Scenes from my Real Life
Apr. 23rd, 2015 04:58 pmAs part of the research for writing October's "Halloween Rock N Roll Burlesque Show" I've been re-immersing myself in the works of Slayer, Venom, and vintage Black Sabbath. Personally I've always been more of a Big Black and Misfits kind of guy as far as getting my bombastic audio kicks go (though I really enjoy Liturgy's 'Aesthetica' of late and it served as my soundtrack to writing the first draft of the 'Guns of Innsmouth').
Still, upon the third listening of Slayer's Reign of Blood, in an attempt to tie thrash metal mayhem with potential acts of pastie jiggling for the show, I seem to have unlocked a whole store of memories from my days as a lone punk-rocker hanging with the only other kids in my school who cut class to get stoned - the metal heads.
I remember always trying to get them into the DK's 'Bedtime for Democracy' or GBH's 'City Babies Attacked by Rats' only to have my metal buddies tell me - "They got the anger right, but where's the guitar virtuosity, where's the rock star pageantry?"
Then they'd put on the 'Crooked Cross' or 'South of Heaven' before forming a pit in the parking lot of the Circle K before the school's truant officer would pull up and we'd all make a run for it (my attempts to hide from school and law enforcement authorities while being the only teenager in suburban Fort Liquor with a mohawk taught me many a lesson in the valiant art of futile rebellion).
They were good times with good people though, and as such I really hope I can capture the 'brutal' and 'epic' majesty of the music (the audio equivalent of a Frank Frazetta painting).
If not then at least I can say it's been interesting teaching my ears to bleed again.

Still, upon the third listening of Slayer's Reign of Blood, in an attempt to tie thrash metal mayhem with potential acts of pastie jiggling for the show, I seem to have unlocked a whole store of memories from my days as a lone punk-rocker hanging with the only other kids in my school who cut class to get stoned - the metal heads.
I remember always trying to get them into the DK's 'Bedtime for Democracy' or GBH's 'City Babies Attacked by Rats' only to have my metal buddies tell me - "They got the anger right, but where's the guitar virtuosity, where's the rock star pageantry?"
Then they'd put on the 'Crooked Cross' or 'South of Heaven' before forming a pit in the parking lot of the Circle K before the school's truant officer would pull up and we'd all make a run for it (my attempts to hide from school and law enforcement authorities while being the only teenager in suburban Fort Liquor with a mohawk taught me many a lesson in the valiant art of futile rebellion).
They were good times with good people though, and as such I really hope I can capture the 'brutal' and 'epic' majesty of the music (the audio equivalent of a Frank Frazetta painting).
If not then at least I can say it's been interesting teaching my ears to bleed again.
