Credit: Dangerous Minds / Trustkill Records

By any possible standard you could measure a punk band by, Racetraitor were legit.

The Chicago hardcore punk band weren’t just comfortable in their little box the way most hardcore bands are. No matter how much they might call themselves ‘punks’, most hardcore bands are content to preach to the choir. For them, praxis is shouting sixth-form polemics into a group of sixth-form activists over sixth-rate Black Flag knock-off riffs before hanging out with the same friends they always do, throwing back a few beers and leaving all their firebrand activism on stage. Which makes sense, the vast majority of the time, it’s an act.

Not for Racetraitor, though. They were the kind of band that confronted everyone on their shit, especially if they were part of the same, tight-knit, Second City hardcore punk scene. Everyone’s buttons were for pushing, especially the overwhelmingly white hardcore punk scene. Put it this way. It wasn’t a Racetraitor show until their singer, Mani Mostofi, found someone in the crowd, pointed them out to the entire crowd and said, “Hey you, yeeeeah, you. You are a racist and you don’t even fucking know it.”

The bad vibes that the aggressive, provocative attitude inspired were absolutely the point. The band thrived on tension and having as many people in the audience who want to kick the shit out of the band as worship them. Y’know, all the things that punk rock is meant to be. Chief among the kids worshipping the band was a pint-sized, half Black teenager who wore dog collars, Deicide shirts down to his knees and a small afro. This kid was ride or die for Racetraitor, who was either moshing for the band or literally fighting for them in amongst all the chaos they caused.

Who was this punk kid?

Anyone who looked at this kid twice could tell that this was someone who bought into punk rock truly. He was vegan, straight edge and a fully paid-up member of any genuinely anti-establishment movement he could be a part of at the time. When he wasn’t at hardcore shows, this was a guy who would do his own pamphleteering, volunteer at non-profits, talk people’s ears off about Frederick Douglass and Malcolm X and attend rallies for important social justice issues like protesting the imprisonment of Mumia Abu-Jamal.

Over time, this kid graduated from being a fan of Racetraitor to being in the band. He was never an official member, but the moment that the band started having line-up issues, this kid was there to fill in on bass however he could. He was never particularly good, but hey, this is punk rock, since when was that ever an issue? He was also a humble enough guy to understand that if the band found a bassist who could actually play, he’d step back and let them join the band. Taking to the bench until that bassist left.

Due to his reputation in the Chicago hardcore scene, this kid became legitimately notorious. Even among tough-nut Chi-Town punk kids, he was marked out as particularly legit. Someone who, despite coming from an upmarket neighbourhood, could argue his case verbally better than anyone around and could also hold his own in a fight as well as anyone twice his size. So, imagine the surprise of anyone else in that scene when, ten years after that kid terrorised their scene in Racetraitor, they’d see him making out with Kim Kardashian in the video for his band’s latest smash hit single.

A lesson to those who need to hear it. When it comes to hardcore, you either die a punk or you live long enough to see yourself become Pete Wentz.