

That's really sweet Eddie.

I love that.

If you want to see a photo of Eddie on their way to the concert, or if you'd like to hear more from the band Eddie went to see, check out them.org slash grown.

It's the best place to learn more about grown.

Up next, we have a story about finding a community.

But first, Fonzo, Eddie's story really got me thinking about how much music can shape a person, especially when they're younger.

For Eddie, it was the band The Screaming Females.

For you, was there an artist or album that really shaped you?

Yeah.

She goes by the name of Drake.

Call me mainstream or whatever.

I'm a big, big Drake fan.

I just remember like

senior like prom

coming home, like somebody was driving me home.

One of my friends was driving me home and then just one of those, it was like, I'm done.

You know what I'm saying?

I'm finally done with this.

And then like,

hold on, we're going home was playing.

I was driving in the car and, you know, like the wind was hitting my face and it just hit differently.

And so, yeah.

That's such a beautiful like experience, like when the music amplifies the like emotions you're already feeling.

Exactly.

Is there a collection of music or an artist that helped you throughout high school or like helped you get through certain things or bond with friends?

So I grew up listening in my house to 80s New Wave music.

So like Depeche Mode, Yazoo,

Oh the Cure.

And somehow YouTube, which isn't really New Wave.

But anyways, so that was music I grew up listening to.

What about Sting?

No, he doesn't fall into that category.

Oh, okay.

What category?

Just like, I don't know,

80s sad boy music.

But anyway, so that's like what I grew up listening to.

And

then when anytime I tried to play like the cool music that kids in school were playing, my parents are like, this is not real music.

I'm such a fan of your parents.

I'm sorry.

Parents are cool.

They're pretty cool.

Because honestly, that is beautiful music and I love it.

And like,

but then I also just felt like I didn't know what the cool kids were listening to because I just wanted to listen to like Caterpillar by the Cure on repeat, which is the weirdest song ever.

And I remember one time making all my cousins watch the music video and them being like, you need help.

Like, what is this?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, it's very weird.

Never judge someone for their music preference.

That is the message.

That's the number one, the number one rule.

Yeah, because anyone who's like,

not knowing what I like.

Not knowing what the cool kids are listening to makes you the cool kid.

Trust.

Oh, I wish like 14-year-old Eliza could hear that.

Boy, does she need to hear that?

Alex Dubaine is up next with a story that really hits home for me.

I was a teenager staying in Washington, D.C., when I met a guy who was willing to trade my Ramones album for a one-way bus ticket to New York.

This was fortuitous because getting to New York was part of my super big revenge plan against my parents and everyone who had ever rejected or bullied me for being queer.

And the plan went like this: go to New York because that's where you go to be famous.

Become a rock star, make everyone sorry.

It was only when I got to New York and the sun was setting and the temperature was dropping that I felt like perhaps I should have fleshed out this plan a little bit more

to include like shelter, food, and more than the $2.17 funding funding I had.

I was sitting in Washington Square Park trying to act cool like I didn't care, and that was when I met Robin.

Robin was another native kid who had determinately bleached his hair, just like Mike Monroe from Hanoi Rocks.

And he came up and started talking to me.

Robin had been on the streets since he's 14 when he ran away from foster care, which could have made some people jaded.

But with Robin, it was like it made him more aware of what other people were suffering.

So when he found out that I didn't have a place to stay, he said, come stay with me.

That first night, we listened to music and talked about bands we liked.

And then slowly we began to talk about the deeper things in life.

At that time, I tried to act like I didn't care about anything because if you don't care, you can't be hurt.

But I found myself telling him about things in my childhood childhood that hurt me.

He had reached across the bed to me and pulled me close and said,

Nobody's going to hurt you when I'm here.

And it scared me to death.

Because in the world I came from, of course, if somebody gave you a place to stay, they were going to touch you, but I didn't think that way, like he really cared.

And that was something new and frightening for me.

I just come to New York for my revenge plan and not to fall in love love or something hallmark like that.

But that was what happened over the next few months.

The thing I remember most about our relationship

is that Robin had all these dreams for what our life could be.

And when he found out that I could paint and draw, he used to tell me stories about where we'd live and the dogs we'd own and the things we'd do.

And he'd say, draw that for me.

And I would, and he'd put it up on the wall.

Robin had this idea that when we turned 18, everything was going to be different.

Like we had had to be strong swimmers in an unforgiving ocean and being 18 was the shore.

But as each of us rolled past that mark in our lives, we found out that addictions and problems just follow you.

I can remember a few weeks before Robin was going to turn 19, he looked at me and said,

nothing's really going to change, is it?

I said, yeah, it is, of course it is.

And I pointed to all the drawings I'd drawn of our future.

And he smiled at me and said, the thing I like about you most is you've got such a good heart that you're really shitty at lying.

I wish that maybe I'd been a better liar or I believed more because

when Robin turned 19 on his birthday, he took his own life.

I'd left New York, I'd left behind those drawings, and I just wanted to forget.

But I found that I couldn't forget, but not in a painful way, but in a way that throughout my life when I had wanted to quit, I'd remember all the things he believed I could do.

When I was 51 years old, I had an opportunity to finally go back to New York City after all those years.

This time I was going back to do a show.

I wasn't coming in on a Greyhound bus, but I was flying in on a jet, coach, but it was a jet.

When I got to New York, I decided I was going to check into my hotel and then walk around the places where we used to hang out.

All of them seemed strangely clean and gentrified.

As I walked around, I allowed myself to daydream of what if Robin had lived, what if he was walking right beside me and we were celebrating coming back to this city with a better life.

And then I wondered, would he still love me if he was here today?

What would he think of the kind of person I am?

As I was crossing the street and stepping up onto the sidewalk, I looked down at the curb and there was a pink and black sticker and it said,

You're doing just fine, keep going.

And I stood there looking at it with all the life of New York City around me

and I knew that I had never ever regretted allowing myself to fall in love.

That was Aleister Bain.

When we asked him how his younger self would describe him now, Alistair said, although it is a bit disappointing that the rock star thing never panned out, being an artist and having seven dogs is a pretty sweet deal.

We were curious what Alistair's band sounded like and sent him an email asking if we could hear a song or two.

He responded, sadly, we never recorded anything, but perhaps that's best for humanity.

While our hair was on point, our talent may have been lacking.

But if you want to see a picture of him during his rock star days, check out themoth.org/slash grown.

Alistair and Eddie's stories are so different, but they also have some surprising connections.

We wanted to explore those connections and get these two amazing storytellers, both at very different stages of their life, to have a conversation about storytelling, music, memory, and so much more.

Here's Eddie and Alistair.

When I first

began listening to music, I was the awkward kid in a small town.

And so

for me, the connection at first was between me and the music.

And

I don't know if I expected to find a community behind the music, but I very quickly did.

For me, in the 80s as a queer kid, it was really profound for me that in that scene, people didn't care about sexual orientation or gender identity

for the most part.

And

that was an incredible feeling to be able to be like I could be honest about that part of myself.

And so

I really went from feeling like I would never fit in anywhere to fitting in there.

That's awesome.

I still feel very new to punk, which I feel like is also feels like a good thing.

But I also

am very struck by how much it has made me feel like powerful in myself, especially when I don't.

And also having a very similar experience of

finding punk as an outlet for like queer identities was really cool.

Like a safety in it that I did not.

I very much did not expect to find.

And it feels very hopeful whenever I think about it and powerful.

I remember though that,

you know, people that sort of saw that I was new to town, a little bit uncertain and

maybe always kind of standing to the side or the corner, they were so friendly and welcoming to me.

And

at one point, me and three of my friends all shared a one-room

room.

And

it, there was sort of this whole sense of taking care of each other in that scene

that went beyond the music and

into a sense of choosing family, especially for young queer people, because at that time, especially, and sadly it still happens today, a lot of times families will cut ties with.

a young person who's queer.

And so

my friends really became my family.

And

it was something I never really thought I would have.

And it was the most valuable thing in the world to me.

And we could fight like brothers and sisters do.

But at the end of the day, we were always there for each other.

Yeah.

Oh, I think there's something really special about punk and it being very centered around this, or it should be centered around this idea of making sure that

it is a space for people who feel like they don't fit in and

there's a feeling of like productivity there and just

that

not being alone is an active thing and creating it is creating a space which

yeah it feels it is very powerful This has been wonderful.

Thank you so much for having this conversation with me.

I enjoyed it so much.

It's always great to meet somebody else who loves the same music and absolutely loved your story and will probably listen to it over and over again in the future because I could really relate.

Yeah, your story meant a lot to me.

It felt, they felt sort of like, it was really nice to just be like, these are...

feel vaguely very connected in different just like at different times

you just listened to an episode of grown if you like what you heard there's four other episodes available right now wherever you get your podcasts and you can go to grownpod.com for more information on how to listen and the people that make the show as the senior editor i am so proud of this podcast working with aliza and fonso with our education team hearing these amazing stories It's been a magical experience, and we know you'll love it.

From all of us here at the Moth, have a storyworthy week.

Sarah Jane Johnson is the Director of Creative Operations at the Moth.

She's passionate about the transformative power of storytelling and keeping the trains running on time.

Originally from Nebraska, she lives in Brooklyn with her son.

This episode of the Moth podcast was produced by Sarah Austin Janess, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Solinger.

The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Catherine Burns, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Jennifer Birmingham, Kate Tullers, Marina Cluche, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Leanne Gulley, and Aldi Casa.

All moth stories are true as remembered by the storytellers.

For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.

The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public at PRX.org.

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