My Bloody Valentine

Not really, nothing bloody about it, i mean. Still haven’t caught the film yet either, which is a sad state of affairs. I mean, it’s a horror in 3d, what more could you ask for? Probably a lot, but whatever. And just because he’s my hero and he writes about such things, linking The State of the Slasher, which is a sequel–yeah, very horror conscious–to this essay. The man knows the genre, just read Demon Theory and you’ll understand everything you need to know about horror ever.

Anyway, this really isn’t about horror movies or what have you. My Valentine’s Day was spent a bit better than most previous ones. Can’t really recall what i usually do. Probably get drunk or go unaware that the made up holiday even arrived. I went to the Botanical gardens, i’ll put those photos up on facebook when the moon shines just right. Found a Mexican restaurant, finally. Very cool stuff. Then, the rest of the night went as many nights go for me and i ended up forgetting my coat at someone’s house and spending lots of money.

Now, though, i need to really start getting on essays and all that jazz. Much work to do and will probably keep my head underground until i get all that ish done. Going to see Neil Gaiman tonight, though. Can’t really turn that down. Too, House is on, so, yeah, there’s that, too.

So, what’s my point here besides being very vague and nondescript in my chronicling? I’ve been living in the past for a while. The musical past, anyway. A few bands that i’ve not listened to for a very long time popped back up on my listening schedule. Mostly on accident, but then it turned into this avalanche of music i listened to back in the early days of high school. Thursday, for example, been listening to them on high volume for the last week.

Cross out the Eyes, there. Yeah, lots of energy and frenetic chords. The drums  here, man, could listen to those for the rest of my life on a neverevnding loop. Love that. They’ve a sound i still seem to appreciate, though i suppose i needed a three or five year break. Their songs remind me of the apocalypse in a really wonderful way. Lyrics, too, are better than i expected. At least for my aesthetic. But, yeah, some intensity in them and i’d probably look just like the lead singer if i had long dark hari. He’s an ugly brute. They’re not all intensity and brutality. I think they’ve a real beauty in them. The apocalypse, yeah, but there’s some hope there in his voice. It’s a different apocalypse than Bone Machine by Tom Waits–which, to me, along with Godspeed is everything when you talk about the end of days.

This song has been brought to you by a falling Bomb, a live video because it’s the only one i could find, but i quite like this song. Beautiful, despite the ugly girl who’s voice is getting picked up in the video. But, yeah, a beautiful, almost lullaby, to the apocalypse.

The Sound of Animals Fighting, too, has come back to me. Lover, The Lord has Left Us is quite possibly the most schizophrenic album ever made. They made it by having all the members play something without hearing what the rest of the song sounded like. Just musicians recording in locked rooms and throwing it all together. It shows, but it’s fantastic. It’s impossible to grab a song that illustrates the way the album sounds, but this song may give you some indication, though it’s as different from the rest of the songs as they are from one another.

St. Brodarick is in Anarctica, can’t really say what the deal is with the video, but it’s the song and that’s what matters. Really a very bizarre band made from members of a lot of awful bands. Just goes to show, that even people from miserable bands, in the right context, can make a memorable and, i’d say, great album.

Those bands, i’m sure they’ve had more recent albums come out, but i’ve not listened to them and probably never will. And, when you revisit the past, if you’re me, you rehit The Blood Brothers for weeks. So, yeah, going there. Especially since those made me think of the world falling apart, who better to listen to than The Blood Brothers? Not the most representative song for their sound, but easily their biggest hit and a song i quite enjoy, even still, so many years later. Really, the only band that still sticks with me so hard from that period of my life.

And this all makes me think of something. How, i believe, you’ll never feel the way you do about things as you did when you were younger. Nothing in your life will ever be as important to you as it was when you were a teenager, specifically a young teenager. They’ll always stick with you. It’s why, even though you listened to terrible music, you’ll still always love those bands. It all means so much because these are the things that are with you when you’re forming your identity, when you’re figuring out the world; they’re what get you through all the sleepless nights, all the heartbreaks, all the fights and fears of being in high school. It’s why you remember your firsts as well.

I still remember the first girl i had a crush on. Her name was Suzie–like that, with the ‘z’ and that might be what made all the difference for me–she had red hair and green eyes. I was in first grade and only knew her for two years, but, man, made me weak in the knees even then. She was the only girl i could never look in the eyes or talk to back then. I even got my first childhood romance kiss–or whatever you calla kiss when you’re seven–from a different girl because i was so afraid of her.

Too, this is why Bukowski–though i don’t think he’s very talented anymore–will always mean so much to me. He got me through a lot of things in my life, all the big things and unbearable things, anyway. And then there’s Rimbaud who’s really the only person i actually consider my hero. He’s everything to me. I’ll not describe him in detail or i’ll be wandering on forever, but his life, his ideology, everything about him; he’s who i admire most in the history of the world. He’s who i would be if i could be someone else.

And i know so many of you have the same connections with something. It may be a song, an album, a book, a poem, a sentence, a smell: it’s something and it’ll always be important to you no matter how old you get or how long it’s been.

You’ve no idea how much i think about things like this. I guess it goes back to memory. Because these things, you never forget them. They’re always shaping you and will always shape you. I’d not be who i am without Bukowski, Rimbaud, Dostoevsky, Johnny Whitney, Akira Kurosawa, Won Kar Wai, Conor Oberst, Isaac Brock, Salvador Dali, and probably many others. And, for me at least, it’s always art. Art in every form. It always shapes me, will always shape me, even when i want to rip it apart and burn it to the ground: it’s everything.

Really, without those guys, i would’ve probably died a long time ago. Not sure why, but i think the world would’ve finally swallowed me whole and all those ghosts that follow every step i take would’ve finally reached inside and shut it all down.

I’m gonna leave you with a cover of a band i quite like by a man i quite like. Not really the best cover, but i’m digging it. I remember hearing this for the first time in ninth grade in my best friend’s basement, jsut staring at the ceiling and knowing, somehow, that everything was going to be all right, that the whole world was out there for me, for us, and we’d take it if taking needed to be done. We were young, forever fifteen, forever afraid, and forever impatient for that next step.

If you’ve time, check out the Elliott Smith cover of that song, too. It’s much better and i’d link it, but i’ve put up enough videos in this post. Take care, all.