There’s an obvious comparison between Cami, Period Bomb’s glitter glue holding the insanity of her project together, and the embodiment of punk spirit himself, GG Allin. They both have a penchant for bodily fluids (in Period Bomb’s case, menstrual blood), don’t care if their music is trashed by non-believers, and put every shred of their soul into their art.

The difference is that Cami is grimy, punk rock purity.

Period Bomb gives a shit about social consciousness, but they won’t let that spoil their fun and sense of humor. They run a hot-line (877.577.BOOM) sexier than the Creep, Corey, and G.L.O.W. hotlines combined, put out Period Bomb Pops cereal, and make handmade merch. But that’s just the fuse — the explosive stuff is their music.

Covering the whole spectrum of punk, from the ambient lo-fi bedroom sessions of her early solo project Mysterr, to the neon girl gang of riot grrrl (earlier work Oily Girls and Gnarly Princess rep this era), and, as of now, a state of perfectly chaotic noise. The kind that’s impossible to tame and look away from, like a glowing orb of musical anarchy. That energy is captured on their new LP, Permanently Wet, recorded in a prestigious Montreal studio.

The album doesn’t yet have an official release date, but having had the chance to listen to it in full, I can confirm that Period Bomb is brutal, weird, and wild. The jagged, angular guitars sound like a demented tilt-a-whirl of death, Cami’s ranting, screams, and chants amplified by a layered overlay of her own voice, giving a feeling of a near revolution of noise, or at least blurred vision and dizziness.

And they not only support other musicians on DIY tours, they’ve formed an indie collective with other outcasts against the grind, Miami-based Crass Lips Records.

I talked to Cami and the rest of Period Bomb (Drummer Gladys Harlow, Guitarist Donald Deyo, bassist Bobby Nuncio) on the phone as they were on the road to a show in Beaumont about the independent music scene, the current state of punk, and their trademark, literal period bomb.

“We used to play with fake blood to show my sarcasm in a performance art way,” Cami said about the period in Period Bomb. “After a while, the fake blood made me really sick, so I started to use my real blood once a month when I have it.” On the process of harvesting her blood, she says, “I would collect it in a diva cup, then put it in a juice bottle and drink it. They would think it’s beet juice or something, but when I spit it at them they’d think there’s no way I’d do that with my real blood. But then the smell gave it away.”

On getting creative with the feminine discharge, Cami said that they would supersoak the crowd with it in “water guns shaped like grenades.” When asked if they’ll rain blood at their San Antonio show tonight, Cami said it’s not that time of the month.

Asked if there might be a new wave of punk inspired by the Trump Administration, one of the Period Bomb members, Bobby, chimed in: “I think it’s going to be really awkward for a second, because everyone’s going to be super controversial to be standing out.” But not all is combative in this new punk movement. “Queer people are going to shine really hard and it’s going to be the best ever,” the band says.

“If people never have the chance to be inspired by these artists who clearly needed music in their lives to become a better person and get through everything life has thrown at them,” Cami said on the importance and empowerment of music and self-expression. She added, “I think going to shows can be a really inspiring thing and inspire them to do something totally different with their lives, at least as a form of expression.”

“Letting people perform in your house, living room, in your kitchen, whatever you can facilitate can make a big difference in art and society.”

Period BOMB vs. Problem Child’s The Famelzz Tour can be caught at Paper Tiger today at 8pm with Pill. If you can’t make it, they’ll be back with Problem Child Monday, March 13 at 527 El Paso St. Also, Period Bomb will join the stage with other “noise punk weirdos” at Jimmy’s Wurl, an unofficial SXSW showcase based on unsung hero of the underground Jimmy and his YouTube channel. The fest will go down at Shirley’s Temple on Saturday, March 18.

Check out the video for “Jackshit” off of Permanently Wet.

The pop music landscape can be a very bleak place full of cash grabbing celebrities with no artistic integrity or a golden age of big personalities singing the catchiest songs with the catchiest, if empty, lyrics. But really, shouldn’t we as music consumerist be weary of the constant onslaught of sexually provocative pop stars twerkin’ and grindin’ their way to the top without very much actual talent to stand on?

Enter Kidz Bop, a multi-million corporate machine dedicated to cleaning out parent’s wallets with a rotating choir of fresh-faced tweens, eager and untainted by the cruel music biz. Maybe that’s what makes Kidz Bop refreshing. Although they rehash the same tired pop hits being circulated on mainstream radio stations, but with mostly “kid friendly” lyrics, the Kidz Boppers are a nice break from the exhausted, egotistical, tabloid-fueled pop star archetype.

But on the flipside, Kidz Bop can be looked, and more commonly frowned upon, as a soulless, money grubbing and greedy runoff of what the music business has become in recent memory. When pop songs with lyrics centered on adult-orientated subject matter are changed, the results often range from secondhand embarrassment to full out laugh riot.

Here are the times when kid-friendly lyrics turned into unintentional and downright inappropriate for a teenybopper to be singing their heart out to.

Meghan Trainor, “All About that Bass”
The lyric change in this hit booty anthem is more ass-centric than the original lyrics. Instead of the innocent but obnoxious call to bring “booty back,” Kidz Bop went one step further by what honestly sounds like “bringing anal back.” Seriously. But let’s ask Kidz Bop another burning question: When was anal ever out?

Britney Spears, “Toxic”
There is something very uncomfortable about kids singing Britney Spears’ songs, as she too, was a child star who had fallen from grace. But when the former Mouseketeer’s song is “Toxic,” an ode to a dangerous lover, things get a little sticky. “I need a hit/ Baby, give me it,” sings a chorus of tweens, unaware of the reality of being addicted to a “no good guy.” The Kidz Bop masterminds could have at least changed some of the lyrics, but they were probably too busy diving into pools of money to do so.

Macklemore and Ryan Lewis, “Thrift Shop”
So maybe the Kidz Bop Kids did an effective job neutering a song with some questionable subject matter, like references to having a “big cock” and R. Kelly, but the way they executed it was fodder for a swarm of instant internet hate. I guess that’s what happens when Kidz Boppers go from the kiddie pool to the deep end of the rap water park.

Ke$ha, “Tik Tok”
Kidz Bop gets the at-least-you-tried award for turning an ode to gettin’ tipsy and brushing teeth with bottles of jack into a fun little ditty about getting silly and other shit that prepubescents do. But I still don’t get what it means for a 12-year-old to feel like hardcore rapper P Diddy.

Nicki Minaj, “Starships”
What’s even more offensive than children singing “We’re higher than a motherfucker?” Declaring “We’re Kidz Bop and we’re taking over.” The sad thing is that they’re right, with countless gold certified albums and sold out tours to back them up.

“Fuckin’ magnets, how do they work?” For those who only know Insane Clown Posse for “Miracles,” the now internet-infamous, meme-generating music video, there’s a lot more to Detroit’s horrocore hip-hop group made up of Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope.

Violent J, who resembles Food Network’s Guy Fieri, even down to the frosted tips, and Shaggy 2 Dope were professional wrestlers turned rappers. Like fellow grease paint rockers Kiss, who’ve created their own empire that includes toys, movies and even their own Restaurant, ICP’s own brand called Hatchetgear- carried in every Hot Topic and Spencer’s- movies (Big Money Hustlas and Big Money Rustlas) and a Pro wrestling promotion proves that music can branch out into being a multi-million dollar industry. 14 albums in, ICP is more than music to their devoted “down with the clown” fanbase, called Juggalos and Juggalettes, so much so that they have established their own mythology called the Dark Carnival and the Gathering of the Juggalo, a multi-day festival devoted to all things in the Psychopathic Records family.

When the Insane Clown Posse came on stage, it was like the psych ward just broke loose- the energy was completely unhinged. Much like a family reunion, with Juggalos rapping along, knowing every word, cherishing every song. Joining ICP on stage were clowns closely resembling the ones from the classic ’80s film Killer Klowns From Outer Space, either waving flags with the hatchet man printed on it or dousing the audience with Faygo. It was like a Faygo tsunami hit. Gallons upon gallons from liter bottles of the soft drink, ranging from every classic soda pop flavor, were sprayed at the audience, like a golden, Faygo shower consistently throughout the night. Liter bottles became giant buckets towards the end of the show, leaving everyone hot, sweet, sweaty and sticky from the Faygo bloodbath. No one was safe. Fans were clamoring for the empty Faygo bottles to take home as a souvenir in remembrance of the concert (I even scored one.)

Going into the concert, I didn’t know what to expect. Juggalos were recently labeled as a gang by the FBI for “violent activities.” I wasn’t sure if I was going to be scoffed at because I stood out from the majority of the face painted fans, decked out in their finest hatchet man jerseys, tee shirts and bling, but I wasn’t. Everyone was cool to me, and I was even complemented by numerous Juggalettes. Most Juggalos live on the fringe of mainstream society, and look toward ICP and their fellow Juggalos for a support group, somewhere they’ll fit in and aren’t judged. Becoming a Juggalo, to them, was like joining a family, a collection of likeminded people, and for once, feel like they belong to something bigger than themselves.

What happens when the “most hated man on TV” trades daggers for an acoustic guitar?

When Game of Thrones bad boy Ramsay Bolton’s not releasing the hounds, raping, murdering or flaying, he spends his free time writing John Mayer-esque pop tunes and filming corresponding music videos. As a reverse-emo, Bolton inflicts his internal torment onto others as a way to soothe his angst, and now, with a record deal, he’s not just causing bodily harm.

If GOT would focus less on the 99.9% of the time Bolton commits acts of unadulterated evil, and more on his travels from OG Bolton HQ, the Dreadfort, to a chill coffee shop every Friday night to promote his music, it’d makes him seem less like an evil asshole and more of the “misunderstood, tortured artist” he really appears to be in his video for “Bang! Bang!”

If you value your life, buy his debut album Dinard and learn/love all 11 songs by heart. Y’know, just in case you’re up north in Westeros and happen to cross paths with Bolton mid-killing spree, so you don’t seem like a total poseur as you beg for your life. And if you say “Courthouse to Crackhouse” is your absolute fave, he may go easy on you and just chop your frickin’ head off instead of his go-to flay job.

Fill disclosure: Welsh actor Iwan Rheon, who portrays Ramsay on TV, is the singer-songwriter behind the project. Ramsay Bolton is a fictional character created by writer George R. R. Martin, duh.

Hailed as one of the most bizarre groups in recent pop music history, South African rap-rave trio Die Antwoord, made up of Ninja, Yo-Landi Visser and DJ Hi-Tek. They’re like a zef Cerberus, a foul mouthed three-headed entity that slays and kills whatever they touch, from toy making and starring in films (2015’s Chappie and Harmony Korine’s Umshini Wam), to the shock-rap that made them famous.

Like an albino manic pixie who haunts dreams with baby doll coos, Visser turns into a blinged-out nightmare when she raps, sometimes with sweetness, other times with brutal intensity. Heavy Afrikaans-accented rap assassin Ninja, who sways between swaggering fuckboy on the mic to a sincere romantic (“Ugly Boy”), is the masculine answer to Visser’s savage femininity.

Their weirdness and penchant for controversy make them demented champions for offbeat music that broke into the impossible: the mainstream. Set to release their fourth full-length album, Mount Ninji and Da Nice Time Kid, on September 16, Die Antwoord’s evolving style shows no signs of running out of magic. 

Gossip broke out a couple days ago among most major music pubs about a rumored breakup that’ll go down after their fifth album and once the group completes a planned feature “gangster film.” To be sure, this doomed prophecy is nothing new, and both members continue to deny of the claim. Ninja announced six years ago after Die Antwoord’s debut $O$ was released that the band was finite and the members planned to pursue other projects after their fifth album was finished.

And in another recent headline-making incident, Die Antwoord called out the Hot Topic-branded movie Suicide Squad for “jockin’ our style,” complete with a mini-clip comparing Joker and Harley Quinn’s costumes to themselves — including a long trench coat, tattoos and Ninja’s pop art style — on Visser’s Instagram profile.

No one is safe from Die Antwoord. Lady Gaga was caught in a feud with Die Antwoord after she invited them to open for her South Africa tour, causing her to be the subject of “Fatty Boom Boom.” In the music video, Gaga, played by a drag queen in her infamous meat dress, visits the gynecologist to remove a prawn, only to be mauled to death by a lion at the end.

There’s a method to Die Antwoord’s madness. Even throughout DA’s well-documented history from 2009 to the present, their origin story still feels kinda shaky. Ninja – born the much less cool name Watkin Tudor Jones – and Yo-Landi Visser (Anri du Toit) have spun an ever-changing genesis story. They share a daughter named 16, now deny they’re still romantically involved with each other. Perhaps their origins will forever be a mystery – and that’s what makes Die Antwoord unique. Whether they’ve known each other since they were “very small” or meeting each other as adults at a library, it doesn’t matter in the great scheme of Die Antwoord, but it does shed insight onto their humble beginnings. On YouTube, various videos exist of their projects proto-DA, including their most notable group, Max Normal.TV.

While Max Normal.TV only has two full-length albums and a handful of singles, their YouTube videos give a glimpse into what was before they blew up. “Total Fuckup,” just like the title suggests, is a breakdown by Jones about why he’s failed to be a successful rapper. About 3.23 in, Jones plots a way to become a rap star by getting into the “new rave scene” and by changing his style, look and accent. Enter Die Antwoord. Their trademark song and debut single “Enter the Ninja” can be looked at as a response to “Total Fuckup.” Gone are Jones’ (now Ninja) insecurities and doubts, as his new cocky and boastful alter-ego takes over.

Rising above their squalid South Africa beginnings to become international celebrities, Die Antwoord (which is Afrikaans for “The Answer”) have found the meaning.

Catch Die Antwoord at the Aztec Theatre October 4, at 7pm. Tickets can be bought here.  And check out Die Antwoord’s video for “Banana Brain” from Mount Ninji and Da Nice Time Kid:

With Marching Church, singer/songwriter Elias Bender Rønnenfelt’s ongoing project, he’s an anarchist pinup for brooding young adults lost in the overwhelming age of unrest.

Dane Rønnenfelt first captured the underground’s attention almost a decade ago in Iceage, where he and his bandmates became saviors of the frigid and deep post-punk sound with three albums that, with each release, grew from each other into a different snarling animal.

For Marching Church, Rønnenfelt tamed his razor-sharp aggression into a brutal, savage and stunning chaos, starting on 2015’s This World Is Not Enough and fleshing it out on their latest release, Telling It like It Is. In support of Marching Church’s January 25 show at 1906 S Flores, the Current talked with Rønnenfelt while he was in his native Copenhagen.

Singing out battle cries like “fist-fucked by destiny” (“Lion’s Den”) in his trademark sometimes-slurred-always-intense voice, Rønnenfelt is like a roguish poet who dabbles in nihilist philosophy (of course, however, he rejects any labels). “The words are there for the sake of the song and I do try to package it with a lot of meaning, but it’s not literature or poetry,” he told us. “The music is the ultimate.”

Like most art, songwriting is a meditative process that, according to Rønnenfelt, is a “mixture between hours of sitting at instruments or waiting for years to get there.” He told us that “Once an idea kind of forms itself, I think and sit on it for a long time and let it boil.” He’ll pick it back up again if it still interests him after a month or so. If the idea’s still on his mind after a couple months, “I’ll start knowing that maybe it’s worth pursuing.”

Young and with two ongoing projects, an extensive tour, and a lot on his mind, Elias Rønnenfelt summed up his course of action in one simple credo. “I try not to waste my time.”

In the dark ages of American pop culture (a long time ago, like 1989), musicians didn’t check themselves before wrecking themselves with misogynistic, racist and downright chilling songs. The cringe-inducing songs on this playlist contain just about every PC no no, making us wonder whether they would ever see the light of day on mainstream radio in 2016. Blatant drug references and explicit sexual lyrics don’t apply, ’cause that shit’s not going anywhere. Listener beware, you (and your ears) are about to be offended by yesteryear’s pop music.

Genesis, “Illegal Alien”

This year saw the rise of reality star-turned-presidential-candidate Donald Trump and his infamous stance against Mexican Americans. But, in his defense (not that he deserves it), he never threw on a fake bushy mustache and a sombrero like Phil Collins and crew. With a name that’d make any modern American blush with embarrassment, “Illegal Alien” goes full-on racist, as it tackles every Hispanic stereotype that exists, topped off with Collins singing with a faux Mexican accent. These days, the Alamo historian seems like the most unoffensive rocker ever. But as with everything, trust no one.

Devo, “Mongoloid”

Although “Mongoloid” is supposed to be a satire on the de-evolution of American culture, there’s no way getting past the fact that the word once used as an offensive term for Down’s Syndrome. As the innovators of nerd rock, Devo likley had the purest intentions, but lyrics like “One chromosome too many” make the song more at home on 4chan’s NSFW forum than mainstream radio. But no matter how awful it may seem, “Mongoloid” is still a banger. Oh the woes of being socially conscious…

The Vapors, “Turning Japanese”

Although the Vapors claim that their one-hit wonder “Turning Japanese” isn’t about masturbation, and even if it’s not, the theory will always stick. Masturbation is, in the words of Wikipedia, “the act causing the man to squint and therefore resemble a Japanese person’s eyes.” Pretty offensive to both the Japanese and masturbation enthusiasts everywhere.

Violent Femmes, “Black Girls”

As brilliant as their self-titled debut was, Violent Femmes never struck gold again. “Black Girls” is one of their most strangely offensive efforts, and this is coming from a band who’ve made a name out of sexual frustration and a song about having your way after getting a girl drunk and high. There’s nothing wrong with liking “black girls, oh so much more than the white girls” but things get messy when a “faggot white boy” comes along. It ends with a Christian sentiment that’ll have you begging to hear “Blister in the Sun” (a song about masturbation) again for the millionth time.

Rolling Stones, “Brown Sugar”

Originally called “Black Pussy,” the success of 1969’s “Brown Sugar” still leaves a strange taste, and it ain’t a sweet one. The idea of folks singing and dancing to a song about the slave trade, torture and cunnilingus is bizarre enough, but when “sex symbol” Mick Jagger sings “Brown Sugar, how come you taste so good? / Ah, got me feelin’ now for brown sugar, just like a black girl should” …well, shit gets creepy and sexist. Only in the ’60s.
Beastie Boys, “Girls”

This little number is so offensive, the Beastie Boys actually had to publicly apologize for it. Way before Buddhism and feminism changed their lives, the Beasties were pretty much the go-to rap group for frat boys everywhere. While “Fight for Your Right” was harmless, “Girls” collectively pissed off the whole third-wave feminist movement. Ironic, considering one-third of the boys, Ad-Rock, is married to riot-grrrl queen and Bikini Kill frontwoman Kathleen Hanna.

Guns N’ Roses, “One in a Million”

We all know that Axl Rose is an asshole. Don’t believe me? Listen to “One in a Million,” solely written by Rose. Referring to himself as a “small town white boy,” Rose sings over a folksy acoustic guitar “With Police and Niggers, that’s right, Get out of my way” and “Immigrants and faggots, They make no sense to me.” Perhaps bad boy Axl was trying to be edgy with his “brutal honesty,” but instead sounds like a racist and homophobic douchebag. But is anyone surprised?

John Lennon, “Woman is the Nigger of the World”

Even though the song itself is a feminist protest anthem with good intentions, the N-word in the title will always scream “Das Racist.” Lennon seems like the kind of guy who says the taboo word and thinks it’s groovy because his black friends say its “cool.” The avant-garde Beatle really dropped the bomb on this one.

George Michael, “Father Figure”

Way before it was deemed “sexy” to call a sexual partner “daddy,” George Michael wrote a chilling song about a daddy-daughter relationship. After declaring that he’s banging his girl, he seductively sings:

To be bold and naked
At your side
(baby)
I will be your father figure
(oh baby)
Put your tiny hand in mine
(I’d love to)
I will be your preacher teacher
(be your daddy)

Yikes.

Prince, “Sister”

Of all rockers to sing about incest, the Purple One seemingly doesn’t rank high on a potential government watch list. But goddamn, “Sister” might be more screwed than all of the songs on this list combined. Not wanting to speak ill of the recently deceased, hopefully Prince was just wanting to blow our minds, especially when he declared “Incest is everything it’s said to be.” He also attributes his sex symbol status to said “sister” when he sings “She’s the reason for my, uh, sexuality.”

https://open.spotify.com/embed/user/sa_current/playlist/01Fc4kiZ5ncph3e7k3Oh8y

The more misunderstood genres of music. Take a quick trip to internet slang bible Urban Dictionary, known for savage user-submitted definitions, to understand why “emo,” even to some who still have feels for the genre, usually feels like a modern insult. There are the usual “emo kid” stereotypes: the weepy LiveJournal blog, a comb over of black bangs, copious amounts of eyeliner, subscription to Alternative Press, and circulation-cutting skinny jeans.

That’s probably because the music that birthed the term isn’t exactly easy to define. During the height of emo’s popularity, at the turn of the century, the genre itself had morphed into this stereotype of moody, sensitive, dark, theatrical and sometimes intense music, paired with chugging guitars, mid-song breakdowns and pained howls.

But there’s a lot more to it than that.

First, a quick primer for the uninitiated: What would eventually become labeled as “emo” music really started to form in the mid-1980s, with beginnings as hardcore punk’s sensitive little brother, where political rants were replaced with confessional lyrics of personal torment. The style gradually gained momentum and then mainstream popularity in the ‘90s with bands like Jimmy Eat World and early Weezer. Then came the rise of mass-marketable emo: My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Fall Out Boy and Dashboard Confessional.

Like MySpace, emo is still lingering, but it’s certainly not as relevant as it was in the beginning of the 2000s. But despite emo fading into an ashy gray, it still holds an important place in the hearts of many in the generation that grew up with its music. San Antonio, a hardcore town that loves harder music, was majorly lacking a 21-plus gathering grounds for former emo kids to relive their grade school jams.

Until the SATX Emo Club emerged, that is. Launched in February, they’re now a staple on the Strip every last week of the month crowding Brass Monkey’s Jimmy Eat Wednesday night.

We talked to Suli Mirza, former guitarist for post-hardcore band Before You Accuse Me and SATX Emo Club member. Formed in 2005, the White Rabbit fan favorites had their moments of local greatness. They opened for big-name artists on their San Antonio stops and won countless battles of the bands during the genre’s heyday.

Mirza, when asked why he thinks San Antonio still cares about emo, said “We all know trends come and go and we all know that we have to grow up in one way or another, so its just refreshing to dedicate one night per month to our nostalgia from those years. Who doesn’t like to scream Taking Back Sunday songs at the top of their lungs?”

Mirza further explained why many are so nostalgic for the genre. “The emo genre had a no judgment-type of philosophy, which was the opposite of exclusive, and was based off of love and acceptance because being emo was about admitting your weaknesses and flaws and being okay with them. It was okay to be emotional; sadness is natural human emotion. It was very communal.

Emo never completely died. Its generation just grew up.

The permanent smell of weed wafted through the air, christening the fest in a way into the ranks of Electric Daisy Carnival. But this wasn’t like the EDM holy land or any other similar hip hop hotspot: Mala Luna Fest is in a class of its own, partly because it’s unique to a city that’s not renowned for large music festivals, San Antonio.

Along with the inaugural fest, heavy artillery was called for and answered with artist such as G-Eazy, Travis Scott and Kaskade, all high caliber superstars, crammed into two days on Halloween Weekend.

While pot smoke was the official scent of Mala Luna Fest, the food selection – even with the insanely wrapped around lines – was better than average fest options. Big Daddies Eats and Treats set up a colorful food truck, and other restaurants such as Little Jamaica and Frank fueled fest goers. Other attractions included a cube of large surfaces for local artists to work their magic on, Halloween/day of the dead face themed face painting, and a vinyl records booth.

The festival attire was standard – crocheted fringe heavy tops, string bikinis and sun-shielding baseball hats – with the addition of costumes. Space Jam was a reoccurring look with sugar skull skeletons and risqué rave monsters coming in second, celebrating the marriage of hip hop and Halloween.

The music made the compact festival worth the over-crowding, despite the almost dangerous conditions. During the start of Lil Yachty’s set, a stampede of Urban Outfitters attire, kitty ears, and flower crowns almost knocked me down multiple times and pulled me under, like an undertow at the beach, as they rushed the stage. Too many people crammed into the less-than-spacious Lone Star Brewery was a hazard that thankfully didn’t result in any causalities.
Other than the dense crowd, the fest was free of drama and danger as no one (from my experience) broke out into a fist fight or brawl.

The festival schedule was well-organized: local performers kicked off the show and the big-timers hitting the stage later in the day on one stage, giving the homegrown rappers massive exposure and a bigger platform. Highlights include Phillip Wolf and his crew throwing packaged rolling papers at the audience, while others such as Kranium and Greg G let their music shine in no-frills sets.

Around 5 p.m., the crowd started to bloom, with young Cash Money Records artist Jacquees testing the waters as he serenaded the crowd with new songs off his debut “Good Feeling” and older favorites, “Like Baby.”

Shit got real when Lil Yachty rocked the boat with songs off his three mixtapes, most notably “Lil Boat.” But Lil Yachty’s music alone wasn’t causing a stir: He amped up a feud with Soulja Boy during his whole set. From a white shirt with “Pray 4 Soulja” written in sharpie to an on-the-spot diss track where the whole crowd was chanting “fuck Soulja Boy,” it’s safe to say that Lil Boat has sunk the “Crank That” rapper’s ship. The beef over model India Love, who the rappers both have ties to, is currently in the process of being squashed. After the dust settled, Lil Yauchy closed his set with “One Night” before his final sentiment “Fuck Soulja Boy, stay in school.”

Duo Rae Sremmurd followed up with pink and red furs (despite the sweltering Texas heat that plagued the festival), and bomb ass hits, such as “Black Beatles” and “No Flex Zone.” The whole crowd was screaming the addictive chorus “that girl is a real crowd pleaser” and “somebody come get her, she’s dancing like a stripper” on the top of their lungs as Rae Sremmurd energetically pumped up the audience. Tory Lanez, Steve Aoki and Travis Scott rounded out Saturday night, showing that three totally different artists can join each other at the Lone Star Brewery under the same night sky.

Following the previous day and the screams of “Free Kevin Gates” and “Fuck Donald Trump,” Sunday was just as heavy, but more low-key in mood. Lil Uzi Vert started working the big crowds with bangers “Money Longer” and “You Was Right,” complementing the “girl who flashed her tits” as “cool,” and sparking a hip hop mosh pit.

Following was sultry songstress Kehlani. The 21-year-old R&B singer-songwriter brought some much needed girl-power to Mala Luna, and she acknowledged it. “Who’re my girls out there” she said, “You’re important, just making sure you know that.” She blew the fest up when she broke out her hit song from the Suicide Squad soundtrack, “Gangsta.” “I need a gangsta to love me better,” she cooed in the sing-a-long chorus. She broke out new material from her upcoming debut album, including future radio jam “CRZY.”

The name on everyone’s tongue Sunday night was G-Eazy. Making a name for himself on radio pop hits “Me, Myself, And I” and Britney Spears’ latest single “Make Me…” the “Coldest White Rapper since the Joker” didn’t disappoint the hardcore fans as he broke out his heaviest songs, dressed as Jared Leto’s gangsta Joker. Although things got a little Macklemore on his “Fuck Donald Trump” freestyle and PSA, he kept it edgy on with lyrics “Pussy is my favorite vice” from “Order More” and “I’m fucking your girlfriend, and there’s nothing you can about it” from “I Mean It.”

G-Eazy closed with “You’ve been the best crowd of my entire life.” And his words were true. The Mala Luna Fest’s crowd showed serious love to all the performers with the intention to vibe well and, most of all, to have a good time.

MTV’s not a rebellious teen anymore. The once revolutionary channel is turning 35-years-old next month, and not without the obligatory midlife crisis.

The never-ending television supply marked a radical change from the baby-boomers to the new era, generation X. For all of us now hooked on the modern luxury of 24-hour entertainment, the thought of how television would cut to eerie static after playing the Star Spangled Banner is the stuff of nightmares. The patriotic descent into hell is of the past, as basic channels keep on-air with infomercials for fluff like Girls Gone Wild (before it’s bankruptcy), the Bow “full gym experience at home” Flex and the nauseating America’s Diamonds broken record tape.

MTV and the introduction of cable to the masses is perhaps best summed up in a brilliant 1991 episode of the Simpsons, “Homer vs. Lisa and the 8th Commandment,” for those who weren’t there to experience the hysteric excitement – or the hefty sum of money – of the TV revolution. Cable TV was, and still is, the equivalent to Wi-Fi and surfing the web.

But, despite MTV’s reliance on reality television rather than the music videos that made it famous, the channel should still be celebrated for what it once was. MTV is a lot like Madonna, one of many pop stars to whom the network provided a platform, because despite both pandering to young audiences, it doesn’t take away from their groundbreaking influence. “Bitch, I’m Madonna” is about the same as “Bitch, I’m MTV.”

Below is a brief timeline outlining the rise and inevitable fall of Music Television.

“Video Killed the Radio Star”

“Ladies and gentlemen, rock and roll.”

The short sentence set fire to pop culture in 1981. In the minute the screen went black at 12:01 p.m., MTV was born and American culture would be blown to smithereens. After the dust settled, the music biz would never be the same. “Video Killed the Radio Star” by The Buggles was the first music video played, and every word of the new wave one-hit wonder came true, like a pop Nostradamus.

And this is the channel that gave us Jersey Shore and Teen Mom.

“I Want My MTV”

Shit got real in 1982 when the first crop of famous rock stars, including Pete Townsend, Stevie Nicks, Mick Jagger, Adam Ant, Pat Benatar, The Police and David Bowie made ads exclaiming “I Want My MTV” in front of garish, ’80s-tastic backgrounds and animated doodles.

“For no mere mortal can resist/The evil of the thriller”

In 1983, Micheal Jackson’s “Thriller” gave birth to cinematic music videos with a 14-minute pop song meets horror movie. Without MJ, pretentious and overwrought “visuals” wouldn’t make the mainstream. I’m looking at you, Lana Del Rey and Lady Gaga.

The “Super Bowl for youth”

Still one of MTV’s saving graces, the 1984 Video Music Awards started with controversy, way before the “Imma let you finish” heard around the world, starting the Kanye-Taylor feud. In a conservative America, the image of a wedding gown clad Madonna singing “Like a Virgin” while provocatively rolling around a stark stage to expose her garters and underwear on national television, was shocking. Less memorial performances from Huey Lewis and the News, Rod Stewart, Tina Turner and ZZ Top finished off the inaugural show. In addition, 1992 saw the premier of the MTV Movie Awards.

Spring Break Forever

Even though MTV Spring Break didn’t reach it’s peak until the ’90s, 1986 saw the start of it all with live coverage from Daytona Beach, Florida. Throughout it’s run over the decades, MTV Spring Break saw stars such as Destiny’s Child, No Doubt and Paris Hilton get wet ‘n’ wild.

Intimate, Raw and Unplugged

While Nirvana’s appearance in 1994 made headlines and won awards, MTV Unplugged debuted in 1989 with not-Nirvana artist Squeeze, Syd Straw and Elliot Easton. Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, Pearl Jam, Nirvana, LL Cool J and Alanis Morissette would later have appearances during the show’s run. Still, nothing can top one of Kurt Cobain’s last taped performances and his chilling cover of “Where Did You Sleep Last Night.” Ever.

Reality killed the video star

Some would say that 1992 saw the start to MTV’s fall. The premiere of The Real World and it’s spin-off Road Rules brought reality TV into the mainstream, good or bad, and although the still ongoing series documented young people and current issues, it can be to blame for guilty pleasures The Real Housewives series on Bravo and Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

Beavis and Butt-Head and Daria

Semi-endearing but always hysterical assholes Beavis and Butt-Head were introduced to the hearts of the MTV Generation in 1993. The catchphrases were timeless (“I am the Great Cornholio,” “Cool,” “This sucks”), the animation was crude and the humor was sophomoric, but it, in my opinion, was the best cartoon on TV next to the Simpsons. Creator Mike Judge went on to create King of Hill, but B&BH started it all. Popular MTV spin-off Daria was the anti Beavis and Butt-Head, as the monotone heroine was the voice to a generation of disenchanted and angsty girls.

The New Millennium

The 2000s marks the final stages of music decay to bring forth MTV’s current dictator – reality television. Although the bulk of new programming is culturally significant, there’s no relation to the musical foundations. Wildly popular hits such as Jackass, MTV Cribs, The Osbournes, Pimp My Ride, Punk’d, True Life, The Hills and it’s spin-offs along with other hit TV shows, sparked a reality Renaissance. It was a golden age that will never happen again, even with newer attempts to recreate the thunder with Teen Mom, Jersey Shore and Catfished.

Because of an over-saturation of music media, like YouTube, Spotify and iPods, MTV didn’t sellout, they adapted. And to celebrate the 35 years of MTV and the decades of entertainment it’s gifted to us, Brass Monkey is throwing a dance party in the channel’s honor next month.

Throughout the changes, I still want my MTV.