Almost a year after his disastrous world premiere, Gosling reflected on the haters. “I’ve had other experiences where you try to make something that other people are going to like, and you feel foolish in the end, to pretend to know what that is,” he said at SXSW. “Only you know what you like and want to see, and it’s the only thing—especially if you’re going to direct a film, you have to make like a thousand decisions every day—the only place you can come from is what you gravitate towards, and what works for you.”

The intrepid Gosling has waved off his brutalizing critics by comparing filmmaking to high school, a metaphor that equates Hollywood’s golden boy to the artsy Goth being pounced on by the bullies. “Any time you stick your neck out in high school there’s someone right there to chop your head off,” he told Anne Thompson. As Lost River champion Del Toro put it, boosting Gosling for being true to his inner weirdo: “Use what you are, always as a source of pride, and wear it as a giant ‘Fuck you’ to the world when they tell you that you cannot do something.”

“I now inhabit a life I don’t deserve,” Mr. Carr wrote at the conclusion of “The Night of the Gun,” “but we all walk this earth feeling we are frauds. The trick is to be grateful and hope the caper doesn’t end any time soon.”

How do you feel about bringing the underground to the masses? Do you feel that you’re doing any of the bands you cover a disservice by inviting people who are more mass consumers into the mostly non-corporate DIY world you cover?

What an accusation!

The traditional under/above-ground musical divisions are increasingly flimsy, definitely in the eyes of what music writers decide to pitch. Beyond that, once a recording is released, it’s severed from the artist’s intentions and enters into conversation with the surrounding culture. That’s the case for punk and pop and chip music. I try to engage in that dialog. I write about other genres, but punk is particularly resonant with me on an emotional and physical level, so my coverage skews towards it.

About doing bands a disservice, no. I actually don’t have that much power. Bands disservice themselves by acting foolishly.

As far as the “more mass consumers” bit, I don’t think we should pretend that punks somehow consume less or with more discernment than non-punks. People who just download pop music use a lot less plastic/paper/oil/trees than people whose apartments are full of records.

One of the coolest things about punk, to me, is that it reveres collective, ritualistic activities, like shows. Punk shows can be these amazing environments for celebrating deviance and momentarily subverting the power dynamics that mar the outside world. But a rare balance of venue, people, and sound is needed to make that happen. When punk shows are full of tourists, they’re less likely to tap that potential. I don’t think my writing has invited many tourists into punk shows; regardless, I hope that it has extended conversations instigated by punk to tourists.

These questions have an air of “what we do is secret” ho-hum. Recently, I interviewed a seventy-some-year-old theater organist. He’s played his entire life. He’s never been recorded. He performs with his back to the audience and doesn’t turn around. He’s always the opener. What he does is secret. What punks do is ego-driven and flayed on Tumblr, just like any other niche sort of music. It’s cool that punk retains regional character and homespun scenes despite that, but let’s not be precious.

"My aim was always to survive doing what I like," Sherwood says. 'For some people, going to the studio is like going to the office, but for me, it's never been like work.'

Your music has been called “brave” a lot. Do you consider it brave?

I feel that about myself. It’s a compliment if someone says it. There’s no real consideration of outcome. We’re not really tripping on if anyone is going to like us, if we’re going to get a lot of Twitter followers, or where it’s going to go. It’s just pure. It’s music for the sake of trying to make people feel something; make ‘em dance and make ‘em chill. Without those result-oriented leanings we have the ability to be courageous.

The job of the artist is to always deepen the mystery.

- Francis Bacon

Running orders

They call us now.
Before they drop the bombs.
The phone rings
and someone who knows my first name
calls and says in perfect Arabic
“This is David.”
And in my stupor of sonic booms and glass shattering symphonies
still smashing around in my head
I think "Do I know any Davids in Gaza?"
They call us now to say
Run.
You have 58 seconds from the end of this message.
Your house is next.
They think of it as some kind of war time courtesy.
It doesn’t matter that
there is nowhere to run to.
It means nothing that the borders are closed
and your papers are worthless
and mark you only for a life sentence
in this prison by the sea
and the alleyways are narrow
and there are more human lives
packed one against the other
more than any other place on earth
Just run.
We aren’t trying to kill you.
It doesn’t matter that
you can’t call us back to tell us
the people we claim to want aren’t in your house
that there’s no one here
except you and your children
who were cheering for Argentina
sharing the last loaf of bread for this week
counting candles left in case the power goes out.
It doesn’t matter that you have children.
You live in the wrong place
and now is your chance to run
to nowhere.
It doesn’t matter
that 58 seconds isn’t long enough
to find your wedding album
or your son’s favorite blanket
or your daughter’s almost completed college application
or your shoes
or to gather everyone in the house.
It doesn’t matter what you had planned.
It doesn’t matter who you are
Prove you’re human.
Prove you stand on two legs.
Run.

Running Orders by Lena Khalaf Tuffaha