It's Loud in Here

So, I came to this coffee shop, Brew House in town to check out their wi-fi and see if they had electric sockets near any tables. Wi-fi needs a password, but otherwise free and at least a few of the booths along the walls have plug access, including the table I'm sitting at.

Anyway, here I am just minding my own business, drinking a peppermint mocha and in comes some people with guitars and other electric music components. It stated out humbly enough, a couple guitar players/singers warming up quietly and softly, then they began to take turns at the microphone and more people came into the shop.

I work late during the weekdays and am completely ignorant about what happens in my town in the evenings, besides the shootings and yelling in my neighborhood, the local ghetto. There were no posters on the windows of the coffee shop and no one asked for money. So I suppose it's just a local thing where random people can come in and show off their skills. I don't even know anyone's names or if they are a group or anything at all. But they draw a crowd and I suspect this is a weekly event.

And the crowd is kind of noisy.

I didn't really expect a coffee shop to be the local hangout of kids after school or on holiday break, but I guess they have to go somewhere. There are no arcades or dance clubs around here.

The music was nice and there was even a beat box dude near the end of the "show" showing off his wub-wub effects. The guitar players were all acoustic and borderline folk singers, or maybe you could call them modern folk...I don't follow the scene so I'm pretty ignorant about such things.

I like this environment better than Bigby's. I've been there a couple of times, but it's certainly a more corporate atmosphere. Here at the Brew House I get a sense of independence, a place more welcoming of the arts.

It's just past eight thirty in the evening and there is a faint golden hue outside the large windows overlooking the highway that runs by the shop. The Brew House is only open until 9pm and people are starting to leave while a song writer from California is singing his second song. I've just emptied my second peppermint mocha.

I'll come again.

Something About Metallica's St. Anger

I try.

 I try not to beat dead horses. And it's been so long since I opened the creaky door to this room...

 But I couldn't help myself this time. And I'm a little sick. Coughing, sneezing, snotting, squinting..."sigh"...and tired.

 Anyway, there's a discussion currently running at the Metallica "anything goes" board at Metallica.com. I go there once in a while to see if there's something interesting I've missed, maybe a new song or new album info. But tonight I spotted a St. Anger discussion. I knew what to expect...most Metallica fans hate the album. And sure enough, there was plenty of hate going around (though it was oddly free of rancid mouth foaming and harsh language, maybe the moderators are out in force in that forum?), and I only intended to read the first few posts and move on like I usually do. But something about the discussion captivated me. For one thing, people keep comparing St. Anger with the Load albums. Sure, I've seen St. Anger compared to just about everything, but tonight it was mostly the Loads.

And I have to wonder...why is this a thing?

Comparing Metallica albums has to be done in "eras". For instance, the First Four can mostly be compared with each other. The band was faster, more thrashy, and darker...perhaps even more Metal with all the heavy metal trappings of the eighties. After that, of course, the band lost the fire of creation and albums became much more sparse, but also more distinct. The Black Album stands alone as the first endeavor at serious radio play. Then the Loads which were first intended to be a double album, so they sound the same, but don't really count as individual works, and they too stand alone but as very creative and adventurous projects.

 Then comes St. Anger, another unique experience in the band's short lineup of material. But St. Anger is special. It stands in a whole different light than any of the other Metallica Albums to date, or after. St. Anger is a rage album. It's aggressive as nothing Metallica or even few other metal bands have ever dared to attempt. It has a frantic intensity to it that no other Metallica album can match. It is filled with sheer, raw, bitter emotion. A child will throw a fit, a loud tantrum, if he is denied his wishes. And Metallica's band members weren't quite getting what they wanted from life at the time St. Anger was being written. And so they threw a fit. A metal temper tantrum. People don't often bring up the album that was abandoned before St. Anger was conceived. The band locked themselves away in a barrack and tried to force some creative drive. We've heard some of the riffs and song structures that came from that endeavor, and possibly some of the material was recycled into more recent work, or even slammed into something on St. Anger...we don't know the full details of the aftermath. What we do know is that the band imploded with the stress of the endeavor then promptly ejected all of their rage and frustration onto St. Anger. It's a unique album and stands on it's own, is what I'm saying. It cannot be compared to any of the other albums. It isn't the same Metallica that the fans grew up with. I get that. I respect that. But we can't compare apples to oranges, even if they grow from the same tree (and it's possible too, blended fruit trees are a real thing, look it up sometime!)

 For my part, I love classic Metallica. I've been following them since ...And Justice For All and instantly fell in love with Puppets and Lightning...Kill 'em All took some time to grow on me, it has a different production value to it and I have to be in a "classic mood" to enjoy it properly. The Black Album hasn't aged well with me and it also took some time for me to get past the fact that it wasn't another Justice album, but I still love some of the stuff on it. The Loads...oh man, talk about needing some time to get to know somebody...A country song? Are you serious? (first impressions and all that) but I really grew to love Metallica's take on bluesy riffs.

And I love St. Anger.

There, I said it. I've been a closeted St. Anger fan all these years. It's a rage album, and I sometimes need something filled to the brim with rage...something other than the weirdness that comes with old Manson or much of the Korn catalog...just pure, unadulterated rage. And that is what St. Anger is for me. I don't listen to it for the lyrical content or high production value. I prefer this album to be rough and splintered, jarring. Though I do sigh sometimes when the "kettle drums" pull me out of the experience, or when I have to change my focus to skip over "Invisible Kid". You see, Invisible Kid has no place on this album. Sure, it has a story that fits, but it takes the listener out of the rage fueled flames...it's that guy at the party that always makes you feel uncomfortable and makes you wonder if he was really invited or if he just crashed the place.

 I love St. Anger for what it is, just a rage-filled, uncompromising, rough-around-the-edges album. And it has no business being compared with other Metallica works.

A Movie Called Trespass

So, I'm a little half-way through this movie tonight and just had to pause it so I could gripe a little.

Never mind that I might be getting a little tired of seeing Mr. Cage in every other movie, or that Nichole Kidman only seems to have two facial expressions (otherwise I really don't mind them in movies to be honest).

What I want to point out is that halfway through this movie I became tired of seeing guns pointed at people's heads. When done right, a threatening move makes for some nice drama, but as with anything, too much is just too much.

This movie has already had two or three moments that could have been played out very well but were used so often they have simply become played out...and I'm only a little over half-way. How many times does Cage need to say "no" when told to open the safe, for that matter, how many times does he need to be staring at the safe when he says it? How many times does he or his wife need to be tossed to the floor? And again, how many times does a gun need to be pointed a someone's head?

Repetitive moments lose their impact very quickly in cinema.

Is the movie actually any good?

I'm not sure.

There's a bit of mystery...maybe, but beyond that the movie is just full of repetitive moments. Even that movie that only showed a guy buried in a box had more originality than this.

On the other hand, I do like the elongated art-deco lights on the wall.

Learning to Walk Tall

He was a friend
but we managed to get into some sort of
argument
I guess it was time to throw down
and swing at each other

I told him I would let him hit me first

He didn't seem sure of himself, but
he did it
Curled up those fingers
bulged out the knuckles
and let fly

My head snapped sharply
to the right

It stung

But it passed quickly

I remained standing still and
just looked at him

"Is that all you've got?"

He swung with his left
My head snapped to the side

More stinging that passed quickly

I stared at him some more

"I'll let you hit me one more time."

I'm not sure what I thought would happen
but one thing was for sure

If he hit me again, I was going to
put him in the hospital

It wasn't a boast

It just felt like a matter of fact
An inevitability

Something was happening here
and one way or another
I was never going to be the same

He looked me up
then he looked me down

His shoulders sank

He turned and walked away

Defeated

I had taken his best
he had nothing left to give

Something dangerous had
just been planted within me
and suddenly I could walk
a little taller

The Music

It was the music

It has always been the music

Pulsating within my veins
my blood
my soul

The hardest and heaviest
most energetic and intense
rhythms I could find

I didn't care about
the lyrical content
most of the time

Just needed to have the
nerves pounding

Thunder crashing in my skull

I would lie on my bed
stare at the ceiling
my eyes burning through the
roof
seeking a glimpse of
that eternal fire
the flames of passion
the molten plasma
of creation itself

And once I was
fully engulfed
I would sit up
and write

I was a teenager then
just a young, ignorant
boy

I still have the music
it's angrier and harder
than ever before
and now I have thirty-six
years of damnation
and sin
and madness
to draw upon
for inspiration

Let's rock

Riding the Orange Rocket

I don't know what
kind of car it was
I wasn't any sort of
car guy at the time
All I know is that
it was mean-looking
and orange

All American muscle

My friend and his
buddy let me
crawl into the back
and the tires
spun out at the
end of my dirt driveway

We took a couple of turns
sharply and maybe a
little too quickly
but when we got to
the long straight
back road
that led to his house
the driver
dropped that
orange beast into
ferociousness

I was pushed hard
into the seat
the engine roared
like a monster

The world passed by like a blur
and I knew for certain that we were going to smash
into a
limp-engined
soft pussy
of an oncoming
vehicle and die
in an inferno
of twisted steel
and devil's hooves

But instead we
slowed and pulled into his
driveway.

It wasn't my
first brush
with death
but it may have
been my first
brush with life

Safe in My Home

I live a fairly safe
life now
with my
children
and wife

I often feel
as though
I don't belong
but most
of the time
I like it

It's not about
being safe
It's about
setting aside
my insanity

But the joke's
on me

Everyone
in this home
is mad