But nope, it was nothing like that, says Dischord's Alec Bourgeois. "It's not as juicy as it seems," he says over email. "Minor Threat clears plenty of stuff—some of it never runs, some of it does and no one notices."

The Dischord spokesperson says "HBO actually asks all the time. What is more surprising is that they actually used it."

The label has a reputation for turning down parties that ask to license its materials, but Bourgeois says it's unfounded. The label simply "insist[s] on strict fairness and respect for the music."

Don't think about using a Minor Threat song in a killing-spree scene, for example, and be prepared to pay up. "The general policy is that we clear most independent productions as long as the context isn't offensive or demeaning to the artist/song in some way. Major studio stuff gets a lot more scrutiny—we insist on 'most favored nations' agreements—which means if The Rolling Stones are getting $50,000 then so is the Dischord artist." He adds, "each band has different criteria for what they do or do not accept—Fugazi pretty much only works with indie productions, Minor Threat accepts more stuff but insists on clearing the context, etc. It's a mixed bag."

What do companies say when Dischord asks for fair pay? Sometimes they back off, sometimes they don't. But "There is often a notion that independent artists should be kissing the ring of anyone willing to give them 'exposure.' The fact is that major studios often seek out 'cool' indie music because (1) it helps give street cred to their projects and (2) they have to pay next to nothing for it. Obviously we reject this notion."

For this week's issue, I reported a lengthy oral history of the annual concert series at Fort Reno in Tenleytown. This summer's shows conclude tonight with sets from The Evens and Laughing Man.

For years, Fort Reno regulars have circulated rumors of a ban against go-go (and even hip-hop) at Fort Reno. Certainly, no one seems to recall seeing a go-go band play there. Some believe officials feared go-go bands would bring violent crowds to the park, much like the violent crowds that attended early hardcore shows. A few interviewees weighed in on the subject.

Carleton Ingram, 38, booked Fort Reno 1996-1999, played in The Better Automatic: That ban happened before we took over, or that was the rumor. I didn’t know any go-go bands, but we would’ve given anybody a shot. That’s always the stuff that was more rumor than reality. We had one ska band that was an issue...but even the one problem we had only started there and rolled into the Metro. In the eight years we booked, we only had one problem.

Mike Kanin, 34, booked Fort Reno in the late ’90s, played in The Better Automatic, The No-Gos, Trooper, Black Eyes: I remember when we were booking, we weren’t allowed to book go-go bands. There were legitimate concerns about violence from the cops.

Amanda MacKaye, 41, books Fort Reno, played in The Routineers, Desiderata: [A go-go ban has] always been something that's been heard, but I can't find any paper documentation of it. I'm certainly not opposed to booking go-go. I started testing the water by putting Head-Roc and different hip-hop groups on bills to see if anyone would say anything. I certainly have had my own collection of go-go music to be played between bands. The best I can tell is it was a rumor that got cemented as to what it was, but I have not found any evidence of it. There’s certainly nothing in the permit about that. I mean, you can't do anything inflammatory, like you can't yell fire in a crowded room.

To that end, I will say that I don't get any requests from go-go bands. It’s entirely possible that it's not their scene. Only the sound guy gets paid, and many bands after the fact set up shows and donate the money to Fort Reno. Not everybody who's in a professional band can afford to play for free.

Natasha Stovall, 40, booked Fort Reno in the early ’90s: When I was there, I really wanted to have a go-go show. I wanted to book something like the legendary funk/punk show when Minor Threat played with Trouble Funk. I was definitely interested in having more black bands, but the issue that came up was money. Go-go bands are professional bands, and there are a lot of people in that band. They don’t play for free.

I had this dream of booking Fugazi and this go-go band, I think it was Trouble Funk—it was either Rare Essence or Trouble Funk. I managed to get in touch with their manager...We had a budget then, and I think I had like $500. I could’ve paid them. Then the idea was like we couldn’t pay more than $500, so I said "Look, Ian, I’ll give them $500, and you can play for free since you’re already playing for free." He said, “Why would we play for free if they’re not playing for free?” I mean, it was Fugazi’s home turf.

Ian MacKaye, 49, played in Teen Idles, Minor Threat, Fugazi; plays in The Evens: Starting around 1989, Fugazi never took money for local shows and in fact paid for the P.A. and other production costs for a number of the free outdoor gigs (including augmenting the sound at fort reno shows). We definitely were not inclined to pay other bands to open for us.

Paul Strauss, 47, D.C. shadow senator and former chair of the Neighborhood Planning Council: I don't think [there were any conflicts with go-go bands]. If anything, if there was a complaint it was that we were pretty open. Bands that wanted to get booked could get booked. If there was a neighborhood garage band, they could get booked. I don't remember having a policy against booking anyone. If anything, I asked myself from time to time, "Who let these guys on stage?"

Photo by Darrow Montgomery

Washington City Paper: The Wilson Center has been around for 30 years but its use as a DIY space, a stage for punk shows, hasn’t been continuous throughout this period.  What’s the history?

Mark Andersen: The Wilson Center was first used for a punk show on April 4, 1981.  It was organized by H.R. of the Bad Brains, one of their last shows before they moved to New York.  Looking back, it was a historic show because bands that are looked to now as trailblazers played: Bad Brains, Minor Threat, Government Issue, Void, Scream, and others.  That kicked off a period of heavy use by the D.C. punk scene that lasted until 1985.

There was a break because those shows came to be afflicted with violence and were no longer welcome by the community. So the Wilson Center didn’t function as a punk space again until 1987, for Fugazi’s first show.

By 1992, there were so many community spaces that the Wilson Center wasn’t as central, though it continued to hold shows until 1996. Then, its primary use came to be an after-school program for the Latin American Youth Center. One of the decisions they made was to dismantle the grand old stage you see in all those old D.C. hardcore photos. At this point we all assumed punk history at the Wilson Center had ended.

As it happens, that wasn’t the case. By then, Fugazi had gone from a band that would draw maybe 300 people to a band that drew thousands. Any other band would have left behind this hole in the wall, but that’s not how Fugazi approached things. So they wanted to go back to the Wilson Center to do a lightly publicized 10th anniversary show. So I returned to talk to the staff, and they agreed to it pretty quickly. Fortunately we had a portable stage that we brought in. The show went well, and that could have been the end of things.

Then there was a shift in control of the Wilson Center to the Centro de Arte, run by Lilo Gonzalez. Lilo made it a crucial gathering point for the Latino community and particularly the nueva canción movement. He was someone who had a great deal of shared spirit with Positive Force. So we started to collaborate with him in 1998.

At the same time, there was a new generation of bands rising. A lot of the first bands to play there, early D.C. hardcore or Revolution Summer era, either weren’t around anymore or preferred to play clubs. At that point, Ryan and Wade Fletcher, the guys who ran the Brian Mackenzie Infoshop—named after someone who had a seizure and died at a Wilson Center show—became the main folks putting on shows at the Wilson Center. These were bands like Q and Not U, Kill the Man Who Questions, Strike Anywhere, Los Crudos, Make-Up, Most Secret Method, Bratmobile, The Suspects, The Goons, Crispus Attucks…

Then something very significant happened in 1999: the new Columbia Heights Metro station opened. With all the high density development that was projected, property values were rising rapidly and so were rents, and it became clear that it was going to end.  Centro de Arte tried to preserve it as a community space but it didn’t work. Eventually it became the Capital City Public Charter School. It hasn’t turned into a Starbucks or whatever the old D.C. Space became, or the old Positive Force house in Arlington that was turned into a McMansion. So in comparison, the transformation of the Wilson Center into a school is not that tragic. But by 2001, it appeared to be over.

Then in 2007, we were planning a benefit for Neighbor’s Consejo with The Evens at St. Stephens, but they were having a big Thanksgiving basket assembly at the time. So Ian MacKaye happened to walk by the old Wilson Center and looked in the window, and saw that they had preserved the space as a multipurpose room with a stage. So he said to me, “Wouldn’t hurt to call!” So I contacted the principal of CCPCH. To our amazement, they were open to it, and with one week's notice, The Evens played.

So you can say the Wilson Center has functioned as a DIY space for 30 years. Will it be a place where shows are put on regularly? I doubt it, because it’s an elementary school now, so it isn’t as available. Plus Positive Force is based at St. Stephen’s church now, we have a wonderful relationship there, and we want to build that as our home base. On the other hand, you never know. Positive Force is closely allied with We Are Family, and we’re building a relationship with students and staff at CCPCS for our outreach work with seniors.

One thing I want to make clear is that we’re not intending for this show to be creating too much nostalgia, or fetishizing the Wilson Center space. That space was extraordinarily important at different junctures, but it’s less about the space than the spirit, and that spirit can find a home pretty much everywhere.

WCP: Let’s talk about the relationship between DIY spaces and development. Obviously these spaces can’t exist where rent is too high. At the same time there’s a tendency of punks and bohemian types to act as pioneers, and bring in new businesses to an area once there’s a demonstrated market. Are these spaces victims of gentrification or harbingers of it?

MA: Well I think the responsibility is on those of us entering that community. If you’re here to be part of it, to mix with what was there before, I don’t see a problem with that, and think you’ll be welcome. If you come in with an agenda of what the community should be, you’ll approach it less as people and more as a problem. For example in Columbia Heights: Would I like to see the power of the drug economy ebb? See young people finding a sense of belonging outside the gang world? Of course I would. So I’m not foolish enough to think we can stop change, nor do I have the tunnel vision that everything should be preserved. The legacies of segregation, and the Central American wars are still very relevant here.

WCP: What’s the state of DIY spaces today?  Has the fate of the Wilson Center reflected the historical availability of those spaces?

MA: Clearly the context is dramatically different than it was in the '80s and '90s. The cost of living is dramatically higher here in Columbia Heights and Adams Morgan. These were places that were once more hospitable to a bohemian lifestyle.

Also history has moved on. There was a certain moment when an energy gathered around this particular cultural expression. Rock music has its own narrative arc in terms of what people believe it might mean. Do people believe that art can have transformative power? I know that it can—I’ve lived that. But it’s also true that certain art forms have their heyday and then…fade. I have no idea what’s ahead, which is why I talk about punk rather than punk rock. Because, for me, punk is a spirit, an attitude towards life that is relevant in many places. So it should not be tied to any particular form of popular music. That DIY spirit will continue to find its place, because it’s needed. And what form it might take, I don’t have any idea.

WCP: Will DIY spaces continue to thrive in the future?

MA: I think a certain part of the rock audience is less interested in DIY spaces now than in the late '80s, early '90s. Much of the punk or rock audience here is used to the club circuit now, and the intersection of alcohol and music. It’s more entertainment than revolution. And this is how it often goes. However, the fact that the DIY spirit persists and continues to be expressed in so many contexts is hopeful.

One of the big ideas early on was independence. You’re trying to create a liberated zone where you can express yourself, and envision a world you believe is better than the status quo. And you need a certain amount of freedom to make things happen. But that ethic can be taken too far. If you’re not careful, what it leads to is a little outpost in the subterranean nooks and crannies of society—which may be important to you personally and the other folks who share that space with you. But it can cut you off from the broader community, or from trying to genuinely transform society. For Positive Force, our important organizing principle is interdependence. Rather than “I need freedom,” “we need each other.”

A full day of programs on the Wilson Center's 30th anniversary takes place today; at 5 p.m., Ian MacKaye will speak on "The Importance of Community Hall Spaces," followed by performances by the Max Levine Ensemble, Birds and Wires, War on Women and Fell Types starting at 7 pm.  Show admission $5 – $10 sliding scale; food and clothing donations for charities We Are Family and Hermano Pedro encouraged.  At Capital City Public Charter School, 3047 15th St. NW.

Turns out, that's not the actual cover of Moutbreathers' first recorded effort. Their untitled six-song, cassette-only EP comes with an entirely different set of artwork by the band's singer Kyle Gowdy. The group made 100 copies of the cassette a month ago, but Gowdy decided to do a little something different for the songs he posted to Bandcamp. Hence Out of Breath.

"We just thought it was funny," Gowdy says. "The Minor Threat black sheep smoking a bong."

Gowdy and the rest of the Mouthbreathers are certainly Minor Threat fans, a fact that's not only evident in their faithful, humorous spin on the Out of Step artwork, but also in the band's fierce punk rock. Their style leans on both garage pop and hardcore—the song "Out of My Head" is one jangly guitar note short of a potential Black Lips comparison—but the fire and fury is all hardcore.

Only three of the songs from that EP exist online—two at Bandcamp, one at SoundCloud—and Gowdy says he may intermittently post the rest of the songs online, or collect them all and "do a digital download thing." He added the group is planning to repackage those songs for a 12-song vinyl release that should be available in November. In the meantime, anyone eager to hear the rest of the Mouthbreathers EP can order it through PayPal: the tape costs $5, which can be sent to the band's e-mail, mouthbreatherslawrence@gmail.com.

But no book on a musical movement would be complete without the music itself, so author Stephen Blush uploaded 911 hardcore tracks released from the scene's prime of 1981-1986 on the book's website. The District is well represented: Check out tracks from locals Government Issue, Youth Brigade, Nuclear Crayons, Teen Idles, Market Disease, United Mutation, The Faith, and a handful of others. After a glance at the tracklist, I think it's about time people start writing songs with titles like "Fuck Brooke Shields" again.

The second edition of Bush’s American Hardcore is available now via Feral House.

"Why do I have to be a black rocker?" Kokayi asks in an interview. "Why can't I just be a rock star? We don't get a chance to just be us. I don't stick myself in one category."

"RoxTar," the first single from Kokayi's forthcoming Robots & Dinosaurs album, is an energetic electro-punk song with an impressive guitar solo from Stan Cooper and Kokayi's masterful cadence and word play. He salutes D.C. bands Minor Threat, Fugazi, and Bad Brains, not to mention Anthrax, Megadeth, and Stone Temple Pilots, among  other acts. "Puffin' on the Sevendust 'til I'm long in the tooth/I ain't Fugazi bitches, listen I am the truth," Kokayi raps.

If "RoxTar" is a preview of Kokayi's upcoming material, then Robots & Dinosaurs is a must-have when it drops. Either way, expect the unexpected.

Download "RoxTar" here.

Not many novelists reviewed in the New York Times are writing about Bad Brains shows in Washington, D.C., circa 1979. But Jennifer Gilmore, with her new novel Something Red, has somehow written a popular work of fiction in which H.R. is a minor player. We asked Gilmore, who's in town this week for several readings, about basement shows, radicalism, and Washington's memorable foliage.

Are you from D.C.?

Yes. I grew up in Chevy Chase, Md., and went to BCC most of my life.

So, you've got a lot in common with Vanessa. [Vanessa, Something Red's adolescent protagonist, behaves badly in and around D.C.'s nascent hardcore scene.]

Not really. This book takes place in 1979. That's before my time. I was super young then. The music is different, and the time is different.

Why did you decide to ficitionalize this era?

I started the book because I wanted to write about how radicalism has declined over the generations, and wanted to look at that phenomenon through Jewish history. I'm very interested in the way history plays out in families.

During that time, there was so much going on with music. There was disco, there was the Dead, and there was punk...Music is the way people express dissent. I wanted [Vanessa] for the first time to experience what it's like to to go a Bad Brains show. I never saw them—they had left for New York by the time I would have been old enough—but they were literally from D.C., and I liked writing about someone who was at the edges of punk rock...and [Vanessa's brother] Benjamin is a jock in high school, but heir to his grandfather, who is a Lower East Side socialist...[Benjamin] finds that radicalism in the Grateful Dead at Brandeis.

Do you think it's strange to be a Jew in D.C.? [The author, whose grandfather is Jewish, isn't Jewish himself, but is still one of the most Jewish people he knows in this WASP-y town.]

When I was growing up, I remember going to a lot of Bar Mitzvahs—high-end Bar Mitzvahs with senators' kids. But I didn't grow up particularly religious. We went to the high holidays. We went to Temple Sinai. I didn't have a Bat Mitzvah...It wasn't until I went to Brandeis, where there were all these people from New York City and Long Island, that I was surrounded by Jews. These Jews were different.

In what way?

They grew up in really Jewish community. People I knew from Teaneck, N.J., did not not have friends that weren't Jewish. I came to realize a lot later that experience—having a diverse group of friends—is unique to Washington.

You're writing about a music scene that's not well-documented, at least in the mainstream media. How did you research that world?

I don't write a lot about the facts of it. I've been to punk shows and my experience seeing Dag Nasty or Minor Threat is similar to what Vanessa experiences. The experience of being in a basement—that experience I understood. There's a book called Punk Love with pictures by Susie Horgan, who I met later in Miami. You can get oral histories in some ways. I'm in no way trying to write about that scene or claim to know anything about that scene. It was about a character getting her feet wet in something, and for her, that feels natural.

Do you have anything to say about the scene now?

I don't really know it. I don't want to claim to be someone I'm not. I went to shows sometimes and was overwhelmed by them—the energy of it, what it was like. You always have that sense in any scene, whether you're following the Grateful Dead or Dag Nasty. I was always on the outside, always kind of watching.

What was the identity that stuck for you?

I don't feel like I had a particular identity. It's hard growing up, but now it's incredibly useful, to be a person who's not only one kind of person...I feel the other you get, the more specialized you become. On the inside, we're all teenagers. I'm a writer. A lot of my friends are writers, so I'm not conversant in that. I teach, so I have this unique experience of having college students in my life. My sister is a visual artist. I'm married to a painter. My life is the cultural life of New York.

Do you miss Washington?

I grew up there, so all of my complicated memories of childhood are associated with that town. I grew up in the Reagan/Bush years. It's the kind of town that's informed by who's in office. I mean, there were jelly bean stores when Reagan was in office. I'm not not interested in politics, but I'm not a political person. Honestly, it's such a beautiful town—my memories are of driving by the Watergate, of all the trees...I don't have that experience being connected to the visuals of a place now. I miss that—feeling so close to the mechanisms of government...Of course, we were as far away from that as anyone else. But that proximity was interesting. That's what I've chosen to write about.

Do you feel like stakes are lower than they were in the 1980s?

At college at Brandeis, I had a feeling that I had missed the '60s. That I'd missed this amazing time...but looking at Obama and the way people rallied, knocking on doors in ghettos of Philadelphia...I've been really revitalized by that. But that was fleeting. I'm not sure if that's related to our time or technology... everything feels purposeful and completely purposeless. You get attached to something online, and it's gone in 10 minutes.

You need people for a revolution. So many people are online, I don't know how they get together. I really wanted to deal with the decline of radicalism. I wanted to say that what radicalism means for each generation is really different. I think that there are people who, very much, think they are radicals in some ways. 1960s radicals might not agree, but it is what it is.

Gilmore reads tonight at 7 p.m. Politics & Prose. She also reads Thursday at 11 a.m. at Chevy Chase library and Sunday 2 p.m. at Borders in Bailey's Crossroads.

However you come down on those questions, what's indisputable is this: D.C.'s Spelling for Bees collective approaches everything it does with earnestness and enthusiasm.  So when its members gather at the Velvet Lounge tomorrow night to interpret their favorite songs by Minor Threat and Fugazi, there'll be nary a drop of irony in the room.

The event, Fugazi in the Key of Minor Threat, will give all proceeds to the Red Cross for Haiti-earthquake relief. From the announcement:

SO... "Full disclosure" (if you will): I don't think it's any secret that we Bees are a proud bunch. We are proud of each other, of the music we create, of the scene we take part in... and a large part of these things is the music that, in our developmental stages, inspired us the most. That's why with this next coming residency night. We wanted to pay homage to two of the most ground breaking bands of our youth: Fugazi and Minor Threat!

Lead bee Dave Mann told me the collective will devote the first half of the evening to covers—like a go-go-esque interpretation of "Cashout" and a post-rock take on "Strangelight"—and the second to Spelling for Bees originals. He said he wasn't sure how many of the collective's 53 members will be able to attend. "Lost is our competition, so that sucks," Mann said, referring to the season premiere of the popular ABC show. "I thought DVR was invented for nights like tomorrow night."

The show begins at 7:30 p.m. at the Velvet Lounge. $5.

Related: One Spelling for Bees member made a video using the comments from a One Track Mind I wrote about the collective's song "Love at First Sight":

Update 4:56 p.m.: WKE's Janice Grube, an executive producer of D.I.Y. America, just sent me this note about the episode that was taken down:

Yep, we pulled it down yesterday on a whim, as a courtesy to Ian, because we thought it was shitty that bloggers were giving him such a hard time about it. He has no affiliation with W+K or Nike. He’s a friend of Aaron’s. It’s footage from the Beautiful Loser’s film. DIY is produced and created by the Beautiful Losers team. Aaron is part of that team, and he is also WKE’s creative director and curator. WKE is totally independent from Nike or any of our clients. We created this channel, simply because we have an appreciation for art and culture and music. There you have it, dude. It’s really nothing more than that. We’re fortunate to have Aaron here with us here on the WKE team. Let’s move on and worry about bigger issues.

Original post: Earlier this week, I came across this post on the Daily Swarm, titled "Ian MacKaye Pimps for Nike's Ad Agency," and this item on Stereogum, "Ian MacKaye Gets DIY for Nike's Ad Agency." The gist is this: WKE—the film-production arm of the advertising firm Wieden+Kennedy—is showing a shorts series called D.I.Y. America that draws from unused footage from the 2008 documentary Beautiful Losers. Several episodes of D.I.Y America focus on skateboarding culture, and one includes an interview with  D.C. punk legend Ian MacKaye. Groovy, right? Not to some bloggers, who cried foul because one of Wieden+Kennedy's biggest clients is Nike—whom MacKaye threatened with legal action kinda threatened with legal action in 2005 after the apparel company appropriated the cover of Minor Threat's self-titled EP to promote a skateboarding tour.

That episode, by the way? It was taken down from WKE's Web site sometime since yesterday afternoon. (Check out Google's cache of the page from midday yesterday.)

I figured the original case of blogger umbrage was severely misplaced, but I decided yesterday to contact Mackaye to see what he thought. "I don't know what the fuck any of this is about," he told me over the phone, explaining that he allowed his friend, the director and artist Aaron Rose, to interview him several years ago for Beautiful Losers. Apparently, MacKaye explained, "I wasn't beautiful enough" for the final cut. He said my note was the first time he'd heard about D.I.Y. America, and that he felt it was an unnecessary story for bloggers—and me—to write about while wars are being fought abroad and people are dying. He said the pervasiveness of large corporations is such that it's impossible to completely avoid contact with the ones you disapprove of. And he said the bloggers wagging their fingers at his unknowing involvement in D.I.Y. America are likely bored office workers. "That's my curse and blessing," he said. "Some people look out for me."

Rose has been the creative director of WKE since 2009.

Once I saw the video was taken down, I sent messages to MacKaye, as well as WKE and Rose. I haven't heard back.