valhalla here I come

I haven't roadtripped to another city to see a band play since I was a lowly undergrad, but tagged along with my other metalhead homie and one of his friends for a trek down to Columbus. It's starting to make sense to me why there's a lot of acts skipping Cleveland, because almost any Columbus venue that books heavier bands seems to be infinitely nicer than Peabody's.

I-71 is a terribly dull stretch of highway, but it was enlivened by the small car driving next to us covered with decals of horses and puppies and an action figure glued to the dent on the rear bumper. I did want to take a picture, but Sam was driving fast and the guy driving looked creepy as heck anyway. After an incident a few years ago with a decidedly more clean-cut posse in which some driver thought we were the Devil's spawn and waved a plastic cross at us all the way down 480 to about Twinsburg, I didn't want to incur the wrath of any crazed soul in the boonies once more.

I am so accustomed to Cleveland venues, which are usually grungy and sometimes in parts of the neighborhood where you hope your car won't get broken into, so it was weird to get off the highway and drive through some industrial by-ways only to find the venue off of a main street next to a Kroger and across from some very upscale-looking apartments.

The interior of the place reminded me of the kind of place that has glammy drag shows but I guess it's a goth club, though it was nice to see that there were couches and places to sit down and chill to get away from the noise, and the room where the bands were playing was nice and big. Soundgarden was being played over the PA between sets which was strange given the acts on the bill but not entirely unwelcome either.

Really enjoyed Junius, because I'm a sucker for angst and shimmery shoegaze guitars with an extra bit of crunch. It's nice to have openers that are actually enjoyable as opposed in fifteen minutes this will be over because it's gone on way too long.



I didn't know the first two songs Alcest played (I think they came from the EP) but I felt damn near euphoric when I heard the opening chords of Ecailles de Lune and Solar Song. Two of the dudes next to me where screaming out "FUCK YEAAHHHH!" at the most transcendentally beautiful moments, which was just weird to me, because this is the sound that washes over oceanically though I possibly don't understand the inner workings of the metal bro psyche so maybe I'm missing something. Their other friend with them who was wearing a Burzum shirt looked both surly at the lack of troo kvltness (as this kind of thing is more Faerie than Satan) and the antics of his friends, though his time to get his inner berzerker on was coming.





As came up in the conversation in the car, I'm not really much of a metalhead. I dip my toes in, but I will probably never swim out into the deep end of the Fjord of Viking Testosteronia anytime soon. Props to Enslaved though, for having actual songs and not taking themselves too seriously, and such, even if I did duck out and chill outside and people-watch.

We went looking for food, found none, drove home, and I slept in the backseat, waking up to see an incredible night sky, white clouds, Orion on his side, so beautiful.

And now it's back to the daily, but I feel alive again.

into the grey

Another week is winding down, and the blur of time is finally starting to lead to a sense of clarity. I lost a great-uncle this week, someone who seemed larger than life, with stories handed down, and there's sundry other little dramas with no need to be spread about the Internet, but last night I took some much needed chill time to get annoyed with my history textbook's YAYCOMMUNISM slant (sure, Stalin killed people but the ones that didn't died were freed from their superstitions so yay Stalin and artistic propaganda posters were keeping it real).

The Randian kid on the other side of the room is absurd to the point of being way too amusing, the know-it-all wasn't there today, and all I can think of is Traktoristy. , the soundtrack to the Hoxha/Uncle Joe Bromance. Get a room comrades, in the name of Winged Eros.

My interest in history is decidedly more ephemeral. I like the weird tendrils that come off of the name and date generica. I'm also convinced that while our book talks about how it was so awesome for women in the Soviet Union as opposed to the Evil Capitalist West, it probably sucked all around everywhere especially for people like me with a big mouth.

But anyways, external drama and dadaesque classroom absurdity aside, I'm heading down to Killumbus to hopefully get a second dose of sweet and heavy tuneage. It's not every day I get to slay my eardrums in good company with the shoegazing metallurgy of Alcest and VikingVikeness like a good little berzerker. Pictures and epic tales hopefully shall follow.

respite

I haven't been good about posting pictures because I'm a PC person who owns a Mac, but these are from Dike 14 on Saturday, which is an awesome place.







I've been a mess these past few weeks, with everything going on, and the change of seasons, and the feeling of stasis. I went for a good two weeks of eating dinner alone unable to string two words together in conversation, but yesterday was beautiful even if it began feeling utterly overwhelmed and broken. Intangible divinity once again transcended at the moment of my leastness and deepest doubts in ways that are nearly impossible to explain, and it ended up being the first really good day I've had in months.

I meet up with Tangerine for the first time since this summer, and epic plans were altered to instead hang out at the cemetery because it was a beautiful day and it was close by. Lake View is massive and we went down the "nature walk" path and ended up somewhere completely different and somewhat deserted, with my nice camera getting lots of use.



I love this angel so much.



Shadows of leaves on the bronze doors of the tombs.



daddy long legs spiders guarding mildewing silk flowers. This crypt had this weird echo effect which meant we were saying all sorts of absurd things to hear the reverberation.



This one I'd never seen before and was in the middle of the woods.



Japanese maples turning colors, the way these branches bend is beautiful to me.



This was creepy enough from this angle, and then we realized from walking around to the other side that the little boys were naked, which is even creepier. I don't understand. By this time, we'd wandered around a lot and got hungry so we got pizza and gelato and sat at the little cafe tables on Murray Hill conversating until it started to rain and we both needed to get home anyway.

I got home later than I thought I would, and while buying earplugs at the drugstore for the show tonight, got a call from Muk, who was down at Edgewater and wanted to hang out. I didn't want to bother with opening acts for the show, so I joined him on the pier as we watched the waves break on the rocks and talked about everything until the park ranger started coming around and I had live music to go see.



Got to Peabody's about five minutes before Katatonia got onstage, got my much needed catharsis of moody rock and Swedish accents, the only sour note being the drunk blonde metalhead Snooki type who tried to start a pit and kept slamming into me ostensibly because I was about the same size and didn't have anyone with me. I'm too old for the mosh thing and didn't want to get into a chickfight when there's good music to get introspective to so I got out of her way after she grabbed my shirt by the bra straps and started pulling me, and found more chill people on the side (kids with their confused parents) to stand by.

Still, it was a good show, they played a long set and I was able to lose myself in sweet sounds and indulge my inner techie geek by checking out the chords, deciphering tunings and time signatures because I spent my teens reading guitar magazines instead of Seventeen. Most of the crowd except for the girls were chill. Seriously, ladies, you're doing us females who dig the heavy sounds a disfavor.

No pictures, as I had the little point and shoot and forgot to replace the memory card. Thankfully Randal's more organized than me and has the visuals.

1am

My extended family came in tonight to celebrate my mom's birthday and ended up discussing aspects of the Bro Culture with my younger college-aged cousins, a phenomenon which has been greatly codified since my ever-growing-more-distant days as an undergrad. Much laughter and amusement ensued as my cousin described the process of "bromancing," the tastes and general habits, proper Bro Flow hair care, and the differences between east coast and west coast bros. Sadly, there is no Tupac/Biggie type rivalry, because that would involve doing something.

In other words, it seems that the Bros are college kid slackers who are richer than us and prefer more mellow groovy sounds to accompany the consumption of cheap beer while watching Fight Club.

This time the late night has nothing to do with angsting or coughing and everything to do with having my ears blow out in a beautiful way. The last show I went to was Greg Dulli back in October, which sucked due to rock star antics and drunk groupie chicks and groping dudes, and not being able to leave because my friend I went with really had a good time.

I haven't gone out since then, finding that I don't want to deal with crowds alone. I've been so used to going out with other people in part due to them being the driver, but I'm finding more and more that I like flying solo and coming and going as it works for me. Usually I just don't end up going anywhere and end up holed up in my apartment with the paints and music, or slacking on someone's porch if I'm feeling social.

Having a free ticket and needing some catharsis and sonic therapy after a long week made me willing to venture to the other side of town where I got to blend into a crowd of introverted souls where I wasn't out of place with my longish hair and black hoodie, and found that the earplugs I picked up to try and be responsible with my hearing really shut out most of the sound, so I'm slightly more deaf but whatever. It was worth it.

suburban thrashers, awkward girls, and sexy huntresses

So I really wonder who responds to Craigslist personal ads. I really do.

When I worked at the Cleveland Zoo, I sold tickets to a family that we snarky kids working referred to as "The NRA Family" because their blond and blue-eyed children all had camouflage baseball caps saying "Daddy's Little Hunter" and they all had toy guns like they were going to go and hunt big game. The youngest was about three, and had his sippy cup in one hand and a toy rifle sticking out of his little backpack.

The following missed connection is the more estrogen driven model.


Sexy Huntress Baron's Supply - m4w - 31 (Lorain)
Date: 2011-02-26, 11:29PM EST
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We met at Baron's today around 2 or 3 pm. We both had our two daughters with us. It was so cute when your little girl asked for a pink and purple crossbow. I am kicking myself for not asking you out for coffee or dinner or something. I was wearing sunglasses a peacoat and my boots jingle when I walk. You are so sexy and beautiful. I regret not talking to you more. you brought a shotgun there. Please if by some chance you read this contact me.

When super rich people end up looking for love and hot women with sports cars.

Porsche carrera "mean biz" - m4w - 29 (turnpike i 77 booths)
Date: 2011-03-08, 8:21AM EST
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You were coming off the turnpike as I was getting on, you're a beautiful and obviously succesfull woman with fantastic taste in cars. I'm from Europe but I live in Akron Canton area. I drive a sports car myself so if you ever want to go riding, would be tons of fun. Anyway I hope you or a friend of yours reads this. Would love to hear from you. Love the license plate btw ;) send me the color of your car so I know it's you.


Now this next one hits me the wrong way probably because I've known too many of the male species like this who play the 'average guy' card but look down on people who don't have the same sophisticated taste. Because really, it's not like these things are so unique. If you're white and have a liberal arts degree, you probably like all this stuff too and if you live in Cleveland you might be reading this blog. So if I've totally misconstrued you, I'm sorry Dude.

It is true that I am an introverted chica who has some interest in most of the below (I've never been to the Cinematheque), but I'd resent being referred to as awkward, which is almost as bad as getting hit on with the line "You seem like you read a lot." Ya think?

Also, having worked in multiple bibliotheques in the course of my life, I can agree that a Greater Access card is amazing but it is hardly grounds for finding a soulmate. There's lots of freaks with library cards.


Any awkward girls that like going to thrift stores? - m4w - 28 (Westside)
Date: 2011-03-09, 7:00PM EST
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I’m looking to meet an awkward, shy girl who enjoys similar interests, such as going to thrift stores, exploring small forgotten towns and watching movies at the Cinematheque. Being a card holding member of either the Cuyahoga County or Cleveland Public Library would be amazing.

I’m average height, average job, average car, and average mind. I enjoy the metroparks, reruns of Madmen/Leave it to Beaver, college radio, and when in Parma Heights, dining at fine restaurants such as The Whip and Udupi Café.

If you have kids or listen to WGAR, no thanks.

To exchange emails, please put the name of a thrift store you like in the subject line so I know it’s not spam.

And this last one is for the one and only Randal, as it mentions Darkthrone four times and confirms the hypothesis that there will always be a disaffected segment of The Kids that gravitates toward loud and fast rock and/or roll.

In Parma, we were lucky enough to have kindred who also existed on the margins, though it seems like this kid's having a hard time finding other likeminded souls. It must suck in Avon Lake.

metal punk death squad - 18 (avon lake)
Date: 2011-03-12, 8:47PM EST
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venom, hellhammer, bathory, motorhead, onslaught, sacrilege, bulldozer, dishammer, children of technology, sodom, kreator, destruction, slayer, anthrax, overkill, nuclear assault, agent steel, puke, discharge, black flag, anti cimex, judas priest, black sabbath, electric wizard, toxic holocaust, razor, slaughter (can), acid witch, apokalyptic raids, sepultura, sarcofago, vulcano, entombed, inquisition, autopsy, dismember, grave, black sabbath, candlemass, celtic frost, repulsion, terrorizer, carcass, iron maiden, midnight, nunslaughter, crucified mortals, DARKTHRONE, DARKTHRONE, DARKTHRONE, DARKTHRONE

leather jackets, studs, back patches, spikes, combat boots, no corpse paint

NO METALCORE, NO MOSH, NO TRENDS, NO FUN

am i alone?



No kid, you're not alone, you just need to move to a cheap apartment in Lakewood and hang out at My Mind's Eye more. It'll make you happy even if you're into NO FUN.

suburban angstas "we're not the first and we know we're not the last..."

One of my friends from the hallowed slacker Tri-C days of yore, who made the Cleveland Scene for Dumbest Quote of the Year for selling a parental-advisory-stickered CD to a grade schooler saying he'd "sell it to a fetus if he had to," declared that if he was elected Mayor of Strongsville, he would change the mascot on the downtown water tower to the Wu-Tangs instead of the Mustangs due to the high volume of suburban hip-hop fanhood in said land to the south.

My east siders find it supremely ironic that the white kids of the southern suburbs adored the crew while mostly oblivious to the whole Five Percenter thing, but it was what it was. And ODB's stage crash was infinitely more awesome than Kanye's. For the children, indeed.

There will always be suburban kids who love hip-hop for the same reason that white kids have always turned to African-rooted music. It's danceable, freaks out their parents (see: jazz, early rock and roll, etc), and is eventually co-opted into a sanitized mainstream culturally acceptable form, usually getting whiter in the process. The next musical form that freaks out/totally annoys the future white suburban parents my age who loved A Tribe Called Quest and the Roots will probably have African diasporic roots too.

My dad can't stand hip-hop but loves Beck, and made up parody lyrics to "Loser" when it came out that became an inside joke with his fellow truck-driving coworkers whose careers involve purveying bread of all kinds to the good people of the hood.

Meanwhile, in Crackerland, as it's been since the 1960's, there will always be disaffected youths who will turn to loud music with electric guitars that may or may not freak out their parents even if they don't understand this new sound that the Kids are into these days.

While the medium on which the music is recorded may change (see cassettes, vinyl, compact disc, MP3), The Kids will more or less look the same regardless of decade and are somewhat interchangeable, as what's basic yet never terribly fashionable can never go out of style. Jeans, black t-shirts, basic footwear usually of the Converse variety, zip-up hoodies, the occasional Joey Ramone leather jacket? The haircuts may vary in volume, the glasses may look different, but the basics are still there.

The Kids may not be getting stoned, but they love kung-fu movies, played Stratomatic in the 60's and 70's (because in the inner suburbs, it's still acceptable to be into sports and music), videogames from the 80's until now, guitars if they were available, and still probably spend a lot of time driving around aimlessly listening to music and discussing high school politics, and dishing snarky pop/subculture commentary at an all-night diner or the nearest coffeeshop.

One of my fellow peons from a generation old enough to have birthed me claims that in another 15 years, the Kids will no longer be listening to Slayer, but I disagree. For one thing, Slayer's older than I am, and their first record came out the year I was born.

17 years later, The Kids in my day mocked me for my love of U2 while extolling the virtues of Hell Awaits at the lunch table, while we regretted that we were too young to see Minor Threat or Nirvana or Led Zeppelin way back when and wondered if that new Alice in Chains song on the radio meant that maybe Layne Staley wasn't totally far gone yet.

My friends often had to turn their band t-shirts inside out (this was the post-Columbine era and any band t-shirt suggesting anything involving death and destruction was suspect), made fun of our valedictorian who didn't know what a pentagram was, and one of us, who also played on the football team, bore a startling resemblance to Kerry King, especially when he got tattoos post-graduation.

Even if you didn't know how to play anything else on the guitar, you knew how to play "Iron Man," and "Smoke on the Water." Every hardcore punk band I saw threw in a few bars of "Reign in Blood" when requested.

Maybe we Parmanians were just 20 years behind the times, but I'm sure there's kids sitting in a cafeteria right now listening to 70's punk, classic rock, and 80's thrash, just like we did. My little sister likes all this weaksauce indie, but her boyfriend's skater bros look just like my metalhead friends from back in the day.

I got the warm fuzzy feeling when I watched two teenage girls at My Mind's Eye buying pre- Blood Sugar Red Hot Chili Peppers albums on vinyl because I remember being that age and starting to delve into the underground gradually, or when my cousin posted pictures of his first electric guitar and is now presumably wailing away.

So boomers, thanks for Hendrix and Black Sabbath. We don't want to admit that we're still kind of like you (because who doesn't become their parents eventually?), because we insist that the sounds of our youth are the best they could be, but we have to give credit where it's due, and we have you to thank for spearheading the soundtracks and subcultures for disaffected and usually brilliant loners. Now, go retire so we can pay your pensions and stay employed.

Thanks.

no he ain't gonna die...

In honor of the early morning workplace arguments over whether Alex Chilton or Layne Staley is better, or, the eternal culture clash between the boomers and their spawn.