Saturday, September 17, 2005
I’m such a poser! I went perusing in the biggest monument of music purchasing scenedom that Denver has to offer (Twist and Shout) in search of a CD. (And yes I said CD damn it!!! For all those fascist scum who are too young to have truly embraced vinyl as a necessary media because CDs had been the standard before he/she was 14 years old with a workers permit either slaving away at Dairy Queen or Water World for money to purchase tunes. Those are the only places that spontaneously come to mind when it comes to exploiting child labor here in the U.S. Except for being a paper deliverer, but fuck working for the conglomerate Republican endorsed news publication that the 5280 has to offer.) During my CD purchasing adventure I had The Exploding Hearts on mental repeat. I felt that I was in the need of a little musical history. It was time to visit the source of the music I appreciated rather than just contemporary regurgitation of an established genre. The Beatles were a prime example of my rigid and philosophical musical beliefs. I mean come on!!!, everyone clings to the Beatles like Duck Tape to my wallet. I figured if I listened to them I’d be just another cracked pavement stepper trapped in the monotony that this sprawling suburb mentality that this Mile High City has to offer. By actively listening to The Beatles I’d be joining the rest of the lemmings by falling of a cliff and landed directly into the Liverpool bandwagon. I was able to resist the intoxicating sound of The Beatles right on up to the ripe young age of 22. Of course their sound is such a staple in American culture that it resembles a part of our language. The Beatles had always been part of my “passive vocabulary” and I had only been successful at keeping them from being part of my “active vocabulary.” Sure enough, the first time I set down and listened to Rubber Soul in its entirety…I was stuck. Like clockwork I became and addict shooting up mop-top tunes into my head much like a junkie shoots his magical serum into his veins for a fix. There I was a CD zombie moaning in search of more Beatle’s albums. This avoidance philosophy has actually been an enriching way to pursue life. Here in my 20s I can approach the classics with the innocent ears of child and call upon the pioneering greats for inspiration when my listening pallet becomes insipid with contemporary music. This idea is akin to Branch Rickey realizing that Blacks were the biggest untapped reservoir in baseball’s history. The talent was always there, it just had never been tapped into. So as walked through the music store blaring Exploding Hearts in my mind, my instincts realized that The Buzzcocks were what influenced their sound. I don’t really know how I knew this. I have never heard a Buzzcocks’ album before. It was sort of like the smell of pot for me. At a very young age I smelt it for the first time and just knew what it was (and no I didn’t smoke it at four years old…I just knew my uncle was doing something in his room that would get him in trouble.) I’m not very proud but I will admit that my first and, as of now, only Buzzcocks CD is Singles Going Steady which is a greatest hits of sorts. Song 12 is called Autonomy. This my friends is how The Buzzcocks and the word autonomy became part of my active vocabulary. There it was an entire song about a word that I had no definition for. It’s a simple word that stands for freedom. I too need autonomy. I need the freedom to creative expression. I need the ability to think off the moral conundrums I face in the daily experience of struggling with the 9-5. There’s a need to illuminate the very florescent lights I set beneath within the minds eye of readers. I have this desire for people to see my life and taste the same stale and burnt coffee I feel compelled to drink on a daily basis. In fact it’s the same scorn I’m sure most anyone I know is feeling…just not simply or eloquently expressing. Somehow as a culture I feel most Americans have lost the content of their expression and I question if that has anything to do with having the freedom of expression? It seems to be human nature to take for granted the most valuable possessions we have…mind, body and soul. As an endeavoring artist I realize I need utmost autonomy. I used to have a MySpace account that I used to post blogs. I remember begging my girlfriend to read my stuff or to look at my pages. She never did. One day I was having a young man’s equivalent of “hot flashes” as the hormones in my body were surging and my memory was so mystically reliving experiences I had during a one night stand. Hands sweating and heart racing I sublimated these images into the form of a blog and posted it for a community of friends and strangers alike. I then left the house for a day of choirs and to my dismay synchronicity had its way. My girlfriend read my MySpace page for the very first time in the eight months I had the damn thing! She was crying upset by the sexual images written on the page about my experiences with another girl. Most people would view this as a bad thing but I believe that moment was a very important lesson that must be learned in the life of an artist. Freedom of expression and social norms don’t go hand in hand but both have an important place in a person’s life. I hope this blog can be my source of autonomy where can lay to rest the coughing demons in my head. Just as much comfort as I gain in letting my thoughts go uncensored onto the screen…I hope some will find the same solace in reading them. There’s just one problem left…How can I hide this from my girlfriend???
