[cover shot by Sam Steiner]

Written by Tingri Monahan
April 23, 2023

“This has been such a huge part of my life. At some point, I’m gonna get a tattoo of our logo. I don’t give a fuck. I will literally get the Whormones skull, like the spiky one, as a tramp stamp. I swear to God,” Pascale, the lead singer of teenage punk band Whoremones tells me as we sit on their living room floor in Altadena. Their other band members, bassist Estella and drummer Poppy, sit with us too. It was planned that I would interview them before their show that night, which was canceled due to the rain storm – a rare misfortune for a band from LA. Instead, I came to watch one of their practices. I was rather nerve-racked going into it, both unsure of my welcomeness and lacking the usual social protection that darkness and mosh-pit-crowd-invisibility offers me. But, of course, the band proved to be as welcoming as the punk scene they represent. 

Whoremones was born almost a year ago on the lawn outside of a senior retirement center. Pascale and Estella met at a Public Transit show (another teenage band, winner of the John Marshall High School Battle of The Bands but disbanded shortly after) and struck up a conversation. Pascale recalls their conversation going something like: “Yo, I want to start a band. And she [Estella] was like, I’m a bassist. I was in because I’m like, that’s fucking cool. That’s fucking lit.” In that very same conversation, Estella suggested the name Whoremones. She explains, “I thought of hormones, but let’s put a W in front of it. I was like, that’d be punk rock. That’d be Riot Grrrl.” The name of a punk band matters a lot. It probably matters even more than the music the band plays. Not to say that a lame band with a cool name is better than a cool band with a lame name, but it certainly helps the cause. It’s like the frame of a painting. Estella had recommended the name Whoremones to a band that she was a part of before – one of the ones that never made it to playing shows. Not everyone can transcend the conversation on the senior retirement center lawn. Estella continues, “So I brought it up with my old band, and they’re like, no, let’s name it Scarlet Empress. I was kind of pissed about that. ” This name, Scarlet Empress, generates a series of “Ewww” remarks from the rest of the band.

At the time of Whoremones’s conception, Poppy had only been playing drums for two months. Unlike Pascale and Estella, she didn’t immediately want to be in Whoremones. She recalls the story, laughing: “You posted on Instagram looking for a drummer and I saw it and was like, nah. But Linus, my boyfriend, basically didn’t ask me and just gave my name to Pascale.” Although scary at first, she concludes that it was the best thing that could have happened. Poppy adds, “Having played an instrument for such a short amount of time, I didn’t feel confident enough to put myself out there. I’m grateful that he did though because I couldn’t have.” As a 16-year-old girl, it’s hard to ask for opportunities and It’s easy to not feel good enough, but the punk scene doesn’t let you. There’s an interesting loophole in the punk music genre: the less professional, the better. Talent and skill are pretty much unnecessary – it’s about passion and commitment, not years of experience or technical abilities. Estella completely taught herself, she explains, “My dad bought a bass guitar when I was about seven because he was a new divorcee and wanted to look hot for all the new girls… And then around quarantine, I picked it up and really got into it. I’m self-taught and never had a bass lesson in my life. There’s this thing called Rocksmith. It’s on the ps4. It’s like Guitar Hero but you just plug it in actual bass and it feeds you live tabs like Guitar Hero. That’s how I learned.” There is no right way to learn or play music because it’s an extension of the musician themselves. A bad day will reflect in someone’s playing – not to say that they will play badly, just that they will play like they’re having a bad day. That’s the beauty of it. 

There was another band member in the beginning, a guitarist, Trevor. He left Whoremones about two months ago. The three remaining bandmates were weary about whether to discuss him in this interview, but it was decided that he was an important part of the band’s origin story. Whoremones is grateful for what Trevor brought them, but, as Poppy states, “We’re much better as an all-fem band.” One of Pascale’s friends who was listening in on the interview from the couch yelled “fuck Trevor!” when his name is mentioned. This is a phrase I heard echoed at his last couple of shows with Whoremones. The reason Trevor left the band remains vague – all bands need to have some secrets. 

Now Whoremones has everything it needs to succeed: A Riot Grrl name and four members. But as we know from Scarlet Empress, that’s not all that it takes. As a band of teenagers, you don’t just get asked to play at a show at a venue. Unless you’re a nepotism baby (believe me, there are some), opportunities need to be created. “Our first show that we ever did was something I completely organized myself… we literally just set up all our shit in the Silverlake Meadows,” Pascale reminisces. “You have to be more creative when it comes to finding places to create these things,” Poppy adds,”Since we’d never played a show before, people didn’t know who we were and probably weren’t going to let us jump on [their] show. So we had to make one ourselves… and then we got all of our friends to play with us in a park.” The majority of teen punk shows are held at people’s houses and frequently get shut down by cops. I was once at a show where a neighbor called with a noise complaint and the cops came to shut it down. Instead of telling people to go home, the band stopped playing for fifteen minutes and as soon as the cops left the amp was cranked back up to full volume. Not even the police can kill a punk show. 

The Los Angeles teenage punk scene is, of course, about the music – but really it’s about the kids in it with you. Poppy tells me, “It’s just a great community of people. It’s how a lot of people get to see each other, which is amazing honestly. Setting up something with all of your friends and seeing a bunch of people there is really fun in itself… and then looking closer and seeing that it’s all these people who you know is also really awesome.” Punk shows are a place for kids from all different schools and all different parts of LA, from Pasadena to Van Nuys, to not only socialize but dance: to jump around and kick and scream and sweat together. “After our last Sound Studios Show with Trevor. Even though I thought we played horribly… I was just trying to focus and then I took a minute and looked up and saw the crowd. Everyone was synchronizing. The crowd was absolutely insane that night,” Estella mentions. There is something so special and comforting about going to shows and always seeing the same people, even if you barely know their names. “I’ve met so many people that I just love with my whole heart now,” Pascale adds. 

Yet, every community has a flip side:. A layer underneath the love that comes from shared teenage rage. Most of these shows don’t have permits or adult supervision or bouncers – the illegality is an essential part of it. Too old for bouncy houses but too young to know how much they can drink without vomiting, teens in this scene are teetering on the unofficial line between childhood and adulthood. It’s a time when one needs independence but that same independence can be overwhelming. The Scene is a microcosm of the real world: It breeds the self-organizing and self-regulation of minors. No one is telling these kids what to do anymore, so they have to learn for themselves. Pascale tells me a story about their last show, which was under a bridge by the L.A. River: “Someone was like ‘dude, hey, this girl’s rapist is here can you call it out?’ So I went on the microphone like: ‘Hey Simon, I’ve forgot his last name, is here…this rapist is here so get him!’ – but no one’s doing anything so I just go up to him and burn my cigarette on his face.” Pascale’s bandmates were slightly shocked by this, maybe even in disbelief, but only momentarily. In the punk scene, there is no authority, there is no law, there is no rulebook for handling a situation, and there is no established solution. Yet, even in anarchy, there exists morality. We don’t need authority to know right from wrong and stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. This attitude is reflected in their music: “We write about feminist shit. We play feminist covers – we do all of that,” Pascale says. The movement inspires the music and the music inspires the movement.

---