ERIN L. MILLER

Growing up near Cleveland, Ohio gives me a predisposition for things of a darker matter. Home to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, a river that once caught fire in the 60s, and six-month winters, Northeast Ohio breeds into its people a certain kind of grit and tenacity. It’s no wonder then that I gravitated toward the likes of punk, metal, garage rock, and similar genres. It’s a musical camp I fall back on often when I write (both poetry and copywriting). So much so did the habit

Photo credit A crowd of classic punks, young college students, and a healthy mix of alternative types fill the Cat’s Cradle as FIDLAR takes stage. Out the gate, they launch into the high-energy, rowdy-rock sound they’re known for. Outfitted with punchy guitar riffs and screaming vocals, the band is their own breed of punk. FIDLAR (an acronym for the pithy skate mantra “Fuck It Dog, Life’s A Risk”) has become the soundtrack for the garage punk scene in California. The band beg