Pinkwash is a two-piece punk band from Philadelphia, PA and Washington, DC. It’s tempting to categorize Pinkwash using terms like post-hardcore and math-rock, but those sterile labels don’t do justice to their raw, menacing, anguished sound.

Where I come from, you can’t talk about Pinkwash without talking about another band, one that’s been broken up for about five years and only ever put out a tape: Ingrid.

The first show my old band Turboslut ever really slayed was with Ingrid. It was our homecoming show after our first tour in 2007. Our engine had seized earlier in the day in York, PA, so we ditched it . . .

The closing of Death By Audio to make room for new corporate office space is about more than the gentrification that has been taking place in Williamsburg, Brooklyn over the last fifteen years. Think about who is moving into this property: it’s not Starbucks or the NY Daily News. It’s Vice. This isn’t simply a case of any old corporation pouncing on profitable real estate; it’s an example of independent counterculture being driven out by the inauthentic corporately controlled version of that same culture.

Independent DIY spaces are closing, and in their places, corporations making money from the commodification of their art and culture are moving in. Independent record stores are closing in Brooklyn while chain retail and Whole Foods expand their vinyl sections. Independent boutiques are closing while Urban Outfitters and American Apparel, massive corporations selling the same types of clothes as the boutiques, expand.

The DIY movement provides an alternative to this system . . .

Guilt, shame, embarrassment. These are feelings you’re likely not afforded to dwell on when you step into the very public arena of performance. Or, if you do, you’d better get over it very quickly.

Guilt: that comes with the self-doubt many performers feel as they come to accept they’re getting recognition for their art.

Shame: from the prospect of baring yourself to an audience, opening yourself up to critics on every platform available, and the consequent embarrassment when you fuck up. And then your actions are probably already on the Internet before you even realise what you’ve done.

Embarrassment: because we all know that performers who have even the smallest amount of public recognition are regarded without acknowledgement of these human qualities.

What happens when these emotions, these painfully human qualities you are expected to discard or bury to achieve your art, are also some of the main symptoms of your chronic illness?

Guilt, shame, embarrassment. These are feelings that can overwhelm the worlds of myself and others who struggle with certain mental illnesses. My mental illnesses—manic depression, anxiety, and all the off-cuts that come with that combination—do not . . .