Hearsay: Wednesday, July 11, 2002
Young Punk

Jonathan Gill is a sweet-natured, smiley good guy. He’s about 6-2, real skinny, and typically talks through a grin. His hello/goodbye wave is a quick wiggling hand. You’d never figure him as a mastermind behind one of the Fort Worth’s most solid punk labels. But he is.

Gill’s End Records began as a spin-off of www.truepunk.com, a fan site he had created in 1998 to meet a need of sorts. “A lot of stuff I read about punk in magazines had negative connotations,” Gill said, smiling. “I don’t think that reflected the true sense of what punk was to me” — something positive and, dare we say, uplifting. Gill received hundreds of records to review for the site and came across so many good bands, producing and distributing their sounds without label support, that he felt he could help by, in fact, starting a label. Enter: End Records.

There are now officially three bands on the label: Forty Winks (from Italy), Dead Sexy, and Darlington. And a few regional bands are “in talks” with End Records — which means Gill won’t distribute their records until he hears them and decides whether or not they’re distribution-worthy. A celebration of all things End Records is happening this Thursday at the Wreck Room: The label is about to turn one while good ol’ Jonathan Gill will be ringing in the big 1-8. (HearSay didn’t want to make a stink about this, but it is: What the hell were you doing with yourself when you were 17? HearSay was pouring concrete with Papa HearSay and dreaming up ways to get served at the local taverns. Its “future” extended only as far as the weekend. Jonathan Gill, on the other hand, was running a friggin record label!)

So how does one lay hands on some End Records product? Check out www.end-records.com. There, you can pick up End Records’ first release, the comp The Beginning of the End, Dead Sexy’s And Now You Know ..., Forty Winks’ To The Lonely Hearts, and a Slowride/Eniac split 7-inch, among other items.

Bar Etiquette

Just a note to all you readers out there who happen to frequent the clubs where all this kicking music HearSay writes about goes down: Respect yourself — and your bartenders. “Oh, HearSay,” you say, “I’m always super-sweet to my bartenders.” Bullshit. Two weeks ago some asshole pilfered a full tip jar from the Wreck Room — but that’s not the half of it. Every club in town is typically understaffed on hoppin’ nights (so much so that even a pitcher filled with cash can go unnoticed for long periods of time). My message: Give these hard-working folks a break. Don’t steal their tips, yes, but also realize that you may sometimes have to wait longer than one minute to have your drink refreshed. (And calling the bartender by his or her name will only move you further down on the waiting list.) And lastly, if you’re drunk, go home. Take a cab.

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