Content warning: The following article contains brief descriptions of sexual assault and harassment.
Every few months to a year, a wave of sexual assault allegations aimed at men in the music industry pour into Twitter.
As relatively high-profile rock bands like Brand New, Pinegrove, and Real Estate came under fire for allegations of abuse and harassment over the past couple of years, more and more people—namely young women—have felt empowered to share their own stories of trauma at the hands of men in the music industry. It’s become such a common occurrence that some Twitter users have dedicated ongoing threads to calling out these band members, prompting fans to half-jokingly claim they’re quitting listening to music altogether.
Last weekend was an especially heavy few days for rock fans reckoning with a culture of abuse. Lydia Night, lead singer of punk band the Regrettes, posted a powerful statement on Instagram detailing a relationship she had with Joey Armstrong, drummer of the band SWMRS; at the time, Night was 16 and Armstrong was 22. In her post, Night criticized SWMRS’ “hypocritical” statement denouncing the numerous accusations of sexual assault in the Southern California music scene, likely referring to Fullerton-based independent label, Burger Records.
Burger Records was founded in 2007 by Sean Bohrman and Lee Rickard, who were both members of power-pop band Thee Makeout Party. The label was known for releasing cassette tapes and for its role in cultivating Southern California’s garage rock scene, bolstering the careers of punky acts like the Garden, Together Pangea, and Cherry Glazerr. Over the past week, however, Burger’s employees and many of their signees have been the subject of assault allegations—enough so that an Instagram account, @lured_by_burger_records, was created to highlight such allegations.
On July 21, Burger released a statement explaining that they were responding to the allegations with “major structural changes” within the label, including the resignation of Rickard as president and a rebranded name, spelled BRGR RCRDS. Bohrman announced that he was planning on stepping down from the label, too, after helping Jessa Zapor-Gray transition into her role as the label’s interim president.
“We are also deeply sorry for the role Burger has played in perpetuating a culture of toxic masculinity,” Burger wrote in a statement that appears to have since been removed. “We are sorry that we did not actively monitor this behavior well enough to make the Burger music scene safer for you.”
On July 22, however, Zapor-Gray announced she would be leaving Burger entirely. “When I was asked to take over in this capacity, I expected some blowback for my decision to accept but I believed that the opportunity to have a role in effecting real and lasting positive change within the Burger and indie music scenes was worth the risk,” she wrote. “Upon further review, I have informed Burger Records that I no longer believe I will be able to achieve my intended goals in assuming the leadership role at Burger in the current climate. Therefore, I have decided to step away from the label entirely to focus on my other projects.”
Just hours after Zapor-Gray announced her departure from Burger, Pitchfork reported that the label had folded entirely.
Bohrman told Pitchfork that all of Burger’s releases were in the process of being removed from streaming platforms, though the label’s signees own their music and will be able to reissue those releases if they so please. All of Burger’s social media accounts have been deactivated, and when asked for further comment, Bohrman linked to a video of Porky Pig saying “that’s all, folks!”
While the fall of Burger Records isn’t surprising, it is heartbreaking. The label created an environment for young misfits to feel welcomed, but those kids’ wide-eyed passion ended up being weaponized against them; it wasn’t really that long ago, after all, when Bohrman and Rickard joked about sleeping with teenagers in an interview with Vice. Burger was a singular label, but their positive impact on SoCal’s punk scene isn’t worth upholding a legacy of abuse and harassment.
At this point, it’s probably still overly optimistic to imagine a world where artists and music executives discontinue taking advantage of impressionable people. But, what if every band comprised of all men had a discussion with each other about what consent looks like? About how alcohol and drugs factor into that? About power dynamics in physical relationships?
What if men stopped worrying about getting “canceled” and started thinking critically about how their actions can escalate into harassment? We can no longer rely on survivors to clear out the bad apples for everyone else—men, especially those in bands with young fanbases, have to hold each other accountable.
