13 Questions With UC Santa Cruz

1.) Do you identify as Chicana and if so, how do you feel you embody this identity in punk?

Alice: I do now, but I didn't always. When I was younger I wrongly believed that there was something I had to do, a test I had to pass or a class I had to take to be able to call myself a Chicana. I know better now.

I identify as a Chicana punk. Punk is an attitude, it's a rebellious, unapologetic dig at the status quo. As Chicanos we've had to fight to carve our way into a narrow and bigoted definition of what it means to be an American in the US while at the same time refusing to be blanched and synthesized by assimilating into the American mainstream. Refusal to relinquish our ethnic identity is punk.

2.) How do you feel you created a space for yourself in punk?

Alice: I showed up and played, I was at the right place at the right time. I was in tune with what was happening in the music scene and wanted to be at the forefront of it, so I put myself there. It meant moving to Hollywood which was where the punk scene in Los Angeles took off first.

3.) Was it difficult to be recognized in punk as a woman of color?

Alice: My ethnicity was acknowledged in a casual way, I never felt like anyone tried to diminish or disparage my background. I always felt completely comfortable in my own skin being a woman of color in the early L.A. Punk scene. In some ways, I had an easier time being a Chicana Weirdo around other weirdoes than I had being a Chicana weirdo around other Chicanos.

4.) Do you separate your racial identity from the scene, or do you feel that you perform and/or represent it? Would you say that is performed/represented in an alternative way (from what it is dominantly known or seen as)?

Alice: My racial identity is always with me, as is my gender, my background, everything I am is represented in the work I do. Sometimes it's overt, sometimes it's not and it's not even always deliberate but what we create can only come from what we have within.

I think there is a dominant way to represent Chicano identity and I have no problem with it as long as it doesn't become the exclusive way to do it. The growth and success of the Chicano movement depends on its ability to be inclusive and represent a broad spectrum of Chicanos.

5.) Do you feel that the emergence of more Chican@/Latin@ youth in the punk scene has maybe altered punk from the dominant idea of what it is? If so, what changes have you encountered or noticed? Would you say that it is a completely new scene of punk?

Alice: There were Chicanos present in the early LA. Punk scene. The Masque was a beautifully diverse club where people from all of L.A. County's communities felt at home. I guess what I'm trying to say is that Latinos have always been there. The punk scene is a landscape and the people who document it choose what they focus on. We need to do more documenting, more validating; if we're not seeing Latinos then we need to redirect the focus.

6.) How do you feel the punk scene has embraced feminist ideas, if any? And how these ideas might be transforming punk itself? Have feminist ideas always been a part of punk (just not visible)?

Alice: I think feminist ideas have always been a part of punk. Women helped create the punk scene as equal partners and in equal numbers to men. Women empowered themselves to do everything that men had traditionally done. That's not feminist theory - it's feminism in action. Feminism was there at punk's inception. Over the years as punk has evolved we've made gains and we've had setbacks but those of us who were permanently changed by punk will never allow women's contributions to punk to be overlooked or diminished.

7.) Do you feel that "Chicana Punk" or punk with feminist attributes is a completely different punk scene?

Alice: No way, I refuse to be a faction. I want in on the big action, punk without pussy power, punk without ethnic diversity just supports the status quo, it doesn't subvert or challenge it, therefore it can't even be called punk.

8.) Do you feel punk can be thought of as a space to evade and contest social violence? Do you feel it can recreate violence within itself? How so?

Alice: If by social violence you mean social injustice such as unfair laws and practices, I'd say yes. I think punk is more about confrontation than evasion. Punk is the perfect medium for contesting social violence because it's about questioning authority.

9.) How do you feel about discussions of punk being incorporated into academic discussions? Does it lose a certain aesthetic or authenticity?

Alice: Academic discussions are often based on having read the same texts and being familiar with the same theories as other people involved in the discussion. Discussions between people who have different points of reference can be productive if the participants take time to understand and respect each others' experiences.

10.) Do you consider yourself a feminist? Do you feel that you embody feminism or feminist values in performance, music, and/or punk? How so?

Alice: Yes, I consider myself a feminist. I never set out to embody feminism onstage but being a woman in a band, playing music with other women, being assertive and somewhat androgynous in my performances are all consistent with my feminist values.

11.) How do you feel you have rebelled against dominant values of Latin@ culture, if any?

Alice: I don't think I have rebelled against Latin@ culture. I have rebelled against those who try to make me warm tortillas for my brothers when they can warm them for themselves, I have rebelled against a patriarchal religion. I rebel against small mindedness in all ways and in every situation but those things are not an intrinsic part of latin@ culture and I will fight tooth and nail against anyone who tries to make me feel like I'm less Chican@ for not embracing the small-mindedness.

12.) Has embracing punk transformed your identity as a Chicana or women of color? Would you say that you have created a new culture and/or space for yourself (balancing punk and Mexicanidad), in your own way?

Alice: Yes, embracing punk and knowing that I was participating in its creation and definition made me feel that I had the power define my Chicana identity in my own way. Both chican@ and punk ideology have to do with being true to yourself and asserting yourself ethnically, artistically, spiritually, in all ways.

13.) Do you feel that punk itself is a culture?

Alice: Yes, I think so. I know that punk is much more than a style of music, it's a way of looking at the world, a way of looking at yourself and empowering yourself. Punk is great at destroying the illusion of limits. It starts with the feeling that you can express yourself onstage and make an impact on music and ends with the certainty that you can express yourself in any arena and make an impact on the world.

The Long Shot Comes Out Ahead

As ludicrous as it may sound, I feel that my life has been one continuous series of events in which the long shot comes out ahead. As a child growing up in East LA in the 1960’s, the expectations for me were so low that had I been a practical, level-headed girl, I might easily have grown to fulfill them. Instead, I dared to dream big dreams. I dreamed that I would someday morph into a comic book style superhero who would defend my mother from my abusive father. I dreamed that I would be a rock star and change the world with my music and ideas. I dreamed that I would be a brain surgeon who would save lives with my brilliant mind.

I can almost hear the snickering from where I sit and it makes me smile, because who in their right mind wouldn’t laugh at those goals? But, as it turns out, I did grow into a strong woman who was able to stand up to my father on my mother’s behalf. I did help create an important rock movement that would make a lasting social and artistic impression on many people around the world. And, although I wouldn’t trust myself with a scalpel, I do think that my music, my writing and my ideas can cut and on more than a few occasions they’ve healed and possibly saved the lives of others who have struggled with similar difficulties.

I am currently on a book tour for my memoir, Violence Girl, which can be purchased through Amazon or your local indie bookstore. I hope to see you at one of my readings in 2012.

The More Things Change

From an interview I did in October 2004. This question and answer has particular relevance to me because I see the same things happening in this country that I saw happening in the 1980’s, only now the mass media in this country is almost completely controlled by people with a ve$ted intere$t in maintaining the status quo. Even if you don’t agree with me, you should still seek out some news sources from outside of our country so that you can gain a different perspective on what’s happening here and abroad.

Q: You also went to Nicaragua in the early eighties to gain some new experiences, would you tell us something about that time and if it changed your views on certain things and how do you see the political situation in the U.S. in the moment…?

A: My trip to Nicaragua changed me forever. It made me realize how few material possessions a person needs to be happy and it put me back in touch with the values that living in a consumer society can deaden in you, basic human values like caring about your neighbor. I realized that the U.S. government has been bought by corporate entities that have little regard for Americans and even less regard for the rest of the world. Their sole concern lies in expanding their control over the economic systems of the world. Countries are either to be exploited for their natural resources or else they are markets for goods that are produced elsewhere and controlled by the corporations. These corporate entities only have one natural enemy and that is a well-informed citizenry focused on self-determination. As an American taxpayer and a corporate consumer, I am complicit in my own government’s efforts to block other people’s movement towards self-determination. That’s what my experience in Nicaragua taught me. I think we Americans need to get serious about taking back our country and making it responsive to our needs and goals. What’s happening in America right now could happen anywhere when people get too complacent.

Class War 2012

One of my favorite punk rock songs, one which still seems incredibly relevant. Class War was originally written and performed by Chip and Tony Kinman, aka The Dils. This live recording was captured during a Violence Girl book reading on January 14, 2012 in Oakland, CA.

I guess you probably know that if I'm going to do a book tour, it won't be a traditional "sit down on a stool and read excerpts" kind of thing.

Here is Class War performed by Alice Bag: vocals, Lysa Flores: guitar and backing vocals, Dave Jones: bass and Martin Sorrendeguy: drums and backing vocals. New lyrics as follows:

I wanna war between the rich and the poor / I wanna fight and know what I'm fighting for / I wanna class war, class war, this war, that war, class war, class war / In New York and LA / City Halls are Occupied / There's no escape / from the mighty 99 / I wanna class war, class war, class war, this war, that war, class war, class war / If I'm gonna fight in Iraq or Afghanistan / there'll be a war right here in this very land / I wanna Class War, Class War, This War, That War, Class War, Last War.

Class War Live in Oakland by alicebag

Work That Hoe – Tilling the Soil of Punk Feminism

The creation and establishment of a new punk paradigm can only be properly understood in historical context with the social movements that led up to it and surrounded the punk revolution.

Much of punk history and criticism has been written by people who weren't there at the time. As an author, archivist and the former lead singer of the Bags, one of Los Angeles's earliest punk bands, I am in a unique position to describe punk as I lived it (and still do) and provide a forum for others who were there to share their stories and perspectives. I firmly believe that artists should document their own scenes and movements because history has a curious way of focusing itself through the biased lens of the dominant culture.

Until the turn of the millennium, one could easily have been forgiven for thinking that punk was largely a white, male musical style that had its roots in either a) disaffected but intelligent musicians in New York City or b) disaffected, bored and unemployed working-class youths in England. As the post-millennial generation took a look back at the last significant countercultural movement of the twentieth century, they discovered that there was much more to the story and furthermore, that the reports of punk's demise were premature.

Punk attitude continues to inform today’s counterculture, protest movements and popular actions aimed at social change. Punk is not dead, but neither is it to be found in the local mall's "alternative" clothing store. Punk is alive and well in Tahrir Square, in the planned actions and protests of anti-Corporation movements, in local organic farming co-ops who demand the right to take back control of their food supply, in the anarchic ideals of hacktivists who target corrupt governments and organizations under the pirate flag of Anonymous. As we examine the antecedents of  punk and specifically punk feminism, I'd like to make the point that all social change is a continuum; just as something came before punk which created the social context for it to occur (and provided meaning for punk) so too did something follow.

In the process of writing my memoirs, I discovered that I was able to situate my participation in the birth of the West Coast punk scene within a much broader historical context, one that was not at all obvious to me at the time it was happening. What started out as a series of autobiographical blog entries ended up telling the story of several social movements that personally affected me: the Chicano movement, feminism, gay rights. My particular form of punk expression was also deeply affected by my childhood. I was born in East L.A., the daughter of Mexican immigrants and I entered the U.S. educational system as a non-English speaking student.

The English immersion program that was thrust upon me denied the value of my Spanish oral language and I was reprimanded for using it. My name was changed to Alice by teachers who were unable to pronounce “Alicia.” My first few years of elementary school felt like a negation of who I had been for the first five years of my life. The main purpose was to roll me up like a misshapen clay sculpture and reshape me into the appropriate model of what an American student should be. I was being colonized within my own country but I was too young to realize it. It wouldn't be until several years later when I saw a guy wearing a patch on his jeans with a brown fist encircled by the words "we are not a minority, we are a chosen few" that I started to suspect I was not part of mainstream America.

Around this time the Chicano Moratorium was held a short distance from my house. It was a march meant to protest the disproportionate numbers of Mexican-American soldiers dying in the Vietnam war. The deadly outcome of this peaceful protest led to my identification as "other" and also made me acutely aware that this "other" was perceived as undesirable and that it had powerful and dangerous enemies. But other forces much closer to home had an even greater impact on me.

My father was a hurricane of a man whose forceful personality and abusive outbursts

held my mother, my sister and me captive. The relationships within my family and, in particular, the violence which my father inflicted upon my mother provided a vivid example of the unequal power between the sexes. I longed for a confrontation of equals and if my mother could not or would not stand up to my father, I knew that one day I would. Upon this fertile ground would fall the seeds of feminism, which the women's movement of the 1960’s was disseminating.

In Junior High School, we girls had to wear dresses and pantyhose regardless of the weather. It seems like such a small example of inequality but the older girls at our school circulated petitions and organized protests until this rule was overturned. I remember the day it was announced over the loud speakers that girls would now be allowed to wear pants. One could hear the cheering and whooping throughout the halls - the joyful sounds of young women with their first taste of self determination. It was a small but meaningful victory.

A few years later, Billie Jean King would challenge a loud, chauvinistic braggart named Bobby Riggs to a tennis match that would bring national attention to women's sports and to women's issues. I discovered the word feminist about this time and I immediately claimed the title for myself. Around the same time, I began to hang out with friends I later realized were gay or lesbian. In the early 1970's, being gay was much less accepted than it is today, so most of my friends were in various stages of coming out of the closet. I hadn't identified myself as bisexual at that time, but witnessing the discrimination my friends had to deal with on a daily basis made me sympathetic to the struggle for gay rights and queer identification. Like Latinos and women, this group was seen as “Other.” By the middle of the 1970’s, many of these individuals who had been identified as “Different” or “Other” were floating around in a vacuum, waiting for the spark that would ignite the next Big Bang. That spark was Punk Rock.

The early L.A. Punk scene was made up of a broad range of individuals with a variety of motives for being involved. Early punks were rich, poor, gay, straight, male and female, with a good sampling of L.A.'s ethnic diversity: latinos, blacks and asians were all involved along with whites in the early days of the Masque. The earliest participants and movers behind the scene were united only in the sense of having been identified as "outcasts," either by society or by themselves. We were different, proudly different and we wanted to express our creativity through our art, our music, our fashion, our way of life. Early punk was as much a rejection of the status quo as it was the product of the rejects of the status quo.

Together, we were a band of misfits, creators of the space and the discourse that would sustain L.A.'s original punk scene. There was no white, male hierarchy in the early scene and punk had not yet become associated with angry white men. Instead, the women I have interviewed for my archives repeatedly come back to the idea that early punk was a time and place where gender roles were discarded, where women were free to do as they pleased because no one had time to worry about what they should or should not be doing.

Similarly, it is my experience that race and class distinctions were, for the most part, suspended during the brief period that marked the birth of the West Coast punk scene. Punk encouraged the discarding of old roles and old identities. With the widespread adoption of punk names like Kickboy Face, Tomata du Plenty, Darby Crash or Alice Bag, ethnic identification relied solely on visual cues, but even visual cues to ethnic or sexual identity were blurred by our extreme hairstyles, makeup and clothing. Thus, early punk participants forced a confrontation with stereotyped notions of identity and confounded expectations by offering a wholly unique and unexpected alternative view.

My new memoir, Violence Girl – From East L.A. Rage to Hollywood Stage, a Chicana Punk Story chronicles the first 25 years of my life and the social upheavals of the 1960’s and 70’s in more detail. It is available on Feral House. Visit my archives of Women In L.A. Punk interviews at www.alicebag.com/womeninlapunk 

Death Lends a New Perspective

You’re watching yourself
But you’re too unfair
You got your head all tangled up
But if I could only make you care
Oh, no love, you’re not alone
No matter what or who you’ve been
No matter when or where you’ve seen
All the knives seem to lacerate your brain
I’ve had my share, I’ll help you with the pain
You’re not alone.
—David Bowie, “Rock ’n’ Roll Suicide”

We were sitting in Tracy Lea’s bedroom, going over some song ideas for Castration Squad, when her phone rang.

“No…no…no….” she repeated into the phone. I could tell immediately that something was very wrong, but I tried not to listen to her conversation. “How did it happen?” she continued. She was pacing now, which made it extra hard for me to ignore her, since I was sitting on the floor. She stopped in front of me. “Darby’s dead,” she said, covering the mouthpiece. Her eyes were tearing up and she was visibly upset. I stopped plucking my bass and looked off into my vanishing surroundings. Images of my old friend Bobby Pyn were projected on my mental screen, and a terrible sadness crept up from the pit of my stomach to my throat and spread out to my limbs like a blooming plant. Then the images began to change. It was me and Darby arguing; Darby, trying to burn my wrist with his cigarette; me punching Darby on the stairs of the Canterbury; Darby outside the Hong Kong Cafe with his new British accent after returning from a brief European vacation; Darby falling down drunk and drugged. My sadness was replaced by anger.

Tracy hung up the phone. “It was a suicide,” she informed me. Darby and one of his girlfriends had made a suicide pact and had ingested massive doses of heroin. The girl had survived, Darby had not. Tracy was crying and I put my arms around her, trying to comfort her. My own feelings were a jumble of competing emotions, pushing each other out of the way as each tried to monopolize my mood. There was the sadness of losing a once-close friend and confidante, the anger that it had been a suicide, a feeling of guilt and helplessness about whether I or anyone else could have prevented it, and general confusion about what would make Darby want to take his own life. After trying to provide the strong shoulder to cry on, I finally spoke up.

“I’m sorry Tracy, I need to go home.”

“That’s okay, I understand,” she said, probably thinking that I wanted to cry in private, but it wasn’t that at all.

On the drive home, I thought about how badly things had ended between Darby and me, how we’d stopped speaking to each other. I’d always held onto the hope that one day we’d come back and talk things through; that we’d laugh at our youthful mistakes as we got older and wiser. Now our unfinished conversations would remain unfinished forever. An unspoken apology would wither on my lips, we’d never have the opportunity to revisit our beliefs, to see how time and experience would color and change our views. We’d never again talk for hours on the phone, laugh at stupid jokes, discuss philosophy or share a bottle of booze. It was all over. Darby was really gone for good. Instead of making me cry, my grief and lack of answers made my temper flare. I was angry not only at Darby but at myself, and at those around him who had allowed it to happen.

I’m the kind of person who squeezes the last bit of toothpaste from the tube, who uses the last teaspoon of mustard in the jar and won’t throw out the jar before it’s all gone, even if it takes room in the fridge, but that’s me. I’m that way about life, too. I’d seen too much poverty, misery and wasted opportunity as a kid, and I want to extract as much knowledge, adventure, excitement and love from this life as I can, for as long as I can. I wondered if Darby’s life didn’t still have a few surprises in store for him. I think it did. I have to remind myself that it was his choice to make, not mine. But I can’t seem to stop myself from second-guessing him, just like he second-guessed me when he thought I was wrong. That’s part of what friends do, isn’t it? They tell you when you’re wrong. I wondered if other people were thinking the same things I was thinking. I wondered if others wished they’d been around to argue the wisdom of suicide with him.

I suppose I just don’t understand suicide. I understand euthanasia, I understand wanting to end suffering if you’re ill. I understand dying for a cause, fighting to defend your loved ones, defending a principle or fasting for peace or freedom. I just didn’t feel that I understood the cause behind Darby’s death. Why did he die? What did he die for? I knew that he believed that dying young was the key to becoming a legend, but the idea that he would kill himself because he thought it would bring him fame made me sick to my stomach. I knew he wasn’t shallow, and I couldn’t imagine he’d want fame without wanting to accomplish something with it, or at least be around to enjoy its rewards. I pushed the idea away; another question that wouldn’t be answered. I almost preferred to believe that he was depressed and that we had all failed in helping him overcome his depression. Once again, I had to stand back and tell myself that only he knew for sure. I would never know the answers to these questions.

The guilt, the anger, the sadness grabbed me by the throat and threatened to pull me down. I fought back, just like I had been fighting back all my life. I would always fight and rage against the dying of the light. I dug my fingernails into the soft rubber of the steering wheel. My throat tightened, my eyes watered and the road in front of me blurred as I muttered, “You fucking asshole!”

-From "Violence Girl, From East LA Rage to Hollywood Stage - A Chicana Punk Story" by Alice Bag

Babylonian Gorgon performed live (Acoustic Version)

Live at TKO Records in October, 2011. Free to download and share. Enjoy!

BABYLONIAN GORGON ACOUSTIC VERSION by alicebag

Finding My Way Home

I have experienced many wonderful surprises during the past few days but perhaps the greatest of these was seeing my two older brothers, Jaime and Ramon, show up unexpectedly at my reading in Boyle Heights this past Sunday. I walked into ChimMaya Gallery and I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw two white-haired versions of the guys who used to carry me around as a child. I hadn't seen them in many years so the fact that they were just standing there, smiling, next to one of my nieces made me gasp out loud. It's an odd sensation, seeing people from one part of your life appear in an altogether different setting but there they were. They had heard I was doing a book signing in their neck of the woods and they rushed out to greet me.

Photo by Angie Skull

My brother Ramon (Raymond) came prepared with an album including photos of me at various family functions through the years, which he happily shared with whomever was interested, sparking several conversations. It was funny, embarrassing and above all, touching. My bros stayed for my reading and even waited in line to have their books signed by me and to catch up on my life. I actually had to move them along because they were so eager to keep talking. I hinted that there were others in line waiting for me to sign their books. "We waited in line too," my niece replied. "I know, maybe we can talk after this," I offered.

At the end of the signing, my brother Jaime (Jimmy) exacted a promise that I would go over to his house for dinner sometime this week. I knew I already had a full schedule but I decided it was important to make time for family and I agreed to stop by for dinner on Wednesday.

When I showed up to dinner, I was greeted by my sister-in-law who insisted that I have some hot tacos that had just come off the stove. "They smell great," I said, "but shouldn't we wait for the others?" I knew that my niece had planned to come over, too.

"Oh no," my sister-in-law replied. "I've already prepared 120 tacos. They're all ready to go but I can't fry them all at once, so everyone will just eat as they arrive."

"120 tacos?? Are you planning to feed an army?" I thought she must be joking until I saw a giant sheet pan stacked with folded tacos ready for the fryer. A huge bowl of fresh salsa, a giant bowl of shredded cheese, another of grated lettuce and a pan full of enchiladas, plus rice, beans, chips and of course, cake.

Before I knew it, I had a big plate of food in front of me and my entire family started arriving at my brother's house. Brothers, cousins, nieces, nephews and family members for which I'm not even certain of the appropriate name (grandnieces and grandnephews?) filled the house until we were all bumping into each other. I got hugs and felicitations from everyone. They had all heard I had a book out and were happy for me.

My brother turned on the tv and had everyone gather around. Suddenly, I heard my voice reading and singing at ChimMaya Gallery. The room went silent as everyone watched. I was mortified. What would they think? In my youth, I always felt like the black sheep of my family. As an adult, I still feel like an odd duck but now I know that they are seeing me for who I am. And the best part? They were all there to support me.

At the end of the night, everyone wanted their picture taken with their Auntie Alice and I felt like I'd finally made it home.

Photo by Angie Skull

Feminista! (A deleted scene from Violence Girl)

Another deleted scene from Violence Girl. Enjoy!

Feminista!

It seems like the whole time I was growing up, the world was teaching me the role of women. From the first time I saw my mother cowering at my father’s feet to the current state of insidious inequality, I’ve been confronted with the message that females are somehow weaker, less capable than men. I began questioning the validity of these messages early on, inspired by the women around me. My mother, my sisters, my friends, aunts and cousins - each one constantly refining the definitions of femininity, androgyny and the true nature of equality in small ways through their daily routines. Sometimes these women discarded antiquated cliches of lady-like behavior in favor an assertive, can-do attitude. At other times they tried to squeeze themselves into someone else’s idea of womanhood. Either way, they helped me figure out that the tidy stereotype that was labeled “femininity” had to stretch to catch up with an evolving female consciousness.

My mother had found herself by stepping up to help my father in the male-dominated construction business; my girlfriends were pushing the boundaries too. The L.A. punk scene was densely populated by female musicians, artists, writers, photographers, roadies and more. These were the modern suffragettes in my life who, without banners or demonstrations, quietly led by example. Not that I oppose banners and demonstrations; I’ve participated in my share of marches, but it was the tiny changes that the women around me made in their personal lives
that spoke the loudest.

Patricia and I learned early on from auditioning male musicians that every one of them thought they were the next Jimi Hendrix or another Keith Moon. While most of the women we auditioned apologized in advance for not being very good, all the males wielded their axes with a bravado that seemed like second nature to them. Even the lamest male guitarist would talk up his skills, acting cocky and confident while the women underplayed their experience. After a bit of this, Patricia and I learned to adapt. We figured that when people wrote reviews about the band, they mentioned the two of us more often than they mentioned the guys. This gave us confidence and after awhile, we learned to do away with the modesty. It felt great to be able to say, “I’m a musician” without feeling the need to tack on an apology.

Changing the way we spoke about ourselves as musicians and artists was like tossing tiny pebbles into a sea of conformity, making ripples, making waves, bringing about change that starts from within and spills out into the lives of those around us. The words were so powerful that the more often we said them, the truer they became. Now, when we stepped on the stage we weren’t asking for approval, we were flaunting our talent.

Sign Language

The visual language of the Occupy movement set to music. We are waking up.


Sign Language from socially_awkwrd on Vimeo.