Nothing can quite describe the feeling of standing in front of the stage at a rock concert, immersed in bodies, pushed to the point where you can’t breathe, and everyone’s screaming lyrics, singing along, phones aloft while they’re being pummeled by the driving sound of grunge.

This past Saturday night, Dec. 20, Dexter and The Moonrocks brought grunge back to Portland at the Crystal Ballroom. There was a twist, though. Their sound has a bit of country twang. The four Gen Zers who make up the band hail from a small town outside of Abilene, Texas. The Lone Star State is steeped in music, from zydeco to country to Southern rock. This reinvigorates the genre. In interviews, the band members have often cited growing up listening to their parents’ grunge music as being a big influence on their sound.

Vocalist James Tuffs and lead guitarist Ryan Anderson, both 26, are childhood friends. They started the band together playing at first as “James Tuffs and the Southern Trouble.” They enlisted Ryan’s cousin, Ty Anderson, 34, to play bass. The band was rounded out when Ryan Fox, 24, who goes by Fox, joined. The 24-year-old saw an ad for a drummer and joined the band not long after.

Fox was working as a children’s baseball coach while attending law school when he answered the ad. Tuffs and Ryan were undergrads when they started the band ,working respectively as a fry cook and as a concrete-surface decorator. Ty was a drilling-rig crew member. The members of the band continued to work their day jobs and attend school for about a year before they quit to play music full time.

Their music speaks of disaffection. Like the title of the Offspring song, they aren’t alright. They are raging when they sing their sad cowboy music. It is definitely not for the stereotypical sad cowboy.

The first verse of Dexter and The Moonrocks’ single Bleach is poignant. Lead singer Tuffs,starts off plaintively and world weary; “Well, I’m too young to be telling people that my friends are dying, it’s the same old, same old cliche,” before belting out his anger in the chorus, his gritty voice chewing up the words, “I think of who you’ve become, I wanna bleach my brain.”

Gen Z are digital natives, the first generation fully immersed in the internet and social media. They are fed a diet of indiscriminate information, always connected, always aware, always worried about likes: Iit creates a state of fear, anxiety and cyberbullying.

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They worry about finding jobs with living wages, affordable healthcare, and the cost of education. They face an inevitable climate crisis, and struggle with the feeling of helplessness at their inability to stop it. Active shooter drills, the Covid pandemic, 9/11, the Great Recession, the insurrection on Jan. 6, 2020, and George Floyd’s death and the Black Lives Matter protests.

In Ritalin, Tuffs sings about the effects of the drug, “alone with, all the things that kill me, do you even know the real me? I don’t need your sympathy.” In the chorus he addresses the issue bluntly: “I’m not myself without my medicine, I took some Ritalin, wasn’t a little bit, nobody else rather see me finish it, I’m fucking over it, it always makes me sick.”

For Gen Xers grunge was an amazing experience; we were finally seen. The music was an anthem for my generation. It defined us; expressed our rage and our apathy with the system and the world using one word: ‘Nevermind.’

It filled us with hope knowing there were people we recognized singing words that we understood, because those musicians’ lived experience was similar to ours.

Quintessential Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain sang, “I’m so happy ’cause today I found my friends, they’re in my head, I’m so ugly but that’s okay ’cause so are you, we broke our mirrors
Sunday morning is everyday for all I care, and I’m not scared, light my candles in a daze ’cause I found God.”

We were the last generation of free-range latchkey kids who ran the roads on bikes, stayed out till dark, never sure when mom would come home. We feared the endless cold war that slouched on, even after the Berlin wall came down. We were young adults who later felt adrift in the world we inherited; the AIDS pandemic, Tiananmen Square, a country struggling after Reaganomics with few opportunities that offered living wages, a mental health and homelessness crisis, and degrees that weren’t worth the paper they were printed on. I even knew a guy with a PhD in philosophy working behind the counter at Burger King, a true cliche.

Cobain wrote and sang about being homeless. Sung like a lullaby, at first glance Something in the Way is a gentle and melodic piece; it isn’t until the listener examines the lyrics that the true nature of the song is revealed.

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“Underneath the bridge, tarp has sprung a leak, and the animals I’ve trapped have all become my pets, and I’m living off of grass, and the drippings from my ceiling, it’s okay to eat fish ’cause they don’t have any feelings.” The chorus answers and asks questions: “Something in the way, hmm-mmm, Something in the way, yeah, hmm-mmm.”

The crowd gets pumped …

… and the band returns the favor

Experiences can transcend generations, but music can link those generations and their experiences together. It links places together, as well. Bluegrass has its roots in Celtic folk songs. Blues, jazz and rock trace their origins back to Africa.

When you say “grunge,” most people who aren’t Oregonians instantly think Seattle. But Portland played a pivotal role in creating a new sound that seemed to emerge with an explosion. The truth was, it was a completely unique sound that had been growing and influencing musicians in the Pacific Northwest.

The Satyricon, described by music historians as one of the most influential venues for grunge and alternative music, drew musicians and concertgoers from all over the Pacific Northwest to Old Town Portland. It played host to many of the most influential musicians and bands long before they became famous, many of whom were signed to the Seattle Sub Pop label made famous by Nirvana.

Satyricon was the place where Courtney Love met Kurt Cobain. It was the most sought-after venue in Portland. Heatmeister, Calamity Jane, Mudhoney, the Dandy Warhols and the Dharma Bums played there. So did the Jesus Lizard, Melvins, and Pond. But local bands played there, too. Folks still wax on about seeing Sweaty Nipples, Miracle Workers, Obituaries, Oblivion Seekers, the Jackels; the list is endless.

Grunge was born from a continuous loop of shared influence. Bands from up and down the I-5 corridor borrowied elements of each others’ sound as they went to shows and toured.

The Moonrocks have done this with their brand of grunge. It’s the lovechild of two different genres syncing into a perfect combination of beautiful chaotic creation: western space grunge, heavily influenced by classic country music storytelling and western sound.

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Like the rapper Shaboozey, who blends hip-hop and country, the band’s sound is part of a genre called y’allternative,  a fusion of country music sound, that twang, and storytelling style with any other music form. The Moonrocks call their style “western space grunge.”

And it brought a diverse group of people to the show. Fathers and sons, punks and goths, metal heads and emo kids and everything in between — and of course, Gen Xers and Gen Zers, for similar reasons: lyrics that spoke to them; vocals delivered with an edge of pain, often humorous, at times offering hope, at others hopelessness, to the accompaniment of driving, pounding guitar riffs that aptly reflected those feelings.

The night ended with the encore, a staple of rock concerts; the crowd hyped up even more by the fact that they were going to get two more songs.

As the band left the stage, running to catch their next plane, a sweaty shirtless fan stood staring longingly at the now empty stage, sucking in air, breathless from the exertion and excitement, and turned and smiled at me. He was literally glowing with cathartic pleasure. It was a communal experience for everyone, young and old alike. For just a moment, when I smiled back, we totally understood one another.