Culture & Caring

In my last post, I mentioned I would write about the Culture & Caring event which occurred on November 21st.  Well, I'm finally doing it.  Blame Thanksgiving, blame the weather, blame my medications which have left me an unmotivated mess, blame it on the rain...

This card was on every table

Culture & Caring is an annual fundraising event put on by the Maribeth Merrigan Foundation in conjuction with the Family Reach Foundation to raise money for families fighting cancer.  The Maribeth Merrigan Foundation's focus is on young adults with cancer, specifically the financial burdens that these patients are met with.  The money they raise goes to the Maribeth Merrigan Patient Assistance Fund at Dana Farber which exists to ease the financial stress that young adult patients face.  Young adulthood is unpredictable and unstable by its very nature, made only more difficult, stressful, and terrifying by a cancer diagnosis.  

The back of the card, my bio as written by yours truly

When I heard about the event and that it was to showcase art from cancer patients, I shot them an email with a link to my posts with all my paintings.  Soon after, I got a reply that said they would be thrilled if I would donate one to be showcased and auctioned at the event.  I too was thrilled, but not just because people appreciated my art.  Painting is something I started doing for myself, and I am very thankful to have been given the opportunity for it to extend beyond myself, and reach people in a meaningful way.  The event raised over $100,000.

The event itself was hosted at the Boston Harbor Hotel and since I was unable to go because of my restrictions, I had them put my girlfriend and sister on the guestlist.  There was an open bar, appetizers (shown above, don't ask me what's in that bowl), and wine-tasting.  Heather and my sister sampled a $200 bottle of wine, which she deemed "too smooth."  This reminds me of something I once read by some wine authority who said that there is rarely a reason to spend more than $40 for a bottle of wine.  But I digress...

Celebrity chef Ming Tsai brought Heather a glass of white wine.  But her most significant interaction of the evening was with Suleika Jaouad, the keynote speaker and Emmy-winning journalist who became well known for her Life, Interrupted blog which chronicles her fight against cancer, first as a patient, and now as a survivor and figurehead for young adults cancer awareness.  She and Heather bonded over their shared experience, the experience of being ill -- a state of being that affects the caregiver as much as it affects the one they care for, if not more.  They talked about being in relationships with their significant others for barely six months before the diagnoses and the strain their relationships have incurred.  I think in both cases, our relationships have grown stronger in the face of this obstacle, but at the same time it underscores how extremely difficult it is to be a young adult dealing with cancer, patients and caregivers alike, patients and lovers alike.

Suleika & Heather

I'll end this post with Suleika's speech from the event.  I urge anyone to check out her blog that I've linked in the above paragraph and will link again here.  She does a good job articulating the numerous challenges she faced without dwelling on them.

Coming up soon on my blog will be, perhaps, a completely redone site once I can figure out some hosting issues I've been having.  Maybe a Fury of Five Falsetto Scream Megamix.  Thanks for reading.  Take it easy.

Post by Family Reach Foundation.

JFK, other dead Kennedys, and a young punk in school

Today is the 50th anniversary of the assassination of JFK.  It is also the 14th anniversary of my getting in trouble in 8th grade for wearing the Dead Kennedys shirt posted above.  I had no idea what day it was, and despite the reprimanding I got, I don't think my brain ever associated this date with JFK.  Thanks to social media, and now this blog post, November 22nd is now cemented in my brain as the date of the (first) Kennedy assassination, which remains unsolved despite what our government keeps telling us.  I think Oliver Stone might've been the second shooter.

John F Kennedy Jr. died the summer before 8th grade.  I remember hearing about it on the radio while I was doing yard work for a neighbor.  Being a young punk, I was sort of tickled that there was another Kennedy to add to the lengthy list of dead Kennedys.  Just as America was finally getting over the drunken  tragic death of Princess Diana, John-John crashed his plane into the ocean and the country entered the throes of despair once again.  My father likes to point out that when rich people have a fatal accident, it's usually while doing some leisure activity.  Flying your own plane, skiing, and so on.  The luckier Kennedys have managed to kill other people rather than themselves.

"When I fully realized what had happened this morning, I immediately contacted the police."  IE: I was blackout drunk when I drove my car into a lake and the passenger died.

The Kennedys were the closest thing to royalty we had in America (especially in Massachusetts, and ESPECIALLY on Cape Cod), although I think their culturual significance has diminished and been replaced with an even sicker obsession with reality TV.  Kardashian is the new Kennedy.

Rest in Power, John F Kennedy, you Marilyn Monroe-banging, Rat Pack hanging president.  And let's not forget his brother Robert whose life was also ended with a bullet.  50 years later and bullets continue to fly and target politicians and civilians alike.  As appropriate as it would be to end this post with "Bullet" by the Misfits, I think I've been irreverent enough for one day, so I'm going to go a different route.  Expect a post in the next day or two to talk about about the Culture & Caring fundraising event that took place last night, where one of my paintings was showcased and raffled.  Once I get more pictures together I will do a good write-up about it.  Until next time....

DRI - Full Speed Ahead

Funny Boyfriend Arm Soft Throw Pillow Body Hug Washable Girlfriend Cushion Bed

A few weeks ago, I got a "Welcome to eBay!" email, for an account I did not create.  Well, that's weird, but I wasn't too alarmed since I regularly change my email/banking passwords and did not expect any fraudulent activity of that nature.  Since contacting ebay is such a pain in the ass, I just let it be and kept an eye out for any emails about transactions.  Today ebay since me an order confirmation for the product pictured above.  It turns out there is a dude with my name who lives in the United Kingdom who must've typed his email address incorrectly or something, and I'm getting his ebay emails.  I called ebay to have them fix this because I do not want to be implicated in any way if this guy turns out to be some kind of scam artist or just a shitty ebayer and I have to incur the wrath of an angry seller.  Until then I will continue to enjoy reviewing his future purchases.

In the meantime, I want to talk about the DRI's final album, 1995's Full Speed Ahead.  There are people who criticize later DRI.  In many fans' eyes they became too metal, too polished and slick, and punks everywhere cursed the band for allegedly abandoning their hardcore roots.  I think some of those criticisms are warranted to a degree, but it would be foolish to completely dismiss everything after "Dealing With It."  For Christ's sake, their crossover masterpiece was called CROSSOVER.  And no matter how metal or "slick" they got, the vocals retained their hardcore punk approach, no heavy metal falsettos or ballads to be found.  You can download the record from mediafire here and I will include the download link again at the end of the post.

I was going to say this cover art sucks, then I noticed the DRI guy on the ship.  Still....

In 2013, we don't think twice about how long bands like Bane or Converge  have been around (hell, even Terror is over 10 years old now).  I think since most of the early punk and hardcore bands had shorter life spans, it's easy to look at a band like DRI and laugh at the idea that they put out an album in 1995.  But it is a fitting swan song for the band, combining the speed of their early records and the metallic riffing of their crossover/thrash records and adding new found heaviness.  Full Speed Ahead is very much a product of its time: there is a lot of Pantera-esque groove on this record, and guitars are way down-tuned, making the slow parts heavier, the fast parts meaner, and everything in between just nasty.  Listen to this and try not to bang head:

Another drive-by, everyone stares

What it comes down to is nobody cares

The opening riff would not sound out of place on a Crowbar or Pantera record.  The tempo picks up with a gnarly riff before settling back into the opening riff; the tempo & riff alternates like this for the verses, in between a chuggy, double-bass filled chorus.  Check out that great drumfill and awesome dueling guitar slides around 1:03.  That brings up one of this album's major strong points: the production.  While the guitar has sounded thin at times on previous records, it is thick and beefy here, but not overproduced.  The bass is clear and present, working nicely alongside the guitar and underpinned by tight, powerful drumming.  The drums are the production highlight, reminding me very much of the drums on Carnivore's "Retaliation": very high in the mix, lots of emphasis on the kick, drums that don't just become a blur when the band plays fast.  Listen to the final minute of "Syringes in the Sandbox" to hear some great solo drum fills to get an idea of how good these drums sound, and enjoy a most devastating buildup to a truly mind-numbing outro.

"Syringes in the Sandbox" is an example of how brutal and heavy this album can get, but there are quite a few songs with tempos more akin to DRI's early thrash (thrash as it originally meant in hardcore punk, not thrash metal).  The opening track is one such song:

Been on my best behavior/You are not my savior/You are just another vice
Was I this week's flavor?/Just do me a favor/And stay the fuck out of my life

This song sounds like it's about a crazy girl that he finally kicked to the curb.  Good for him!  I wonder if this girl inspired this next song, one of my favorites on the record.

I don't trust that girl with a gun/There's something about a girl with a gun
The way they fly off the handle/Someone's gonna get hurt

I've been very fortunate that guns never entered the hands of some girls I've dated, or else the blog you're reading would have been written by a ghost, and that would be very spooky.  Anyway, this song starts off with a great intro driven by a killer bassline, building nicely before blasting into a riff that if it had a face, it would belong on Mt. Rushmore.  This song gets 6 out of 6 .357 magnum rounds.

Some more disgusting riffage:
The sum of all you are is all in your mind From slow to fast to midtempo, complete with mid-riff harmonics (although not at a Fury of Five level,stay tuned for the Fury of Five Harmonics/Falsetto Scream Megamix).   DRI does something on this record that typically comes out like garbage for most bands: they re-recorded one of their early, classic songs.  DRI manages to avoid the song becoming a paradoxical plea for both relevance and reverence, simply because it sounds so damn good.  There is an authenticity to the re-recording, no trace of self-consciousness that tends to plague re-recordings.  For the hell of it, here are the two versions of the song in question, "Who Am I?" Dirty Rotten LP (1984) Full Speed Ahead (1995) Well, I think I've given a pretty decent overview of the record.  I could post more songs, but I will simply post one more video, which is the full album, so you can listen to more, skip around, and if you decide you like it, download it here.  I am one of those people who tends to like bands' questionable later albums, so feel free to leave a comment and share your opinion of this record or anything you've seen in this post.  As I'm wrapping up this post, I get an email from Levi's customer service (I'd emailed them earlier in the day about an order).  The guy's name is Dan Tanner, so I signed my thank you email "Uncle Jesse," and now Full House has been referenced on my blog.  Time to wrap it up.  Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed the tunes and maybe you can add another record to your playlist.  Take it easy.

Pickle, rioting (the unbeatable high), dead siblings

The final game of the 2013 World Series will forever be remembered for the absolutely ridiculous game of pickle shown above.  In a game filled with highlights, this hilarious, 3-on-1 spectacle is burned into my brain forever.  I think that Jacoby Ellsbury looks like the Native American woman from Seinfeld.

A sports celebration isn't complete without a couple flipped cars and other by-the-books rioting.  I can't help but think back Red Sox celebration in 2004 where police murdered a classmate of mine, Victoria Snelgrove, by firing a pepper spray projectile that hit her right in the eye.  The officer who fired the "non-lethal" weapon was put on paid leave, and the former police commissioner stated that while she "firmly and emphatically accept[s] responsibilities for any errors, I also condemn the actions of the punks...who turned our city's victory into an opportunity for violence and mindless destruction."  I do not sympathize with idiots who want to riot after a sports victory, but she should have been honest and recongize that the opportunity for violence was not ignored by the police, whose sole function to serve and protect is often undermined by a deadly combination of authority, ego, and firepower.  With that in mind, I wish those drunken sports fans would take a moment to reflect on what exactly they are accomplishing and the danger they invite not just on themselves, but everyone.

They club your head, kick your teeth Police can riot all they please
I don't think I've given a real update on my health in a while, so I guess I'll bring you guys up to date. In my "Dreams" post from September 2nd, I talk about experiencing symptoms of graft versus host disease.  My doctor was never 100% certain that it was GVHD, though, since although the timing and organs affected (liver and skin) were typical of GVHD, the actual appearance of the irritated skin was unusual to GVHD.  (I only use that abbreviation one more in this post, I promise.)  So a month or so ago my doctor made me an appointment with an oncological dermatlogist to determine what exactly was going on with my skin.  They took a biopsy and at the end of the week my doctor called me to let me know it was a reaction to a drug he had taken me off of a few weeks earlier  in case it had any role in what was going on with my skin.  He said that he has no reason to think that I have GVHD, which is a huge relief, because although it can indicate a healthy and effective donor system, it is a real bitch.  So I am in good shape for now.
A couple of weeks ago I had a follow up appointment with my dermatologist.  The waiting room was packed and I'm the only one in a mask and gloves.  No surprise there.  I sat down near a middle-aged woman and I just knew that she was going to start talking to me.  She does.  At some point I mentioned I grew up on Cape Cod, she asks which part, and I give my standard, "Truro, way out there."  She says, "Oh yes, next to Provincetown."  I tell her yes.  She then mouths silently, "Lot of fags down there."  I nod.  She then goes on to tell me that her brother was gay and died of AIDS.  Except she didn't use any of those words.  She managed to convey that to me in a manner that was at once cryptic and direct. He lived down there, got sick, and died, "when the drugs weren't as good as they are today."  
We talk a little more. She surprises me with her progressive views on the healthcare system and pharmaceutical companies.  She started getting personal again, confiding that her sister died of lung cancer and she felt guilty for not taking care of her.  She clearly had unresolved issues with her dead siblings.  When she told me she wasn't religious, but she believes there's something out there, and that things happen for a reason, I told her, "Yeah.  But some things happen for no reason."  She agreed with me and a few moments later the nurse called my name.  We said a polite goodbye and she wished me luck.  It was a very nice ending to a conversation that covered a lot of bases (hey, baseball term). So thankfuly I didn't see her on my way out.
That about wraps things up.  I have yet to muster the energy to work on my Hardline retrospective, but I promise that will come.  I have a few other ideas to for records to showcase and offer for download.  Until then, take it easy.  One thing I know for sure is we all need to stay upbeat.

RIP Lou Reed: Baseball, Viagra, Misfits

Sunday morning and I'm falling 
I've got a feeling I don't want to know 

I started this blog post to talk about baseball and the Misfits.  Then I learned that Lou Reed just passed away.  So I wanna start this post off by wishing he rest in peace with the other rock and roll legends, many of whom were taken far too young.  He made it to 71, but couldn't he have had another decade or two?  His place in rock and roll history is monumental, due in no small part to his role in the emergence of punk rock.  Anyone who hasn't read Legs McNeil's "Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk," I urge you to check it out.  Being an oral history, it's an easy read, filled with cool interviews from key pre-punk figures from the 60s/70s like Reed, Patti Smith, Iggy Pop (he spends a lot of time talking about about getting the clap), the MC5, etc.  Rest in Power.  NOTE: SOME OF THESE VIDEOS I'VE POSTED MIGHT GIVE YOU A MESSAGE THAT THEY MUST BE "WATCHED ON YOUTUBE" SO I APOLOGIZE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE.

The obstruction call that sent Red Sox fans everywhere into a rage last night

If you've been watching the world series, you've probably seen the numerous ads for Viagria and Cialis.  I love how these commercials have evolved over time as these companies try to sell their pills to a younger and younger audience.  For most of my life, the commercials I saw for ED drugs tended to feature grey-haired Bob Barker look-alikes walking on the beach with their wives or sitting on a dock looking at the sun set over a lake.  At some point the commercials began to combine these sensitive, romantic scenarios with more traditionally masculine activities like manual labor or driving a boat or pickup truck.   The age of the men in the commercials began to change as well, shifting from post-retirement to a more ambiguous middle age. Nowadays, these commercials typically have couples of all ages, from a couple in their thirties paddling a canoe to a white-haired couple drinking coffee on the patio.  My favorite couple activity I saw in one of these commercials recently involved the narrator talking about the "spark that could happen at any moment" while a couple is painting a wooden bench and the man looks at the woman with a, "I bet you can't wait to sit on this wood later" look.

The Dead Kennedys told us that "TV invents a disease you think you have," and it makes me wonder how many 20-30somethings were too drunk to fuck one night and now rely on Viagra to ensure they never underperform.  I couldn't help but think of the irony of seeing these commercials during a baseball game, since throughout history, men have been told to think about baseball to last longer in bed or subdue their arousal, and baseball's 100+ year old association with sex in general.  My friend Zack made another funny point, that one of the biggest advertising campaigns during the world series is for a performance enhancing drug.  And now for something completely different...

Misfits "Horror Business" era lineup, 1979ish

It's hard to say who is the greatest punk band of all time, because although it is a matter of opinion to a degree, there are bands that reign supreme, either for the quality of the music, their influence, or in some instances, both.  The Ramones is a good answer.  Dead Kennedys is another.  My vote goes to the Misfits. Even though their influences were obvious and familiar (The Ramones, 50s rock, etc), their sound was their own, and I don't think there has been or will ever be a band that will sound like them, no matter how many bands have tried.  Obviously a large part of it has to do with Danzig's voice, the capabilities of which were often in direct contrast with how raw and pedestrian the musicianship might have been.  I could sit here and post countless Misfits songs, but I want to just post a few of my absolute favorites.

This might be the quintessential Misfits song, not just because of the classic Misfits 2-chord progressions or the B-movie subject matter, but because it proves you didn't need bold, powerful lyrics to make a great punk song.  You could make a similar argument for The Ramones, whose punk songs were great in spite of, and also because of, the simple lyrics.  This song takes it a step further, with Glenn basically singing the words from a movie poster.  The lyrics are secondary to the voice, which combines with the music to make a perfect punk song and one of my absolute favorite Misfits songs.

Children in heat are young little kindlewood, I see em burning

The fuzzy guitar that starts "Children in Heat" is one of my favorite sounds in all of hardcore/punk.  When people criticize the recording quality of many Misfits songs, I don't understand it.  It's part of the charm, for one, and a lo-fi punk band could have done a LOT worse.  That fuzzed out guitar is tattooed in my brain and remains one of my favorite aspects of many Misfits recordings.  

She walked out with empty arms, machine gun in her hands

She is good and she is bad, no one understands

I love the fact that the Misfits started out as a 3-piece with electric piano instead of guitar.  I love the original 1977 version of "She" because the way he plays the melody on the piano is ever so slightly different from the later recordings with guitar.  The piano adds a completely different vibe, although the tempo and delivery 

is very punk.  At some point in my life I would love to do a studio project that played 70s punk with electric piano instead of guitar. Glenn would bring the piano back a year or so later and use it to great effect in what is probably my all time favorite Misfits song...

Dry drunk on a corner, wet waste of a girl

Theme for a jackal...

That great bassline is repeated throughout the song while the guitar let's the occasional note ring out between bursts of noise.  Percussive piano combines with the bass and guitar to create a dark, menacing backdrop that builds to a climax that I can't quite put into words.  "LIKE YOU DO NOW, IN FACT, YOU SHOWED THEM HOW!!!!  PLAY, THEME FOR A JACKAL PLAY!!!!."  As the song draws to a close, the piano goes wild and adds a jazzy element that makes this one of the most unique, and in my opinion, underappreciated, Misfits songs.

Listen to the a capella of Astro Zombies and be blown away.  

Anyone who has been in a punk/hardcore band or gone to a show has either played or sang along to Misfits covers.  They are great songs and a lot of fun to play.  But are there any recorded covers worth listening to?  I don't know.  The trouble with putting a cover to wax is you have to acknowledge that it probably won't be nearly as good as the original, so you better do something creative with it.  Yes, even you, AFI.  Here are two Misfits covers that do a pretty good job and I am not sure whether my faithful readers will agree with me.  Let's see.

Farside were a great band, and they managed to be faithful to the original while approaching it from a completely different angle.  Thanks EMI for preventing this video from playing in my blog so my readers have to watch it on youtube. Yes, Earth Crisis attacked "Earth AD," slowed it the fuck down, and went all chugga-chugga, but god damn, I really think it works.  I mean, if the "Earth AD" record is credited as one of the early hardcore/punk records to add a metal influence, why shouldn't Earth Crisis cover it 15 years later and incorporate all the metal that hardcore had absorbed over those years?   Ok I'm spent.  Thanks for sticking with me.  Happy Halloween, listen to the Misfits, watch some baseball, and stay cool.  Take it easy everyone.  

Half a goon and half a god

Heather's and my pumpkins.  Wonder whose is whose...

I was just driving and saw a woman walking with a cane with a tennis ball at the bottom of it.  I've seen this before, of course, especially on old people's walkers.  It is very weird.  I wonder who was the first person to slice open a tennis ball and stick it on their walker or cane.  Are the instruments so mediocre that they wear out and you need to jerry rig tennis balls to them for proper balance?  Either way it is an unfortunate fate for the tennis balls, who would rather hit the court than be dragged along the sidewalk by some geriatric.  Anyway, enough of that racket.

I'll keep this post short.  Any Devo fans out there?  I see everyone raised their hand, excellent.  Well, Gates of Steel is one of their best songs so I'd like to dedicate this post to the various hardcore/punk covers of it. Gotta start with the original to set the stage.

We pay to play the human way The song starts with that opening synth, sort of like a bizarro-The Who, before getting into a driving tempo where simple power chords establish the melody.  The vocals, always one of Devo's high points, fit perfectly over the music.  From the classic Mark Mothersbaugh voice quiver of "twist and shou-ou-out" to the acrobatic singing throughout the verses, to the spoken declarations that "a man is real," this song is virtually perfect at 3 and a half minutes.  
This is one of the quintessential Devo songs with its commentary on man and his place in he world.  "Half a goon and half a god" sums up man pretty damn well: what we really are and how we often perceive ourselves.  I could do some extensive googling and try to determine the exact meaning of the lyrics, but I think that the song is in large part about man's eagerness to embrace the very technology that is making him obsolete.  33 years later, we have yet to twist away the gates of steel.  "A man is real, not made of steel" is Devo's warning and reminder that people are not expendable like we appear to be to the government and corporations that rule us.
As for the covers, first up and most recent is by Slapshot.   This was recorded in the last year or two and I was thrilled when it was first posted.  This is a very faithful cover, but still sounds like Slapshot.  Well, Choke is definitely trying to hit those Devo highs, but ultimately this is Devo gone old school Boston hardcore.   Next up is the Groovie Ghoulies.  GG play some pretty damn good Ramones-worship pop punk.  This recording comes from 1996, from "The Island of Pogo" 7" on Lookout! Records.  They up the tempo a little bit, but otherwise this is basically Devo done Ghoulies Style.  The vocals are one of the Ghoulies' strong points, and it's cool to hear this song with those snotty old school pop punk vocals.   In Your Face was a Long Island band around from 88-93.  This cover came out on a compilation in 1990.  Once again I will point you guys to the incredible Blogged & Quartered blog where you can download the entire In Your Face discography.  This is my favorite cover of the three.  Lots of energy here, and I think the vocalist really nails it, remaining faithful to many aspects of the original, but having a more straightforward hardcore punk delivery throughout as well.  
Well, that about does it.  Three good covers of a damn good song.  There is a Skankin' Pickle cover as well, but I will let you find that yourselves.  Although I had a brief ska period as a young punk at the height of the ska trend of the late 90s, I never made it to Skankin' Pickle (although I did have a CD by the other condiment-named ska band Mustard Plug) and I'd rather end this post with two great Devo-related clips.  Truly subversive And to conclude, Spazz's incredible tribute to the spudboys: JOCKO HOMO SPUD MANCHILD!! Till next time....

Two years in: Strength, born from pain

Autumn in her flaming dress of orange, brown, gold fallen leaves

Hello everyone.  We are making our way further into October, so I figured opening this post with a track from Type O Negative's "October Rust" LP would be appropriate.  Those of you who know me well and understand my devotion to the Misfits might be wondering why I haven't dedicated a post this month to them, but honestly the Misfits are an anytime band to me so I don't find myself necessarily enjoying them more when this time of year rolls around.  Maybe closer to Halloween I will put together a cool mix of Misfits songs and there will DEFINITELY be some Samhain discussion going on in November.

In the meantime, this post will focus on the relevance of October in my medical history, and I will share a couple songs that helped me when the only feelings I had were the bad feelings that combined to lead me down a road of pain that can be hard to turn away from.

This past Friday (10/11) marks the two year anniversary of my official diagnosis of Stage 4 Hodgkins Lymphoma.  I was diagnosed a few days after Heather and I had attended Octoberfest in Harvard Square, which is your typical crowded mess of arts and crafts and food.  During our time there, I must've asked Heather if we could sit down and take a break every ten minutes because my fatigue had gotten so bad that I needed to take moments to rest almost constantly.  (Today is actually our 2.5 year anniversary and she deserves all the credit she can get for sticking with my sick butt through all this.)

This Native American (?) finger puppet is our memento from Octoberfest 2011.  Looks like an Italian Mr. Peanut.

That week I made another appointment with my then-PCP (who had misdiagnosed the giant lump in my chest earlier in May as something insignificant) who sent me to Cape Cod Hospital to get an ultrasound.  On the bus back to the city I get a call from my PCP telling me I should go to the Emergency Room right away. Since it was the weekend and Monday was Columbus Day, I spent about five days in the hospital waiting for the right people to be in the right places to give me scans, take a biopsy, etc.  Before the biopsy they loaded me with gas and the last thing I remember is the nurse saying, "Harry what's your phone numbeeeeeeeeer" before feeling like I had just been shot across the room from a giant slingshot.  From there I experienced major deja vu, as I was interpreting the surgeons talking and machine noises as a piece of music I'd heard before.  That lasted until I felt a blade stab me deep in the neck and I had to scream out, "I CAN FEEL THAT," to let them know their anesthesia was inadequate. "Oh sorry!"  I can still feel it when I think about it.

I'd seen this in the Ikea catalog and Heather brought it to the hospital for me.  

So that was two years ago.  A lot has happened since then,  and overall I am in a 100% better place healthwise, mentally, and so on, even if my life won't be back to normal any time soon.  But there were times I struggled immensely with the reality of being sick.  Sometimes I was pissed off and miserable, sometimes I was scared and depressed.  Other times I felt a combination of conflicting emotions that I cannot accurately describe.  I've been fortunate to avoid a lot of major physical pain throughout much of my illness, but I still had to manage this mental pain.  Fortunately I had no shortage of songs relating to whatever anger or negativity I was feeling at the time.  The music expressed what I could not always release, and it soothed me, even if it could never fully heal me.

But as much as I could identify with lyrics like LIFE IS PAIN! or NOTHING CAN STOP THE PAIN!, I did not want my soundtrack to become a self-fulfilling prophecy of endless misery.  There were two songs in particular that I listened to that inspired me to accept pain as a part of life, not to dwell on it, but to see beyond it.  This one's going out to all the Jersey kids, you can take a guess what's coming....

Learn to live with pain and you won't complain

E-Town Concrete fucking rules.  I listened to this album constantly for practically the first year I was sick and I revisit it often.  "Learn to live with pain and you won't complain."  Hard lyric.  "That which doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, that which doesn't kill you only makes you wanna kill...one day I'll reign!"  E-Town lyrics deal with pain in its various forms throughout their records, but this first LP is especially good.  Some of the lyrics in the more straightforward rapping parts can be pretty cheesy, but I'll be damned if there aren't some retrospective, honest lyrics on this record too.  I've uploaded the entire Time 2 Shine record onto mediafire for any ETC fans who might be looking for it, or anyone else for that matter.  

Strength, born from pain, beyond that of my flesh.  

Betrayed, robbed and beaten but not defeated.

STRENGTH, BORN FROM PAIN!  Ultimately that's more or less the theme you can take away from the E-Town lyric above, but this song really takes things a step further and emphasizes what it might require to turn your pain into strength.

1. Self-reliance ("through my search for allies, I found myself")   
2. Not being a victim of your own thought process or any other aspect of one's self ("strangled by frustration, no longer will I be my victim")
3. Striving for inner peace despite the hell you've encountered ("I've got to try to find some peace and hold that peace inside before it gets too late")

Have Heart has a similar lyric about the "struggle to find the peace that exists within our hearts."  It can be difficult to find peace, because how on earth does one define it?  Can peace exist alongside pain, or anger, or other negative feelings?  I don't think peace of any kind can be acheived without the acknowledgement and acceptance of distress.   I would be lying if I told you that the feelings of anger, fear, and that indescribable pain are no longer with me, yet I am more at peace than I've ever been.  The final lyrics of "Born From Pain" describe "breathing life into my visions, forcing them into reality," from the paradise of his dreams into the inferno of his life, eventually moving his reality "into paradise, into paradise."

Well, this is sufficiently long, so thanks for sticking with me, extra special thanks for tolerating a numbered list of Earth Crisis lyrics.  Before I go I will leave you with this beautiful song that should close this post nicely.  Some funky late 70s soul.  Listen to that god damn guitar.   Joy and pain are like sunshine and rain.  Take it easy everyone.

How come the things that make us happy make us sad?  

Well it seems to me that joy and pain are like sunshine and rain.

Just making sure you're with me

Today we took the dog to Fresh Pond in Cambridge where I took this photo. 

When we were driving home from our walk around Fresh Pond this afternoon, I alerted Heather from the passenger seat that the car in front of us had his brakes on.  "Just making sure you're with me," she said. That is a damn good response.  It deflects responsibility from yourself and implicates the other person instead.  Very sneaky.

Well, just to make sure those of you are in hardcore land are still with me, I owe it to you guys to get another music post going.  I'm going to share a few videos I've made over the past few days that compile specific moments from different bands.  Tonight is 100% NYHC with Gorilla Biscuits, Bulldoze, and Cro-Mags.

Civ's voice cracks megamix

I love the Gorilla Biscuits 7."  I remember first listening to it and hearing the opening bassline of "High Hopes" and getting so excited as that song built up.  By the time the verse kicks in my head exploded and record never lets up.  One classic after another.  And for a band that was certainly melodic and not messing around with the trend towards heavy that was happening in NYHC by the late 80s, there are some downright nasty moments too.  But the most memorable aspect of this record to me are Civ's voice cracks throughout the record.  The voice cracks make this record for me as much as the break in "Big Mouth" or the chorus of "don't be retarded" in "Finish What You Started."  Here I've put together the most explosive voice cracks from the s/t GB record.

Bulldoze studio mosh call megamix

I like Bulldoze.  There are some seriously hard moments in their discography.  Many of them occur in the form of various shit talk/shoutouts/mosh calls that made their way from the stage to the recording studio.  Not too often do you put a record on the turntable and hear "Yeah motherfuckers, MOVE IT!!"  I put this video together to showcase those moments.  In my opinion, the only "beatdown" band that matters (aside from maybe No Retreat) but really their sound is much different from the beatdown bands they influenced.  Less downtuning and emphasis on heavy, more about straightforward hardcore slowed down.  I remember talking to someone about Bulldoze once, and he said, "Bulldoze isn't heavy, they're just slow."  Kevone's next band Terrorzone is possibly better, if only for this song and naming their record "Self Realization: A True Lesson in Hardcore."

Cro-Mags Oh Yeah Megamix

I am no Cro-Mags purist.  I think AOQ is their most important record, but Best Wishes is my favorite, and I enjoy Alpha Omega to a degree.  But everyone will admit that this record is perhaps one of the most dated, cheesy offerings from any NYHC band that had gone metal by the early 90s.  Everything about this record screams early 90s, from their outfits to the music video to the fake turntable scratching and occasional rap metal.  Not everything suffered though.  There are some damn good riffs on this thing, the band is tight as hell, and the production has that incredible Normandy Sound thing going on.  The band did metal the right way in these ways.   The vocals became a casualty of the metal, unfortunately, and in the video above you can enjoy a full five minutes of OH YEAH!  OH! and AHHH! Anyway, hope you guys got a kick out of these.  I plan on making more of these kinds of videos, so if you have any ideas feel free to leave a comment.  Meanest basslines, crazy divebombs, top 10 rick ta life vocal moments, etc.   Take care

Market Street: White cat, self doubt, bicycle decay

Cat ownership summed up in one sentence.

Before I moved into my current apartment in Somerville earlier this winter, I spent the previous two years living in Cambridge, on a small street called Market Street.  My apartment was not technically within any particular square, but was a roughly 10 minute walk to either Kendall, Central, or Inman Squares.  It was a short enough street that I would often direct cabs to the corner of Broadway & Windsor for convenience's sake.

Windsor Street, at the corner of Broadway, facing towards Central Square.

Windsor Street was my main route to and from the supermarket or whenever I ventured into Central Square.  It's a nice street.  One side consists of your typical lower-to-middle income Cambridge apartment houses/buildings, while public housing ran along the other side of the street. One time I was wearing a Misfits shirt and a young woman hanging out the steps of her project asked me if I was coming from the devil's whorehouse.  

There was one house on Windsor that stood out to me.  For numerous reasons.  I don't remember if it was the reggae music blaring from it or the strong, unmistakable smell of marijuana that first made me turn my head.  The house itself looked unfinished in places, with plywood in place of shingling or whatever it is people make houses out of.  I would eventually notice the phrase "Afreecan" written in permanent marker by the doorway.  I came to know this house by its sounds, smells and appearance before I eventually saw an inhabitant: a older black guy with a big, greying beard and dreadlocks down past his knees.  Usually he'd be standing on the front steps, sort of dancing in place to whatever music was playing.  He was friendly and we'd acknowledge each other as I walked by.  Eventually I would meet another of the residents, a beautiful white cat.

Noble white cat.

I became good friends with this little guy over the couple years I lived on Market Street.  Each time I saw him I'd kneel down and put my hand out for him and soon he got to know me and would meow and come up to me for a pet.  Whenever I walked down Windsor I would hope that he'd be in front of the Afreecan house.  There were times I'd be walking alone at night in the rain, and he'd surprise me by being the only other creature hanging out in the shitty weather.  At the time, I had my own cat at my apartment, The Mayor, but it was nice to be able to run into this guy and spend a couple minutes with him.  I couldn't tell you how much googling I did about white cats and deafness because it made me sad to think that he might be deaf.  My googling was inconclusive; apparently deafness is inherent in white cats with a certain eye color.  This guy's eyes seemed to change color every time I saw him, so I eventually just accepted that he seemed to be doing just fine, deaf or not.

The Mayor (now in the care of my sister and her family since I am not able to have cats).  He is the man and might as well be a dog.  My nephews love him and call him the Friendly Blob.

One day I came across the white cat and he must have gotten in a fight with one of the troublemaking cats because his ear was bandaged.  Now he has one floppy ear, which is pretty adorable as far as battle scars go, but is hopefully the last injury he will have to endure as an outdoor cat in the city.

He liked to sit on top of this stone pillar by the neighbor's property.

Late in the summer of 2012, I was walking down Windsor and as I approached the Afreecan house, I saw the guy sitting on the steps with a friend of his. The cat was sitting by the sidewalk.  I gave him a pet, and the man shouted, "Freedom came back!  She was missing but she came home!  I knew she would." in a thick Haitian accent.  At the time I wasn't sure if he was talking about the cat or if he was making some grander statement about a man and his freedom.  A few weeks later, we had a conversation that gave me a new perspective on the cat, the man himself, and a little insight into myself.

It must've been the early fall because I remember I was wearing one of my button-down longsleeves (my official "summer's over" gear).  I saw the man and the cat on the steps together and I decided that I would tell him how much I liked his cat.  

"Hey, you probably see me walk by here all the time.  I always pet your cat, I really like him," I say.

"That's Freedom!  She is a good cat."

So that explains it.  He named his cat Freedom.  We kept talking.  We shake hands and I introduce myself and he told me his name was Pap (like "Pop").  He asked if I could figure out how to spell it, so I am standing there thinking, "Well, it's probably really straightforward, but then again he's Haitian, so maybe there is some weird French spelling."  I start to guess, "P-A-U-P...." and he says, "Nope!  Try again."  So I say, "P-A-P?"  

"Exactly!  It's just how it sounds."  I told him I don't know why I thought it'd be spelled any other way, and he told me that I got the spelling wrong because I doubted myself and questioned my instincts.  That was pretty apt.  We talked a little more and he said that he came a long way from Haiti a long time ago.  I gave him a little of my own history (ie: I grew up in Massachusetts and now live down the street).  Before we parted ways, Pap told me that I showed courage by approaching Freedom, because doing so enabled me to meet and interact with someone with a personal history completely different from my own (his words).  It was like something out of a movie.  Honestly I will pet pretty much any cat I see, so I don't know about courage, but he makes a good point about how a simple decision to befriend a stranger's cat opened a door that might've otherwise never appeared.  Heather used to joke that the white cat is my spirit animal, and whenever I drive down Windsor Street I always slow down and see if he's out there.  It comforts me when I do get a glimpse of him even though I can only admire him for a few seconds from within the confines of my car.

I watched the (de)evolution of a bike locked to this pole over the course of a year.
Sadly Google maps didn't capture any of it.

I'll end this post with a funny little anectdote about the street post above.  At one point there was a bicycle locked to it by the wheels with a U-Lock.  As time went on, the bicycle remained locked, just with fewer and fewer parts, as tends to happen to neglected bikes in the city (theft is one thing, but I think the glee of snowplow drivers plowing into parked bikes should not be underestimated).  I really wish I had documented the status of the bike over the year or so it remained locked to this post because it would've made an incredible commercial for a bike lock.  It went from a complete bike, to a bike sans seat & handlebars, to a frame and two wheels, to just two wheels, to two tires, and finally to two shriveled inner tubes that remained locked to that post for several months.  Talk about determination.  

I hope you enjoyed reading a little bit about my old neighborhood.  I have a couple ideas for future posts, music and otherwise.  I need to get organized before I hit you guys with my next music post, but I have some interesting ideas that I think people will appreciate.  Also expect an eventual post about my time working overnight security at a garbage hotel in Chinatown.  I kept a journal for much of the time I worked there and there is plenty still fresh in my mind.

Till next time....

Cops, new paintings, if there was no government

The police is the klan is the mafia and they're out for me, and soon they're going to be out to get you, so you better get going if you know it's good for you and take your stand.
Having the dog around has gotten me into the habit of eating lunch in my living room and watching bad TV instead of sitting at my computer desk.  He will follow me into the living room and hang out and I get a change of scenery.  There is not a lot of good TV, especially in the afternoon, but when I'm lucky I'm able to catch an episode of Cops.  My favorites are when a car gets stopped for a rolling stop or a broken tail light and the police uncover massive quantities of drugs.  I also get a kick out of how delighted the cops are once they discover the drugs.  An episode from a couple days ago had an officer find a big bag of weed under the front seat, tell the camera, "That's an ounce," before tossing it onto the roof of the car and shining his flashlight around the car a second time, and proudly announce, "There's a roach."  That must've sealed the deal for him.

Anyway, I figure it's about time I share the paintings I've done since my first post about my paintings.  It's been just over a month since then, and I'm happy with what I've painted in that time.  I am going to post these in chronological order as best as I can remember.  Many of these pics were taken with my mediocre camera phone and shared on instagram, while a few more recent paintings I was able to get more "hi-def" pictures of with an actual digial camera.  It's still a bitch taking pictures of paintings, but I think generally these pics are a good representation of how they look in person.  And honestly I will be damned if I can figure out how to extend my margins.  

8x10" canvas panel

8x10" canvas panel.  Here I decided to add that vertical red line.  It ended up working out, adds depth and a sense of boundary.

I decided to continue exploring lines and messing with the sense of space.  This is a much larger canvas, maybe like a 12x16" or something.  Larger is better because it gives me more room to maneuver and play around, and I can acheive things that are harder in a smaller space at my novice level.  I had a lot of fun mixing colors here.

8x10" canvas panel. This painting is the result of too much creative energy, too much paint, and nothing else.  Nothing going on here.  I painted over this painting which now looks like this:

This painting marks a big change: mixing my acrylic paint with a gloss medium.  The gloss makes the colors pop out and really adds depth.  

Here you can really see the gloss at work.  8x10" canvas panel

My friend Matt came over and we did a couple more collaborative paintings:

8x10" canvas panel

12x16" I believe.  Those pink swirls in the background (men's asses) were done by Matt.  I think the painting redeemed itself by the end.

Me solo again.  If I'm not mistaken, I actually didn't use any gloss, I just managed to get a lot of bright + vivid colors as opposed to the browns and greys that can occur from overmixing colors. 12x16" 

This is a hard one to get a pic of.  At times it looks very dark, but the natural light in this pic reveals the colors that exist in a painting that is dominated by dark colors.  The gloss plays a huge role here.  Fun fact: the white shapes on the left are actually the blank canvas, not white paint.

I painted this for Heather's sister's family.  I ended the experience with a Jerry Lewis moment that splattered gloss all over my jeans, which now bear the mark of the (clumsy) artist.   I believe this is a 10x12" canvas, possibly 12x14.

8x10" canvas panel.  This painting took me roughly 15 minutes.  I just followed my impulse to paint, and then obeyed my impulse to stop.  My dad told me the French critic and poet Paul Valery said a poem is never finished, only abandoned.   Who's to say that is a bad thing?

Well, that about does it.  Sorry again for being bad at blogging and having my pictures + captions go way over the margin.  I really have to sit down and tweak this.  I appreciate everyone who doesn't mind my minimalist (read: nonexistant) regard for proper formatting. Bob Ross feeding a squirrel I figure since the media keeps shoving this "government shutdown" down our throats with the intention of scaring us into buying things, I will end this post with a relevant song from punk history.   What about the children? Who'd teach them in the schools?
Who'd make the beggars keep in line? Learn them all the rules?
Who's tell us whitewash windows? When to take down doors?
Tell us make a flask of tea and survive the holocaust?  Till next time....