Graduation is near, and the real world that I’ve spent four years desperately trying to prepare myself for is drawing near. Part of me knows this should be a time of hope and excitement; after all, I’ve got the rest of my life ahead of me and with a college degree under my belt the future seems like it should be bright. Of course, telling myself this doesn’t help with all the anxiety of entering the job market, along with the loneliness that comes with trying to comprehend the monumental question of just where and how I’ll spend the rest of my life.

No, when those questions kick in, the greatest fix I know is to close my eyes, blast my speakers, and let hoarse words of Scott Sturgeon (aka Stza) carry me away;

“And when there is no hope, I’ll smoke some crack I’ll shoot some dope/ When there’s no enemies I’ll sit and stare at my TV.”

It’s an unusual source of inspiration, but then again, "No Gods/No Managers" is a pretty unusual album.

Choking Victim is one of those musical unicorns; the band recorded just one studio album, and broke up immediately afterwards. In all fairness, Stza (the vocalist/guitarist) and Alec Bellies (the bassist) carried the outfits’ philosophies, techniques, and even some of its songs, to their next project – the far more prolific, and well known, "Leftover Crack,"which is still producing amazing music to this (check out their latest album, Constructs of the State). But for some reason there’s something just so poetic about their lone album, absent of a barcode and covered in satanic scrawling. It’s the kind of beautiful singularity that has led an entire generation to become enamored with "In An Airplne Over the Sea."

Choking Victim was founded in Manhattan’s C-Squat, the Avenue-C Squat House that became a haven for skaters, anarchists, and crust-punks. From the first track, Stza is totally unafraid to portray the bleak realities of this kind of living; "500 Channels," is a brutal anthem of powerlessness and futile anger, the screed of someone who’s accepted detachment and drug use as the only means of escape. Their sound is an unholy union of hardcore, Sublime-era Ska, and just a few touches of black metal for good measure. “Crack Rock Steady” starts off like a twisted reggae tune, bouncing between preaches of unity and understanding, and plans to burn down churches in the name of Satan. “Living The Laws” bursts in with guttural screaming, before slowing things down to a swampy beat that’s even kind of funky. The result is a living, mangy, beast that blends together a vast array of traditions and mixes them with a heavy smear of grime and vicious energy.

The despair in the album is absolute, the bitter perspective of someone lying on their own deathbed and questioning what made their life worthwhile. "In My Grave," is a crass sonata of entropy, accepting that everything we do is doomed to fade away. In Hell confronts just how overwhelming the sense of the past can be, once you actually stop to take stock of your own screw-ups. But as the album reaches these depths, it's always able to pull the listener back into a slightly more empowered state. "F***ed Reality" actually encourages you to take pride in your individual flaws and contradictions, with the chorus proclaiming "I'm a loser, I am satan, I am Jesus Christ, I'm Me! There are no winners in this f***ed reality!"

Part of the power of the album comes from the way that greater ideals and political philosophies are present in the songs, but contradicted in such a way that makes them feel just beyond grasp. Three of the songs begin with sound bites from a speech by the American socialist Michael Parenti, offering beautiful analogies on American imperialism, corporate political influences, and systemic police brutality. On one level, these themes are certainly in-line with the albums anti-capitalist, and yet there’s also a disconnect when we switch from a careful breakdown of the term “US Interests,” to deep demonic roaring and a chorus that proclaims “f*** world trade” (in a song titled “F*** America” no less). Weirdly, this disassociation actually contributes to the album's power, simultaneously acknowledging the potential of these ideals, while also asserting a level of hopelessness and futility that makes these words meaningless.

I realize that given this description, the album seems pretty grim. But what’s truly amazing about No Gods/No Managers, is that I wouldn’t call any of the songs depressing. Songs like "In My Grave" seem to assert that we’re all doomed to pain, misery, and ignorance, yet these ideas are delivered at a fast tempo and with a manic energy that seems to desperately reach out of for some kind of meaning. The songs of the album use their short run-time to deliver upbeat melodies and catchy lyrics; the kind of music that makes you want to bang your head and sing along to.

Leftover Crack still performs some of the old Choking Victim songs, and when you watch sing "500 Channels," detailing his succumbing to numbness, the audience is shoving and singing and having the kind of experience that proves they're alive. Choking Victim's music refutes any institutions or traditions and, in the process, holds onto the self as the only possible source of meaning. This, in a way, is the beautiful paradox of punk; it’s willing to confront so much angst and futility, yet does so with the primal roar of someone desperate to find a life worth living.

We live in a society that loves to pay lip-service to optimism and happiness, constantly re-asserting the ideal that we’re all beautiful snowflakes who just need to love ourselves and ignore the haters. There’s nothing inherently wrong with this line of thinking, except that it can sometimes alienate anyone just naturally predisposed to cynicism and pessimism. The truth is, some people are just naturally inclined towards thinking about the world through a lens of failure, sadness, and death. Sometimes this outlook is tied to personal experiences, other times it's linked to issues of depression and mental health, and sometimes someone just gets a certain enjoyment from the company of their own misery. It doesn’t mean that you aren’t a good, caring person, or that you can’t live a rich, full life; it just means that sometimes you need to be able to stew in your own anger and despair. Ironically, being bombarded with the kind of inclusive and communal thinking -- the kind that pops up all over social media -- can sometimes make you want to put a gun in your mouth.

That’s why I’m glad I have the Choking Victim’s music in my life. Whatever struggles I've faced in my life can probably hardly even compare to what the members of this group went through, and yet I find my life still drawing so much from their short burst of work. It’s reassuring to have this place where I can dwell on the fundamental flaws of society, and myself, but still be infused with an anarchic, mischievous energy that convinces me to see just what the hell it will throw at me. So, when I leave this college campus and venture into the dark, chaotic, real world, I’m going to do so carrying this line from “Born To Die” close to my heart;

“Gone to bed, God is dead

Lies and truth are in my head,

Your history, society, economy, it isn’t me

It’s all on you, reality, it’s what you do”