In the trailer for an ill-fated documentary about the hardcore band AVAIL, the subjects interviewed all rally around one phrase: “AVAIL taught us how to be a band.” It’s a common rejoinder, with members of Hot Water Music and Smoke or Fire saying it outright. And seconds later, it’s attributed—albeit secondhand—to Strike Anywhere and Boysetsfire, too. While plenty of bands have inspired kids to pick up instruments, AVAIL taught bands how to live a life in constant motion, and how to do so ethically. In many ways, AVAIL did for a modern generation what Black Flag did in the 80s. Even if AVAIL never made their own version of Get in the Van, they left it behind across their body of work. And though a case could be made for any of their albums as encapsulating their ethos, no record shines as bright as Over the James.

Formed in 1988, the original AVAIL lineup bore no resemblance to the revered band people would come to know. At the time, Tim Barry was playing drums, but would soon move to the front of the stage, pick up the microphone, and become the band’s mouthpiece. Guitarist Joe Banks would be alongside him, as well as Beau Beau, AVAIL’s cheerleader (and roadie and tour manager) who would jump around, sing along, and rile the crowd up at live shows. Erik Larson would serve as the band’s backbone, turning hardcore drumming from a seemingly anonymous task into a noteworthy occupation while bassists cycled in and out of the band.

Based in Richmond, Virginia, AVAIL lacked the opportunities many of their big-city peers had. Though Richmond would go on to build a vibrant scene of its own, in those early days, AVAIL stood out from the pack, and by the time they released their debut album Satiate in 1992, it was clear the young band was cribbing from an entirely different set of notes. Where most hardcore bands stuck to the genre’s progenitors, the Black Flags and Bad Brains of the world, AVAIL was unabashed in their embrace of Southern rock. Banks’ riffs, even in their earliest forms, showed his ability to write riotous hardcore songs that retained a subtle, evocative warmth. Where plenty of punk guitarists attempted to recreate Greg Ginn’s slapdash soloing, Banks played like a revved up John Fogerty or Dickey Betts, allowing even his most pounding riffs some room to breathe.

Barry’s voice was just as expressive. When he screamed, there was a boisterous intensity to his delivery, but his Southern drawl still poked through. It allowed him to not sound oppositional, but communal. Instead of shouting at you, he was inviting you to sing along with him. And the fact that Beau, their once-homeless roadie-turned-band-member, was onstage doing exactly that, it was easy to get swept up in AVAIL’s cathartic rampage.

The band started criss-crossing the United States as soon as Satiate was released, arriving in the California Bay Area with a mission. As Lookout! Records founder Larry Livermore tells it in his book How to Ruin a Record Label, AVAIL showed up uninvited to the Lookout! office, forced him to find the band’s demo in a pile of mail submissions, put it on while they hung around, then told him to sign them. It’s the kind of legend that, while a bit outsized, is believable if only because AVAIL is the kind of band that commanded a room without trying to. There’s a no-nonsense air about them, the kind that can make someone think they are being strong-armed into a record deal, even if that wasn’t the intent. But luckily for AVAIL, Lookout! did end up offering them a contract. And luckily for Lookout!, the three-album run that followed is still one of the best in all of 90s hardcore.

Both 1994’s Dixie and 1996’s 4AM Friday showed AVAIL coming into their own, mapping the transition from the unkempt looseness of Satiate into an increasingly powerful—and decidedly more melodic—hardcore band. They toured hard in support of those albums, picking up devotees wherever they went, and setting the stage for their most impactful statement, Over The James.