Posts Tagged Rock
A heavy metal musician armed with a computer and an Internet connection typed an astoundingly illuminating Facebook post on March 18, criticizing the rock/metal music business.
The rant, which is the 674,928th of its kind, was reportedly written when the musician was angry.
“His eyebrows were definitely furrowed and his teeth were bared,” said the Internet, 25, a professional time-killer. “He was typing so quickly and slamming the keyboard so hard I thought it sounded like the drumbeats to a Meshuggah song.”
In his post, the musician seemingly blamed the mechanics of Capitalism for the state of today’s rock/metal music business. Insectile sources perched outside the musician’s window and on his coffee mug confirmed that he used a capitalist contraption to publish his thoroughly original thoughts on a capitalist cyber social-networking platform.
“I vividly remember seeing a logo of a quarter-eaten apple on the curious white machine that he was typing on,” buzzed 15-days-old housefly, Buzz Darkmonth.
Buzzing with glee, Darkmonth added, “He was so engrossed in complaining to the very people he “don’t want to be ‘liked’ by” that he didn’t notice me pooping on his mug!”
The musician’s post contains many quotable one-liners that would not look out of place in a poorly written research paper. Exemplary lines include “The music business has sucked the life out of creativity,” “No one is encouraged to take risks, no one is encouraged to push the envelope, because it’s all about first week sales!” and “It’s about pointless radio play and how good your last tour went.”
But perhaps the highlight was the emotional conclusion that utilized the rhetorical technique of repetition to superb effect.
“I don’t get it! You don’t care about music, and I don’t care about music, and I sit here wondering if this feeling is a result of the business itself, or is the business a result of our own apathy towards music…
I feel lost.
I feel alone.
Something has to change.
Someone has to stir the pot.
Something needs to come along and wake us up out of the slumber.”
According to the ghost of Martin Luther King Jr, former excessive user of the line “I have a dream,” the musician’s repeated use of “I don’t,” “I feel,” and “Something” is enigmatic and inspiring.
“Were I born in the late ‘60s instead of the late ‘20s, I could have been this guy,” King’s spirit said in a booming voice. However, when he saw the musician’s headful of healthy, wavy black hair, jealousy flickered in his translucent eyes and he vanished in a cloud of ethereal smoke.
It is now expected that the musician will not gain an ounce of sympathy from the cyber masses.
Listening to the new Horisont record “Second Assault” is an adventure in time travel. You don’t simply listen to the record, you hurdle backwards towards it. I am in a darkened, smoke-filled bar. Twenty or so spectators in different states of inebriation hoot and howl arhythmically as the band spews molten rock’n’roll. Half the crowd looks like Popeye Doyle, the other half look like Tuesday Weld. A poorly dressed, ratty haired bunch of skinny kids reach into their chests and pull out their guts in the quixotic attempt to find a higher plane if even for a moment. Their suffering is ours.
It’s an imperfect fantasy, mostly because of the smoke. That itchy, uncomfortable feeling of unfamiliar scum clouding your vision. Not knowing whether to choke or sneeze. Somehow it doesn’t matter and it does. Rock’n’roll itself comes with a bit of discomfort. Loving it is a masochistic pursuit. Horisont gets that in spades. They explode everywhere, like a wayward roman candle knocked on its side. They are dangerous, blistering and blood-fanged; they are the sweat in your eyes and the exhaustion of endless impossibility.
The 70’s reek of old carpet and cheap cologne. The food isn’t nearly as good, the beer is almost always flat and no one seems to have air conditioning. The world was a dark and foreboding place. Nearly every worthwhile movie of the era ended with the protagonist getting his or her head blown off and the great forces of evil crushing the spirit of the individual. Hope seemed ridiculous. As they marched to the hangman, they wore a gallows cool on their sleeve that those living in the airbrushed, cleaner than clean, hyper polished new frontier no nothing of. Horisont belongs there and not here. When I hit play, I am there with them.
Occasionally, I hear a record where song titles don’t matter to me. I don’t want to know what the tune is about, where it was recorded or who produced it. I could care less about the album art and knowing the town where the band started playing is simply an annoyance. I just want to hear the music. Again and again. When the album completes its long-winding journey to nowhere, I can think of nothing but finding the button that will make it start all over again. For me, Horisont “Second Assault” is that type of album.
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