In a time when punk bands are merely social clubs to grow beer bellies in and hardcore bands are just genre-centric, font-fetishists, a band like Agatha couldn’t be more timely. Agatha stands out as art in a world of photocopies, because they are relentless in their directive. They are unabashedly queer, feminist, and radical and, thus, reconstruct a dialogue that hasn’t been present in punk for a long time. Listening to their songs and reading their lyrics often makes me uneasy, even though they are not particularly confrontational or reactionary. Their songs come from a more personal place, so it’s the courage of their convictions that challenge me as a listener and, more importantly, as a human being. They come from a personal demand to be recognized and respected that makes me question my privilege, complacency, and apathy. Why has it been so long since I’ve felt this way in anything involving punk? This isn’t easy-listening music like crust, restating the obvious like “war is bad” in a clichéd and detached manner. No, Agatha is so fresh in their anger that they render the “preaching to the choir” argument irrelevant because the punk scene itself has become so complacent and apathetic and “anti-P.C” (a term that I refuse to recognize) that the scene itself needs to be shaken up. I know that I’m shaken up. The power in these songs does more than move me. It moves me to be a better person.
–Craven (Self-released, [email protected])