Episode 70: The Sound And The Fury

Music has been the pervasive element in my life. I’ll admit that I’m an addict; a junkie of sorts. I can’t go a full day without hearing something either in beat, by note or chord that makes my senses come alive and strikes something within me, making me come to wretched life.

This past week has been an experience for me. I can’t tell you how much music I’ve downloaded. I did that for a myriad of reasons. I’m too broke to afford the physical CDs at the moment. I need some of the music that has been requested and, there are memories that I wish to relive, though I’m still uncertain as to whether or not those memories are really my own. That, however, is another discussion for another time.

Getting back to it, music has always been something of a mental and spiritual journey for me. Each sensation of the highest euphoria and every devastating low has been marked in song within my psyche. I’ve howled into the night with Van Halen, roared in anger with Pantera, suffered silently with Concrete Blonde and Stabbing Westward and have even screamed a loud “FUCK YOU” with Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson. I’ve celebrated weekends with Andrew W.K. and I’ve mourned the passing of my friend and mentor with Kenny Wayne Shepherd.

I can identify each stage of my life by the sounds that accompanied them. From the fury of my teenage years to the struggles, triumphs and half-caste, malignant determination of today, it all has some type of beginning, middle, bridge, crescendo and finale.

To me, life without music would be like a movie devoid of it’s soundtrack. It would be dull, tedious and perhaps, boring.

Thank goodness for the marvels of modern technology. Just a couple of days ago, I loaded the folders full of music into my library on iTunes and began the painful process of decimating the playlist on what I’ve jokingly called my iPod Ninja. For many of the songs facing deletion, it was painful. The last thing I’d wanted to do was delete some songs to make room for new ones. Let’s face it, there are some songs I could listen to all day without worrying about how it sounded or whether or not I’d burn out on them. Maybe it’s time I upgraded to a four gigabyte iPod. Still, some sacrifices had to be made. I couldn’t very well fit every one of my selections on the iPod . What I did manage to squeeze onto the device would take me back ten years if not further.

This is where we go on another journey. It's probably going to be maddening and I can't guarantee your mental safety. As Hunter S. Thompson put it, "Buy The Ticket, Take The Ride." We're going to hop around time and space. I'll appear different. I'll be different for that matter, and though it only lasted a mere three hours for me, it was quite longer mentally.

With the iPod ready and loaded, I began my walk, hitting the play button, playing all tracks by album assortment.

Van Halen: Balance

This is where I started. There's always been something about the song "The Seventh Seal" that I’ve loved. Perhaps it was the guitars or the Buddhist chanting at the beginning that has endeared this particular piece to me. I count it as one of the many that inspired me to pick up a guitar. I’ve always played it while cruising along an empty highway at 60 miles per hour. I can’t explain what it was about that song that inspired me to cruise to it. Then again, I’ve never been able to explain myself properly when that song plays. The music itself gives off the feeling of flight. Though slightly acrophobic, I’ve always wanted to come as close to that feeling as possible.

Right after “The Seventh Seal” rolls in the track “Big Fat Money.” I’m 18 again, kicked back on the floor of the bedroom with my walkman on, hair hung loose to my shoulders. By then, I’d trimmed the black out of it. I’m coming close to graduation and the sooner I can put high school behind me, the better. I’ve got aspirations of becoming a writer and I’m sitting there, jotting notes furiously in my notebook reserved solely for my writings. They’re playing a song about what I’m dreaming to make off of this material. By now, I’m a hopeless caffeine addict and I live for one night out of the week…Friday Night. Friday nights are spent about 45 minutes away from home in a neighboring town on South Ryan Street at Carr’s Coffee Shop, getting twisted on the mass quantities of caffeine I’m consuming and discussing a variety of subjects with college poets, existentialist philosophers and other highly-stimulating intellectuals. Each Friday night we meet there to solve the problems of the world. Tonight, is different…it’s Saturday night and I’m still riding high on the caffeinated whatever-the-hell-it-was I consumed the night before. I’m making progress. Dad’s hooked on their house blend. He’s not exactly approving of this measure that I’m taking. In his mind, I think he thinks that something’s gone sideways with my wiring and that perhaps I might be turning into one of those liberals he disapproves of so much. I often wonder how he and my mother have coexisted as they have for so long when they butt heads, politically. I’m skipping out on the coffee tonight, favoring the highly-addictive chocolate coffee beans that threaten to keep me up for the rest of the weekend. Dad, like the patrons of Carr’s are surprised to see an almost-nihilistic metalhead in their midst, seeking to expand his horizons. It’s a crowd I could get used to. It’s nice, quiet, relaxing and I’m learning new things like discussions over games of chess and backgammon. I’m certain I’ll never master these games but I will have the time of my life playing them, nonetheless. Many of these games are played while speaking of the disastrous consequences of the imagery of my poetry and what effect it’s having on the dreamstates of the audiences, given their nightmarish basis in reality. Something tells me I’m sitting on potential money, I just don’t know how or why…or what comes next.

“Take Me Back (Déjà vu)” is the next song to play. I’ve wrapped up another day of slinging tires, playing in oil, busting my ass detailing cars. I’m sweaty, filthy…I probably smell of a herd of goats walking from Baghdad to Afghanistan and I’m just damned glad that the day is over. It’s 6 p.m. and I’m about to step into my car to go home. The sun is setting and, from where I’m standing, the city looks made of the finest gold. I take it all in as that song plays on the stereo. I pull the band out of my hair and let it hang loose. I’m very much in love with life at the time. For the first time in my life, I’ve been thrust into the awesome and terrifying role of fatherhood to a three-year-old girl. It’s my girlfriend’s kid and I’m sure she’s going to have something to say about the rugrat crawling all over me while I’m this dirty. If this were the ending to a movie, this is the song that would play. I get in, light a cigarette, relax behind the wheel and drive, literally, into the sunset. Fade to black, roll credits, wait for the sequel.

Doro: Classic Diamonds

Ah, Doro Pesch, my beautiful European siren! How many walks have we taken down these very deserted streets? How many times have we walked to these very songs? There was a difference to them, wasn’t there? Oh yes, your soaring voice was accompanied by the wailing guitars, throbbing basslines and brutal drumbeats of your former band Warlock and not the accompaniment of an orchestra.

I’m sixteen all over again. Despite the fact that my friends are so fixated on Death Metal at the time, I’m giving new things a try and that’s what’s most important, isn’t it? I’m the only one out of the entire bunch insane enough to slip out at two in the morning to go for a late-night smoke and a walk. It’s just me, you and your band, tonight, my dear. Each step through these streets with your voice only brings an air of wonder to a town that seems desolate, without a soul in it except for me.

It doesn’t matter that the ground is practically covered in ice or that the night air is heavy. The leather jacket feels more like armor. The cold can’t get into it and nothing can touch me as long as I wear it. I feel as alive as I ever have. The night has become a living thing and I feel safe within it. One day, I’ll play these same chords. Even though I haven’t picked up an instrument much less bother to learn one, I know I’ll be playing these songs one day. Of the few tapes in my collection, Warlock “Triumph And Agony” is my favorite so far. Each sound isn’t like your typical hair band. These songs have those elements that have been deemed “forbidden” by every one of my catechism instructors who have made it obvious to me that they knew less about the occult than I did. Damn them all, each chance they’ve taken to drive us apart has only made our companionship even stronger. It damned well should be! I have to take you with me everywhere to keep your sounds from the hell of the household garbage can. This is my act of defiance against them all. These people love their drama, speaking of the lies of their adversary but never speaking of their own lies. How many times have I exposed them only to have the rest of the classes listening, their attentions turned fully to them rather than their credibility damaged as it has been with me. Still, no hypocrites would come between us, would they? Their music depresses and defeats me. Their songs are dirge-like and the content is not that of celebration and victory but of defeat, tragedy and suffering but it lacks the will to go on, to rise above it and to crush the opposition. Your music empowers and emboldens me. I’m not some silent introvert anymore. How dare they sit in judgment of me for that! Their fear is little more than some silly and comedic pipe dream to me. Tonight, my German Songbird, it truly is us against the rest of the world.

Megadeth: Cryptic Writings

College days. These are hectic times and Megadeth’s new album is the only true comfort that I have during this rat race. Each day is a miserable awakening at stupid-thirty in the friggin’ morning just to beat the morning rush of commuters going to their glorious jobs in the Liberated People’s Technocratic Republic of Wherever. I picked this thing up at K-Mart a few days ago after seeing the video for “Trust” on MTV during one of those late-night channel surfs that I used to do with my dad. Upon opening the CD case, a card fell into my lap promoting a comic book series called The Cryptic Writings of Megadeth. I’ve asked Roland at the comic stand in the mall to hang onto a copy for me. I’m on my way to pick the thing up now. I can’t wait to see this. Being stuck in traffic doesn’t make a difference to me. Roland called me after my last class to tell me he had it and now, I’m sitting in traffic with nothing else to do today. No work, no more classes, nothing but all the time in the world than to sit in this Camaro with the tops off, blasting Megadeth, relax behind the wheel and patiently and eagerly await my arrival at the comic shop, listening to “The Disintegrators” all the way and bask in the aggression of all the other songs on this CD while simply waiting.

Once I get the comic into my hands, it’s like stepping into another world. So many songs from the first album translated to art and story form that the songs now take on a new interest for me. To see an artistic interpretation of these lyrics holds some expected results and unexpected surprises. Seeing this visual image perspective interpretation leads me to do the only thing I know to do, ask Roland to hold onto the next month’s issue. Sadly, this practice takes an unexpected turn and lasts for only four issues, one per month. I had hoped all of the songs would be translated into this visually stellar artwork because I wanted so badly to see the interpretation of the newer songs. I’d hoped to see songs like “Have Cool, Will Travel” translated, visually, to be the same scathing indictment of how the recent school shootings were handled. I’d have loved to see “Trust” and “Sin” translated to see what type of story would have taken shape, especially the lines from “Sin” which I’m convinced are the best ever, “Once burned, forever marked/Hurt by just a few, but so many have to pay.”

There was also something else about the album, a sense of maturity with the music and the content. My friend growing up remarked, “I dunno, man, it’s like they grew up or something.” I’m quick to point out the irony of his statement, as it was us that grew up with the music. About the only song that completely petrifies me is “Mastermind” because our technology is growing so quickly and I’m just learning about things like Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (aka D.A.R.P.A.) from which, we’ve derived the Internet. I’m hearing about the supercomputers that process people all over the planet through at least seventeen computers per day without provocation and, quite honestly, I’m worried because I’m beginning to feel as though there’s something we’re not being told.

Dr. Steel Custom CD:

I’m back here, today, the present. My high-octane trip down memory lane is over for now. Now, I’m walking along to Dr. Steel’s insanity. He seems to be somewhat of an imperialist rock n’ roll antihero and even though his music is erratic as hell but it’s just so much fun to listen to. I can’t get enough of this

Marilyn Manson: Eat Me, Drink Me:

This is about the end of the road for me. That conversation that I had with my friend about a band undergoing a maturity of sorts comes to mind again. Manson seems to have matured both musically and lyrically. Nearly everything about this album is different than the previous efforts. Still, it’s unmistakably Manson. I arrived home on the song “Mutilation Is The Sincerest Form of Flattery.” As for any memories pertaining to this album…I’m still making those.

Conclusion: Exiting The Portal:

I hope that you’re alright. I hope that you’re not too confused. I know this was probably the most erratic and jolting trip that you may have ever been on and I can’t blame you if you’re feeling sick right now. We couldn’t exactly control this particular trip. It’s the first of its kind. This was the experiment. Blame the iPod. That was the rogue factor. Going by album, it flung us all into the farthest expanses of time and space. It wouldn’t even surprise me one instant if you didn’t get separated from the rest of us and begin to experience your own timeshift. If you did, I’m glad you were rocketed back into this realm with us. I’m not sure I could take the mental responsibility of losing any of you to this maddening and uncontrollable journey. Then again, the uncontrollable part is the part we fear the most, isn’t it. It was that element of surprise and even some sense of danger that let you come this way with me.

Still, I have proven something to you without a single doubt and what I have proven to you, without controversy, is that no matter where you are physically, you and you alone, have the power, the codes, the keys, the triggers to go wherever you like. You can be sitting in a coffin, buried alive and still be on the beaches of Waikiki if you would like. You can be at home and take a trip to the rivers near Jordan. You can be in your office and take a journey into the world of the supernatural. This isn’t the only plane that exists, is it? Dare to go in between worlds and learn how to manipulate them into whatever you want it to be. You create your reality. You define who, what, how, when, why and even where, YOU are. Open your perceptions, test your limits and feel as you’re meant to feel…outside the skin.

Thank you all, I had a great time.