Starkweather - The Divine Art of Exquisite Torment

Hey everyone.  Just a small update today before I do my next post.  I wanna thank everyone who read my last post and shared it and showed me love.  For today we are gonna bring it back to music.
I could dedicate a series of blog posts to Starkweather.  There's no shortage of things to talk about really. You could write about the records, their role in the development of what would become "metalcore," whether they ever got the credit they deserve, and so on.  Check this post on Aversionline for a good write-up of one of their records, and check xSinkingForeverx to download the first two 12"s (which are long out of print at this point).  You can do your own google search to find other info, interviews, etc.
I'm just going to talk about this song, "The Divine Art of Exquisite Torment" from the 1994 Philly Dust Krew comp CD.  This might be THE perfect Starkweather song. .  I hate to use the word "epic," and even though Starkweather has several longer songs, I think this song is a true epic in the sense that it takes all the unique approaches of this band and puts them together in a five minute banger.  This is the song I'd pick to introduce someone to Starkweather, and I hope there are you readers out there who haven't listened or you listened a few times and it never stuck.  Starkweather isn't for everyone but I hope you will join me on this listening experience.
Right away you're hit with those vocals.  Renni's voice is one of the best in hardcore/metal.  He is a master of vocal dynamics, smashing you across the face with that vicious snarl one second and then wrapping melodies around your head with his understated clean singing voice.  1:20 is a good example of this, as the band joins the vocals in making the transition from harsh and heavy to driving and melodic. An almost sickly voice sings along with the cleaner backing vocals.  You are rocking out.  How could it get better?
A slow acoustic passage.  Talk about heavy metal.  It must all go downhill from here.  It's gonna be slow and boring and it's going to take 3 minutes until something cool happens again. NOT! At the 3:12 mark, the perfect drum fill sets things off again and we're back in riff city.  One thing I want to make note of is that awesome noise the guitar makes throughout the riff, it sort of sounds like he's moving his hand along the strings after he stops strumming.  The rest of the song is just a series of furious riffing, whether it's fast riffing with doublebass or the final riff which sounds like it could have been on Urban Discipline.  The drums start building things up first and the song ends how it started: no bullshit.  
Thank you for spending more time reading about the song than how long the actual song is.  
I took the dog for a walk after I wrote all this.  We ran into an Australian tourist who wanted to take his picture.  I took this picture of him rolling around in the grass.

Till next time...

Scan results, other Harrys, Charlie Chaplin was a gypsy

Yesterday I had my CT scan.  My doctor called me arund 6:45pm with the results.  The scan was (in his words) "normal."  There are no traces of lymphoma.  I am in remission.  The results of the scan could not have been better and I can take comfort in the fact that my disease has been beaten down mercilessly.
So put up what you got, or sit the fuck down!!!!!
Now, I have to make a critical distinction here.  Technically, I have been "in remission" since my first stem-cell transplant back in January/February, where I was blasted with high dose chemotherapy with the sole intention of obliterating my disease (with lots of collateral damage, of course) and I was given my own stem cells back to me to regenerate my nuked immune system.  This first transplant was critical because previous lines of treatment had failed to get me into remission, and I needed to be in remission in order to undergo my second, donor transplant (ultimately the procedure that will yeild the "cure").  What is huge about the newest scan is that it shows that in the 8 months since my first transplant, including the last 83 days with my new immune system, my disease has not resurfaced.  Without having to battle my cancer back into remission, which gets more and more difficult (and less successful each time), my team can focus on the other important aspects of my recovery, which will last for several more months even with the good results of the scan.

I asked my doctor what does this mean with regards to my current and continued care and recovery, and he said that remaining in remission is the goal, and at around two years, we can begin using the word "cure."  In the meantime, I am not yet "cured," and I still face the numerous restrictions that patients have post-transplant (although I was given the all-clear to order takeout and fresh vegetables again!  I am being entirely truthful when I say that I've missed having salad more than I miss drinking alcohol).

One of my first thoughts after getting off the phone with my doctor was god damn it, do I have to change the name of my blog?  Well, I'll be damned if I'm changing it after I just registered the domain.  Maybe I'll just switch the parantheses in the logo from the (RE) to the (IM).  But at the end of the day, this blog is not about the specifics of my illness.  If it's about anything, it's about challenge and opportunity. There is an uncertainty and skepticism that resides in the far corner of the mind, even in spite of excellent news, and that's what the title reflects.

Now for a run-down of the day's events.  I entered the stem-cell patient waiting room at 7:45am in the middle of a conversation between two men in their 60s/70s (well, technically, it was a conversation between one sick man and another sick man's wife).  They must've started talking about their diagnoses.

"I was 67, never barely got sick."
"He was 72, we just thought he was getting old."
"I lost 60 pounds.  I used to hit the gym.  I worked my whole life, I'm retiring, I'm still big and strong, then this happens."

A small part of can't help but think, "Try 25."  But I still feel for these men and their stories, which are different from mine but no better.

Next was my CT scan in the Shapiro building in neighboring Brigham & Women's Hospital.  Since it'd been a while since my last scan and I didn't want to drag my mother all over hell's creation, I figured I would ask a Dana Farber volunteer how to get there.  I was hoping for simple directions but instead she eagerly started leading us down the Dana Farber hallway and across the connecting bridge to Brigham's. While she is leading us she is telling us she does this ten times a day and could do it in her sleep.  Well, she might have actually been asleep,  dropping us off in the completely wrong place and someone else had to point us in the opposition direction to the correct area at the end of the hall and around the corner.

So I sign in, they bring me into a small, cold waiting room so I could drink my "berry-flavored" CT scan drink to prepare for my scan.  My mom has spilled coffee on her white shirt and she is freezing after trying to clean it in the bathroom.  The scan itself takes five minutes so we have lunch before I check in to see my actual doctor.

The trick is to get to the stain before it dries
In the waiting room, a family consisting of an older couple and who I determined to be their son-in-law sat near us.  I couldn't pinpoint exactly where they seemed to be from, but they definitely had an Eastern European and/or Muslim (Turkish???) thing going on.  Fortunately since I've already worked a Bulldoze song into this post, this won't be the most ignorant part of today's entry.  Anyway, they notice me in my mask and gloves and they start asking if I was post-transplant.  The son-in-law (henceforth SIL) explained that his FIL is about to go through an autologous transplant (like my first transplant, auto = one's own cells) so they asked me a couple questions.  The old man asked me what my diagnosis was.  I told him Stage 4 Hodgkins Lymphoma.  His SIL points to him and says, "That's just what you have, Harry!"  I turn to the old man, "My name's Harry!"  (A month ago Heather and I were walking my yellow lab on Cape Cod and a young family came up to us to pet him, and the mother explained their yellow lab just passed away.  "His name was Harry."  "My name's Harry!"

His wife didn't seem to have as firm a grip on English, but she did make one contribution.  I was wearing an old t-shirt with a picture of Albert Einstein on it, and she points to it and says, "At least you have Charlie Chaplin on your side."  I laughed in case she was making some kind of joke, but a laugh is generally a good response to a comment that you have no idea what to make of.  I turn to her husband, and he says, "He was a gypsy!" very matter-of-factly, so I couldn't tell what their actual feelings on gypsies are.  Shortly after, my name is called and we say our goodbyes and I wish him good luck.

My shirt

Charlie Chaplin (he actually makes the shoe look good, that's some good comedy for you)
My doctor had a student with him (likely because I'm part of a clinical trial), some girl from Portugal.  At one point I showed him a picture of my new dog lying in his bed, which he thought was cute (duh).  I then show this girl, and she says, "Oh my god, he's scary."  What the fuck are you talking about?  What kind of dogs is she used to that a Boston Terrier curled up in a bed conjures fear?

Really terrifying

Well, it's about that time.  This post has ended pretty long, but I wanted to include all the events of the day..  I want to thank everyone who has shown me so much support lately.  It means a lot.  I'll close this post with a picture I took on Prospect Hill in Somerville.  Take it easy everyone.

Blog with a Dog

Ventured through Providence into Connecticut today to pick up our new baby...1 1/2 year old Fig Newton (so named after his brindle coat)  Boston Terrier, former show dog who my mother managed to find with her incredible resourcefulness.
We got in touch with a breeder who co-owned Fig and they were looking to give him up for adoption.  He is the sweetest little guy, lots of energy, loves to give kisses, but isn't a super hyper crazy small dog.  He doesn't bark and instead makes cute little snorts and sniffles.  He was kissing me earlier and it sounded like sound effects from some cannibalistic zombie movie.  He is a really beautiful specimen though, incredible conformation, and his personality is perfect.  He loves to kiss and socialize, but he doesn't have to the be the center of attention (although he will be).

We've taken a few pics so far but it is hard to capture his true essence effectively.  You can imagine that there will be countless pics and videos of this dog doing his thing, but for now here are a few from the first couple hours he's been home.

This is from an early series of pics when he was zipping all around.  The name tag came from his former home and is affixed to his new crate.

He loves to jump from person to person

We've put his main bed on our second couch

After his long walk, ready to chill out.  Right now he is snoring at my feet in his smaller bed under my computer desk.

Infinite kisses to be had.

I leave you with a video of my man and his heavy eyelids:

Life and comedy clips

You are moidering the King's English.
My youtube channel is mostly filled with music-related things, but there are a few non-music video clips as well.  I have the same basic approach to uploading comedy clips as I do music clips: if there is a moment that isn't represented on youtube, I want to upload it to at least have it at my disposal.  Generally these will be Seinfeld clips, but I also have some Three Stooges and other things.  Here is my youtube channel for those interested.  Many of those videos I have no intention of on including in this blog, so you can always consult my youtube channel and see what might interest you.  Lately I've been on a bit of an uploading spree which I plan on sharing in another post soon.

I figure after my lengthier post from a couple days ago ago, you all could use a break.  So here's a shorter update about the past few days,  First things first, this coming Monday I will be getting my 100 day scan to determine the current state of my disease (although technically it is only day 82)  Hopefully, it has been nuked into oblivion with all the shit I've been through, but hope by definition makes room for uncertainty.  Doctors hate to speak in absolute terms, with my doctor preferring to use phrases like, "I'm fairly certain the scan will be nothing to worry about."  I trust him, but worry can abound during these landmark medical moments that end up taking an entire day to go through.  To quote E-Town Concrete, "Hope for the best but expect the worst," although to be honest, I expect my results to be good and I am not dwelling on it.  I stole a fistful of surgical masks from the hospital yesterday and then destroyed my fender pulling out of the parking space and cutting the wheel too soon, so hopefully I've experienced enough Karma for now.  A Sunoco guy fixed most of it with a manly tug with his bare hands this morning.
What?  Negative's good?  Oh, yes of course!   A funny moment occurred earlier this week when my friend Matt was over and we were sitting on my second story porch which overlooks the rear entrance & parking area.  I had my iPad out with us playing a Celtic Frost song, and one of my neighbors was walking below with his young daughter.  He said, "Hey," Matt and I both said, "Hey" back, and I said "Hey" to the little girl.  Then all of a sudden, Tom Warrior from Celtic Frost shouts, "Hey" to complete the greetings.  That moment occurs around :30 in the video below. The much maligned Cold Lake record, but god damn how good is that verse riff?  
The biggest update....we are getting a dog on Sunday.  1 1/2 year old former Championship brindle Boston Terrier (he said goodbye to doggy showbusiness when his balls got lopped off yesterday).  You can expect plenty of pics once we get him on Sunday.  In the meantime I hate to leave him to your imagination, but it just wouldn't be the same to share him with you guys until he is actually here with us.  I think having a dog is going to do wonders for my mental health, which needs every possible benefit it can get.  My good friend Zack and his wife just got a dog as well, so we can finally do things that people in their late 20s do. Now I leave you with a few of my favorite Seinfeld moments which I've uploaded onto youtube for the masses to appreciate, or in the case of a few of these clips, perhaps underappreciate.  Have a good weekend and expect lots of cuteness to come by Monday evening.

Classic Kramer doubletake in the Cuban Embassy

Every time I think I'm out, they pull me back in

When you're dead, you're dead

And one of my favorite moments from The Maestro...

Moving Melodies Part 1

 Why not indeed?

The above cartoon came from the New Yorker I was reading in the waiting room last week.  Very fitting, so I tore it out of the magazine, but left it in my mom's purse so I will probably never see it again.  I planned on taping it to my computer to motivate me and remind me of the Sid in all of us.

I started writing this post last week, but it's been on the backburner for a while as I did a few other updates.  This post is going to be the first in a series that I will revisit every so often, about great melodic moments in hardcore/punk. A place to celebrate the choices a band makes in favor of melody against a backdrop that is usually more about rhythm and intensity. Sometimes you just want a little melody, and melody fused with aggression can be extremely powerful.   I'd like to keep each of these posts to 5-6 songs, rather than long lists, since I want to write about each song and reflect on what makes it so good, and hopefully I will not come across like some sanctimonious music critic.  As I edit this post one last time, I might add a few more songs to sort of "set the stage."  Let's give this a try.  

Slap of Reality "Showout Blowout"

Should you know, could you tell we're just not well?  

If you keep guessing for to long, it gets depressing when you know it's wrong.  

Left hanging wide awake while you think of how far you'd go for emotions as rare as gold

I'm posting this song first because it was only recently introduced to me by my friend Matt, who I know is reading this and cursing that I didn't use his alias.  ("It's Cornhole, damn it!")  I hadn't heard of this band, but after doing a little googling I learned Slap of Reality was around from 89-92 and managed to release a few 7"s and an LP during that time before breaking up and reforming in the mid-90s).  This song is from one of the 7" compilations that used to come with Boston's Suburban Voice Fanzine (#32 I believe), which now exists in blog form.  This song is from 1992.  

Lot of good things going on in this song.  The song opens with cleanly, picked jangly guitar, before plunging headfirst into some rocking powerchords at an energetic tempo.  Throughout the song, the guitar finds itself alternating between melodic picking and more straightforward strumming, while the rhythm section maintains the intensity and the vocalist delivers his lyrics at the right moments in the right way.  Show ow-out, blow ow-out.  After a sort of verse-chorus-verse-chorus thing for the first minute, the tempo drops and the entire band comes together in an incredible harmony.  The tempo picks back up, the chorus is revisited, and the song comes to an abrupt end.  A perfect two minute melodic punk song.  I don't think I will dedicate another post to this band, so at the risk of doing exactly what I did not want to do and start adding videos willy nilly to this post, if you liked this song check out these next two songs.



Opening track from their 1990 "Time Alone" EP.  The vocals here are something else, relentless and melodic.  Fast melodic hardcore with a serious early 90s palm-muting when they slow it down.  From their 1995 "Drowned Out" 7."  Very mid 90s sound, and I'll be damned if they don't sound exactly like Samiam here.   Especially vocally.  It makes me wonder if that is actually the Samiam dude.  This band appeared on a Samiam tribute at one point, so who knows what relationship the bands might have formed by the mid 90s.

Big Drill Car "No Need"

Whoa-oh can we be friends thoooooough?  

Sticking with the same era for this song, although we will be switching coasts.  Here is some classic Cali skatepunk from their 1989 release "CD/LP/Tape Type Thing" (depending on the format you purchased). What an unfortunate band name.  Google "drill car" and practically only get results about this band.  A car with a drill?  Sounds good to me.  A big drill, too?  Even better.  This band emerged from the ashes of 80s political punk band MIA who appeared on the perhaps too comprehensive NorCal/Nevada comp "Not So Quiet On the Western Front, you can check out their song here if you are curious.

I first heard this song while watching the Vision Skate "Barge at Will" video, featuring Mark "Gator" Ragkowski, with my friend Cy.  It is fortunate that someone uploaded the scene on Youtube, so you the reader can experience this song in the same fashion I did (give or take 10 Bud Lights).  There is another youtube video that is just the song, so if you wanna hear it in better quality, you can easily search for it.  The music starts at around :35 in this video.

A fantastic guitar riff and some damn good vocal melodies make this song.  Check the "Nah-ah-owow" around 2:04.  My only pet peeve with this song are all the late 80s metal guitar leads that end practically every measure, but I can overlook them because the rest of the song is so awesome.  Not too long after this video was released, Gator was convicted and sentenced in the 1992 murder of his girlfriend.  It is weird to watch him here and then imagine the man who's been in prison for over 20 years, can you help but wonder what has changed about him, and what might remain?  I'm dedicating this song to my boy Cy, Streetsweeper OG, as a tribute to the good times we had on Grove Street.

Samiam "Regret"

You never looked into their faces, what you saw there was another threat

Ok, so I mentioned Samiam and didn't post their song right after.  Well let me tell you something, do you know how hard it is to copy and paste HTML to reverse the order of this post?  Not very hard, but potentially disastrous enough for this novice to only frustrate himself and end up accidentally erasing a critical piece of HTML text that destroys his entire post.  

Anyway, we find ourselves in still in California for these guys, this time in the Berkely area.  Samiam is a classic band, founded back in 1988.  One of the early emocore bands, extremely influential, snapped up by a major label during the punk rock explosion of the 90s, only to be thrown back to the underground after Atlantic Records realized not every punk record was going to make them millions.  Gotta hand it to them, they actually put out a good record on a major, and maintained their relevance as an active band through the 90s and into the 2000s,  releasing their last record as recently as 2011.  

This song is from their third LP, 1992's "Billy" and I think it is not only Samiam's masterpiece, but one of the great emocore songs.  The opening guitar comes in gently, with that incredible production that I shudder to describe as "shimmering," but god damn if those guitar notes don't ring like churchbells.  This song could be what saves your soul.  I usually listen to that opening several times in a row before letting the song continue uninterrupted.  This is no drawn out intro, it is almost painfully short, and a snare hit brings us headfirst into extremely tuneful hardcore with vocals that are so clean you could make a killer shampoo if you figured out how to bottle them.   It just   The vocals and guitars come together and guide the music down a truly melodic path that the song never abandons, not even as the drums gallop at a thrash tempo in the final third of the song.  The song comes full circle as the music goes from fast to slow, with the guitars ringing out, this time signifying the end instead of the beginning.

Subhumans "Behind The Smile"

Businessmen and workers help each other make their way
If you believe that, just look around and count your pay

Ok, at the risk of turning this post into an emo cryfest, let's back things up 10 years.  The Subhumans (the ones from Canada) formed in 1978, but this song is from their debut 1980 LP "Incorrect Thoughts."  They definitely have more of a melodic, mid-tempo punk thing going on, as opposed to other bands that were starting to push things in a new direction (read: hardcore).

This song deals with the classic punk theme of trust.  Or is it distrust?  It deals in part with the deceit in human relationships, the dishonesty of capitalism, the hypocrisy of government -- all pretty typical punk themes, here presented in the context that so much of this bullshit is presented to you with a smile. The singer is "sick of every face that I see" and each chorus reminds the listener of "the lie behind the smile."  In true punk fashion, the lyrics reject the idea of leaders ("Where am I leading you, why can’t you get there on your own/If you believe in me, someday I’ll leave you all alone").  They do not reject guitar leads, however, as each verse is punctuated with a melodic guitar line helps drive the song and gives the song necessary dimension.  

Christie Front Drive "Dirt"

I have no clue wtf he is saying

Many people point to this band as one of the originators of what would become known as "Midwest emo," with a sound less rooted in hardcore energy, with greater emphasis on rocking melodic guitars and softer moments.  Comprehensive emo website Fourfa (worth checking out by anyone with a passing interest in an often misunderstood, misrepresented genre) recalls a record review that described this as music hardcore kids would put on to make love.  Feel free to let me know how that turns out in the comments.  

This is a song that continues to build on itself.  There is a definite structure as far as verse/chorus/bridge etc, but ultimately this song is driven by that main opening riff.  This is an example of a perfect riff that comes together right when you're about to throw your guitar across the room, although perhaps he got lucky and strummed these chrods right away.  They sure play the hell out of that riff with an intensity that never lets up, helped in large part by  drumming that is driving and powerful, and remains busy and interesting despite rarely moving beyond the mid-tempo pace.  Instrumentally, the song nails it.  Fortunately, singer/guitarist Eric Richter provides the vocals which become the star.

Richter never sings at the same volume.  He doesn't punch in every verse to make sure that every syllable is audible and every lyric hits the right level.  You hear his voice come and go, sometimes soft, and sometimes with startling urgency.  When I listen to this song, I can imagine his voice driving on the highway, with the instruments in the car next to him cruising at the same speed..  A moment later I see his car begin to lift off the ground as his voice soars over the instruments down below. Wherever his voice takes him, the bands feet are still on the ground and the song never falls apart.  Tune into 1:54 for an excellent buildup into the second verse, where he starts soft and then just lets all hell break loose.  That ten seconds is my favorite part of the song.  

In true emo fashion, one may never know the actual lyrics.  But there is pleasure to be found in mystery lyrics.  We the listeners have to decide what we want these sounds to be.  Do you try and transcribe the lyrics, knowing very well you could be singing something completely incorrect?  "I watched you let it go" ?  "You've got something you can give" ? Or do we accept we may only hear bits and pieces of the lyrics?  Who's to say it couldn't be that way, in these instances when the voice is simply another instrument.

Two Line Filler "Be Ok"

And if your day darkens, my heart will break through to you
Shelter you from those times, those moments will be gone

Two Line Filler.  Loved by those who remember.  2LF was a Toronto band around from like 91-96, releasing a 7" (which I found for $.99 at In Your Ear in Allston, and tore the cover trying to take the price tag off.  Total record noob mistake), a demo (that in part turned into a split 7" with Buffalo band Fadeaway featuring a very young Scott Vogel on drums), two LPs, and a split LP.  Their style was a unique combination of elements of emo, pop punk, melodic hardcore, and even some heavier moments.  I am absolutely going to do a comprehensive post on this band, although other blogs have beaten me to it.  But I will try to offer something new as well as a download link to everything.  But for now, let's discuss this track from their 1994 LP "So Far Lost."

Pardon the picture in the video.  It's my own Youtube video, and when I first started uploading music to youtube I just used whatever random image I thought would make a good background.  However, it's very fitting for this song, one of several 2LF songs where the singer seems to be speaking to or observing a girl that is just out of reach.  In this case the ever handsome James Brolin embraces Morgan Fairchild while Pee Wee watches.

This song is no bullshit.  It gets right to the point with really creative melodic riff that is accompanied throughout the song by those melodic single notes.  This is a 2LF trademark, chord driven rhythm guitar puncuated by lead guitar that cuts the melody right to the basics.  There is ample palm-muting in this song as well, something this band used to great effect that always kept their music rooted in hardcore punk, no matter how poppy it could become.

When I first heard this band, the vocals threw me for a loop.  But now I cannot imagine anyone else singing over this music.  Sometimes his voice strains, but he is not a lazy singer.  There is a lot of personality in these vocals and they lend sincerity to not just to the lyrics, but the feel of the song as a whole.  After the second chorus (1:30ish mark), motherfucker comes out of nowhere to drop the tempo, ditch the hopeful, reassuring tone of the chorus, and provide us with a deeply melodic guitar line that hits my core.  To go from "it's gonna be okay" to that profound shift in melody is brilliant, because it simultaneously critiques and reinforces the notion that things in fact will be ok.  I've become good friends with former singer/songwriter Matt (oops used his name again) and he has begun recording new music.  Expect me to pick his brain at some point about his experiences in the 90s hardcore scene and share his new music.  Check this blog if you'd like to download the entire 2LF discography, or poke on youtube if you'd like to hear more first.

Gorilla Biscuits "Competition"

Well I know what competition means, and all the feelings that it brings

Friends that wanna be on top, you're on the list of friends to drop

Success is what I wanna feel, at your expense it isn't real

It's jealousy.  And jealousy's not true.

Last but not least, motherfucking Gorilla Biscuits.  Even if Big Drill Car wasn't on this list, they still wouldn't win the worst band name award because god damn if it isn't a good name for a New York band.  Now, I prefer the 7" to Start Today.  I think the 7" is a NYHC masterpiece.  HOWEVER, I would never knock Start Today, and I definitely do not think it is the "Age of Quarrel" for girls like some people like to criticize it as.  There's some damn good songs on this record.  At least the band saw the handwriting on the wall and broke up before they put out a 45 minute grunge record or something.  Anyway, "Competition" is my favorite song on the LP, and I think it contains one of the greatest moments in hardcore history.

Click play.  Song begins, awesome riff, good vocals, catchy chorus, and damn good lyrics about what was happening in the scene at the time (and which has happened over and over in the over 20 years sense).  At one point does our scene stop being comprised of equals and peers, and friends become rivals?  This song struggles with that issue.  "Always being number one robs the music of its fun."  "Ego trips get in the way of the goals we shared."  This song should sit right next to Warzone's "Don't Forget The Struggle, Don't Forget the Streets" as an anti-sellout anthem. (For any of my less hardcore-inclined readers who haven't heard Warzone's anthem, click that link just to hear that opening monologue.  Singer Raybeez passed away 16 years ago on 9/11, rest in power).

Ok, back to GB.  "Why can't you be glad...FOR ME?"  Around 1:06 begins one of the most incredible moments in hardcore history, like the Andy Griffith theme was transplanted in the middle of a hardcore song.  Your head explodes, and the song climaxes with an energetic melodic riff that builds as the band makes its pointed statement about the true nature of competition in our scene.  The song ends triumphantly: we will not be in competition with you.  Below, you can hear the demo version of this song with their guitarist singing. Sounds like Kevin Seconds singing GB and you can hear him laugh at a vocal goof around 1:37.  Any GB fans, I urge you to head over to the incredible Blogged & Quartered blog and download the Gorilla Biscuits rareities, which include the entire Walter Sings LP, demo and comp tracks.  Stormy does a great job making comprehensive discographies of rare material that he always manages to share at the highest quality. Click that link to access that post.

Hope everyone enjoyed at least a few of these songs.   I wanted to try something different, let me know if I kept your interest, if I lost you, or if you have your own suggestions for the next installment of MOVING MELODIES. Next time I plan on using songs from bands like Turning Point, Judge, and some good, more hardcore oriented emo.  But we will see.  Every post is an adventure.  Thanks for reading and please leave any comments that you might have.  I will have exciting updates over the weekend that should drive people wild.

One of these days I'm gonna get organizized

A little collage from our apple picking experience at Honey Pot Farms yesterday

Yesterday Heather and I decided to go apple picking.  Is this the true mark of fall?  Maybe, although I am hoping we still have some warm days to come.  In any case, we decided to make the drive to Honey Pot Farms in Stow and enjoy this heralded New England pastime.  I also got to say "How do you like them apples?" 

I'd never been apple picking before.  Growing up on Cape Cod, it was just something you didn't do.  My knowledge of MA geography is so limited because of my Cape Cod frame of reference.  Making more friends in recent years from Central Mass has opened my eyes a little bit, but honestly yesterday was probably the first time I'd ever knowingly been in Stow.  It is very pleasant though; obviously it is an entirely different world from the highway and city roads, but it's also different from what I became used to on Cape Cod.  The trees are bigger, oftentimes creating a canopy over the road, and the landscape in general is more pleasing than endless rows of scrub pines that make up a bulk of Cape Cod.  To all my Cape Cod readers, you know I only knock my hometown out of love.  (And I know you feel the same way)

After consulting the Honey Pot manual, I can confidentally say these are Cortland apples.  

We purchased a 10lb bag which we filled to the brim (I kept one extra one in my breast pocket) with Cortland, Macintosh, some kind of yellow apple, and something else.  The manual I mention above lists all the apples they grow, and practically every description says "good for eating."  

A most triumphant pose, that apple had no idea what we had in store for it

View down the orchard, with the contrast boosted for a truly masterful artistic effect

After we picked our apples, we drove to the other parking lot where there is food, cider, animals, etc.   There were pigs, goats, sheep and chickens.   Standing by the sheep area, a young black guy couldn't stop commenting to me about how covered in waste the sheep was.  "Motherfucker be dropping deuces everywhere."  Heather got an apple cider donut and we went home.  

Here is our pie process in pictures:

We used ten apples, look at that pleasant yellow one, soon to meet the knife.

First, slice and dice with the sword of the lord

Then add an abundance of sugar and cinammon.  We had no nutmeg so we just doubled the cinammon.  I think this was a good choice.

Find a woman who will mix these ingredients

Find a man who will fill the crust 

So far so good

Oops.  We pieced the crust together as best we can.  Industry secret, "H" is the most effective letter to slice into the tops of your pies.

Finished product.  We still have like half a pie left

In Taxi Driver, Robert Deniro has a slice of cheese on his apple pie.  That is so weird, something from another era that must achieve something.  Trying this is on my bucket list. I wrote a new music post a couple nights ago, and have been tweaking it still.  It should be up later tonight.  A new type of post I'm doing where I share great melodic moments in hardcore/punk.  I choose a handful of songs and try to address everything that's going on with them, the way they make me feel or impact me, without coming off too much like some sanctimonious music critic.  Anyway, I'll end this post with a fitting song, "I like you less than apple pie," by early 90s Ebullition Records band Iconoclast.  Very solid jam.  There was an 80s peace punk Iconoclast as well, who have a classic song I will consider for another entry.  Till next time... I just wish you'd all stop talking, cuz you all make such fools of yourself  every time your mouth begins to spew that refuse that you breed as law.  

RIP Terry POW

The hardcore scene sadly lost a good guy too young.  Terry from Product of Waste was hit and killed by a car yesterday night.  POW has been around since at least 2004 and put out a lot of great music.  Straightforward, pissed hardcore punk with something to say.  Terry had a real gift with words -- he wrote good lyrics and he had the rhythm to carry them with power.  He made hip hop too but never abandoned the band.  He and POW repped Providence but played countless shows in Boston/MA and I am sure they felt at home whenever they played here.

He was a fuck up, that's what they thought/Cuz he never followed their rules/He was a fuck up, that's what they thought/Cuz he didn't do what they wanted him to.  Fuck them.

POW Camp (Terry in bottom middle)

They neglect us plus disrespect us/Aren't you motherfuckers here to protect us?  No.

I'd met Terry a few times and he was always cool.  In summer 2008, Ceremony was playing a show at Club Lido and afterwards there was a house show somewhere in Mission Hill that POW and Ceremony were scheduled to play at.  There was an abundance of Miller High Life but no microphone, but it didn't matter, he made his vocal presence known and many singalongs were had, moshing on empty beer bottles in the dusty basement the whole time.  Ceremony played next, covered lots of old school punk like Dead Kennedys, and Terry was right there next to me singing along.  I was lucky to see POW many times since then and his passing is a real loss to his family, friends, and to our scene.  I'm gonna let a view live videos speak for themselves.  Rest in Peace.

"We don't need a microphone"

Every day's a struggle, every day's another battle/A never ending fight - This life is a war Every day I struggle, every day I battle/Fight after fight, night after night.  My life is war.  

REMISSIONIMPOSSIBLE.COM

I have registered a domain for this blog.  Right now, the new address just redirects to the blogspot.com address, but I will slowly but surely figure everything out.  In the meantime,  Remissionimpossible.com is the ticket.  I want to print up stickers in a cool design with the new URL, so if anyone thinks they could help me out with that, let me know.

Let me end this post with a fitting anthem, while I write my next post which should be up tonight.

Now you must pay the price.  We don't dance we just fight.

Dreams

A couple weeks ago I developed symptoms of graft-vs-host disease (GVHD).  This is when my donor cells recognize my body as something foreign, and attack it.  Generally, GVHD is desired, because it indicates that my donor cells are likely to also be attacking whatever traces of cancer still remain in my body.  Right now my skin and liver are being affected, and I've begun taking some diesel steroids to keep the GVHD under control.  The whole thing is sort of a balancing act, with the ultimate goal being to minimize graft-vs-host and maximize graft-vs-disease.  Because I'm on a lot of steroids, I'm loaded up with Atavan to counter any possible anxiety (roid-rage).  I feel heavy and weird, but calm and comfortable at least.  Enough of that.  I'm here today to talk about dreams.

It's too bad all these things can only happen in my dreams.  Only in dreams, in beautiful dreams

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Since I started taking an anti-depressant called Remeron, I've been having vivid dreams almost every night.  When I told my friend Matt about it, he said how he had taken it to try to quit smoking (he still smokes) and it gave him all sorts of fucked up dreams. Well, I love to dream, but these have been something else.  A lot of the time I dream three or more separate dreams, one after another, so the entire dream experience consists of different settings, characters and feelings.  They are fairly lucid dreams; I cannot necessarily control what happens, but I am often aware I am dreaming and things that are happening in my real life are alluded to in these dreams  Let me describe a couple.

In one dream, I had to return to some motel that was in the middle of some tropical swamp in order to pick up my luggage I had left in there in a locker.  Unfortunately, luggage left after a day is destroyed, but you still had to pick it up.  I got my tattered pair of jeans and left (in the dream I remember thinking that it was a good thing I had a new pair of jeans coming in the mail the next day).  Some time later in the dream, I must have come home from travelling, and I had these giant pimples all over my left knee.  I began to squeeze them and squeeze some kind of yellow larvae out of each one.  (Botfly larvae infect unlucky tropical travelers all the time, you can look it up on youtube).  After I woke up I made the connection from dream pimples to my actual skin inflammation from my GVHD.

In another dream, I had just invested in a Panera (the suburban Au bon Pain, if you ask me) and it was the grand opening.  There were a lot of people from high school there, popular kids, people I knew but was never close to.  I was wearing my mask and gloves and everyone walked by me and congratulated me on the opening.  Next thing I know, I'm at "my" Panera, sans masks and gloves, and this Panera is actually a sit-down restaurant with a wait staff.  One of my employees points to a gentleman seated with his wife and adult son, and tells me that's the owner of the company and I better make a good impression.  Which turns into me trying to take their drink orders.  His son orders a "Rainbow Smash," and he and his wife order some confusing gin drink.  The owner asks me if the juice is fresh in a very vague way, and I have to struggle with not knowing anything about being a waiter.  The whole dream I'm thinking, "Why did I decide to be his waiter?"

Black dream come kiss me loose

Another recent dream involved riding in the back of an SUV that was hightailing it all over some dreamlike urban highway.  Eventually the driver clips a Fire Department SUV so of course we go faster and faster, trying to avoid all of the fire engines that have begun to chase us.  I can feel myself being thrown from side to side as the driver twists and turns.  This was a shorter dream that ended suddenly in the middle of the chaos.

A third dream I've had involved me sitting on the toilet in what looked to be an old wooden building. Wooden floors, walls, and ceilings, with an ornate glass door.  All of a sudden an older woman opens the door and I say, "Sorry, I'm in here."  She doesn't seem to get it and I keep telling her to shut the door.  Then a few more older women appear behind her and they are all looking at me.  I try in vain to tell them I will be a minute and to close the door.  They don't respond to me, and now there is an old man that appears behind them.  He is taller and pokes his head in, then enters the bathroom, leaving the ladies standing in the doorway.  At this point I am very frustrated and I ask him what on earth he wants.  He is dressed in a long black robe that says JESUS on it in red.  I think the dream ended with me putting that robe on.


That's what I can remember for now.  Usually my dreams involve winning a lot of money on a scratch ticket or something.  In high school I had a dream where I picked up my cat Onion and as I cradled him like a baby, he screamed out "MISERY!" in a human voice.  When I was a very little kid still living in North Carolina, I had a recurring dream where I'd be in the Fresh Market (a supermarket that just had a bunch of rustic crap everywhere [a giant wagon wheel, for one] to make the food seem healthier) and would walk up a staircase and end up in a parking garage that was way high in the clouds, and I'd see my dad's car parked with one wheel over the edge.

Noble Onion RIP

Good or bad, dreams do end.  Then what?

Force myself awake from this nightmare, only to realize it was reality