The Nerve Agents

The following appears in the gorgeous reissue of Days of The White Owl… and I thought you might like to know.

It was 1998 in the underground and hardcore was having a renaissance. After its dalliance with pop sensibility, aggression was back. New York was leading the way with inspiring new sounds and sensibilities. Snapcase and Earth Crisis were rightfully packing rooms around the world. Their records were outselling major label artists. Veganism was hotter than ever and in Northern California’s great 924 Gilman St. Project, we SXE kids were no longer a marginalized minority. The scene was thriving for better... and worse. At its margins, a threateningly pervasive nadir of masculinity postured, glorifying violence, materialism and ego. The tone edged shockingly close to that of the odious rap-metal that was topping the radio charts. This did not bode well for any punks who, yes, enjoyed explosive catharsis but still believed in the forward thinking ethos of our progenitors and, perhaps, preferred it with a bit of that congenital panache. Sheric D did. Having recently disbanded the beloved, youth-crew revivalists, Redemption 87, Sheric (FKA: Eric Ozenne, of Unit Pride) had a solution. It was the The Nerve Agents. Oh, they were glorious.

In aesthetic and sound, The Nerve Agents combined LA deathrock with early-’80’s Dischord and OC hardcore. CBGB-matinee-gang vocals and Earth A.D. wails, halo it all with a definitive East Bay voice. Visually and technically stunning guitarist Tim Presley was Timmy “Stardust.” They covered 45 Grave and “Suffragette City.” The Nerve Agents were putting the “punk” back in “Hardcore Punk” and as attendees will attest, their shows were unlike any other at the time. Leading-man-handsome, while eye-lined (Don’t scoff! Remember, we’re talking ‘97, not ‘87 or ’07,) these boys threatened low stages, raring audiences, and themselves with style. Yes, they were dangerous but not thuggish.

The Nerve Agents weren’t going to start a fight but, as Timmy did upon being harassed by a drunken frat boy, one late night at the Top Dog on Durant Ave, they’d pull a blade on you if you fucked with them. Dante, at least once when I was involved, alleviated a theatre of its seats to hurl them as offerings to the band performing onstage. Incidentally, AFI was never invited back to that room. Sheric, one of the most compassionate men I know, was a chaotic threat onstage and a regular at the East Bay ER’s. If there was a Nerve Agents show that night, the nurses expected him. Mr Ozenne would likely be in for his own stitches, if not escorting a jubilant and bloody fan in for their own.

I define these characters for what made these boys made their shows, songs, and albums. When I listen to Days of The White Owl, I can hear that switchblade passion, that mindful compassion, that selfless outrage and unflagging care. I can hear the East Bay, circa the century’s end. I can feel the volatility of those shows, that excitement, the release. I’m honored to appear on “Jekyll and Hyde” and ever grateful to have been there to dance, sing along, dodge flying mic stands or, when the moon was right, a mysterious, diving, white owl, during those precious years that the Nerve Agents graced us with their hearts’ grit.

~ DXH