[C is for Crabcore: The Squat Heard 'Round the Scene] #VariationsOnATheme
[Your Scene Sucks, 25 April 2025]
Emerge from your suburban/squatter home, put down that TV remote, and drop into the deepest squat your skinny jeans can tolerate--it's time to witness the Crabcore legend in his natural habitat. Direct from the sacred pages of Your Scene Sucks, this majestic beast blends synchronized breakdowns, hair-whipping fury, and more eyeliner than a Tribal Gear or Macbeth Footwear stockroom. Let's dissect this crustacean-inspired chaos.
Squatting: Always. Perpetually. Like a Gold's Gym instructor possessed by the ghost of MySpace. Every riff requires at least 4 inches off the floor.
Constant Headbanging: Because neck injuries are just part of the aesthetic. The more hair in your mouth, the more hardcore punk/extreme metal you are.
Concealed Face: No one knows what he really looks like. His identity has been buried under 2 kilos of teased bangs since 2008.
Chest Piece: Inked at age 16 during a metalcore gig in L.A.guna. Says something vague like "Attack Attack!" (or was it "Stick Stickly?") in script font.
Girls Denim: Stolen from an ex. They almost fit, but that's part of the look. If circulation to the lower half cuts off mid-show, it just adds to the performance.
Black V-Neck: Deep enough to see the chest tattoo. Tight enough to make breathing optional.
Full Sleeves: 'Cuz nothing says "emotional breakdown" like a full sleeve of koi fish and gas masks.
Slip-Ons: Vans, duh. For those mid-set high kicks and speedy escapes from judgmental parents and nosy neighbors.
The Crabcore specimen doesn't attend breakdowns--he becomes one. A fusion of emotional vulnerability and squat-based choreography, he lives in a world where every song ends with a synchronized leg press. Catch him mid-squat, mid-scream, mid-life crisis. He may have never been in a real fight, but he's definitely fought his reflection--and probably lost. Pinch hard. Mosh harder. Stay crabby.