After a Bad Brains show in D.C. in 1981, Vic Bondi went home to Chicago and instructed his group Direct Drive to play faster and harder. In spring ’82, he changed the band’s name to Articles of Faith. Later that year they put out their first seven-inch EP, just in time for the heyday of American hardcore.
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Articles of Faith were every bit as fierce, tight, and distinctive as Black Flag, Minor Threat, and Dead Kennedys. Yet no 120 Minutes VJ ever name-checked Vic Bondi, and when thrash metal got huge and it seemed like every band was slapping hardcore stickers on its amps, Articles of Faith logos were conspicuous in their absence. The band broke up in 1985 and for years were lost in multiple slipstreams, overshadowed by more famous groups in every realm that might claim them—hardcore, indie, proto-emo—and known only to record collectors and fanzine nerds. For those of us who discovered AOF after their demise, their obscurity gave them a mysterious cachet.
By the time I joined a punk band, in the late 80s, AOF had certainly made a huge impression on me. In the limited landscape of leftist hardcore, Bondi was a first-rate lyricist. He didn’t write all the words, and those he did write didn’t always hit the mark—but when he was on, he was completely on. And unlike Bad Religion, their obvious competitors in the academic-punk category (Bondi would later earn a PhD in history from Boston University), Articles of Faith didn’t use huge words to belittle their audience. They offered a road map for translating political rage into personal emotional nuance—one I eagerly studied. So it filled me with trepidation when I learned in early 1992 that AOF had reunited for a European tour that would overlap the European tour of my own band, Born Against.
Virus was still wearing that shirt when a dispute broke out over money. Not wanting to pass along to the audience the cost of beer we wouldn’t be drinking or hotel rooms we wouldn’t be sleeping in, my band threatened to leave if the $10 door charge wasn’t lowered to $5—which would’ve canceled the show, since we were headlining and the promoter wouldn’t let it happen without us. AOF explained that they were touring with their girlfriends and thus had to have hotel rooms. It was a strange standoff. They wanted amenities they’d long been denied; we had the luxury of refusing luxury. The two parties seemed deadlocked when Bondi exploded. “Fuck you!” he screamed, shoving my bandmates. “Nobody asked me!” But the door charge was lowered, and the show went on.
If you’re a fan of reunions, there are two important reasons to attend Riot Fest. One, you’ll almost definitely be seeing these bands at their best. Re-formed Top 40 groups can sleepwalk through entire tours and still walk away with giant cardboard checks. Reunited punk bands get paid largely in pride. They’re a lot like weddings: having worked so hard for the ceremony, everyone must shine.
