Context: A few years ago, I was approached to write a weekly article for a local punk rock website. I had gotten the first article in the can and had two others written but in need of editing. I sent the article below off to the guy that ran the site and he approved. This happened over a weekend and he was out of town at a show. He told me that he'd give me access to the site when he got back into town on Monday and I could post the article then. That was the last I heard from him. Follow up emails were never returned so these articles sat on my hard drive until now. I checked recently and the site is no longer up and running. I figure instead of letting them go to waste, I'll post them here. I didn't want to change too much in the finished article so I only removed the site editor's name.
First Article Paranoiac
Blues
**** The Fearless Editor suggested I
write about music and its impact/influence on my life and the way in
which the two are intertwined.
As someone who has never fit in
anywhere since I was in kindergarten, I have a very minimal amount of
people that I could willingly refer to as friends. I would rather
spend time with my records than with most people. If you take care
of your records, they will never let you down.
Even when I discovered the life
altering wonders of the punk rock and started going to shows I never
felt like I was actually part of a scene. When I was working shows I
still did not have this sense of belonging to something. It was
always about the music. When the show was over I'd go home. The
music was over so what was the point?
I find it very
difficult to talk about music because it's such a personal thing to
me. When someone asks what I've been listening to lately I always
clam up. It makes me feel like I was just asked what meds I was on
to keep my sanity. And I'm sure people would look at me weird if I
told them I only got out of bed this morning because of the first
four Black Sabbath records.
Through the course of my day there are
frequent moments where the depression and loneliness start to feel
like another person is in the room. There is no better way to clear
the demons out than with a stack of records. Miles Davis into The
Stooges into Boris and capped off with The Melvins. Who needs
friends when you have Fun House
by the Stooges?
Then there are
those days when the depression wins and Dinosaur Jr. feels as warm
and comfortable as an old sweatshirt. There is something about that
band that feels like home.
I'm
sure I'm not the only one out there that has a few life saving
records. Those are the records that come off of the shelf when
everything has gone wrong and you're not sure how to put things back
together. The End Of Silence
by the Rollins Band has grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and
pulled me out of the mud on more than one occasion. You've got a guy
yelling at you to get up and get on with it over a rhythm section
that's locked in and on fire. What's not to like? Give a listen to
the original release or the demos. Either versions will claw at that
itch.
Music is what gets
me through the bad times and helps me remember the good times. It
can serve as a time machine without the use of a DeLorean and a Flux
Capacitor. It can heal wounds or reopen old ones.
Music is a powerful
force and I can't wait to share some with you.
Cazart.
Records listened to
while putting this together:
Le
Butcherettes—Cry Is For The Flies
True
Widow—Circumambulation
Submachine—In
Spite Of Everything...
Zeitgeist—Zeitgeist
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