chakazard

[chakazard]

When Plea says “I know you’re strong” and Departure says “I can’t remember the sound” and treatment says “not getting better, together” and rest says “let it rest and be done

[chakazard]

my love for you is like the moon; it controls the tides somehow through a mechanism i don’t entirely understand

[chakazard]

I have been a fan of Ezra Furman since Sep 5, 2019, when Bandcamp chose Twelve Nudes as its album of the day. I don't always check the album of the day but thankfully I did that day, and I knew before I listened that I needed it in my life. When I did listen, I was sold. I was done. I was changed. An absolutely perfect album start to finish. Since then I have flipped and fallen for a number of her songs, I devoured her 33 ⅓ book on Lou Reed's Transformer, and, like a lot of people, I came out of the shut down times being much more willing to be open about my own powerfully perplexing feeings about my gender and sexuality, and Ezra's music and her observations on Lou Reed from that book were absolutely a part of my journey. Although the show was delayed a few months, I was elated to have the opportunity to see her perform at the Music Hall of Williamsburg.

There was not a single second of the show where I was not either singing, dancing, crying, beaming, or flipping the bird. I think I started crying at the second word of the first song. I am not usually one for being starstruck, but I could barely believe I was in the same room as this incredible artist. She held the audience in the palm of her hand the entire show, and I am honestly not sure to what extent she realized it. An audience, by the way, that was extremely and beautifully diverse, containing various ages, races, and especially genders, all united by the heartfelt words of the star of this evening. Ezra is the perfect mix of performer and songwriter. I may have seen people who are better at one or the other, though I can't think of any at the moment, but I'm sure I've never seen anyone better at both. Her every motion on stage seemed possessed by the songs, completely driven by the music, except for some of the between song bits, where she seemed too aware and suddenly remembered, embarrassed, that she was in front of an audience. "Songs of love and war" she kept repeating, and unfortunately songs of war are just as necessary if not more than joyous songs of love at the moment, especially from a trans artist in today's culture. She was a magnetic performer, even moreso in the way that she did not seem overflowing with confidence, but she did seem invigorated by the stage and the sound and the spirit of the songs.

And what songs! I feel like Ezra Furman's songs transport me, fully immersed inside of them, as if I am living their truths. She opened with The Train Comes Through, the beautiful song that opens her newest album evoking Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen, and from there exploded into the song that first made me a fan, Evening Prayer. She cracked my heart wide open with Book Of Our Names when she sang "the names will be the real ones that are ours.". I slow danced by myself to I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend and punk danced all the gunk out of my soul to My Teeth Hurt. I reverently sang all the words to Point Me Towards the Real and felt the thrill of Can I sleep In Your Brain rolling seamlessly into Calm Down. I knew there was no better conclusion than What Can You Do But Rock n Roll. When she returned for the encore and went into Lilac and Black, I pledged myself to take up those colors and join the queer girl gang. I put the final nail in my voice's coffin with the line TO THEM WE'LL ALWAYS BE FREAKS in Suck the Blood From My Wound. Before leaving, Ezra stood in the center of the stage and affirmed that the joy and anger had become one thing, and the name for that thing is rock n roll. If there is a religion based on that statement I want to join it. And she left us with Tell 'Em All To Go To Hell. My long neglected, unrecognized queer heart was full as fuck. I was expecting an unbelievable performance and Ezra overdelivered on every mark.

Before the show, I did something I normally don't at concerts and decided to grab a drink. While there I struck up a conversation with a fellow fan who had traveled all the way from Vermont for the show. Talking to strangers generally doesn't come easy to me, but I think I kept my end of the conversation moving and even entertaining. While I was talking to Geoffrey from Vermont about secret societies and life in general, two people came up to me, fellow poets who recognized me from an open mic I'd attended a month earlier. I took this all as a sign that this evening and my life as a whole are moving in a good direction. I left the bar and went upstairs in time to catch Jeffrey Lewis, who I had actually seen and enjoyed about 15 years ago, but I hadnt spent much time revisiting. He was an excellent opener, showing boundless creativity in both songs and the biographical graphic novels of Keith Haring and Sitting Bull projected behind him.

After the show, I was elated. What a perfect performance! I decided to do something else I normally don't, and wait in line to buy merch, because Ezra had more than earned my t-shirt money. When I was a couple spots back from the front of the line, I turned around and saw that she was sitting in the corner of the room, talking to someone. I reached into my rarely reached reservoir of social courage and resolved that if she was still there after I'd made my purchase, I would go up and say hi. "excuse me, I hate to interrupt, but you are fucking amazing!" was all I could think to say. Today, I think all the things I could have said. "Twelve Nudes is a perfect album!" "Temple of Broken Dreams makes me cry every time!" "I wish I had your music in high school!" "You helped me get in touch with my gender and it's made my life so much better." I guess "fucking amazing" is a decent blanket. She told me it was a dream come true getting to perform like that. I stumbled over the phrase "best show ever" and let her return to her conversation. I floated, glowing, all the way home.

Sometimes art hangs on its own and brings meaning to a life when it is sorely needed. Sometimes a life seems indivisible from the art that flows in, out, and around it. I have been riding one of those rare waves of energy and inspiration lately. There has been an influx of creative people in my life and I feel like this just made the show so much better for me. As I said, normally I wouldn't have swapped jokes and stories with a rando from Vermont, and I would have left and hopped the next train back to suburbia rather than sticking around to meet one of my favorite singers. As it is, I had an overall incredible evening that I will remember forever. I am an Aries and this is my season. There is nothing I believe in more than the beautiful two edged sword that is rock n roll and I don't think I've ever gotten closer to experiencing the purest most powerful version of that than getting to witness Ezra Furman sing her heart out in Brooklyn until the sound covered everyone who could hear. Songs of love and war, indeed.

[chakazard]

I went to see Patti Smith for the third time, because she is far too important a part of my personal mythology not to. Patti Smith is a guide post on my journey to discover myself. She made the world safe for stubborn awkward clarinet playing poet/rock stars and I may not be in her debt but in some small way follow in these footsteps. She is someone who exudes spirituality with every syllable and then turns around, spitting, declaring that she will not sell her soul to god, furious at the presumption of Jesus that he thought he had the rights to die for her sins! Patti butterflies between genres and genders and media without affixing herself to any of them. Considering the river of influence flows both ways, she exists in the center of the Venn diagram between all my favorite flavors of poetry and rock, the two art forms which speak directly to my soul.

Patti Smith is one of the most dynamic, transcendent, and evocative performers alive, and her powers may have only grown with age. The Field Marshal still leading the charge of rock n roll against the enemies of care and creativity. She opened with Dancing Barefoot, and the sound was a spiritual experience. She commanded energy and attention from everyone in the room and fed it back to us filtered through her voice. Lenny Kaye is still standing to her left after all this time and being one of the coolest fuckers to ever touch six strings. For the first few songs, she seemed ageless and eternal, repeatedly abusing her mic stand and commanding the attention of everyone in the room, (Free Money was twice as loud and fast as the record, and while Lenny and Tony Shanhan sing more lead vocals than you might expect, her voice hasn't lost any of its strength). Patti then had to interrupt the show to change her socks because they were bunching up in her shoes and making her uncomfortable ("I'm not dancing like this because I'm intoxicated, I have a sock problem!") which probably made this the most unique show I have ever attended and I loved it. It was a very human and relatable moment and Patti even made changing her socks seem artistic. She then followed that up with a positively beautiful rendition of Because the Night that brought a tear or two to my eye.

Partway through, Patti took a break and her band ran through a medley of songs about time including an unexpected but delightful Cher cover from Shanahan before the boss came back for the last half of Time Is On My Side. Patti sounded like the oldest being on Earth for a cover of Dylan's One Too Many Mornings and then got possessed by the Spirit of Fucking Itself (which popped into Lenny for a fiery guitar solo, then returned) for an unbelievably vibrant and sexual performance of Ain't It Strange. Afterwards, a cake was presented and balloons were dropped. Let me tell you. Nothing is as blissful or addictive as batting balloons around! It doesn't matter that I'm an adult surrounded by strangers. The excitement I felt whenever a balloon came close enough to hit was such a strangely tangible expression of joy. A blistering cover of the Chamber Brothers' Time Has Come Today gave way to an impassioned rant in which Patti got so invested in screaming to encourage the crowd to DO SOMETHING and make this bullshit world a better place, weaving lines of poetry in amongst primal yells, that she missed a few cues and the segue into People Have the Power. That gave her a sin to ask penance for "for fucking up the last 14 and a half minutes… but in my defense it was 14 and a half minutes of pure unadulterous joy!" (or did she say adulterous?). Her daughter Jesse joined the band to took up residence at the piano and they gave us a rendition of Gloria to shake heaven and Earth. Jay Dee Dougherty gave us a blistering drumming performance that was just as mind-blowing as it was in 1975 and Patti left us with one of the greatest things I have ever heard a human say in person. "People! A new year is coming! Be righteous! Use your voice!

Be good! AND BE REALLY FUCKING BAD!" There's my Patti, the one who sees both sides and that neither one is correct but they are two sides of the same thing. I left amidst the sounds of popping balloons, picked up a copy of Patti's new photography book, and headed back to the train, feeling like I had no fears and no limitations, and if I could only keep this feeling then I would look back a year from now and know that 2023 was one hell of a year, for me and for humanity. I talked to my sister a couple of days later and she said she had a friend who also attended and walked away with the same feeling. It was palpable, walking away from the venue, hearing the odd stomp of a balloon being burst. All people find their best selves in different ways. Patti Smith, as a performer, a poet, a concept, and someone victorious over 76 years on Earth, helps me see mine.

[chakazard]

There are so many songs in Ezra Furman's catalog that hit exactly that spot I'm looking for in music.  The most recent one I've become entranced by is "Temple of Broken Dreams" from her newest release, All of Us Flames.

Was the human heart broken by design?  Were the shattered pieces of the ten commandments the first mosiac?  Is it ok to cut your own hair in the bathroom of a diner?  These questions and more are some of the ones asked, either directly or indirectly, and possibly even answered on the brilliant song "Temple of Broken Dreams" by Ezra Furman which has quickly found its way into a deep compartment of my (assuredly broken from the start) heart, the way her songs tend to do.  (It can share a room with "Point Me Towards the Real" and live across from "Evening Prayer" and "My Teeth Hurt" from the previous perfect album, Twelve Nudes).  

Although I don't travel much and still live 10 minutes from my childhood home, lately I find myself drawn to songs about traveling, new beginnings, liminal spaces.  The feeling of only belonging to places which are not permanent, of only embodying something when nobody is looking straight at you, of only being yourself when you are somewhere in between different incarnations of the self.  The waitress has set a table for me in one of the most comfortable settings imaginable, a diner, possibly on my home island unless she's referring to a different Southhampton.  I have rarely had my hair cut in the last twenty years, but I  often find my reflection wondering if it wouldn't look better if I did so, and I feel like I would be far more likely to spontaneously do so in a diner bathroom I've never been before than at a barber in my town.  

Like Pat the Bunny, maybe god is not the right word but I believe in you.  So substituting postcards to prayer is a beautiful concept to me, raising the life saving connections between people that are so easily put aside or forgotten in the moment to the level of the holy.

I love these songs that translate thoughts I've had but never defined into words.  A collection of the shards that I can save, indeed.  I'm starting to tear up reading the words to the second verse as I type this.  So much of life is this futile battle to defeat life itself, because there is no way to be alive without feeling deep emotional pain and separation but it is through that separation that we find truth.  Or something like that, just go listen to the song!

And in the 3rd verse, after pausing to note that I too drive a Chevy, the line that give me chills.  "Just because those dreams are shattered doesn't mean that they can't matter."  Fucking blow that up and spray paint it on every building you can find.  I love the "we're all bugs frozen in amber" too.  It’s the rare absolute statement that works.  Everyone trapped in their own moment, everyone’s internal mental clock moving at different rates while we try to compare the external that will somehow never match.  Everyone traveling towards something even if we don’t know it.  Everyone traveling away from something even if you try to stay.  Hoping eventually we can find the other ones whose energy builds ours up and gives us the strength to cut our hair in the bathroom.  Mingling our dreams with one another’s and trying to see if they mix.  And never letting go of the shattered dreams and the broken hearts. It’s not our faults, it’s how the world and our brains work.  Maybe if we hold on to them we’ll figure it out.  Maybe at least we’ll find some great songs.  Like this one.

[chakazard]

I believe in superlatives. I throw them around generously. I believe that it is your right to have many favorites and hold many bests and greatests. I am a fan, not a critic, and when I talk about art I want to shine the spotlight on what resonates with me, and downplay that which misses the mark. Maybe it's because my moods and modes of being are so malleable I need a different favorite for every possible flavor.

That being said, I can imagine very few moods in which the greatest thing in the world is not a loud, live band with a charismatic frontperson, performing to an enthusiastic audience. It's just the best. The two flavors of that are of course big stage and small stage and they both have their moments. Again, I think it's fair and in line with my philosophy to say they are both the best.

Unfortunately, I have gone through long periods of my life where I haven't gotten to enjoy this experience nearly as much as I like, due to the demands of living, the limitations of struggling with social anxiety, and now a multiyear global pandemic.

One of the great things about a rock show in a small venue is that you can usually see the transformation that occurs when a human being steps on stage and becomes a superhero. It feels like they can unintentionally become a representation of their deeper self, in the grips of the stage and the music itself! Suddenly, they are more than they were before. They can harness the energy in the room, increase it, focus it. They can use their skills to help fight sadness, loneliness, boredom, the great enemies of the human spirit. For 45 minutes they are leading you in the army of emotions against the pressures of the outside world that can not be allowed to infiltrate this unholy altar. And for someone who, again, has major problems with social anxiety and feeling like an outcast. there are few ways to break that down faster than looking around and seeing everyone around me obviously sharing the same feelings that I am.

Sometimes I struggle to leave the house. Too many anxieties. Too many things in my mind I can't control. But sometimes I can push myself enough to make it to a show and when I do, I don't think I ever regret it. Now it makes getting through the rest of the week easier, because I got those healing rhythms and got to melt into a crowd and because I remembered where I find meaning in life beyond the necessities and requirements. I find it in guitars and drums and lousy poetry and more than anything else I have tried it makes me remember that I'm alive.

[chakazard]

I saw Roger Waters for the sixth time recently, at the famed Madison Square Garden, and in my firmly held opinion, he still is the most dynamic, theatrical, thematic, and dare I say important artist in the rock n roll world.

I really think Roger Waters is one of the true artists of our times. He has arrayed a catalog of musical and visual elements that really get at all the questions of humanity from various angles. Yes, people get all up in arms about the politics. Which are, broadly, the ideas that people who think they have the right to tell people to kill other people are always wrong, if the media, government, education system or other official channels try to tell you otherwise they are fucking liars, and all people have an equal right to enjoy their lives and cultures regardless of their race, religion, gender, or the size of their bank account. To me this is no more controversial than saying "the sky is blue" or "tacos are delicious" but to each their own. But no less an important plank of his platform is the personal. Whereas large scale political posturing can fall flat, giving it a personal, emotional resonance that keeps me at least coming back.

Vastly different musical universe, but several times im the course of the night, I found myself thinking of the AJJ song People II: The Reckoning.

"I've tried to know which words to sing so many times

And I've tried to know which chords to play

And I've tried to make it rhyme

And I've tried to find the key that all good songs are in

And I've tried to find the notes to make

That great resounding din"

One part of the reason Roger Waters work endures is that he is just a fucking good songwriter. With a nod to the composing contributions of Gilmour and Wright, Waters writes songs that just sound right. He's got that great resounding din DOWN. His melodies stick in your head and his chord progressions flow effortlessly into one another. He also knows better than anyone how to sequence his albums and concerts for maximum musical and thematic effect. Remember no matter how important your point is, if you want it to be effective you've got to put in a few sing-alongs and epic solos because the point is not to sit in an arena and be sad about all the atrocicites in the world, the point is that life is worth celebrating despite and it is from that place of hope that the momentum for change begins.

Back to AJJ,

"But there's a bad man in everyone

No matter who we are"

Roger Waters has never shied away from displaying his uglier sides, even when it provides fuel for his detractors. He discusses a nervous breakdown he once had, and is still obviously haunted after all this time by the fates of his father and Syd Barrett. As he's been doing since 1979, he still dons a fascist uniform to open the second half of the show, which is simultaneously ironic posturing, self-criticism, and a sadly increasingly relevant social commentary. He is not afraid to simultaneously delve into the depths of his own psyche and the moral condition of the world we live in.

The earliest works Roger performs on this tour are the songs that comprise Side 2 of Dark Side of the Moon. This is the album where he starts examining the pressures that lead a human mind down a troubling path. Time, work, money, war, religion, death, decisions, consumerism, changing relations prominently among them. The next album, Wish You Were Here, proceeds with the same line of thought towards work and relationships in general and the music business specifically, also touching on the loss of relationships (Barrett and Gilmour) and how work can obscure the individual identity (by the way, which one's Pink?).

Animals again expands this to the whole of the capitalist society. Here, the executive who thought the band was the man is one of many Pigs, who dont need to prod much to convince Dogs to commit physical and economic violence upon the masses of Sheep. (Pat the Bunny - another totally different animal - comes to mind here "what the news calls economics/I still call it violence"). In the final classic Floyd album, The Wall, Roger confronts the Dog, Pig, and Sheep within, while examining the greater cultural and personal forces that could easily drive him to madness had he not become aware of the bigger picture.

Adding to his later work, he has a rich catalog of sounds and visions which he can plug in to a setlist and fully enhance both the spectacle and the message of his performance. He reminds us that all of our ills are connected - feeling disillusioned and alienated by our work, disconnected and projected into roles by the people in our lives, torn apart by war and division, never escaping the electronic eyes of the pigs soaring through the air, and all for the benefit of the never ending grind of the capitalist machine. Roger starts his show with a precorded message "if you are one of those "I love Pink Floyd but can't stand Roger's politics people, you would do well to fuck off to the bar now. " To me there is no difference, the man simply cannot help but inject his deep feelings, anger, grief, sadness, and yes, hope, into every song he writes. There is no Pink Floyd without Roger 's politics. So I knew I was in for a good night when this message was met by laughter and applause, and I didnt see a single person angrily storming towards the exit.

A few notes on the show itself. The show opener is a gloomy, atmospheric reworking of Comfortably Numb, which is followed by Another Brick in the Wall (parts 2 & 3). During this, I am amused to note that Roger's attempts to dance to the chorus make him look not unlike the wiggling of the inflatable Teacher who would have graced the stage for this song during a Wall performance. Roger barely played bass this time around, focusing more on the guitar and piano, but I was glad to see him strap on his usual instrument for Shine On You Crazy Diamond and Money.

I did have a good cry when, around Wish You Were Here as the Syd Barrett tributes were prevalent, the video screen read "when you lose someone you love, it serves to remind, this is not a drill. it is real life."

I expect most people reading this to know my personal history but in case you stumbled here from elsewhere, my best friend passed away at the end of last February. Not a day goes by that I don't wish she was here, and there are a lot of feelings that get conjured about how society at large failed her when I think about her story. Personal feelings can be indistinguishable from the larger ailments of a culture and here is the best way to show it.

And the show, with its somber and weighty moments, was far from all doom and gloom. There is nothing like feeling like part of a community, all singing "WE'RE JUST TWO LOST SOULS SWIMMING IN A FISH BOWL" or "SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMOND" in a celebration of our shared feelings and experiences. Many of the songs had new arrangements which I appreciated. I do wish The Bravery of Being out of Range had been a bit heavier but I 'm always happy to know I'm not the only one singing along to the solo material.

I have to imagine that this show would have been rather different if it had occurred in 2020 as intended. We may not have gotten a new song and several new arrangements. The world stage was also vastly different and I would have guessed the show would have been more involved with the US election and the dangers of a second Trump term. If that were to be the case, I think I prefer the show we got. I do appreciate Roger for and not despite of his politics, but I think his art stands strongest when it has a more personal bent. I prefer the 1980 Floyd Wall shows to Roger's (still amazing and glad I went!) solo Wall tour because the focus was much more on the story of the Pink character and how it parallels the political. This show was like getting a window into Roger's mind in the modern day, and having a looser narrative I think makes the themes of the show somehow more apparent. We have all lost people we love. We have all been afraid for ourselves or others in the face of unjust authorities. We have all been frustrated to the point of explosion, we have all sought a sympathetic ear and wished to join in a communal chorus. Laid out over the course of an evening, we can see how closely these feelings can be related, and leave filled with the hope that maybe enough people do care and the future will be better and more based in humanity than the past.

[chakazard]

“If you’re one of those. ‘I love Pink Floyd but I can’t stand Rogers politics’ people. You might do well to fuck off to the bar right now” -Roger Waters This is Not A Drill Tour

[chakazard]

Folk/punk is one of my most recent music obsessions. Someone once mentioned Ramshackle Glory on a post in the Punk Rock Therapy spacebook group (I think) and I listened to Live Through This and fell so hard in love with Pat the Bunny's songwriting. Which seems to be pretty common amongst people who bother to seek him out. I am not an emotional vampire (I think/hope) but when people put blunt strong emotions and frustration with the capitalist world order in a shaky screamy voice to a catchy melody I can feel myself growing stronger and stronger as the song goes on. This shit gives me life and I mean that only the slightest bit short of literally.

Nowadays I predominantly use the YouTube Music app to listen to stuff, and I knew I wanted to listen to something in that general aural vicinity, so I saw one of the pre-made mixed the app made based on my listening habits included Pat the Bunny, Against Me, the Mountain Goats, AJJ, and my good old friends The Weakerthans, so I figured that would be the right place. I'm driving home from picking up a takeout dinner, and the algorithm spits up something called "I'm Not 'Supposed' To Be Anything" by "She/her/hers". Not to judge books by covers, but I am Into It before I hear the first note.

Three minutes later, my love for this song is more than theoretical. Firstly, that title HITS ME in all of my guts. I dont know if I'm proud or embarassed of this, but on my first date with my now-spouse, I launched into a rant about how "supposed to" doesn't exist, which really is and has always been a core component of my life philosophy. Maybe its because my whole life it has been implied (but very rarely stated) that I am supposed to be a whole lot of things that seem about as possible to me as becoming an alien dinosaur, a flying shark, or a conservative.

A lot of my favorite songs are sad songs, but this one is maybe even better because it acknowledges the sadness as a real experience of the past, but turns it around to the defiant, uplifting, and self-realized present. Plus it's catchy as all hell and fun to sing along to.

The first verse really grabs me, kicks me in the gut, picks me back up and kisses me because I have certainly had my issues with anger. And, at the height of my angry period, someone close to me told me they couldn't even imagine me getting angry so I felt like nobody even knew me and I must not be a person. Is this too personal for a tangent in a song blog? Not for chaka. Anyway I used to break things and scare myself too. I did a shit ton of Work on Myself and now it happens much less and here's a great song to remind me of that.

One of my mottoes is "life is not one-size-fits-all." The second half of this song is a very life-affirming and self-realized celebration of that idea. We are told by capitalist culture and tradition that there are very few paths to life that are acceptable, let alone successful, and that these are further limited by the gender assigned at birth and the horrible oppression from those who dont understand this can change. I can't imagine that there are many people happy walking such a narrow and impersonal path. I too find the idea that the value of a human life is measurable repugnant, and believe that anger at the self or at others can be a self defeating patch of emotional quicksand, but anger at society can be galvanized and channelled into real change, or at least Very Cool Art.

There is such a defiant joy in the last verse when the title of the song gets dropped. Sometimes I come to joy easiest through defiance or on the other side of anger or depression, and this song captures that specific kind of joy so well. It really shows that progress is a journey. We don't just wake up our ideal selves and even less likely in our ideal cultures. But we can try to figure out who we are and get closer to that every day. Highly recommended for a listen!

[chakazard]

The enduring image we have of Lou Reed is that of the ultimate cold, cruel, New York asshole, sunglasses hiding the absence of feeling in his eyes and leather jacket approximating the skin so thick it might as well not be there. But his songs tell a tale of uncertainty, of deep emotions, of an inner identity that is constantly struggling with the outer. Sometimes fitting a bit too well, sometimes never further, and always pinging back to the other extreme when it’s afraid it’s gone too far. His songwriting has had a major effect on generations of people in similar boats, seeking themselves in the reflections of others, forcing on images that never fit quite right no matter how much they are adjusted.

First, take the songs that Nico sings on that brilliant first album. Although none were necessarily written for her, it’s hard not to imagine that Lou allowed her to sing the songs that he had written that resonated with him due to their relationship. Femme Fatale is as much about the insecurity of the fool who falls for the cold allure as it is about the woman herself. All Tomorrow’s Parties is about a costume that the poor girl wears (a clown, like the other character in Femme Fatale), in a vain attempt to stave off sorrow. And the amazing I’ll Be Your Mirror, shows two characters entwined. Nico is singing Lou’s words and displacing him as the face of his art. In this song he projects his insecurity on the other, and promises to prop her up. This is the infinite reflection of humanity. This is describing your pain as someone else’s. This is a song of self reflection wrapped up as a love song. Is it the mirror or the reflection, and which are you? It’s trying to find a way to love yourself by loving someone else more and hoping that bounces back to you like the sun light bouncing off the moon. But of course that fails as well, because that displaced care never does bounce back. And the relationship is spoiled, Lou resents Nico for taking his songs, Nico resents Lou for his jealousy, Nico leaves him for John Cale and Lou sees like he’s taken this artsy weirdo persona as far as it's going to go and pings in the opposite direction, swimming straight into the arms of sweet old hard and dirty rock and roll.

Lou Reed was a master of burying his feelings under something or someone else so he’d always have the plausible deniability necessary to remain cool. To remain outside. Just observing, man. Just telling you how fucked you are, man. Look at Heroin. Here’s the secret, which isn’t much of one if you’ve been reading. The song ain’t about drugs. That’s just a nice drone to get the receptors in your brain and skin tuned in so either you miss the point completely or you get absolutely hit over the head with it. It’s about isolation (away from the big city/where a man cannot be free), it’s about not being able to accept who you are (i wish that i was born a thousand years ago), it’s about trying to escape the disgust of being an empathic person in a world that just keeps breaking everyone but you can’t let anyone know so you dress it up in a costume just like Thursday’s girl. Just like Lou.

The brilliant device of the “Somebody Says” songs. You don’t think “Candy Says” was a vehicle for Lou Reed to explore his relationship with his own body and gender? You don’t think “Lisa Says” is another exploration of Lou’s insecurity? You don’t think “Stephanie Says” is about Lou feeling again rejected and isolated and that it is either caused by his Alaskan iciness, or results from it, or both to the point that s/he’s stuck between worlds? The song itself gets recycled from Stephanie into Caroline, with added weight and age that slow it down. But identities were meant to be recycled.

I don’t know maybe I’m projecting myself onto Lou too much here. But there’s so much in the songs it’s hard not to. Sterling Morrison couldn’t play on Pale Blue Eyes because of the overwhelming personal emotion. Even though the girl’s eyes weren’t blue. It’s another, trivial deflection that still puts the space between the truth of the situation and the art. Or maybe, i don’t know man, it just sounds better. Rock n’ roll is about sound as much as anything else. If it were just about the words we’d call it literature and then we’d all be in trouble. Imagine having to study this shit in school? What a drag.

The Lou Reed persona in the Velvet Underground ended up being just that, armor that anyone could slide into, or at least Doug Yule did when Lou pinged right out of the rock’n’roll world altogether and got a nondescript office job after leaving the band. One of my favorite stories of rock lore is Bowie going to see the Velvets and gushing over getting to meet Lou, only it’s not Lou it’s Doug. Lou just shed his skin enough intact for someone else to put it on. Because it’s the weight he just couldn’t take anymore. Any identity becomes a weight when it stops ringing true and it’s more about the expectation of the costume than it is about the person and their feelings. And when you can’t even let on that you have feelings in the first place it’s all going to be too much.

To touch on two of Lou’s descendants before I wrap it up.

Michael Stipe, intentionally or not, inherited the trick of hiding your psychological self-examination in songs that are dressed up as if they’re about someone else. Be Mine is so akin to I’ll Be Your Mirror, it’s trying to be a love song, but the narrator can’t escape their own reflection and almost every line has an I, not a you. Crush With Eyeliner uses an object of affection as an excuse to play with one’s own identity without having to admit you’re actually trying to be sincere and find yourself. You’d expect a love song to be called At Your Most Beautiful. Stipe writes At My Most Beautiful. So many examples. Seeking yourself in the light of another and never getting there because you’re not looking directly on.

Ezra Furman titles the first chapter of their book on Lou Reed’s Transformer “Fuck You Leave Me Alone Don’t Read My Book.” A similar sentiment to her song “Come Here, Get Away From Me.” They’re Lisa, craving affection but looking down on anyone who would give it to her. She’s Stephanie, losing everyone because she’s cold and distant or being cold and distant because everyone left. Ezra says “One of the things Lou Reed and I have in common is an eagerness to look to others for behavioral guidelines...You’re hiding your real self- or...don’t know if you even have a real self--so you become purely a reaction to other people.” And goes on to quote Lou “When I’m not (writing) I’m just kind of empty, I don’t have a personality of my own, I just pick up other people’s personalities.” And I felt that too.

I don’t know who I am underneath everything. Like Courtney Barnett “I take pieces of myself from everyone around me/I’m not individual enough for you.” Maybe in these songs I can find something I can hang my skin on and examine it enough until I know who’s underneath. Or maybe they’re just rock ‘n roll. I don’t know myself but I hear that can save a life. And you know it was all right.

[chakazard]

https://youtu.be/puIM6LkKLpI

I love it when a song starts from nowhere and builds up an intro which creates it's own sonic world.  Listen to this and you'll hear guitars build a backdrop that opens up.  Rock n roll is the music of frustration and desire and that first line tells the whole tale.  I WANT NOW.   I am here for the bold declaration. I want the impossible or at least improbable and I'm not going to shut up until I get it. Call and response, sing along with the chorus. It seems so perfect. I understand.  I get it.  I see the big picture, I see my humanity and all it's flaws, and I make no moral condemnation.  My eyes are open and I see no evil, baby. I get ideas that wrap around my brain and leave me stuck and I know what you're saying, I get it your point but remember what I told you? I understand ALL destructive urges (great line) and all your proclamations of doom are making me wish me ears were empty, dig? Now check me out. Combining fusion with the one I love (Garnet?) like these guitar lines bounce off each other to create new space for all these desires to live in, no matter how impossible they are.  I have big weird dreams but I see no evil.

[chakazard]

I got lost in between a memory and a dream, as Tom Petty sang in the great You Don't Know How it Feels.  Inferno, the  newest single by the Felice Brothers, makes an attempt at a crude map of that same territory. 

The human brain is a mysterious thing.  Some moments stick in there for the rest of our life, sometimes the context is utterly lost and we're left with scents and shadows.  The characters in the song are teens at a movie.  The time seems hazy.  I can't tell if this is a memory, a dream, or a retelling, and I don't think Ian's narrative voice does either.  Unimpressed by Jean Claude van Damme, they leave early and smoke a cigarette.  I can just see the parking lot of a movie theater, smoke billowing on a cloudy night as the endless what next?  rolls over our heads.  I've been drawn so deep into the song I can't guarantee I'm not in it now. 

The harmonies on the choruses are real goose prickle raisers.  If ghosts could sing.  I mean the song is absolutely beautiful.  Taken apart, the music and lyrics could each stand on their own as works of art.  Together and i am brought to tears.

When I said this was a map I wasn't lying.  The way home from inside a dream is always barred, Dark and Overgrown.  Phrases of shaky uncertainty line the lyrics (I can't make sense of this, I fail to understand).  And who's that singing?  I think it's Kurt Cobain but I can't be sure.  I'm not sure of anything my senses can't recall.  Is this what it feels like to be an adult stuck in a teenage memory?  Everything sounds foggy and sleepy, the chords and those ethereal harmonies do not exist in the waking world I am sure.

The teens become birds, swans not owls, but things are still not as they seem. Into the fire they go. Swept into some other world. Is this waking from the dream? Getting that high school ring and finding yourself in the drudgery of adulthood? The loss of the idealized young relationship? You wait for that last chorus, expecting another round of Kurt Cobain, but it could be someone else doing something else. But it never comes. Instead we hear an angelic twang as the song doesn't even fade but ends, so abruptly and seemingly prematurely, as only dreams do.

My general recommendation is to seek out anything Ian, James, or the prodigal Simone Felice have their names on, but this one is special. Go listen now and see what half remembered dreams and miscoloured memories it brings to your mind. Then go write about it. I promise I'll read it if you do.

[chakazard]

Explain the tension

The feeling that breaks

Behind my eyes

When songs and stories

Hit that searching longing

Defiance

Nowhere home

The enemies inside

Consolidate against

The invasion from without

And salute one finger

Burn all bridges

Turn self inside out

Because at least

Your fingers did the turning

Safety and wholeness

Be thrice damned

And the train

Is always just about to come

Ticket or no

You know there'll be a seat

Sing it with me now

Til nothing is separate

Except that which has been

Forgot

[chakazard]

When it is done right, there is nothing cooler than professional wrestling. When it is done right, you can see colorful characters doing battle and feel like you are part of a community. Wrestling should be for everybody, but sadly its history has not always lived up to welcoming those who are not straight men. For five hours on Saturday, April 24, in the backyard of an abandoned(?) house in Pittsburgh, in the rain, one of the coolest and most entertaining wrestling shows ever took place. MV Young presided over the proceedings of the 3rd installment of the PolyAm Cult Party.

If you have never seen MV Young, imagine the most jacked version of Billy Idol you can. He is polyamorous, pansexual, fashionable, claims to have thousands upon thousands of sexual partners, is charismatic enough that nobody doubts it, he brings a real DIY punk rock feeling into indie wrestling, and has built a brand so strong that everybody accepts “PolyAm Cult Party 3” as an excellent name for a wrestling show despite being a far cry from “the Royal Rumble” or “SuperBrawl.” MV is the Wrestler’s Lab Champion, the King of the PolyAm Cult, he straddles lines between subcultures, is always defiant to his detractors, and ready to boost his followers. He also has one of the most refreshing visions of pro wrestling and its future, and this show that he created was a resounding success.

Appropriately, the pre-show entertainment at the PolyAm Cult Party was punk band Big Baby. This show brings the energy of a backyard punk show to wrestling. The intermission was provided by drag superstar Washington Heights. These three art forms/subcultures can absolutely fit perfectly together, enhancing one another and growing the audience for each. This also serves as a perfect description for the vibe of the Party, wrestling + punk + drag = PolyAm Cult Party 3. The other crossover star in attendance was Commander Sterling (whom I am familiar with from Kate Nyx’s Generic Winter Holiday Special), who returned to the Party, bringing a sizable following of non-wrestling fans to watch them both wrestle and manage evil lawyer David Lawless, having turned full heel since the last Party when they served as the ring announcer.

Many of the wrestlers at the Party fit into the LGBTQIA spectrum, but most of them do not make it the major part of their persona, and none of them felt like they were booked for this reason, or to fill a role, or like they were chosen for any reason other than their abilities. Unlike some “specialty” shows, the wrestling was the main course at the Party, and every aspect of a good wrestling show was on display. We saw hard hitting strikes, high flying flips, heel beatdowns, babyfaces overcoming adversity, comedy, an epic Scrumble, and a few huge stars, like Lee Moriarty and Allison Katch. Wrestlers were given the freedom to fully express their personas and we saw wrestlers CPA return to an old identity to battle former WWE Superstar Colin Delaney, and Allison Katch utterly destroy the fandom’s perception of her with her new one. Wrestlers of every shape and size also featured at the Party, from the diminutive Yoya to the aptly named Big Callux. None of the matches on the show felt like foregone conclusions (except Callux’s squash of The Bird) and none of the events of the day felt forced or like an illogical swerve.

The show started in grand and appropriate fashion, with the Satanic El Presidente Pinkie Sanchez standing atop a Jeep (one of the unique elements of this literal backyard show). To the dismay of the crowd, he lost his contest to Darius Carter, an overly serious and egotistical wrestler with a phenomenal jacket who made a perfect heel for the gathered Cultists. Over the course of the day we saw the technical wizardry of Edith Surreal (whose matches have been appointment viewing for me since the last PolyAm Cult Party) as she triumphed over the similarly impressive Eel O’Neal, Shawn Phoenix using a flaming board as a weapon in the scrumble before being one of several opponents to fall to Mikey Banker, before Aspyn the Mermaid claimed the victory for her simps, and a good ol’ meaty hoss fight between Mr. Grim and Chase Holliday, a hard hitting battle between Xavier Faraday and Yoya. MV Young defended his belt against Jody the Wrestler, who won over a large part of the crowd with his fighting spirit despite facing the leader of the Cult, unforgettably incorporating a cigarette into the match en route to a successful defense. Cold blooded villain Charles Mason upset indie wrestling superstar Lee Moriarty in the pouring rain (and earned an “Eat The Rich” chant from the crowd, because the PolyAm Cult is an excellent and discerning fanbase). Molly McCoy had a standout match in the second PolyAm Cult Party in a row, falling to the terrifying badass Allison Katch, and Ziggy Haim defeated Janai Kai early in the night and came back from a beatdown on her way to winning the Ryse Wrestling Championship and the adulation of the entire crowd in the main event.

You might assume that a wrestling show being broadcast free on Twitch from a backyard during a rainstorm would not have great production standards, but GoProfessionalWrestling ran a tight ship, correcting all technical difficulties in a manner of seconds. Commentators Darnell (from Uncanny Attractions) and Scotty Sariti were a great team of personalities without detracting from the action in the ring, and Percy Davis has become one of the best commentators in indie wrestling. No ring announcer brings as much excitement as J Rose and this Party was the perfect event to showcase his passion. Even referees Nick Shin and Katy Vella were excellent and untiring for the length of the Party. The atmosphere around the ring included a firepit, several trees, and the aforementioned Jeep and all of these were used as weapons, though effectively and sparingly. None of the matches went too long and all of the wrestlers were welcome additions to the show.

In conclusion, wrestling does not need to be the same thing it has always been. It doesn’t need to play with the fans expectations. It doesn’t need to gatekeep people out of the fandom and it sure as fuck doesnt need to be uninviting to people of various genders, sexual orientations, races and religions. Wrestling is best when it gives us compelling characters that we want to see do cool shit in and around a ring, and when fans will sit for over five hours through a rainstorm I’d say the PolyAm Cult Party 3 delivered in abundance. Check out the replay on GoProfessionalWrestling’s Twitch channel and join the muthafuckin PolyAm Cult.

[chakazard]

This town eats dreams

And I've been living here for so long

I don't know if I've ever had any

This town eats dreams

Building up its appetite

In the strange transformative hour

When the sun gets stuck

On the way down

Under flourescent lights

The bitterest alchemy

Dreams shredded into pulp

And me more bitter than the next

Because I had none to start

Or else they're buried too deep

Under other people's handwriting

I don't know how I got here

I don't know if I was ever anywhere else

I thought I would be safe

I never had any dreams

None in the safe pouch of attainability

Not even in the miscolored stretch of transcendence

But that's for another time

This town eats dreams

And I thought I would be safe here

But it snuck a claw into my brain

And now I can't escape

Returning every week

Trying to rotate my eyes

So I can at least follow the sun

No chains to climb out of here

And swing like the triumphant spider

Diminished by scissor

Diluted by copies

And no map out of the frozen land

This disguise is so thin

But nobody ever sees through it

I almost want to shake them

The shape the colors the lacks thereof

Dull in the way

That only fake things are

But you never see

Even when the sun hits it

Time moves forwards

But they dont tell you it moves backwards too

They gave me a name and

They checked a few boxes

And they drew and fit me

The way they were told

But none of that was right

And none of it was me

If it had been me would I have had dreams

And would they have pulled me out

Before I got to this town?

Always intangible

Better than speaking in the wrong voice

You can hear it in the language

When you pick words for sound

More so than meaning

And they told me which way was up

And I had no reason to doubt

But now I don't trust anything

Unless I'm told to

Time moves forwards right?

And boy becomes man

But what if that boy never does

Was he even a boy at all?

Where did he end and I begin

When did I know who I am

A nice shiny star on the calendar

I can point to that date

And commemorate the turning over

Of correcting and forgiveness

It was not the fault of anyone

That I was misnamed and dreamless

Time moves backwards

I exploded into being in adolescence

And whatever existed before

Was a precursor in the wrong dimension

Shaking scrabble tiles out the sky

To spell names and nouns

Tumbling over definitions

I'd need a weapon

To collect one I could live

Proudly and shine on the wall

On the other side of the sun

Is this the reason I am a collection of enemies

My flag has a hammer a pentagram

A sickle and yes 50 stars and some odd stripes

I never denied where I was from

This is the land where anthems grow

And hands are clasped

Twelve eyes on me

And not a one gets the shape right

They squint and try and erase

The parts they see that just can't be

I wouldn't say I was hiding

It's nature's cruelest camouflage

Begging to be seen

By not known

Not even by my other sides

Keep the front to itself or pay me back

My eyes are the moon

My hands the stars

I am dirt I am sky

Do not deny me the chance to be both

My shapes are multiple

My voices malleable

This town eats dreams

And shits out screams

That possess our voices when we are alone

Sobs leaking out our eyes when we least expect

We must build ourselves up

Clasping hands

Doors and windows facing east

Asserting our existence

As parts that reflect the whole

The air we breathe in

Remains air on the inside

Connecting us to what is outside

Striking the notes in the appropriate order

And singing resounding harmonies with the past

This town eats dreams

Steals smiles

Maybe it stole mine in the present

And swam back to scoop them up

From the past

And that is why I think I never had any

The possibilities could swim

Between the ears forever

This town eats dreams

And locks us in shapes

Freezes us in cubes

Little train cars on a dead end track

But the shapes of half formed dreams

Leave an impression on us

And we can use that to ignite something

Hopefully

[chakazard]

The Nevers by Early Riser is one of those songs that gives me a real boost over my bad brain, with almost every line reinforcing this.

"I feel invincible today" is the first line, but it only really reveals its meaning in conjunction with the third, "I refuse to fall apart.". It's easy to feel good when that looking threat of collapse is absent. To know that falling is likely, but to refuse to do so is something that at one time I would have said was impossible but now know that it is the most invincible feeling of all. To take control even when you know you can't. To keep mental disasters at bay by force of will. By now we've all seen the memes about Kintsukoroi, but to use plaster rather than gold signifies that in the realms of art and emotion it is the creativity, not the monetary value (or even shininess) of the previous metal that matters most. We're art, not currency. Although the album is called currents. Everything folds in on itself yet again.

"There's no such thing as growing up, only growing.". Our society does this weird thing to certain people that has never made sense to me (not a judgment if you're one of those, just a shrug really). You know the ones who really clearly divide their lives into distinct lines. The ones who started dressing different or sleeping different when they hit some kind of milestone. The ones who one year are the loudest guy at the party and the next want the kids off their damn lawn. I feel like these people might have bought the myth of growing up and as a result are ironically stifling their future growth. They got to where they were heading and have no idea what could be next so they assume its nowhere. I don't know, maybe I made this concept up but it sounds true. I feel like people have been waiting forever for me to start dressing differently and using my legal name but I sure hope they've given up on that by now.

But of course the song turns that weird stuck ego idea in on its head too. "I won't tell you to never say never, just don't tell me that you'll never change." I said I'd never stop eating meat. I said I'd never get married. I said a lot of things and fuck a lot of them didn't stick. That's cool. That's life. I don't feel like a hypocrite because things just change naturally sometimes and the more that did, the less ok I was with using words like never and always in the future.

A weird thing I think people do is hold on to their earliest impressions of you. I think it's hard to change and even know where you are if those around you are holding on to conceptions of a long gone version of you. Especially the people who have known you as a child. They'll tell you the first words you uttered. But what were the last words you sang? Where are you now? What song is in your heart right now that you would burst into at the slightest provocation? I think that says more about who you are today than anything you did as a child. What a great concept for a lyric.

Finally and most importantly "it's ok to go out with a whimper as long as you come back in with a bang" is the best mantra I've had since Frank Turner's "we can get better because we're not dead yet". Yeah you might fall apart, you might lose touch with who you are, you might just need a break from the world. But you can turn that around when you're ready and explode into a whole new mode of being. Fuck yeah.

I discovered Early Riser when I saw them do a cover of Virtute at Rest by John K Samson on Twitter, and covering a Virtute song is maybe the easiest way for a new band to lodge themselves in my brain with a positive connotation. Then I saw their twitter icon was a cat inside a pentagram and I had that moment of anxiety. Could this band live up to their choice of perfect covers and graphics? Thankfully this album absolutely does, full of warmth and emotion and the kind of harmonies that fill the ear but are just unusual enough that you know they mean it and aren't just trying to conjure a sound. You know what I mean? Harmonies can be weird. These are the good kind. I dig 'em.