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Day #7 - A Song to drive to

Just the other day I read somewhere, that we spend approximately 38 hours a year just stuck in traffic. Whether this figure is true or false doesn't really matter. The point is: we rest our sorry arses on the car-seat much more than we think. Personally, I have spent time inside a car cabin to last a fucking lifetime. I used to drive a van for a living for almost 15 years! FIFTEEN FUCKING YEARS! And I bet there ain't that many people in this world who are even remotely capable of hating their job as wholeheartedly as I did. Heck, I guess that the benign brain tumour I was blessed with, was probably just my brain's biological defense mechanism to put me out of that fucking misery. In order to make my typical day at work somehow less unbearable I used to blast music in the car-stereos at ear-splitting volume. I went through various phases. In my first courier job, I used to listen to Radio Helsinki a lot, during the years 2001-2004. Back in the day, it was a great radio station to spot interesting music. At some point, though, I switched to the Bassoradio frequency. The morning specials, in particular, were filled with all kinds of new stuff for me. Obviously, being stuck at the wheel of the company van was a great opportunity to go through my personal record collection in depth. During those phases, when I mainly listened to my own cd's at work, I can identify two different approaches that I had. On a good day, when the weather was fine and the company executives had not, surprisingly enough, managed to fuck everything up, I used to put on some mellow and relaxing stuff, like 60's hardbop jazz, Pink Floyd, 90's trip-hop etc... Days like that did not occur very often, so it was more likely, that I blasted some adrenaline-packed metal or rock. When things got especially sour at work, I mighta even tried to join the screamo-chorus of some brutal angst-metal anthem by screaming my lungs out in the car’s cabin. It musta been a peculiar sight, when I was driving around in some utterly conservative neighborhood, making deliveries while pumping fist in the air to the blastbeat of some Norwegian black metal. Here's a quick TOP-10 compilation of songs to drive to, particularly cherry-picked to provide an additional adrenaline boost in the everyday grind of some utterly meaningless bullshit job.

1.Meshuggah: Stengah 2.Slipknot: Before We Forget 3.Gojira: L'Enfant Sauvage 4.Cult Of Luna: Leave Me Here 5.Mastodon: The Motherload 6.Mammal: Clear Enough? 7.Faith No More: Cuckoo For Caca 8.Swallow the Sun: Hate, Lead the Way 9.Dimmu Borgir: Progenies of the Great Apocalypse 10.Amorphis: Hopeless Days

Listening to songs, such as these, must've prevented me from resorting to ultra-violence, when I was confronted by my narcissistic sociopath boss, corporate-fascist executives, or those particularly stupid and stuck-up cunts that I had to serve as customers. I wasn't a cynical misanthrope like this, twenty years ago. It took a couple of decades of customer service, in a company run by an incarnation of pure evil, to turn me out like this. Oh, how I would love the fresh smell of napalm in the morning – especially, if it was dropped on that particular cargo terminal, where I used to work for years. It has been studied, that listening to your favourite music can have interesting cognitive effects on the brain. Extreme music, like metal, appears to be great for reducing negative emotions and regulate anger. Well, I knew that! Some religious twats claim, that heavy metal might be the root cause of all kinds of homicidial behaviours, but I think that's utter bullshit. I guess, you'd have to be sustantially fucked-up in the head to begin with, if you bought into the idea that killing people was, under any circumstances, a cool thing to do. Of course, religions have a long, historical monopoly in killing people for all kinds of stupid reasons. I guess they don't like competition. Seriously though, If you're mentally challenged enough, I guess any music will do, in order to transmit subliminal suggestions to perform brutal actions on your fellow humans. For some peculiar reason, if a serial killer has listenened to, say, Black Sabbath before a killing, it usually gets mentioned in the newspapers. However, if this aforementioned serial killer listened to Celine Dion before his creative cut-throat performance, there's no mention of it anywhere. Why is it always that same old cliché: devil made me do it! Why is it not: Celine Dion made me do it! Shaving off the negative emotions with the help of music, like with a psychological cheese grater, could pay dividens for the brain's ability to function at peak performance. So, in retrospect, I think I shoulda been given more credit for not actually killing anyone during my active service in that Satan's little sweatshop, on the payroll of Beelzebub himself – what with the inhuman work overload, constant bitching by both the company paladins and spoiled customers, and a paycheck that was nothing but a sick joke. Well, it's no wonder that the workplace started to resemble a zoo, or a madhouse, in the end: if you pay peanuts, you get monkeys. So, the first mental image, that comes to mind for a song that's essentially perfect to drive to, might be something like a movie scene, where you're driving to the sunset, in a convertible sports-car, with the soundtrack resonating the Miami Vice-esque 80's synth pop. For normal people, that is. In my case, the mental picture is more akin to a snapshot of a sombre character speeding on the motorway, looking for another roadkill, like a diabolical serial killer – and the soundtrack would be more likely to be something like the AD/HD mathcore of the Dillinger Escape Plan. Like: The Dillinger Escape Plan: Baby's First Coffin That's about it. Drive safe! Cheers!

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Day #6 - A Song that makes you want to dance

What is dancing all about, anyway?

One way to look at it is to consider it as an art form, that is basically a series of purposefully manouvered body movements, a sequence of human motion, which can be imbued with the values of aesthetic and symbolism, like the über-cool showing off of sexual prowess at the heart of saturday night, in order to get laid – or, whatever obscure, cultural innuendos you might want to convey through bodily movements. Having spent my delicate childhood years as an aspiring young metalhead in the dark 80's, I was never that much into dancing, as a kid. While my classmates were twerking at the school disco in a desperate attempt to impress the local lolitas with their awkward Michael Jackson dance moves, I was trying to sneak in the venue at downtown Helsinki, where Mötley Crue was performing the Finland gig on their Theatre of Pain tour, I think it was in 1986. Some ten years later, I experienced my first ever illegal warehouse rave party. I remember it was themed around the Frankfurt school of acid techno and the brand new British music genre, drum&bass. Quite obviously, I spent the night in the drum&bass-themed room, immersed in the noble act of spinning like a dervish, in a determined attempt to figure out how to dance to the high-speed breakbeats. It was great fun! Nobody had bothered to tell me, that dancing could release such a dopamine rush. Yes, even without the boost of some mind-altering designer drugs. Previously, I had deemed the act of dancing as one of the lamest excuses to lure girls into your close proximity, in the nocturnal flesh-markets of the club life. Well, I guess it is the most common social function of dancing, to be honest: to draw the attention of the opposite sex, in order to mate, by utilizing elaborate choreography and attire. Add several shots of alcohol, and the difficulty level will jump through the roof. The choreography, say, of a totally shitfaced, sex-hungry vixen might not exactly qualify as ”elaborate” - I received a couple of bitemarks on my neck once to prove that! Actually, the origins of dance date further back in human history than the written language. Ritual dance was probably one of the essential factors contributing to the development of early human civilizations. First archeological proof of dance comes from the 9000 years old cave paintings in India. I would guess, that the earliest forms of dance were probably some weird and intricate religious ceremonies. Knowing that the hallucinogenic properties of certain plants were widely known by the early humans, I feel tempted to think that, in fact, they mighta been organizing the first-ever rave parties, y'know: getting zonked out of their minds with the help of some interesting mind-altering vegetables, while dancing wildly to some hypnotic voodoo rhythms. Ancient Greeks and Romans sure knew how to party, with their Bacchus and Dionysos-themed festivities, that were filled with alcohol, song and dance – and usually lasted for several days. So, how should I wrap today's music challenge, then? What particular song could I pick as a perfect candidate for a song that makes me want to dance? There are way too many songs, to be honest. I have a past, with both the mid-90's drum&bass-scene in Finland, and the underground trance party scene in Helsinki, around the turn of the millennia...and for old times' sake, I've refreshed my old dance moves at the gigs of Ferry Corsten, Chicane, Union Jack, Art of Trance and Scott Bond, during the past 4-5 years.  I was also one of those privileged few, who witnessed the outstanding retro-set by the Finnish dj-legend Jokke at the Circus venue in Helsinki, just shortly before he tragically passed away. That particular set was basically a non-stop eargasm of 90's trance classics. Ok, then... One song to bind them all? Well, it's a fact that I simply cannot listen to any trance tracks without experiencing the tremors of nostalgia in varying degrees, depending on the song. One track that evokes particularly fond memories could be: Schiller: Das Glockenspiel (Humate remix) I heard it at the massive Sundissential rave party, on December 16, 2000, at the Kaapelitehdas venue in Helsinki. Good times!

[cadpadawan]

Day #5 - A Song that needs to be played LOUD!

There are a few spesific genres, to which you simply cannot do full justice without blasting the songs at full volume, such as techno, trance, drum & bass, and most metal genres. I highly doubt that there is any additional value to be unveiled in, say, cocktail jazz, lounge and ambient wall-paper music, by turning the volume knob up a notch. Certain uptempo rock anthems also are best experienced with the volume cranked up to 11, in the best Spinal Tap fashion. I'm not sure, where I should start with today's music challenge, though... the multitude of options present quite a challenge, once again. Maybe I could set the record straight, for once and for all, by picking one epitome of loud-assedness for each genre. Most of my personal trance favourites date back to the golden era around the turn of the millennia. It was, quite frankly, relatively peculiar time in my life, to say the least, what with the dubious number of music projects, McJobs, doomed attempts to study for a profession that inherently was not suited for my creative spritit etc... It was a frigging, never-ending rollercoaster ride, so it was only appropriate, that the soundtrack for my adolescent dumb-fuckery consisted mainly of the epic trance classics of the era. A common characteristic of trance music is the mid-song climax, followed by the mellow breakdown, with the industry standard being something in the lines of: 1. toss the pedestrian 4/4 beat aside for a moment 2. conjure an atmospheric synth sequence that's vamping as the backdrop for the melodic hook! The melodic motif is usually an ascending synth line, sugar-coated with the paradidmatic flanger-effect, in order to resonate the stereotypical sensations of an ecstasy rush. Executed properly, such a trance breakdown can give you the chills even without the aid of any illegal, mind-altering drugs. A perfect example would be Dj Tiesto's superb remix of the song Silence by the Canadian new-agey electronic music duo Delerium, featuring the amazing mezzo-soprano of Canadian singer Sarah McLachlan. Genres that are heavy on the sub-bass obviously benefit a great deal from being blasted at full volume. Although, I haven't yet fully come to terms with modern EDM-subgenres, such as trap and dubstep. In general, these new genres tend to provoke a thought inside my mind, that modern street-drugs are getting overly hideous. Some tracks I've found extremely hilarious, though I'm not really sure, if it was the artist's initial intention. That's why I've even added these tracks to my carefully compiled Spotify playlists. I'm talking about tracks such as Black Beatles by Rae Sremmurd & Gucci Mane, Panda by Desiigner, 679 by Fetty Wap, and Bad and Boujee by Migos & Lil Uzi Vert. Nevertheless, I highly doubt that I will be returning to these particular tracks, say, in ten or twenty years time – unless I wish to organize an impromptu, unpleasant surprise to my age peer group in the nursing home. Dubstep, in turn, sounds to me like someone, going through a convulsive type of an epileptic seizure, is improvising with electronic instruments. Maybe it's because I've deemed the whole genre as a synonym for Skrillex. On the other hand, I really love Burial's album Untrue. It's really dark and emotive stuff, with a grain of old school 90's vibes. I have no clue, why Burial is often labeled as a dubstep artist. If there is such a subgenre of dubstep, that is fundamentally layered with gloomy and dystopian soundscapes, in the spirit of Burial-esque sound aesthetics, I just might have to check it out. In a positive way, Burial's music reminds me of the golden era of drum&bass, that started somewhere in the mid-90's. I think it was in 1995, when I heard Goldie's epic Inner City Life. It was one of those musical moments of illumination, a.k.a. ”Stop the press! What the fuck is THIS?!?”. I instantly bought the epochal and timeless (sic!) drum&bass classic album Timeless by Goldie, and immersed myself in its' other-worldly soundscapes for weeks on end. There was one particularly street-smart record store in Helsinki: Spinefarm. It was one of the very few stores, where I could find class A jungle vinyl. I hauled shitloads of 12”-maxis and EP's home from that Aladdin's cave, most of which I have lost somewhere since then. Intelligent jungle, as the more atmospheric drum&bass was called back then, was that particular type of high-speed breakbeat stuff, that I was most drawn into. Well, in all honesty, I'm a bit of a slut, when it comes to atmospheric synth textures, layered on a syncopated jazz-groove, even at high-speed. Furthermore, if the ear-candy of this particular type is driven by a laid-back dub-bassline, and ornamented with a few casually strewn modal jazz chord progressions, fingered on a vintage Rhodes-piano, I will be inclined to succumb to the ”shut up, and take my money”-approach. The Looking Good/Good Looking-label, that was led by the British drum&bass producer LTJ Bukem, was one of those go-to labels for me, with kick-ass releases, such as Bukem's own scene classics: Demon's Theme, Music and Horizons. British jungle artists didn't exactly rush to perform in Finland, during the genre's prime time in the mid-90's, but I managed to witness dj Krust and Aqua Sky. The Finnish electronic jazz pioneer band Rinneradio also had a brief love affair with the drum&bass aesthetics, on their Rok album, that was released in 1996. I guess it must've been around that time, when I saw the band perform at Vanha Yo-Talo, in Helsinki. It was a superb gig! I was also a frequent face at the one-and-only drum&bass club, that had a residency at one gay bar in Helsinki, hosted by Dj Alimo. The vast majority of the drum&bass cognoscenti, that congregated at the venue every Thursday, consisted of boring heterosexuals, so the bar's old regulars soon disappeared. Soon, in the next couple of years, the drive and excitement of this new genre also kind of disappeared. I haven't really bothered to keep up with the drum&bass scene after 2005. However, I do listen to those goldien oldies, released during the artistically coherent time interval of 1995-2001. For some stupid reason, quite many of the classics are missing from Spotify, like the magnificent Colours album by Adam F, or the ultra-rare Pseudo Jazz-EP by Justice – no, not the French electro-duo, but the drum&bass alias of the British producer-musician Tony Bowes. Both releases represent the polished and ”intelligent” Bukem-styled approach. On a funny side note: I remember, how these atmospheric tracks were usually blasting in the main hall/dancefloor in a typical 1996 drum&bass rave – and only five years later, the very same tracks were aired as the background music in the chill-out room of a hip trance party. O tempora, o mores! Well, anyways... The seismic sub-bass of a stereotypical drum&bass anthem just won't sound the same, when it's not bellowing through the club-PA loud as fuck...and the same universal truth applies to techno. Whereas, in the case of metal, it depends heavily on the very type of metal, whether the increased volume enhances the listening experience in a positive way, or not. Simple staccato rhythms and powerchords usually work wonders...or, what the hell do I know; I compiled a list of songs that sound kick-ass when played really loud. At first glance, however, I couldn't pinpoint any common factor contributing to this peculiar phenomenon. What can I say? If it works, then why not let it. I think today's challenge is pretty much wrapped, so...until next time, tomorrow, that is. Adios! Wolfmother: Joker and the Thief Ihsahn: Undercurrent Underworld: Born Slippy (Nuxx) Slipknot: Duality Skindred: Set It Off The Comet Is Coming: Summon the Fire Fluke: Absurd Dead Letter Circus: The Mile Infected Mushroom: None of This Is Real Leila K: Electric Lab-4: Candyman Shinedown: Devour BT: Giving Up The Ghost Thränenkind: Monument

[cadpadawan]

Day #4 in the 31-Day Music Challenge

Day #4: A song that reminds me of someone I'd rather forget...

By this day and age, I have encountered legions of douchebags, backstabbers, pathological liars, narcissistic sleazeballs, absolute morons and leeches, whom I'd rather not think about, not too often anyway. Some particular songs, however, have that annoying habit of reminding me of those sad individuals. Usually, it's some special passage of the lyrics, that makes those fuckers pop into my mind, like religious alcoholics for the holy communion. With every passing year it has become easier to shrug off these uncomfortable flashbacks with a diabolically sarcastic smile, though. As if with an afterthought echoing something like:

”Betcha, I'm doing much better in life, compared to that cesspool you're drowning in now, due to that cunt attitude of yours...”

Let's face it: no matter how hard I try to be a good sport, and manifest the emotional calm of an enlightened person, I can't help but enjoy those glorious moments, when I get to witness bitchy karma in its' full glorious splendour...

Then, there are those very special and few songs, that remind you of someone you'd rather forget for absolutely different sort of reasons: not because that special someone just happened to be your psychotic ex-girlfriend, or someone equally annoying individual, but a spesific person who was somehow emotionally entangled in some particularly sad episode in your life. It coulda been something like losing your dear pet, or someone very dear to you, in one way or another. What the hell do I know, for some people, it could be about getting their wisdom teeth pulled out without any local anaesthetic. There was a time, when I could not listen to these following two songs without getting overwhelmed by a certain kind of profound sadness. For reasons I'd rather not discuss, as they involve other people who are blissfully unaware of all this.

Eventually, the effect wore off, and now I can enjoy listening to these songs again. Of course, I'm still faintly reminded of the sad events associated with these particular songs, but I guess I have finally made peace with the memories, as they do not haunt me anymore, like they used to. Maybe I just stopped resorting to the psychological defense mechanism of projection: why would I want to forget anyone, in the first place, anyway? What actually do they remind me of? Could it be so, that they actually remind me of myself? They remind me of myself at the time of not being exactly the best version of myself. To be honest, I would not be the person I am today, if it wasn't for each person who made an impact in my life, regardless of whether the impact was positive or negative. In fact, I think that the people, whose ceremonious role in my life was merely to be a perplexing pain in the ass, were actually those, who thrusted my personal growth forward the most. These following two songs are not actually linked to anyone of particular annoyance, but anyhow were involved in certain emotionally overcharged chains of events, that temporarily made it impossible to listen to these songs without feeling a lump in my throat. Now, these demons have been defeated, and these songs stand as monuments of personal enlightenment, small victories in this everyday shit-show called life.

The Crash: Sugared

Tesseract: Retrospect

[cadpadawan]

Day #3: A Song That Reminds Me of Summer

Today's challenge was to pick a song that reminded me of summertime. Well, there's a bunch of songs, that each remind me of some particular summer, like...

Aztec Mystic: Knights of the Jaguar

and

Paul van Dyk: The Love from Above

As it happens,

they both remind me of the summer 2000, due to the fortunate event of meeting my wife-to-be at one particular summer club in Helsinki that summer. If my long-term memory was not totally fucked-up by the brain tumour, I'm pretty sure both of these songs were played by DJ Orkidea on that very special night, when I met my future wife for the first time. Both tracks are timeless techno and trance classics, and that Aztec Mystic song is one of the very few techno tracks that manage to infuse hypnotic techno stomp with a percussive latin groove so that it actually sounds pretty fucking good! In retrospect, the title of that Paul van Dyk-track could almost had been interpreted as a sign from the Universe, or as an omen. A good or bad, was hard to discern at the time. We got married, eventually, on Friday 13th...and after 13 years of marriage, we divorced. (No, I'm not making this shit up, it's a real story...)

Swallow the Sun: Before the Summer Dies

Released on the gargantuan triple album Songs from the North (2015), as the closing track of the disc II. Reminds me of the summer 2016, for various reasons, one being the brain surgery that I went through in the beginning of June. (Off-topic: it's a damn shame, that the irony was totally lost on the hospital staff, when I finally walked out the neuro-surgical ward wearing a band T-shirt, with the band name Consciousness Removal Project printed on the front.)

Ceebrolistics: Hyviä Juttuja

The music video for this underground Suomi-rap classic was frequently showed on the newly started underground TV-station MoonTV, at the turn of the millennia. In the summer 2001, I was on a six-month-leave from my civil service, due to my shaky financial situation. I worked my ass off, for the whole summer, excluding the weekends, and I think this song must've been on the soundtrack for that particular summer. It reminds me of that time, especially the prolonged heatwave that pressure-cooked Helsinki for weeks and weeks on end.

Happoradio: Pois Kalliosta

I guess it must've been the summer 2003, when this song was a huge radio hit in Finland. I had started to work as a food courier, in a small French fine dining import company, in the previous autumn. So, I didn't have much vacation earned yet. I was basically busting my ass the whole summer, except for a very few random days off. The company had an office, and a warehouse, quite near the Kallio district. The song title says it all.

...and, in order to dig deeper...

Keba: Kesä Espalla

This song was released in 1987, and I remember hearing it all summer in the radio, at some point. Though, I can't be sure, if it was the year of its release, or the next...and, obviously, quite many Finnish rock classics remind me of my childhood summers. I think the most vintage summer song, that tempts some kind of a recollection in my mind, must be:

Friiman: Ajetaan Tandemilla

This particular song evokes a multitude of sepia-filtered snapshots of the summers long gone, in the dark dungeons of Kekkoslovakia, in the late 70's and early 80's. I can picture myself as a pre-schooler kid playing at the vegetable garden of my grandparents' summer place. That other golden oldie by Friiman, the hit song Kaksi Lensi Yli Käenpesän, has a similar effect.

So, before we sink any further into the unfathomable abyss of nostalgia, I think it's best to call it quits and wrap this music challenge for today. Prepare for something completely different tomorrow, when I will unveil the challenge for day #4.

Stay tuned! Cheers!

[cadpadawan]

Day #2 in the Music Challenge

Music Challenge – Day #2: A Song With A Number in the Title

So, I'm a day late, but I think it shouldn't compromise the balance of the cosmic Space-Time Continuum. Not too drastically, anyway...

The challenge of day #2 was to pick a song with a number in the title. No brainer. As a typical 90's post-pubertant, who spent most of the dark 80's listening to heavy metal, I could instantly come up with two options, starting the count from the number 1: Metallica and U2.

Why didn't I start from zero?

A good question.

I did listen to Zero by the Smashing Pumpkins quite a lot in the summer of 1997, so it could be a rather good choice for a song that reminds me of summertime (challenge for day #3), and Absolute Zero by Stone Sour, in turn, could serve as a perfect candidate for a song that reminds me of someone I'd rather forget (challenge for day #4)...

Whatever.

Metallica released their war-themed song One as a single from their 4th studio album ...and Justice for All that came out in 1988. My schoolmate Jarno showed me the music video one day after school, maybe a year later, as the video debuted on MTV on January 1989. The grainy footage on a worn-out VHS-tape rather emphasized the feeling of experiencing some sort of freeze-frame-shot in the passage of time. I had no previous knowledge of the band at the time, and just like that, out of the blue, the WW1-themed thrash metal epic kicked me in the nuts. If I remember right, the music video had just premiered on Finnish national TV also, in some awkward boomer music program of the era. In the aftermath, in the course of the next couple of weeks, Metallica was the talk of the town at school. There was a handful of aspiring young guitar heroes in my class, and in no time at all, the guitar tabs for this Metallica classic were doing the rounds, from hand to hand, photocopied with a second-grade resolution at the work office of some guitar geek's mom. Everybody just had to learn the song, or, as in the case of some lazy fuckers, learn at least the iconic, arpeggiated chord sequence in the song's intro. I was one of those more determined sad individuals, who spent night after night repeating the riffs and licks of the song. Excluding Kirk Hammett's guitar solo, which I honestly didn't think very highly of, in terms of musical taste, anyway, I finally learned to play through the song! Of course, it sounded a bit awkward, played through my cheap 15W amplifier, that had an integrated distortion circuit, which sounded like crushing dry bread, to be honest. The matters of sound quality nicely provide me with an awkward transition to the continued issue regarding the nothing short of legendary lack of low end on this classic Metallica studio album. Some internet scholars assume, that the band deliberately turned down the bass tracks, played by the freshly recruited Jason Newsted, as if to suggest that the band had not entirely resolved the psychological trauma caused by the tragic death of their original bass player, Cliff Burton. A theory like that sounds a bit far-fetched. I have played in a ridiculous number of bands, during the past 25 years. I haven't yet met anyone, who would choose to make the collaborative effort of the band sound bad, for whatever reasons. So, I can fully accept James Hetfield's later account of the situation: the band was totally burned-out. Nevertheless, the herds of teenage metalheads, such as me and most of my friends, didn't really mind. When the album came out, it was the best-fucking-shit-ever for some time. One was Metallica's first top-40 hit on the Billboard charts, and in Finland it reached #1 spot in the charts. Yeah, I'm lucky to live in the land of 1000 lakes, and 1.000.000 tr00 metalheads: we eat cast iron I-beams for breakfast, and shit barbed wire after...

One was also the title of the third single from the brilliant U2 album Achtung Baby, that was released in 1991. The album was recorded at the legendary Hansa studios in Berlin, under the supervision of two producer legends: Daniel Lanois and Brian Eno. Whatever we may think of Bono's later trademark way of playing Jesus to the lepers in his head, there is no denying that this particular U2 album is a fucking rock classic. On this album the band kinda re-invented itself.

When I got my driving-licence, on the brink of the summer 1992, Achtung Baby was one of those killer albums I had copied from vinyl to C-cassette, in order to expose my blissfully unaware passengers to some quality music, during those restless weekend odysseys, when I was the appointed driver. With the price of gasoline being as it is now, I'm not sure if the youth today follows this fine tradition of driving around, aimlessly, at the heart of every Saturday night anymore. Probably not. Maybe they're too busy exchanging make-up tips and eating tidepods in YouTube. Times, they are a-changing... However, there probably is no feeling that can come even close to that special feeling, when you're driving home at 6 AM, after a hot long summer night of driving around, watching your dearest friends being entangled in the grandiose act of mental butterfly strokes, in the whirlpool of alcohol and bad decisions, and U2's cordial 90's hit One comes on in the car stereos.

So, I could settle with either one...

Metallica: One

U2: One

Or, I could keep the streak going, and see how far I can get...

For a song with the number two in the title, I could also come up with two options, that both have some personal meaning to me: Iron Maiden and Jonny L. The latter released some quality drum & bass in the 90's, and everybody should be well-acquainted with the heavy metal classics this first-mentioned British outfit released throughout the 80's. After all, the band pioneered the New Wave of British Heavy Metal movement.

I musta been something like 10 years old, when Iron Maiden released one of their best albums, IMHO, titled Powerslave. Heavy metal was something that my mom strongly disapproved of, and at the time, my family did not yet have a record player. We did have a cheap ghettoblaster, that I frequently used to record contemporary rock songs on C-cassettes, especially after the brand new rock-oriented Finnish radio station, Radio City, started on the first of May, in 1985... So, I had a habit of going to the local library, that had pretty street-credible music department. My usual after-school activity was to pick a freshly released, kick-ass heavy metal album from the vinyl bins, and then hand it to the library clerks. Then, they would hand me the earphones and show me to the first vacant listening booth. That's how I discovered shitloads of contemporary metal albums, such as:

Van Halen: 1984

Iron Maiden: Powerslave

Kiss: Animalize

and:

Duran Duran: Seven and the Ragged Tiger

I guess, you're wondering now, what kind of contemporary metal did that last band perform, or did I, by any chance, refer to the 80's new wave synth-pop band? Oh, yes! I'm talking about that notorious pop band, that was part of the new romantics movement, or something. It was my guilty pleasure, at the delicate age of 10. Maybe it was also one of the subconscious reasons, why I switched my main instrument from electric guitar to synths and keyboards a decade later. At some subliminal level, I was magically drawn to the textures of analog synth sounds...

Or whatever...

Quite appropriately, 2 Minutes to Midnight was the second track on the vinyl A side of Iron Maiden's gigantic classic album Powerslave. It's a kind of protest song about nuclear war, with the title referring to the Doomsday clock used by the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists. That symbolic clock represents the countdown to potential man-made global catastrophe. When the clock hands align at midnight, quite frankly, we all will be fucked. The clock was originally set to seven minutes to midnight in 1947. The current reading is 100 seconds to midnight. So, in a way, it's pretty evident, that the world is progressing forward – because it's going downhill in every fucking way possible. I've been listening to this timeless Maiden classic since the time of its' release, on a fairly regular basis, for the past 36 years...and I still can't get tired of it.

British jungle producer Jonny L released an EP in 1996, titled 2 of Us, on a prominent electronic music label XL Recordings. A few years later, I was practicing the haute couture art of flaneuring at the music department of the now-defunct Finnish chain retail Anttila, right next to the Helsinki main railway station. I chanced to lay my eyes on this drum & bass gem among all the one-hit wonders at the discount section. The sight was so disheartening, that I simply had to rescue this poor and misplaced music artefact to a good home. At the time, I was fooling around in the role of some kind of an art director of a project band, that sought to mix acid jazz, organic drum & bass grooves, and various electronica elements into a unique and coherent whole. I had written shitloads of original material for the project, that initially started as an instrumentals-only outfit. However, the band lacked a prominent lead instrument, like saxophone, for example. So, when we met a promising vocalist, we thought it might be a good idea to adjust the concept a little. The title track on this 2 of Us-Ep by Jonny L was one of the songs we auditioned the singer with. Alas, the project turned out to be short-lived, due to numerous non-music-related reasons. We never even coined a name for the band. At some point, though, some of those original song ideas were brought to a fruition, with a temporary line-up, that was pieced together for a special occassion. We warmed up for an underground funk outfit D-Note Unity in a private funk-themed party in Helsinki, in the late 90's. I can't remember the year. The headliner act of the party later evolved into Kemopetrol, so I think it must've happened before 1998? The funk party was a night to remember, to borrow the title of an old 1958 British drama movie recounting the final night of RMS titanic, as the night culminated in an impromptu freeform jam session, that lasted for hours...that is, until the members of both bands were too damn shitfaced to play anymore...

So, to cut to the chase, the nominees for a song with the number two in the title are:

Jonny L: 2 of Us

Iron Maiden: 2 Minutes to Midnight

Next up: the number 3.

Again, it's almost impossible to make the choice between two options: Jane's Addiction and Between the Buried and Me.

I guess, it was a pure accident that I found out about Jane's Addiction's alt.rock in the early 90's. I cannot remember hearing the band's songs on radio, until much later in the 2000's. I have to thank the Finnish grunge band Slumgudgeon for that. I never actually listened to this band, but I remember reading an interview in the Finnish music press, in which one of the band members praised Tom Waits. Or, if I recall right, the band actually deemed Rod Stewart to be downright gay for deflowering the beauty of the Tom Waits original Downtown Train. The interview was so clever and funny, I just had to check out, who the hell was this Tom Waits, anyway. On a side note, the musical primus motors of Slumgudgeon later ended up as the founding fathers of the Finnish metal juggernaut Mokoma. So, one day I went to the local library to check out whether they had any of those mythical Tom Waits albums...and voilà! I actually spotted the magnificent Heartattack and Vine album! But I spotted something else, too. My eyes were exposed briefly to the exquisite cover art of the Ritual de lo Habitual album by Jane's Addiction, while I was looking for something else completely. I thought: if a band has balls to put something like that on the cover, the music simply cannot be that bad! I borrowed both of these albums. I just had to check them out! And I think I must've been happy like a dog with two tails, for hitting such a bull's eye – twice in a row! I guess, that by now, most people of my age are familiar with the more radio-friendly tracks on that Jane's Addiction album, such as Been Caught Stealing and Stop! In my honest and humble opinion, though, the absolute pinnacle track on that album is the 3-part meditation on death and rebirth titled Three Days. It would make a perfect choice for a song with a number in the title...on the other hand, though...

Fairly recently, some two years ago, or something, Devin Townsend was performing in Helsinki, with the warm-up acts being none other than the Norwegian prog-metal mindfuck Leprous, and the band that I wasn't really that familiar with, Between the Buried and Me. To be honest, BTBAM did not exactly win me over with their performance. Such AD/HD metal sure had its' moments of high entertainment, but an hourful of circus music was a bit too much to chew in one take. In a way, the band's music was like a perfect auditive match for a bad crystal meth experience. However, my wife later spotted the band's magnificent cover of the King Crimson original Three of A Perfect Pair. After hearing this, I simply had to re-adjust my view of the band. Actually, this BTBAM interpretation of the song is much better than the original. I guess, Robert Fripp is going to sue my ass for saying this in public, but that's the undisputed, motherfucking truth. It's not a matter of taste, nor is it an opinion. It's a fucking fact. With all due respect. The song lyrics resonate in me with a particular clang of irony, now that I've got my midlife issues sorted out.

So, the most touchy-feely songs with the number three in the title would be:

Jane's Addiction: Three Days

Between the Buried and Me: Three of A Perfect Pair

Then...the number four.

Well, whadda'ya know...the number four proved to be the easiest so far: I could only come up with one option: Four Chords that Made a Million by Porcupine Tree. I refrained from resorting to any progressive rock suites with multiple parts. This particular Porcupine Tree song is from the album Lightbulb Sun. I think I was introduced to the band by my dear bandmates in Souldump, with whom I played for a couple of years cirka 2005. I kinda passed the torch, by introducing the magnificence of Porcupine Tree to my wife later, in 2009. I've got my beloved wife to thank for quite a lot of new artists, that I mighta never discovered, if it wasn't for her tireless hunt for new music via Spotify and such. So, just before this magnificent British post-prog band, fronted by Steven Wilson, went on to an indefinite hiatus, it performed in Helsinki in 2009. I bought the tickets, and took my wife to see the show. After the gig, she was a full-blown fangirl. This particular track here might not be the exact Porcupine Tree song that I love the most, but it's good stuff nevertheless.

Porcupine Tree: Four Chords that Made a Million

I guess, I could go on forever...

Maybe I'll just list the rest of the songs, and see what number I can reach up to:

The Dave Brubeck Quartet: Take Five (one of the first jazz tracks that I fell in love with)

Sneaker Pimps: 6 Underground (everybody had that triphop phase in the mid-90's, right?)

Sting: Seven Days (Ten Summoner's Tales is a kick-ass album!)

The Beatles: Eight Days A Week (who's to NOT like the Beatles?!?)

Jimi Hendrix: If 6 was 9 (the best guitarist of all time, no questions!)

Juan Atkins: Track Ten (Techno is intriguing stuff)

Sigue Sigue Sputnik: Love Missile F1-11 (this was in the Levyraati TV-show, back in the day...)

Creamstar: The 12th of Never (A random finding from some discount bin, Anttila, probably...)

Pantera: 13 Steps to Nowhere (It's a shame I didn't find Pantera any earlier, like when I was 20...)

Swallow The Sun: April 14th (from a killer album!)

Radiohead: 15 Step (In Rainbows is probably their second best effort, after OK Computer!)

Billy Idol: Sweet Sixteen (Nice song, despite the dubious connotations, considering the artist...)

Stevie Nicks: Edge of Seventeen (yet another song about death...)

Skid Row: 18 and Life (Nostalgia...eww...)

Paul Hardcaste: 19 (the chorus was a reason for much laughter as a kid...)

Isis: 20 Minutes/40 Years (went to see their last ever gig in Finland, with a fever of 38 degrees...)

Green Day: 21 Guns (who didn't like skate punk in the 90's?)

Iron Maiden: 22 Acacia Avenue (and who did NOT listen to Iron Maiden in the 80's?!?)

The Brother Johnson: Strawberry Letter 23 (via Jackie Brown, obviously...)

Stevie Vai: Ballerina 12/24 (One of the few guitar wankers that I like, in moderation...)

Chicago: 25 or 6 to 4 (that particular track that converted me to like this band in the early 90's!)

Tuomo: 26 (one of the best Finnish nujazz-or-whatever-jazz artists!)

Walking Across Jupiter: -27 (a recent finding, interesting stuff indeed!)

John Murphy: 28 Theme (one of my favorite film composers, check out Adagio in D minor, too!)

Robert Plant: 29 Palms (This too, was in the Levyraati TV show, back in the day...)

August Burns Red: Thirty and Seven (I guess, djenty emocore is my guilty pleasure nowadays...)

Aimee Mann: Thirty One Today (she has a way with words, been a fan since mid-90's...)

Carpark North & Sandra Nasic: 32 (there's something rotten in Denmark, their indie/alt.rock scene rocks! Awesome bands, like Mew, Carpark North, Veto, and I think Vola is Danish, too...)

Protoculture: Thirty Three South (of course, everybody needs a bit of trance music now & then)

Cult of Luna: Thirtyfour (awesome sludge!)

Egotrippi: Asunto 35 (Class A Suomi-rock)

System Of A Down: 36 (is AD/HD metal an official genre now? It should be.)

Drowning Pool: 37 Stitches (everybody went thru a nu-metal phase in the late 90's, didn't we?)

Eclipse: 38 or 44 (a random finding via Spotify, decent enough to include here)

Tenacious D: 39 (you simply cannot dislike this band!)

Static-X: Forty Ways (I guess, you could write this band off as a Korn rip-off, but they DO have a few decent tracks...)

Azam Ali: Forty One Ways (Enigma-esque etno artist, with nice ambient soundscapes)

Coldplay: 42 (not entirely crap band, though this is not their best track)

Karma to Burn: Fourty-three (Some stonershit is called for here...)

Megadeth: 44 Minutes (I'll hafta admit, that I'm more of a Greatest Hits-type of a fan, when it comes to Dave Mustaine's endeavours...)

Shinedown: 45 (this band: pure fucking awesomeness!)

Tool: Forty Six & 2 (Ruisrock in 2006, a gig to forever remember...)

Boards of Canada: Seven Forty Seven (these electonica bastards are onto something...)

Bones: 48843 (A fresh finding...not sure yet, if this is pure genius or not...)

Röyksopp: 49 Percent (from the kick-ass album The Understanding)

Paul Simon: 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover (killer drum groove by Steve Gadd!)

Van Halen: 5150 (The soundtrack of my childhood)

That's how far I managed to go...I counted that I've got 37 of these in cd format, in my personal collection, and the rest of the songs are ”just” in my Spotify playlist, or as a mp3 on my laptop. Tomorrow I shall challenge myself again to dig into the dark depths of my conventional wisdom, in terms of music.

Stay tuned! Cheers!

[cadpadawan]

31-Day Music Challenge

The social media is now flooded with all kinds of funny challenges, as people are stuck at home with nothing much to do. I guess online gaming, or getting shitfaced, becomes increasingly boring, when all kinds of tiresome responsibilites, like work, do not present any restrictions and limitations anymore. In a way, Facebook has started to resonate the air of those naive first few years, when your newsfeed was basically just one continuous stream of challenge that and challenge this.

Well, why the hell not?

What else is there to do, in order to pass the time with your mental health intact?

So, here I am...just another bored individual to join this endless crusade to make life worth living again, to make my personal life great again. Thus, I jumped on the wagon, and took on this fancy 31-day music challenge, that has been circulating in Facebook (for years, I think).

Although, I didn't find it challenging enough to just type the daily keyword in the Spotify search box and post the result in my Facebook wall. Because: more is more.

(Go ask Yngwie Malmsteen, if you don't believe me...)

The challenge for day #1 was to pick a song with a colour in the title.

I could immediately come up with a bunch of songs, only to realize that the vast majority of the song titles were themed around two basic colours: black and blue. I guess songwriters are a lazy bunch, when it comes to colours. It's pretty obvious, why lyricist everywhere find these two colours exceptionally appealing and resort to the abundant use of them, neglecting all the wonderful possibilites posed by the other colours of the spectrum. Of course black and blue, in terms of emotion and imagination, are much stronger than, say, yellow and orange. So, instead of just settling with the first few titles that came to mind, I wondered if I could come up with one song for each colour I can think of. I mean: a song that bears some personal meaning to me. In practice, this challenge basically meant that I would have to think hard while rummaging through the main three Spotify playlists that I have compiled with something like +16k or +17k songtitles, with the addition of my personal collection of some +2600 cd's – at least the rarities section for songs that are not available in Spotify.

Let's see if I have the stamina to go through my cd-racks, though. I had the forethought to organize my cd's in alphabetical order, by the name of the artist, years ago. For some weird reason, my beloved spouse has not yet agreed to the idea of re-furnishing our apartment with the central theme being those precious compact discs. That's why the cd-racks are placed in somewhat random and impractical fashion: most of them are located in the living room, with a few sections located in our bedroom. I guess, it's a good thing I had disposed of my vintage Rhodes-electric piano by the time when we started dating 20 years ago. I'm pretty sure she would have opposed strongly to the idea of having the instrument as a kitchen table, with the giant lid down. My Rhodes-piano was the so-called suitcase model, with a keyboard of 73 keys. When I moved out from my parents' house in the mid-90's, I decorated my one-room-apartment in the ethos of Japanese minimalism, due to the fact that I spent most of my income on records and alcohol. That Rhodes-piano served as a kitchen table, when I wasn't actually playing with it. Because: why the hell not?

Ok, then. The first colour...it shall be black.

Oh, boy! What a multitude of choices it presents! Should I pick an iconic 90's grunge anthem, like Soundgarden's Black Hole Sun? After all, I saw the band on stage in Helsinki cirka 1995. (I say ”cirka” because I'm not 100% sure about the year, and I'm too lazy to look it up in Google) The fond memories of those grungey early years in the 90's instantly remind me of a couple of equally important bands: Pearl Jam and Alice in Chains. Although, I've never seen either of them live. Pearl Jam had a song titled Black on their breakthrough debut album Ten. Alice in Chains had a killer track titled Black Gives Way to Blue. That epochal Pearl Jam album played non-stop in my car stereos at the time of its' release. I had it copied on a C-cassette. Remember that vintage format, anyone? (Yes, I'm THAT old...) With this particular AIC song I fell in love much later, as it was the title track on the band's comeback album, released in 2009 with the new singer William DuWall. First, I kinda hesitated to give this new AIC line-up any chances, but it turned out to be pretty damn good. Obviously, nothing can top the impact, that the Laney Staley-fronted AIC made with their Dirt-album in 1992. At the time of its' release, that album was a full-blown mindfuck! In retrospect, the year 1992 seems to have been pretty kick-ass, in terms of album releases:

Alice in Chains: Dirt

Rage Against The Machine: Rage Against The Machine

R.E.M.: Automatic for the People

Pantera: Vulgar Display of Power

Tori Amos: Little Earthquakes

Faith No More: Angel Dust

Dream Theater: Images and Words

Aphex Twin: Selected Ambient Works 85-92

Prince & The New Power Generation: (Love Symbol Album)

Stereo MC's: Connected

Tom Waits: Bone Machine

Sade: Love Deluxe

The Prodigy: Experience

Megadeth: Countdown to Extinction

Eric B. & Rakim: Don't Sweat the Technique

The Orb: U.F.Orb

k.d.Lang: Ingenue

Suzanne Vega: 99.9 Fº

Stone Temple Pilots: Core

Curve: Doppelganger

Nick Cave: Henry's Dream

Neneh Cherry: Homebrew

Maybe I should choose something less obvious? At least, it would make this challenge less arduous for me, because it's evident that making a choice between two particularly dear songs from the past is nothing short of impossible. When in doubt, go for the dark horse! So, here goes: my choice for the song with the colour black in the title is:

Bonobo: Black Sands

Being something of a jazz aficionado, despite not really possessing any of the musical prowess to actually play jazz myself, it was love at first soundbite, when I chanced to hear the title track from Bonobo's 2010 album Black Sands on Bassoradio's morning special back in the day. Bonobo is the musical alias of British DJ-producer-musician Simon Green. His career spawns from the 90's trip hop aesthetics, with heavy influences of jazz and world music. Spicing up electronic beats with raw jazz samples, or even live musicians, was the thing to do, somewhere along the mid-90's. I guess it all started with a few insightful hip-hop artists layering their ghetto stompers with the occassional hardbop jazz sample back in the late 80's. For a short period, acid jazz was the coolest shit ever in the early 90's. In a somewhat natural chain of events, jazz eventually made its way to the brand new genres that evolved around the middle of the decade, trip hop and jungle, too.

That's how I got sucked into the all-consuming whirlpool of this abominable voodoo music – jazz. It's a wonder no-one has come up with a gateway theory yet, regarding the highly addictive nature of jazz music. It usually starts with small doses: an occassional jazz sample is slipped in the hip-hop track, or the breakdown section of a rock song is ornamented with a brief, improvised saxophone lead. Then you find yourself craving for more, and start delving into the depths of acid jazz, nu jazz, or whatever new genre that has incorporated jazz as an inherent element in its' aesthetic toolkit. After this honeymoon period, that might spawn over years and years, you eventually catch yourself red-handed, holding a genuine jazz album in your hands at the local record store, probably the usual entry-level drug-of-choice jazz classic: Kind of Blue by Miles Davis. It has been awarded the title of the greatest jazz album of all time – and for a reason, too. Multiple times. Then you're hooked. Next thing you know, you'll be blasting John Coltrane at a family reunion, with your beloved relatives giving you the dead-eyed stare, doubting the state of your mental well-being. Long story short: you simply cannot go wrong with a mellow waltz rhythm that's punctuated with the organic groove of a flesh-and-blood jazz drummer, and topped with hauntingly beautiful brass harmony.

Next up: the colour blue...

Again, I could go for something utterly obvious, like the song titled Blue by A Perfect Circle. Those lucky few, who know me in person, should be well aware of the fact, that I'm quite a diehard fanboy of the band. I was lucky enough to see the band's live performance a few years back, when they paid Finland a visit. Nevertheless, I think I can come up with something more unexpected.

Just let me think for a sec...

Remember the band Europe? Of course you do! (Unless you were born yesterday, like some, eww, millennial!) I think it would've required some exceptional measures in the noble art of cutting contact with the external world to not have been exposed to the band's 1986 megahit Final Countdown, during the past 34 years. (Fuck! Do I feel old yet?!?) BUT...before you dismiss the band as yet another hair-metal has-been, check out this song:

Europe: Not Supposed To Sing The Blues

It's pretty damn hard to believe it's a song by the same band that's responsible for that Final Countdown atrocity. To be honest, that particular throwback 80's hard rock ear-worm wouldn't probably get under my skin in such a thoroughly repulsive fashion, had I not performed the song countless times myself. It was quite an essential part of the live repertoire of the party band, that I toured with cirka 2004-2008. The modus operandi of this covers-only band was to play the most annoying 80's megahits, with the lyrics translated in Finnish with a liberal amount of tongue-in-cheek references to gay erotica. (On a side note, the band was actually quite popular in certain small regions, despite this dubious approach and the substantially high level of bad taste incorporated in the lyrics and live performances. We even ended up playing in a genuine gay wedding once. The humour of the band was, after all, benevolent albeit a bit harsh, at least in the context of these politically correct times...)

The song Not Supposed to Sing the Blues was released in 2012. It's pretty evident, that during this 26-year-period, following the release of Final Countdown, Europe managed to grow some serious balls, hidden somewhere below my musical radar. The oriental sounding motif, played with some cool mellotron string patch in the refrain before the chorus, has a nice Led Zeppelin-esque feel to it. You can't really go wrong with a slowed-down hard rock blues that is sugar-coated with a grain of Kashmir-strings, now can you?

Next up: white...

What first comes to mind? Whiter Shade of Pale by Procol Harum, and Nights in White Satin by the Moody Blues, obviously. You see, I had both of these tracks in vinyl format, way back in the early 90's, when I was going through my ”moustache prog from the 70's”-phase. (Although, this particular Procol Harum song was actually released in 1968, and the Moody Blues song in 1967 – but, in order to be consistent and thorough, I had to dig deeper, to the roots of the prog...to the very dinosaur fossils)

I could throw in White Room by Cream, too. I used to listen to these particular tracks A LOT! In the age of vinyl, conducting a music marathon themed around, say, 60's and 70's ”moustache music”, was actually quite a laborous ritual. Every 25 minutes, or so, I had to flip the side of the record. Shuffling songs totally at random was simply a no-go-zone. Nowadays, it's so easy to compile a lengthy set of personal favorites in Spotify, WinAmp, iTunes, or whatever the fuck application you'd prefer, and just hit the randomize-button...fucking millennials, they have it SO easy. They have no idea of the struggle.

That's why we had those vintage C-cassettes: to copy that very special selection of songs, compiled with tender love and care, onto a format, that didn't require you to be on a constant lookout for when the album side was closing to an end. Besides, before the onslaught of cd-players, those vintage C-cassettes were the only way to impress people with either your refined taste in music, or with the lack of it, while you were occupied with the gentle art of pussy racing, driving around downtown in your awkwardly tuned-up mirthmobile, every goddamn Friday night.

I could pick White Wedding by Billy Idol, too...

It was one of those 80's hits that I used to play with the ”covers only”-party band.

Nah...

I think I will have to choose between Aisles of White by the Aussie soft-prog band the Butterfly Effect, and The Heart of a Cold White Land by the Finnish doomsters Swallow the Sun.

My beloved wife introduced me to Aussie prog, some 10 years ago. The gateway drug, I think, was Karnivool with their music video for All I Know. One day, when I was coming home from work, I caught my wife watching this particular video in YouTube. A little bit later, she unearthed a shitload of Aussie bands in Spotify. I guess she must've been hitting that ”similar artists”-link quite relentlessly. The Butterfly Effect was one of those magnificent bands she discovered. I remember hearing the song In A Memory for the first time. It struck a chord with me, in such a profound way, that I felt compelled to order the album Imago ASAP from some Australian music webstore. At the time, the back catalogue of the Butterfly Effect wasn't available in Finland. I don't know, if it's available even now, because the band is no longer active, I think. Aisles of White is the track #2 on that album, released in 2006. The band released one more kick-ass album in 2008, titled Final Conversation of Kings, and then I don't know what the hell happened.

Swallow the Sun is a bit doomish Finnish metal band, and I'm not really sure, when I actually found the band's music. I think I had their debut album The Morning Never Came (2003) in my cd-rack for years, but it wasn't until 2012, with the release of the magnificent Emerald Forest and the Blackbird album, that I truly fell in love with the band. It took me some five years to actually haul my ass to their gig for the first time. Every single time, when I found out that they were touring nearby, I was too busy with some utterly meaningless work-related bullshit to make it. Finally, in 2017 it happened. I had managed to get rid of my soul-sucking job, although due to a pretty hardcore reason (a brain tumour), so when I found out that Swallow the Sun was performing in Helsinki, in the legendary rock venue Tavastia, I definitely made sure that I was there – and fuck me sideways! It was indeed one of the best live performances that I have ever experienced, hands down!

In 2015, Swallow the Sun released a monolithic triple album Songs From the North, and this particular track, The Heart of a Cold White Land, is on the disc II, that is focused on the beauty side of the band's doom palette.

Swallow the Sun: The Heart of a Cold White Land

Next up: Red

Sielun Veljet was one of the most iconic Finnish rock bands in the 80's. The band released only a couple of albums with lyrics in English, of which the 1989 release Softwood Music Under Slow Pillars was the only one with the songs originally written in English. There was some other attempts to gain international fame and fortune, but in those cases, the songs were merely English translations of their most beloved hit songs, initially written in Finnish. This particular album was planned for international release – but the label executives were pretty disappointed, to say the least, when the band came up with an album full of acoustic psychedelia. It was released only in Finland and Sweden. The artwork on the album cover is actually a painting by a Peruvian artist Pablo Amaringo, depicting the shamanic ayahuasca ritual. Listening through this album in one go is somewhat similar experience, I would guess: a rewarding journey into the depths of the human psyche, albeit potentially exhausting, especially if you're not exactly in the proper mindset to begin with.

Well, ever since I got exposed to the oriental psychedelia of, say, Jimi Hendrix, Kingston Wall, and the like, I seem to have acquired a taste for this kind of weird and druggy, over-the-top freeform musical expression.

Sielun Veljet: Hey-Ho, Red Banana

Ok, then...What next?

What other colours are there, anyway? The three primary colours are: red, yellow and blue. All the other colours can be derived from these three fuckers. To be precise, I think black does not actually qualify as a colour... So, I've got most of these covered already. Of course, in order to pick some hairs, printers actually use magenta, yellow and cyan as their primary colours – and black, obviously. I can't recall a single song with ”magenta” or ”cyan” in the title, though. I could come up with a band or two, with these colours in the band name, such as Magenta Skycode, or Cyan Velvet Project, but song titles?

Nada.

Maybe, if I combed through my post-rock and soundtrack archives, I could come up with some epic 15-minute instrumental with either cyan or magenta mentioned in the lengthy piece of contemporary literature, that is supposed to be the title of the song...but I guess those tracks would not exactly mean worlds to me, as I clearly cannot remember them now. If something comes to mind, while I'm writing down this epistle, I'll address that particular colour and song, accordingly. Now, I shall get on with this challenge journal, onto the next ”normal”, everyday colour...

Which is?

The colour green.

Having played keyboards in a dubious number of proggy bands, with the tonal preferences leaning heavily toward everything vintage, I might as well pick a mellow Hammond-organ classic, such as Green Onions by Booker T. & the MG's, or a vintage synth classic from THE motion picture soundtrack album of all time: Memories of Green by Vangelis, from the timeless Blade Runner soundtrack.

But I won't...

It wasn't actually easy to come up with that many titles with the colour green mentioned. Excluding these two aforementioned classics, I could barely come up with four! As much as I like the desert rock stonerism of Kuyss, the song Green Machine is not my personal favourite in their back catalogue. So that narrows my options to three. The problem is that two of these songs seem to defy the laws of quantum physics: they both take a firm stranglehold on my soul, and throw it casually down the dark and dangerous alleys of nostalgia.

In the midst of 90's acid jazz boom, I had a peculiar habit of buying compilation cd's at random, if the heading on the cover somehow suggested that the contents of the cd had anything to do with this particular genre of music. By impulse-buying music I discovered a lot of gems, like the song Apple Green by Mother Earth. The band was an English acid jazz outfit, virtually unheard of in Finland, despite the tidal wave of acid jazz washing over also these rural perimeters. If Jamiroquai, the Brand New Heavies et al. rub you the right way, you definitely need to check this band out. I can still remember clearly, as if it happened yesterday, how I picked this acid jazz compilation from the vaults of the local record store that no longer exists.

Mr. Big was a band everybody just loved to hate at the turn of the decace, when the gigantic hair-do's of the 80's started to flatten out, and flannel shirts were showing faint signs of becoming the next level shit in the never-ending quest for cool. At the time, I was an under-aged college drop-out, devoting my attention to the finer things of guitar playing techniques, instead of studying for a decent profession. I had received my first electric guitar from my parents in 1988, and for the following 5-6 years, I spent most of my time and energy in an attempt to unravel the secrets of how to play guitar like Jimi Hendrix. I listened to quite a lot of speed and thrash metal on the side, too. Y'know, bands such as Anthrax, Metallica, Slayer and Stone, which was quite a legendary Finnish speed metal band in the late 80's. My budding personal artistic expression was anyhow more influenced by legendary old timers, like Hendrix. I simply loathed all sorts of pyrotechnical wankery (with the exception of certain tracks by Steve Vai and Joe Satriani). Mr. Big's lead guitarist Paul Gilbert was famous for that very special blend of technical stuff, that I wasn't interested in, not in the slightest. So, I never really gave the band a chance. I think my misconception of the band's music as some kind of a shit-show of technical masturbation was due to some instructional videos hosted by Gilbert. After all, his fame as a highly skilled guitarist must have derived from his contributions to several guitar magazines and instructional videos, instead of his career in Mr. Big. So, everytime I heard the intro of, say, To Be With You, on my car radio, I simply had to change the channel. In order to do so, I had to manually rotate the tuning knob. Yes, my first car stereos were THAT vintage! What a time it was to be alive! Years later, with the maturity of age like with a fine wine, I finally listened to the worn-out hits of this horrid band only to find out that – bummer! - in terms of songwriting, those goddamn Mr.Big hits were actually not that bad at all. The song Green-Tinted Sixties Mind was released on the album Lean Into It in 1991. Now, everytime I am exposed to this particular song, I am instantly reminded of what a stuck-up elitistic music snob I used to be during those emotionally tumultuous times.

So, I could resort to the luck of the draw, but luckily I've got one more candidate to go.

Lonely the Brave is one of my most recent findings. It's an English alt.rock band from Cambridge, formed in 2008. I really don't know much about the band, just this one song titled The Blue, The Green. I was exposed to it while playing the music trivia game Songpop 2 with my mobile phone during the past two years, I think. The game is about guessing songs within the timeframe of a 15 second clip. Pretty addictive at first, actually. This 15-second-soundbite was enough to gain my full attention, so I had to check out the song in full, instantly. I cannot pinpoint what exactly it is, but this particular song has that vague feeling of ”something”, that draws me to listen to it, time and time again.

Lonely The Brave: The Blue, The Green

Next up: yellow.

I was first introduced to Frank Zappa's unique music in the late 80's, by my classmate Jussi, who kindly exposed me to the timeless classic Bobby Brown Goes Down. At the delicate age of 15, it was a pretty anticipated reaction that the explicit song lyrics would strike a chord. A few years later, as I was browsing through the vinyl section at the local second hand record store, I came across a pure treasure: the gatefold vinyl edition of Roxy & Elsewhere by Frank Zappa & The Mothers. In mint condition, too! Dropping the needle on the first groove on the black vinyl back home was like taking the first hit of some mind-altering illegal substance. My perception of reality changed in an instant – and there was no going back. Such an exciting mixture of fusion jazz, rock and harsh satire was sure to make me an addict. So, in no time at all I built up enough tolerance and moved onto semi-lethal dosages, and purchased the albums Hot Rats, Grand Wazoo and Apostophe('). The last one was released in the year, when I was born (1974), and it included the hilarious 4-part rock suite about the unfortunate adventures of an eskimo named Nanook. One part of the suite is titled: Don't Eat the Yellow Snow. Sound advice at the time of a global pandemic, that originated from some peculiar pathogen spillover event in China, don't cha think?

Frank Zappa: Don't Eat The Yellow Snow

Not many colours left, I think...

Next up: purple.

I was exposed to the music of Jimi Hendrix via a documentary on TV, when I was a rosy-cheeked 7th grader in junior high. It happened around the same time, when I got my first electic guitar. So, I guess it must have been written in the stars, or something. The universe simply wanted me to focus on the noble art of guitarism, instead of getting a college degree on psychopathological marketing or accounting (fuck no!). My first guitar was a cheap stratocaster-copy with a Williams-logo on it. In a way, it resembled the vintage Mellotron keyboard: it simply would refuse to keep in tune. One of the first songs that I learned, despite the frustrating limitations imposed by the crap tuners on the guitar, was Purple Haze by Hendrix. I had to learn it by ear. You see, back in the gloomy days of the late 80's, there just wasn't that many guitar tabs around. Not in Finland, anyway. Later I did find an instructional guitar playing manual at the local library, with a few pages dedicated to the art of Jimi Hendrix. Mainly, the only viable option to learn any contemporary rock song, or even any classic from the days long gone, was either to learn it by ear, or to resort to the occassional tabs provided by the international guitar magazines – if you were fortunate enough to spot these much-sought publications at your local bookstore. (These fuckin' millennials have it SO easy!) On the other hand, learning to play primarily by ear must have developed my improvisational skills a great deal, as an added bonus. Improvisation is not so much about throwing up some pre-programmed fancy gimmicks at any given chance, but actually LISTENING to what your fellow musicians are playing and responding accordingly.

Next up: grey.

I think it was my dear wife, once again, who first introduced me to the band Thrice, by playing the song Digital Sea from the band's double album Alchemy Index, a long, long time ago. The band's vocalist/guitarist Dustin Kensrue is one of those few singers, who are blessed with a distinctive voice that speaks, or to be more precise, sings volumes. He might not have the same gravitas like Mark Lanegan or Tom Waits, but nevertheless, he has the voice of a protagonist who's been to hell and back. Mark Lanegan sounds like he's got a season ticket, and Tom Waits sounds like he's the devil running the show – or, to put it in Waits' own words:

”Don't you know, there ain't no devil,

that's just God when he's drunk...”

 Tom Waits: Heartattack and Vine

Anyways, the lyrics in a Thrice song could be compiled of a list of phone numbers, or the decimals of Pi (like Kate Bush actually did), and it would still sound like a profound wisdom concerning the transformative journey of being fully human.

Thrice: The Grey

Last but not least, the colour: turquoise.

For years, I actually thought that Boards of Canada was indeed a Canadian outfit. Y'know, indie bands in particular come up with these band names that have some funny and ironic twist. Somewhere along the way, it finally dawned on me that this magnificent electronic duo is actually from Scotland. Well, of course it is! If my memory isn't playing any tricks on me now, I'm pretty sure that Soulsavers and Hidden Orchestra are Scottish, too. And they all have something in common. Each of these electronic outfits has an extraordinary and unique, boss-level prominance in the way they manage to capture emotion in their instrumentals.

Boards of Canada released a 5-minute electronic epic titled Turquoise Hexagon Sun on the album Music Has the Right to Children in 1998. The name of the song is actually a reference to the duo's recording studio Hexagon Sun. It makes it even more marvellous, that an instrumental track with a title deriving from something so mundane can touch your heartstrings so deeply. It's not that often, when an electronic instrumental with a hip-hop beat, glassy vintage synth motifs and deliberately lo-fi production paired with grainy samples, manage to do that. These Scottish bastards must've been onto something...

Well, that's pretty much all there was to the first day in this music challenge! I was supposed to pick one song, and I ended up writing a fucking novel about it...Tomorrow the plot shall thicken even more, when I introduce you to the theme of the day #2.

In the meanwhile, you can do yourself a favour and listen to:

Boards of Canada: Turquoise Hexagon Sun

Stay tuned! Cheers!

[cadpadawan]

The Lockdown

My original plan was to get on with the sequel to my Black Winter Day saga. You see, thereby hangs such a tale of fantasy and imagination, that it simply needs to be told...but something more urgent came up.

The Finnish Power Puff Girls-government finally issued, that the Uusimaa province, including the necks of the woods where I happen to reside, will be in lockdown, starting tomorrow morning. It seems that this region is the epicentre of the coronavirus in Finland. To me, it's pretty clear that these extreme measures are called for, in order to keep our weaklings and the elderly safe. It's not like we're entering the age of some paramilitary NWO-fascist state. I reckon you need to be mentally challenged to some extraordinary degree to actually think so. Well, the unfathomable amount of stupid, that this government order released in my fellow Finns, does not cease to surprise me. I have never actually thought very highly of my fellow humans, but still... Yes, we are a sorry bunch of fucking idiots, excluding no-one. I have no trouble admitting, that I'm a fucking twat, too. So far, though, I have personally managed to make life miserable mainly for myself. This global onslaught of morons is pretty amazing, and it's spreading faster than any virus ever could.

It did not take long to witness the first complaints about this lockdown – this atrocity. It seems to have a way of making some of us feel like prisoners in their own home, or even like patients bound up in straight jackets in the solitary confinement of a padded cell. Ironically enough, the ones complaining the loudest seem to be the very ones with the highest risk of getting killed by this virus.

I feel tempted to suggest we let nature run its course...

Just this once...

It's almost as if these privileged boomers were suddenly deprived of some essential human right, as the government DARED to tell them NOT to go spend the self-quarantine at their summer cabins. The public healthcare infrastructure in these rural regions of Finland couldn't possibly cope, if the infected started to check-in in droves of thousands. I guess, it must be pretty unbearable to be trapped in with your demented spouse, in that urban condominium of yours, with shitty neighbours adding insult to injury. Maybe someone should've introduced these sad boomers to the joys of online gaming, or something. Don't they know, that Pornhub is handing out premium service for free! What the actual fuck is their problem in life, anyway?!?

They already hoarded all the toilet paper...

Why don't you get your shit together, for fuck's sake?!?

Who woulda thought, that the most disobedient populace were not the pot-smoking slacker kids, or the business sociopaths not letting anyone dictate the course of their lives, but the hard-working and God-fearing senior citizens?!? It is the Baby Boomer generation, who is rebelling in the ethos of the RATM lyrics:

”FUCK YOU, I WON'T DO AS YOU TOLD ME!”

I guess, there are two types of people, when it comes to a crisis of this scale. Some of us seem to think, that this pandemic is just another temporary storm that needs to be waited out – and they'd rather conduct the waiting part at their hard-earned summer place, drinking vintage Chardonnay and watching old episodes of Peyton Place. Heck, if I had a choice, I would probably try to escape the siege, too. Not to the Finnish countryside, though. I'd rather jump on the first intergalactic express out of this moron planet, as if to say:

So long, and thanks for all the fish...

But I guess Elon Musk has not yet managed to get his interplanetary commuter line fully operational?

Then, there's that other personality type, NSFW, or whatever the fuck it's called. These are the ones, who prefer to look at the pandemic in a whole different way. As pretty much everything around us has been brought to a halt, with absolutely no certainty about how long this will last, some of us consider this to be an opportunity. Well, for one thing, criminals are adapting their business models pretty fast to profit from this mess – and it's not always easy to pinpoint the thin line between criminal activity and legitimate corporate greed. On a more personal level, though, a crisis like this could be an excellent opportunity to re-imagine, or to re-invent yourself. It's like we're given a choice: evolve or remain. If we choose to remain unchanged, and keep hoarding toilet paper and instant noodles in a constant fear that otherwise we would miss out on something, we will be presented with these same challenges, this same old shit, time and time again – until we either learn from our mistakes, or simply run out of toilet paper. This applies universally: to countries, corporations and individual human beings. Coronavirus will probably not wipe us out, although it probably should, but eventually something will.

Unless we evolve.

Yes, there will be fuckery of the most ultimate proportions....

Unless...

We choose to pull our heads out of our arses.

Who woulda thought a year ago, that a simple act of picking your nose would one day become a dangerous gamble on someone else's life?

The question remains:

How much time do we have to get our shit together?

A quick survey on the vast psychological landscape of this pandemic does not exactly look very comforting. I'm not worried about the virus itself. I'm more worried about the stupid behaviour of my fellow earthlings. The human race seems to be nothing but a sorry bunch of monkeys, with just enough intellect not to get eaten by other species. With the potential threats in our natural habitat at record low, we seem to jump at every false alarm and start eating each other. It may be just the sort of gauntlet we must travail, in order to reach enlightenment. It could also just be a massive-scale bummer trip into the realms of Dante's inferno.

The choice is ours.

[cadpadawan]

A Black Winter Day 4 Years Ago...pt.1

Ok, now that I have the most pressing issues off my chest, maybe it's time to shed some light on the surreal chain of events, that changed my life quite drastically back in 2016. Those weird times pretty much account for why I needed to get re-educated in the ripe old age of +45.

Oh yes, I'm old as shit – there's no two ways about it.

Maybe this jovial stroll down the memory lane will also hint, why I ended up picking up the blogging pen, after years and years of absence from the blogosphere. I'm not really sure if anyone reads blogs anymore. I'd guess not. Everybody's just too busy posting duckface selfies in Instagram, or vlogging some utter bullshit about their day in YouTube. I think maybe a handful of sad boomers, like me, still occassionally follow the rare eloquently written blog, or even administer a blog of their own. I must confess: I might be a bit pre-occupied with the idea, that the human condition may be better contemplated in written form. Although, the extremes of that condition can be expressed quite evocatively via YouTube, too. Undoubtedly. Digital platforms offer modern solutions to recording, in full detail, how fucked up we really are.

Well, anyways...let's pretend for a moment, that blogging was cool, like it was 2005 again!

Was it really cool even then, I wonder?

In hindsight, it seems that the vast majority of blogs were pushing some corporate agenda, disguised as trendy lifestyle blogs, whose main initiative was to suggest, that in order to reach the ultimate boss-level of cool, you needed to eat certain full-vegan superfoods and support certain street-smart clothes brands, while exclusively listening to a bunch of generic indie disco-rock bands, that some washed-out, has-been, good-for-nothing celebrity had cherry-picked on behalf of some unheard-of indie label CEO.

Well, a monkey dressed in casual designer clothes is still a monkey.

The year 2005 was actually one of the turning points in my life. It was almost as if some cosmic nudge pushed my life into a downward spiral in 2005. It was one of the most emotionally ambiguous times in my life. I became a dad – which scared me shitless, and at the same time, made me the happiest person in the whole wide world, for a moment. Only six months later, I experienced a severe burnout due to sleep deprivation and excessive overtime at work – and at that time, I also experienced my first epileptic seizure. Though, at the time, I didn't have a clue what it was about. First, I thought it had something to do with the burnout. It probably did. I think the burnout triggered the first seizure. It happens. I later found out, that you can have an epileptic seizure due to a number of reasons, even if you are not diagnosed with epilepsy. The kind of seizures I started having on an irregular basis, for years to come, were not convulsive – so it was pretty easy to mistake them for something else completely: stress reaction and whatnot. You see, I worked as an express courier, which qualifies as a high-stress job – hands down. I worked long hours, played in at least two active rock outfits at the same time for years on the side, tried to spend quality time with my new family...

In retrospect, I wonder now: when the hell did I have the time to get any sleep during the years 2005-2016?!?

No wonder, my memory is full of holes, concerning that time. It's all just one big hazy blur. I kind of lost the most part of those 11 years. Yeah, I unlocked all kinds of life achievements – mortgage, a son and a daughter, various music-related things – but I guess I was so busy burning my candle at both ends, that I never stopped for a second to appreciate all the little things in my life – and now I can't remember shit.

Of course, it also had something to do with my epilepsy. Any type of epileptic seizure may potentially affect the memory, either during or after the seizure. If you experience frequent seizures, memory problems are more likely to occur. Eventually, when I finally consulted a doctor and started keeping a seizure journal in the early 2016, I used to have 10-15 seizures a week, sometimes 3-4 times a day. My seizures were of the focal type that affected only part of my brain – the temporal lobe, to be exact. Abnormalities in that region are the most common reason for memory problems in people with epilepsy. One common trigger for a seizure is lack of sleep.

Focal epilepsy is a neurological condition, in which the predominant symptom is recurring seizures that affect one hemisphere of the brain. Temporal lobe epilepsy (TLE) means that the seizure starts in one of the other of the temporal lobes. My symptoms included: feelings of strong deja vu, and a rising sensation in my stomach – the so-called epigastric aura that resulted in an impromptu vomiting first few times. Most seizures were brief, lasting only few seconds – until in 2015, almost 10 years after the first episodes, I had a seizure that lasted for minutes – my first jamais vu-experience.

In psychology, jamais vu refers to the phenomenon of experiencing a situation that you recognize in some fashion, but nevertheless seems very unfamiliar – the opposite of deja vu, so to speak. It involves a sense of eeriness and the impression of seeing something for the first time, despite rationally knowing it cannot be true. In my case, it meant getting lost on my way home from the local supermarket, as if having been sucked into a sudden dementia simulation. I was driving home from the grocery store, the usual route that I had been driving for the previous eight years so far. At some point, I felt the usual signs of the epigastric aura – that slightly nauseating sensation rising in my stomach. It predicted a seizure. I was pretty accustomed to having those every now and then. Nothing to it. It usually didn't affect my ability to drive a car in the slightest. Heck, I had been driving a van for a living for years with this little nuisance. It didn't worry me one bit. It usually lasted for a few seconds, and then it was gone. An epileptic seizure is basically a disruption of the electrical communication between neurons in the brain – an uncontrolled burst of electricity. That pretty much sums up how it usually felt: a burst of something inside my head, fluctuating like a liquid for a few seconds. It felt pretty fucking weird. So, there I was, coming home from the grocery store, blasting metal in my car stereos. Then, the stomach thingy, something sparkling in my head for a moment...I guess I didn't really pay much attention to the seizure. Maybe there was some kick-ass song playing on the radio. I probably didn't realize, that the seizure had already lasted way longer then ever before. I came to a T-junction. Suddenly, I didn't have the slightest clue where the fuck I was! I was less than one kilometer from home. I turned right. Then my wife burst out wondering, what the actual fuck I was fooling around for. I should've turned left. I grinned back, as if this manouver was some spur-of-the-moment prank. I made a U-turn, and soon I was back at the same T-junction. This time I was supposed to drive straight. Guess what?

I didn't. I turned left this time.

My wife suggested, that i should maybe go and see a doctor...

Nah, I decided to wait six more months. Why not wait until I fucked up my life to a point of no return, before going to see a doctor? It became increasingly obvious, that I was in for a major life changing event. Was I subconsciously sabotaging my life, in order not to feel tempted to go back to the old ways, when the shit finally hit the fan? In April 2016, I was diagnosed with a benign tumour in the brain, which was the reason for my epileptic seizures. In the meantime, between my epic jamais vu-experience and the MRI scan that revealed that alien implant attached to the hippocampus in the right temporal lobe of my brain, I managed to fuck everything up in the most beautiful and thorough way you could imagine: my job, my marriage, everything...as if I was laying down the foundation for the oncoming midlife crisis the best I could. Well, being some sort of an artistic personality type, I can handle chaos much better than the average person. Although, I never deliberately looked for chaos, and never actually wanted to stare into the abyss, it seems that the chaos looked for me, to stare me into the eye.

I can tell you a story...

It all started on a black winter day, January or February 2016.

(To be continued...)

[cadpadawan]

What a time to be alive!

On March 11 2020 the World Health Organization declared that the outbreak of a viral disease, with a name similar to a certain brand of light beer, had reached the level of a global pandemic. In the panic reaction, that ensued the reports about the number of the infected, the mass demand on toilet paper and instant noodles skyrocketed on an intergalactic scale. As I let this sink in, it becomes increasingly clear that not even the best of stand-up comedians could have made this shit up!

A great deal of the recent public narrative has focused on the importance of social distancing, and something as surreal as the correct hand washing technique. It turns out, that an acute and extremely violent diarrhea is not a typical symptom of this disease. So, even in the most unfortunate case, that I would become infected with this novel coronavirus-thingy, it wouldn't be exactly the most rational manouver to stockpile 500 rolls of toilet paper, in preparation for a two-week isolation period. Unless, of course, I happened to have some weird pre-existing medical condition that would force me to poop runny and fluid shit non-stop in this doomsday bunker of mine. So far, I haven't been diagnosed with such a syndrome, not that I know of, anyway.

Of course...

There is always the chance, that the universe had a special treat preserved just for me, for a special occassion, like this:

SURPRISE, MOTHERFUCKER!

As for the counter-measures...I have actually practiced the noble art of social distancing and personal hygiene long before it started trending. You see, I'm not exactly a people's person. I'm more like one of those ”mind your own business and fuck off!”-persons. And coming to think of it... What kind of person does NOT wash hands after taking a shit, anyways?!?

Seriously, though...Now the University of Applied Sciences, where I am currently studying mechanical engineering, has also closed doors. The University administration had the forethought to do so in advance, a week before the Finnish government ordered all schools to go online. The ongoing product development school project is pretty easy to execute online, luckily. So, in this respect, this global panic should not compromise my studies that much. I'm quite self-disciplined, so this sudden change of plans did not exactly freak me out. I think I have the emotional strenght to focus on this school project, despite the fact that it would be much more pleasant to binge on alcoholic beverages and PS4 for the next couple of weeks. On a side note, I've been playing the novelty PS4 game Death Stranding for a few months now. Suddenly, the dystopian atmosphere of the game does not seem that far-fetched. We are turning into something similar to the game's isolated prepper characters. (Or, to be more to-the-point, I doubt there ever was a time when humanity was truly connected – when there was no physical barriers, we built the barriers in our minds, that's for sure...)

While conducting an in-depth online research into the topic of the school project, I also went through the trouble of getting the facts straight about the coronavirus via some quality sources of information. Let's face it: social media does not qualify as such. If I was dumb enough to take the corona-garbage in my Facebook newsfeed seriously, it would mean that this COVID-19 outbreak was either:

1) a punishment from a narcissistic god, on the grounds that humanity is a bunch of ungrateful little shits, wallowing in a cesspool of sin – homosexuality, gender equality and veganism, in particular.

2) a pre-emptive strike in the forth-coming WW3, conducted by a biological weapon that was engineered in some top-secret level-5 security military lab in Wuhan, China.

3) A dick move played on the Jumanji-board, that some douchebag accidentally came across in the estate of his deceased grandmother.

4) A Black Death reconstruction executed by the aliens responsible for this shit show simulation.

So, what the actual fuck is this coronavirus, then?

We are witnessing the triumph of an infectious disease, that is caused by a severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus-2 (SARS-CoV2). The COVID-19 monicker seems to stand for a novel CO-rona-VI-rus D-isease that emerged in 2019.

Coronaviruses are fairly common in the animal kingdom, although, this novel coronavirus seems to be one of a kind, that has not been previously detected. If I asked my internet friends here, they would probably say something along the lines of ”I'm not saying it was aliens...but it was aliens!”

Either that, or Mother Nature just wants to kill us all?

The source of the virus is not yet fully known. The latest findings suggest all kinds of bat-related stuff. So, I guess it would be fairly safe to assume, that the world has now officially gone bat shit crazy? The year 2020 will be forever remembered as the Great Pandemic of toilet paper hoarding. Officially, the common symptoms of COVID-19 include high fever, dry coughing, shortness of breath, fatigue paired with muscle and joint pain. No mention of convulsive diarrhea anywhere. Are the government officials withholding some crucial information, in the best dystopian fashion? I guess it would prove pretty hard to maintain morale, if the public was told that we are going to dive in some deep shit, in the most literal meaning of the expression.

Well, I didn't stock up on emergency supplies.

I'm a student with no budget, for fuck's sake. I live from one government hand-me-down to the next, or as we say in Finnish: ”kädestä suuhun”. It literally means ”from hand to mouth”. I could not possibly afford to stockpile shitload of TP or anything else, for that matter. Not that I even wanted to. I find it extremely hard to believe, that the world is going to run out of toilet paper any time soon...or...if a single drop of bat guano is going to collapse all civilization as we know it, then...maybe all this so-called ”civilization” is not so civilized to begin with... From a bystander's view, this onslaught of basic human stupidity, that this pandemic seems to have released upon us, makes it fairly easy to relate to the idea, that Mother Nature really wants us all dead. Maybe...just maybe...the real virus that is threatening all lifeforms on this blue planet is human, not some small agent that replicates inside the cell of an organism. After millennias of gang-bang-thank-you-Ma’m it's payback time?

Whatever the case, it's peculiar that, at this point, the virus seems to have entered Europe via Italy. Well, it still remains to be confirmed, but...if this actually proves to be the case, it would bear an uncanny resemblance to another historical pandemic from way back – the Black Death, that swepth across Europe in the 14th century. Well, y'know...history on repeat etc...

The Black Death, a.k.a. The Great Bubonic Plague, was the first major outbreak of a pandemic on the European continent. It probably originated somewhere along the Mongol conquest of China, due to a pathogen spillover event. Such an event most likely took place somewhere in the Hubei province in China in late 2019. A reservoir population with a high pathogen prevalence, like maybe some killer bats from outer space, or a secret military lab, came into contact with a novel and unsuspecting host population – the ordinary chinese folks doing some grocery shopping at the local market.

Back in the day, the war-mongering Mongols obviously had no clue about the correct hand washing technique, or cough etiquette. The plague spread like wildfire among the troops. It was caused by a bitchy pathogen, a bacterium called Yersinia Pestis. Eventually, the pathogen traveled down the Silk Road to the seaports of Europe, among the Mongol army. To be precise, the pathogen was actually carried by fleas that black rats were infested with. When the Mongol armies arrived at Europe, things got a bit gruesome. Djanibek Khan was the commander of a massive Crimean tatar force, that sieged the port city of Kaffa in 1348. By conducting a somewhat brutal manouver in biological warfare, Djanibek Khan's troops catapulted infected corpses over the city walls. A few infected Genoese traders managed to escape – and introduced the Black Death onto Italian soil. The rest is history.

Ok, let's assume the internet scholars, religious freaks and conspiracy theorists were right for once. Why does the entry point always have to be Italy?

It's almost as if the history of mankind wanted to suggest, that God had some serious bone to pick with the Italians. What have the Italians done in the past, that seems to have compromised the cosmic balance so seriously?

Luigi, you did not by any chance place a slice of pineapple on the pizza, did you?!?

Ever since the Dark Ages, politically motivated monoteistic religions have always blamed normal people for any kind of disasters. The concept of God's mercy is convenient in such a way, that premature death in the hands of any natural disaster would automatically grant an instant VIP-entrance to the delights of afterlife paradise, for a beliver, whereas for a non-believer it most certainly would mean a severe charcoal-grilled punishment in the never-ending flames of hell. In this respect, these so-called Abrahamic religions have not really changed in the last 4000 years. If history can teach us only one thing, it would be: the vast majority of mankind is actually dumb as shit.

So, what can I do?

Not much, except keep avoiding stupid people, as usual, and keep washing my hands as if I had a severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. Yeah, I'll just keep focus on my studies. Whenever I need a break from the depths of mechanical engineering, I'll just check on the news to see the most recent updates in this global shit show. It's funny, when I read about the history of mankind, I can't help but think, that my ancestors must have been of a special kind of stupid in many ways, indulging in a behaviour that was harmful to themselves in the long term. As I watch the stupidity of mankind unfolding right before my very eyes, I feel the occassional urge to book the next flight to Northern Italy and start licking doorknobs in the local supermarkets, relentlessly. Maybe I could wash the sour taste from my mouth with an ice-cold Corona beer, with a slice of lime in it. The path of glory has been well-defined, like aeons ago. The issue has always been how to bring everyone along for the ride. With the general attitude being ”Me first & The Gimmie Gimmies” (the best band name ever, by the way!), we're heading towards the biggest butt-fuck in the history of humanity. Maybe we'd be better off hoarding lubricant, instead of toilet paper?

[cadpadawan]

A Presentation of Epic Proportions

Just the other day, I had a school assigment of the most peculiar kind. It was supposed to be executed as a collaborative team effort in groups of 2-3 students. I was blessed with two individuals, whose contribution to the project was very minimal. One of the guys was too busy with his part-time job to contribute much, though I have to give him credit for trying anyway. The other one focused more on waiting for some kind of a divine inspiration to start working, and spent the time in the local pubs looking for it. Such a bohemian approach might have proven quite effective, had this assignment been associated with the nuances of various craft beers, but alas, it was about a sheet metal design that, by definition, must have dearly dispirited my fellow student not to give a shit. So, I basically had to maneuver this team project to completion practically on my own. For a solo endeavour, it simply was a bit too much to chew, especially as I initially set the goal a little bit too high, in some ill-adviced burst of optimism. Well, when the project started, I genuinely thought that these two heroes, without a cape, would actually contribute more to it. Eventually, I made it – but as you may observe in the transcription of the project presentation, that I had to perform in English...oh, well...check for yourself. Here it is, in full detail:

“Ok, ladies [articulated with an extensively sarcastic tone, as the audience was 99% young men], may I have your undivided attention, please...

We have gathered here today to witness the ultimate triumph of the human mind over matter, that is, sheet metal matter in this particular case. I have the immense pleasure to welcome y'all to the magical mystery Powerpoint presentation of a state-of-the-art sheet metal gun cabinet. This spectacle will be brought to you by this dubious threesome of mechanical engineering undergrads... Oh, wait. My dear colleagues in this joint venture could not make it today, unfortunately, quite like they could not make it most of the time, during this whole project. For starters, I might as well introduce you to my designer team, anyway – the aptly named Team Ahma [a reference to a Finnish sitcom]. My team consisted of these two characters, who magically were mostly absent throughout this ordeal. Had they actually made it to school today, here in the right hand corner of the podium, you'd be seeing a handsome young bloke named [I better not publish any personal information, y'know...], and in the penalty box, for cross-checking the progress, you'd be witnessing the hangover happyface [please, insert a sophomoric genitalia reference here]. Please, give a round of applause to these two high-performance individuals here.

The underlying objective of this collaborative effort was to design a steel cabinet, with the basic function to store away four individual pieces of firearms in an upright position, hence designed exclusively for weapons of the long-barreled variety, such as shotguns and hunting rifles – or, if this cabinet was targeted at customers in the Middle Eastern regions, also AK-47's. This design project was commissioned, supervised and reviewed by our Dear Leader and mentor in 3D design [well, y'know how it goes by now, don't cha...]. This sheet metal design project was commissioned with one precondition: the cabinet's storage capacity was to be limited to four guns. It was due to the fact, that the Finnish gun legislation had a thing or two to say about storing larger number of guns. The material thickness of the cabinet walls, locking mechanism and whatnot were strictly regulated if the number of weapons exceeded four. So, basically I had free hands to come up with pretty much any kind of cabinet, as long as I maintained some kind of an awareness, that the gun rack was not designed for more than four pieces.

Sounds relatively easy, right?

Except maybe for the fact, that the flood of options presented a kind of a challenge in itself. I was faced with the pointed question: where could I find a single, all-consuming concept for such a sheet metal design? You see, I didn't really pay attention when we had the theory class. I was too busy typing cover letters for a summer trainee position. Ok, where do people find info on anything nowadays?

Well, online, of course.

Despite being a member of the sad boomer generations, whose level of internet comprehension usually will not suffice for anything more than checking emails and watching dubious adult entertainment, I managed to do quite an extensive round of online research. So, before getting my hands dirty with the tedious maneuvering around the minute details of the actual design, I navigated in the cyber jungle of gun retail. I checked what kind of cabinet applications were available, with what specifications – and most importantly, for what price range.  I browsed through the online bazaars of long-barreled guns typically stored in a cabinet like this, as well. In the hope of gathering some information that might prove useful in my project. I even gave a once-over at the legislation. It was totally unnecessary, but some of the imperatives imposed by the law actually seemed worthy of consideration.

Maybe I should elaborate...

As I do not have any prior experience in the sheet metal industry, except at the customer end, I was essentially shooting in the dark at random. I could have squeezed my brain juice into the project design, with neither forethought nor intention, and just hope for the best. I decided to implement some of the basic tenets of the gun regulations in the design, instead. Neither of my fellow designer students objected. One was too busy, trying to make some money with real work, and the other one just didn't give a shit. Why did I want to go the extra mile, then?

[Off-topic alert: here comes a lengthy rant about the sad state of affairs, when you’re getting re-educated in the ripe age of +45...]

I shall graduate in December 2021, and when the day comes, I'll be closer to 50 than 40 years old. My past work history consists of mainly irrelevant bullshit jobs. Until my life drastically changed in 2016, I used to consider work as just a nifty means to pay for my real passion, that was to make music with no inherent commercial potential, that is: all kinds of progressive rock, for beer money and ”exposure”. Work was just the necessary evil to pay for all this. What I actually did for work didn't really mean shit to me...and now, as I've been trying to apply for any kind of a trainee job, suitable for a mechanical engineering undergraduate, I've come to notice that my previous work experience doesn't actually mean shit to my potential employers either. I started applying for trainee positions starting next summer already in early December. Now, we're living in mid-March. Each and every application that I sent out, bounced back like a boomerang, with the bulk response written in the most dry and academic tone: thanks, but no thanks. So, if I wanted to make a difference in the eyes of my future employers, I would be compelled to go the extra mile every single time I had the chance. I guess I can now better relate to how it must feel to be, say, young, gifted and black in this country – or in any other Western country, for that matter. I had become an old white nigga in the eyes of society. I might as well have shot heroin all my life so far...I have skills and experience that are totally irrelevant for an engineering job. 

I wonder if there was actually some factual point, that I was circum-navigating there...

To cut to the chase:

I chose to apply the minimum material thickness of 4 millimeters to the outer walls of the cabinet, along with the idea, that this cabinet ought to be practically impossible to break into. I hoped that these design constraints would lace this project with more focus and drive. After all, it's quite a hard-wired human tendency to fall into the trap of under-achievement, or to get overwhelmed by the sheer volume of a design project like this. In this particular case, lowering the standards would have probably saved my ass, though. Usually, being dolled-up with no exact destination to go, getting the job done without paramilitary leadership, or the channeling of demons, might prove unnecessarily hard.

On top of this, a sneak peek at the similar products on the market provided some crucial insight on the basic dimensions and structure for this type of a gun cabinet. There was no need to invent the wheel anew, when all I needed was some modifications on it. With all the necessary background information gathered, I was ready to outline the initial to-do list for the project, where to start, and how to stay on track. In short, I decided to go for a cabinet of impressive proportions and powerfully expressive character – a sheet metal cabinet on steroids, sort of. The preliminary online research also implicated, that the market was actually dominated by rather second grade tin cans. In this respect, I assumed that it wouldn't really take much of an effort to stand out. I concluded, that my desire to put a little more emphasis on the function and safety of the cabinet would suffice to differentiate it from the competition in this particular capacity range. Thus, one of the key elements in this cabinet design was the double-layered steel chassis, structured in 4 millimeter steel plate. For the sake of simplicity and cost-effective manufacturing, I favoured the basic perpendicular bends of 90 degrees. After all, I was not about to design a fancy mobile decoration of steel, to be suspended from the ceiling on Christmas eve. For such an unregulated cabinet design, the material thickness was probably a bit of an overkill, but I reckoned that it would prevent any unauthorized entering into the cabinet. Furthermore, I assumed – and quite rightly so – that these two layers of steel were prone to make the structure heavy enough, not to be moved into the pikey-model Toyota Hiace with Bulgarian register plates, at least not single-handedly by any amphetamine-fueled random break-and-enter artist. Obviously, a determined professional would make his way for the guns, no matter what this cabinet was made of. First and foremost, I designed this cabinet along the lines, that the robust structure would essentially discourage any half-assed attempts to illegitimately take possession of the goodies inside. I would guess, that it's not a thoroughly thought-out idea to break and enter into a house of some old timer who owns guns, in the first place. Let alone, the idea of trying to break into a cube of steel, without proper power tools. In the unfortunate case, that a random junkie decided to go for it, I would dare to envision, that all the meth in the world was not enough to grant manpower to manually force this steel door open. It would require spesific tools, paired with an exceptionally determined or desperate mindset. Although, I guess it would certainly make for a hilarious episode in one of those popular reality shows you can watch on TV nowadays

In conclusion, taking on such an extra challenge provided me with a clear objective for this design project. Had I known the amount of work that ensued, I might as well have chosen to install a beer tap, or a Nintendo Wii game console with motion sensors to my design. I opted for enhanced security. Although, the Finnish gun culture is nowhere near as bizarre as the American ”Shoot 'em up”-culture, quite the contrary, actually. In the outbreak of a zombie holocaust, the Finnish gunmen are more likely to remain as one of the last sane frontier guards on the fault lines of civilization, in my honest opinion. We don't get to witness random mass shootings, conducted in a spur of the moment drug-frenzy, so often. Nor do we need to read about juveniles shooting one another in a fit of an existential teenage angst, because the Playstation 4 abruptly went offline for no apparent reason.

On a more serious tone, I started the project by searching for some vague idea for a steel cabinet, and the gods of mechanical engineering must have been in favor of this humble endeavour, since I managed to formulate the concept fairly quickly. At the end of the day, how hard can it be to sketch a rectangular box with a door? My kids are reaching teen age, but I'm sure they could have managed to draw something like this with a slide ruler and a pencil way back when they were only five years old or something. In retrospect, though, I feel compelled to make a bold statement, that it sure ain’t easy. Somewhere along the way, I was introduced to a phenomenon, that I would like to refer to as What The Fuck-factor. I apologize for the graphic and evocative term I coined for it, but believe me, it is quite an appropriate definition for such an indecent phenomenon. It is formulated also in the Murphy's Law: if something has even a slight chance of going wrong, it most certainly will. I had my fair share of that in this project, that’s for sure.

The next chapter in this surreal drama, the actual design process itself, was carried out with the PT Creo 3D-modeling software, in compliance with the guidelines imposed by the sheet metal standard DIN 6930. Without giving it that much thought, I adopted a kind of top-down approach. I decomposed the concept into smaller sub-concepts, such as the individual components in the assembly. It all sounded great in theory, but in the rush of a work overload, the emotional strength to actually keep the big picture clear in mind at all times...it just magically seemed to evaporate into the thin air, like fairy dust...

To be brutally honest, the design process was a fucking nightmare.

I apologize for my frequent use of French adjectives. I've been trying to discipline myself against the abundant use of such foul language, but I just can't help it. My mouth is quicker than my moral filters for politically correct choice of words. Besides, the occassional strong word usually gets the point across much better, and I wouldn't be surprised if the cuss words were accountable for the most part of the modern office communication. Before starting a new life as a CAD-padawan, I used to work for a company, where the corporate language was best described as management by perkele.

Perkele is a vintage cuss word in the Finnish language, loaded with some eerie sense of personal empowerment, thus way more powerful than the more offensive ones, that are trending in the speak of the millennials.

The sketching started in a tried-and-true manner: by throwing up some random ideas in whatever form seemed fit. The design concept for the steel door seemed to provide a promising start. So, without further experiments, the steel door design was underway. Since the door played quite an integral part in the cabinet, the dimensions of the door pretty much laid out the framework for the rest of the design. And this small, ill-considered choice of component was probably the single most damaging factor contributing to why things got essentially sour a little bit later. The overall thickness of the door, in particular, set all kinds of funny little restrains on the design of the other parts, consecutively. It was 35 millimeters, that is a relatively large number in this context, and it projected a certain set of esoteric demands on the dimensions of the doorframe, and particularly on the hinge mechanism needed.

Now, the hinge mechanism...

That was a real pain-in-the-ass in this project...

The ultimate can of worms.

There is an idiom in the Finnish language, usually uttered aloud in a fairly sarcastic tone. It goes: ”liian monta liikkuvaa osaa” - that stands for ”too many moving particles”, in English.

It's a perfect description for the hardships that I encountered with the hinge design. The mission objective was to control the movement of two metal bodies, in relation to each other. Or to be more precise, to control the opening of the door. The doorframe was pretty much a static component. So, I had one moving particle – the door. Due to all kinds of funny preconceptions, it soon became painfully obvious, that this one moving particle was actually one too many.

Liian monta liikkuvaa osaa, y'know...

And little by little, frustration was gaining momentum...

I had the steel door assembly figured out by now, as well as the design for the doorframe. Then I realized, that I had figuratively shot myself in the leg. I could almost taste the irony in my mouth. The universe seemed to have a sick sense of humour. Don't get me wrong, I am actually one of those Myers-Briggs personality types who prefer their humour just like they prefer their morning cup of coffee – pitch black, with absolutely no sweeteners. (I'm also quite fond of quality gin, and craft beers with a bitter flavour...so, I guess I'm a downright psycho, and those of you, who order soya frappuccinos in Starbucks, will be my first victims, when I finally lose my shit and dash off on a killing spree...I'm joking, right?)

I soon realized, that if I wanted to implement all the safety measures that I originally opted for, I needed to ensure that the door fit the doorframe like a glove. The tight clearance between the door and the frame was an inherent part of the whole concept for an idiot-proof gun cabinet. In practice, the idea was that the door would refuse to eject open, even if you cut your way through the bolt of the lock, or the hinges. This approach necessitated a lot of extra work. It also called for a special kind of double-action hinge mechanism, something similar to those jump-action hinges that come installed in some of the hipster brand kitchen cupboards, like Puustelli etc. This type of hinge ejects the door outwards first, before opening 90 degrees in the desired direction. Well, it works wonders in the kitchen fixtures, but...

Would it work with a steel door that weighed like a ton?

That was exactly what I needed to find out.

Had this concept fully realized in practice, which it obviously did not, it might have actually imposed an additional set of requirements on the hinges, in turn. I formulated all kinds of funny little mental configurations, how this particular type of hinge might have worked in this cabinet setting. At some point, it finally dawned on me, like a sudden moment of comprehension, or the sensation to which the Japanese zen buddhist tradition refers with the term ”satori”. I was practically shooting myself in the leg some more...

Even if I made this science fiction hinge mechanism work, so that the door would actually open beautifully, without any obstructions...then what?

In the name of safety, I had adjusted that clearance between the door and the frame to be extremely tight. Thus, it was absolutely necessary for the door to be perfectly aligned with the frame, vertically. Otherwise, the door would neither close nor open. This concept seemed to suggest that it was essential to lock the door into position, when either fully open or fully closed. Otherwise, it would get stuck. So, the deeper I delved into the details of this particular hinge mechanism, the more evident it became, that it would probably be way too complicated to design. I must admit that I felt tempted to call it quits, and go home and watch football on satellite TV. This project was turning into a joke, with me being the punchline, and it wasn't funny anymore.

I introduced this sheet metal project as state-of-the-art, remember?

Now we're getting to the artsy part.

I could have responded to this unfortunate turn of events by sketching an alternative, or even a set of alternatives, and then move on like nothing happened. Sticking to the idea, that my steel door insisted on the application of this particular type of hinge mechanism, was beginning to resonate the ambience of a game of Tetris, where you kept getting the wrong pieces round after round, ad infinitum. At this stage, however, my unjustified optimism hadn't been killed yet, so...when this issue called attention to an ever-increasing amount of detail, I simply considered it as a challenge accepted, or a personal insult to my intelligence, even. It was a call to arms. Thus, I insisted on not to seek any alternatives, not yet, as if bound by a samurai honour code. After all, I had the concept for this particular type of hinge mechanism clear in my mind. There was only the trifle matter of putting it into realization, to take care of.

At this stage, the summoning of demons might actually have proven quite handy.

I was faced with the ultimate question: how to tap back into the creative flow, when the empire was falling around me? 

Maybe I should have attached a slide of the hinge mechanism I found in some engineering porn site that was infested with a multitude of graphic illustrations and video shootage of all kinds of highly technical gadgets and gizmos. Y'know, the one that I found most promising to develop further. 

Well, I didn't – so, you'll just have to imagine how it looked like. 

I'm sure this sounds like the stuff from some poorly screenplayed science fiction movie, or the mindless verbal rambling of a voodoo hierophant who's probably tripping balls on magic mushrooms. However, I'm afraid that I'll have to let you down on your vivid speculations about the origins of this concept. It was very real. We found something similar applied to safes and vacuum containers, and such, with more or less sophisticated mechanisms, that might have worked with our sheet metal cabinet. The only catch with all the mechanisms was that they seemed to require lots of time to design, especially to get the dimensions exact – and this project was little by little running out of time. Our cabinet door required something sturdy, like the hinges on a huge cast iron safe. The weight of the door, fully assembled, approximated near thirty kilos already. On the other hand, we needed something compact, in order to squeeze the hinges in the formidably narrow space between the outer sheet metal casing and the doorframe of steel. 

For some peculiar reason, this project suddenly started to feel like the biggest wild goose chase in the history of gun cabinets...but, like I said: after an extensive online research, we finally came across such a sophisticated mechanism, that seemed appropriate for our needs, with just a few minor modifications. It called for an infinite amount of trials and errors to dimension right, but we gave it a go, anyway. The margin to have each component in our cabinet assembly in working condition by the deadline was getting incredibly small, and risk assessment probably wasn't our strong point. We took on a challenge, only to fail in the most beautiful fashion. Obviously, this particular hinge design proved way too sophisticated to execute in the given time. Eventually, we had to face the facts, discard this fancy hi-tech mechanism, and go for the second best option. Just twelve hours before the deadline for the final submission, I basically had to witness my deep faith in humanity disappear into the ether, as this issue with the hinges turned out to be such a gift that just kept on giving. I resolved this problem with a straightforward and brutal solution: by thrusting a simple rod of steel vertically through the door, attached with a pair of bronze sliding bearings. After that, I extruded a couple of additional holes in the doorframe – and voilá! The cabinet design was complete. This impromptu change of plans, conducted in the very last minute of the project, obviously compromised the original idea for an idiot-proof cabinet door, but we really had no choice.

Maybe next time we'll be equipped with more profound wisdom and battle-hardened experience, so that we'll be able to execute more informed choices. This project was supposed to be a crash course in the wonders of sheet metal design, and provide us with some hands-on experience with the topic. In practice, it was more like an experiment in the dark forests of the human mind. In this respect, however, we did quite well. Yes, the design process turned sour and frustrating at times, or to put it in a more evocative wording – it was a genuine pain in the ass, but did we die? Nope. It certainly is a very human trait to lose focus and give up, after reaching the ultimate frustration point. On several occassions, during this endeavour in psychological torture, I was tempted to take a Big Lebowskian stance, let go and cry out:

”Fuck it, let's go bowling!”

But I didn't.

Of course, I can only speak for myself, when I say that out of sheer hatred towards anything even remotely related to sheet metal, I forced myself to complete this assignment – like, when the software crashed on me for the fifth time during the course of just a few hours. My immediate urge, more often than not, was to smash the computer screen with a baseball bat, when things didn't quite go as planned. But, instead, I manouvered myself into a kind of zen state of mind. Of course, my mind was not completely empty, like in a genuine higher state of consciousness. It was actually pretty full – filled with some explicit thoughts, certainly Not Safe For Work environment, but I guess it's safe to say that these thoughts mostly hinted that I was not going to let a stupid machine get the best of me. Well, I have 15 years' worth of experience in logistics, so I guess I am more resilient to stress than the average person. I have worked for Satan himself, in a most high-stress job you can imagine. So, as an afterthought, I guess this project was actually fairly easy on me. It was challenging in many respects, but eventually the project design was completed with not much collateral damage.

Maybe this chunk of metal does not provide enough ground to build a profitable business model on it, but it just might suggest a novel and street smart way to store away your firearms. I'm sure you could get a bigger and standardized cabinet for almost the same amount of money, but then again: who actually needs to possess more than four pieces, anyway? If you feel a sting in your heart, when I say this, maybe you should ask yourself:

Did Jeffrey Epstein really kill himself?

Am I just preparing for the zombie apocalypse?

I would guess that no one in his, or her, right mind really needs five or more firearms. For those of us, who need a cool storage application for max. 4 guns, I designed this shiny little sheet metal beast. I am still entertaining the possibility, that this boutique cabinet might have an enticing appeal to those of us, who prefer a highly customised luxury approach, rather than a generic application of nothing special, dashed out for mass production in the sweatshops of the third world countries. Obviously, this design philosophy did not quite exclude the need to take the ease and cost of manufacture into account – and that's what I did.

I refrained myself from integrating overly complicated shapes, just for the sake of appearance. Every bend in the sheet metal structure was well-thought out. Maybe I could have done with less welding seam, but I opted for reinforced safety. Remember, the primary goal was to enhance the possibility to come up with an idio-proof cabinet design. You see, idiots and guns don't really mix that well. It sounds like common knowledge, but as we all can see in the nine o'clock news on a daily basis, not many are catching up...

From the very outset of this project, I tried to view this cabinet design through the imaginary lens of the potential customer. I dare to guess, that the most likely candidate to purchase a weapon storage application of this caliber (pun intended!) would be a white, heterosexual Finnish male going in his late 50's. This stereotypical character resides somewhere in the back of beyond, in the most rural areas of Finland, in the hard core of the Baby Boomers paradigm, that is the classic ”rintamamies”-house, built in the 1940's. Our protagonist here presents the Jungian archetype of a DIY-handyman, with a passion for hunting wild game in his spare time. He is quite an active and respected member of society – the local hunting society, in particular. He's got his mortgage paid off by now, which means that he can very well afford to treat himself to something special, every once in a while – like, a brand new, state-of-the-art gun cabinet, because the old one is...well, old. With this in mind, I decided to design this cabinet for the higher price range. I rest assured that the hefty price tag would be justified by the extra emphasis on security. I wanted to take my cabinet design to the next level, and to some degree, I guess I  succeeded. After all, it usually is a tell-tale sign of an amateur-at-work to compete on price. I opted for excellence without compromise. All too many gun cabinet manufacturers seemed not. The vast majority of the products on the gun cabinet market seemed to capture the ethos of the classic one-liner, said by the American musical genius Frank Zappa, back in the day:

”If we can't be free, let's at least be cheap.”

For many, this kind of an approach seemed to be a very viable option in a gun cabinet design. I'm sure it can be a convenient philosophy in life, in general – as it seems to be for many, too. It was never an option for this particular design project, to say the least. I am a firm believer, that you are the sum of all the experiences you go through, as well as the people around you. Being surrounded by dysfunction and incompetence will eventually get you nowhere. At the end of the day, with all the designer's blocks and frustrations dealt with, after getting strangled in a multitude of loose ends, for God knows how many times, overcoming the obstacles in this ”joint” venture eventually provided me with a sense of pride in a job well done. My gun cabinet might not become a nifty prototype for a potential customer product, but nevertheless, I came up with something unique. The technical documentation of this project design might seem like a white paper on how to ruin a perfectly promising raw idea, but then again....there is no such thing as perfection, when it comes to rushing things to completion, especially, when it's not something you're doing by choice.

In retrospect, with the hinge issue aside, the design for this cabinet evolved pretty smoothly and effortlessly. The double-layered steel chassis took maybe a couple of days to sketch, model and annotate – just like most of the other components did too. Believe me, it's not an understatement, when I tell you that 90 percent of this project consisted of figuring out how to make a double-action hinge work in a desired way. Maybe it could serve as a topic for further development. It probably would require quite a few iterations to configure the mechanism to work perfectly in the context of this gun cabinet. With this project, though, I had to rush the design to meet the deadline. Thus, I cannot say for certain, whether this sheet metal cabinet will perform as desired, or if it has any of the enhanced technical value I opted for. Chances of true success might be minimal, respectively. With the benefit of doubt, however, I dare to suggest that the original objectives of this project could still be accomplished through the application of such customised hinge mechanism. Now, we'll probably never know.

Unless, of course, the conservative dark forces are going to bring back the good ol' times, and I can have another go at this...

Or, maybe not...

I thank you dearly for your time and patience. If you wish to ask me anything about this project, I will gladly answer. Of course, it would be more convenient to continue with the technical and psychological nuances of this project over a pint of beer...but alas, the school cafeteria does not have the licence to sell alcohol. Well, anyways...knock yourselves out.

Ok, that's about it. Now I'm excited to pass the torch on to the next project team: the podium is all yours. 

Arrivederci!

It remains to be seen, how my English teacher reviewed this presentation. Most likely, the required level of formality was not reached, which might be reflected in my English grade. However, I think that there is only a narrow window of opportunity to make a lasting impression, in the everyday interaction with the people around you. I would guess, that this presentation will not be as easily forgotten as the ones peppered with rambling formalities. My last Powerpoint slide, that was depicting the benefits of this design project, was basically just a picture of a giant facepalm. Try erasing that mental image from your mind now, eh!