The True Heart of Jealousy in The eye of every storm

I guess, obviously, I’m doing more music-ish things here now. Here’s a story about that.

Twelve year old Paper Cut Scenario, and his thirteen year old friend, who we will call Raymond, because that is his name, loved music. We were “grunge,” a time before “alternative” (whatever that means now), and we lived it; the best way some middle-schoolers could be “grunge.” Between the mandatory bath-times, we talked on the phone for hours about nothing at all, until the cordless batteries died, and then apologized after less than four hours of sleep at school the next day at our technological failings as a species.

My first concert: Weezer, with opening act Self. Aiken County something or another gymnasium.

Raymond’s mother dropped us off, all of twelve years old. We crowd surfed, we moshed, and we came back to school knowing we were the most bad ass people in that room. We went to a private Christian school, so it wasn’t that hard, but you get the idea. Our teachers actually told on us to our parents. Unbeknownst to them (and my mom was prom queen of the same school I graduated from, and also the current guidance counselor) our parents were kind of Rock n’ Roll Bruce-Springstein-Misfits-Bob Dylan-Joan Jett Bad-Asses.

A few months later, at the risk of suspension, we broke the rules and went to the completely secular Seven Mary Three concert. To this day, they are one of my favorite bands. The live album they acoustically released from Backbooth in Orlando (a show I was at) continues to be on of the best albums for any occasion. Once again, we moshed, we danced, we grunged, our flannel got tangled up, and then THERE WAS THIS GIRL.

Lot of needless middleschool drama later-

Raymond’s parents were much more well off than mine- his owned a local Grocery Chain called Gurley’s in Augusta. So for his fourteenth birthday, he received an American Standard Fender Stratocaster. Within days, he knew most of the Nirvana catalog, and at a time before the internet, for a novice, it was quite the accomplishment.

Me? Well I played Clarinet, Sax, Flute, ....some brass, and was learning drums in the high school band. While Raymond was still into Alternative, my darker forces drew me to Metallica, Megadeth, Iron Maiden..... THE GREATS.

You’re going to laugh, but this is so stupid:

My parents were both teachers at said Private Christian School, which we’ll call Augusta Christian, because that’s what it was. They made absolutely dick for money, because ACS was a “non-profit” to everyone but the board members.

Well I wanted to learn an instrument! And I knew a few, but I mean a FUCKING ROCK AND ROLL INSTRUMENT. I decided out of sheer will that I was going to be a drummer. I knew nothing about drums. Nothing. I knew they made sounds, and there were cymbals, and I watched Lars Ulrich video’s I happened to be able to hit record on the VHS over and over and over and over and over and over.

I came up with this system:

My mother had these pyrex bowls, an incredibly nice set I realize in retrospect, that varied in size. They were primarily used for mixing and baking. I discovered, some fucking how, that if you filled them half way with water, put seran wrap over them, poked a tiny hole in the wrap, and used the eraser side of the pencil, they created basic drum sounds. After some carefully balanced, different diametered pan lids placed carefully atop candle stands, I had made my own drumset. I’m not makin this up. I did have to imagine the “kick pedal” for the base drum, but it worked.

Throughout highschool, and the punk rock community, I met fellow musicians who had drumsets. The first time I sat behind one, it was absolutely natural. I was a drummer, and not just any drummer, a student of metal. I was an absolute natural bad-ass. Blast-beats, 1/2 times, etc, I had it down. I had my fills so tight a virgin would be impressed. This probably makes no sense to you now-

Raymond, remember him? went on to join a ska band called....get this,......The SKAdaddles. I was INSANELY jealous. I hated Ska. I had morphed into punk rock, and specifically straight edge hardcore, more edgy, harder, and abrasive, which just fits me. ....

…

......

We grew apart. I’d known him since second grade, but there he was, skankin up the nation and Mexico on tour, and i was doing nothing during my junior year summer. Oh yeah, I found Open Diary. Within a year, I was “Editors Choice,” but the gene pool was small then. It was strange, because on the internet community (which was A THING in 1998), I was more of a celebrity than The Skadaddles were. We traded jealousy in friendship, always one upping each other, and always apologizing.

Anyway. I joined the Army. I was an Atheist, so I always knew The Skadaddles were a fad, and once they grew up, they would do drugs, fuck chicks, sell out, and be exactly who they started out to be against. Turns out my patience was virtue.

This whole time, I was friends with them, and I had ACCESS to this impressive arsenal of music equipment in their band room: guitars, basses, drums, horns, keyboards.... and they let me just fuck around. And I did. I fucked around down there all the time, even when they weren’t there, because their parents were so nice.

Before I joined the Army, I had taught myself Piano, Drums, Guitar, and Bass.

================================

After the Army, I had much money, and an ex-fiance which gave me the fuck-all freedom to do what I wanted. I fell into some old school hardcore kids, and one incredibly talented jazz drummer named Chris.

We started an old-school hardcore band, in a time where “metalcore” was reaching its violent crescendo. We kept the beats punk, had sing-along choruses, and I half-screamed in a passionate way that gave us a following. We grew. Our bass player owned his own printing company, so promotional material cost us virtually nothing. Before I knew what had happened, we had T-shirts that said “Emo Kids Burn Pretty Colors,” “Avril Lavigne Is My Bitch,” and various other ones involving our song titles.

Given the current affairs of the ever expanding internet, Myspace became a huge tool for us. We booked shows, shared music, uploaded promo’s all through that stupid now defunct site. Eventually, we opened warped tour. Kinda fucking cool. A few years after that, Victory and Epitaph were knocking on our doors, throwing tons of money our way.....

My cocaine habit. Yup. Killed it.

Without a lead vocals/guitar player, our three piece became nothing. I was so fucked up. On OpenDiary, there was a period from 2005-2007 where I maybe posted two entries. I threw EVERYTHING away. Yet, I eclipsed Raymond. I surpassed my highschool jealousy. I did something MORE than he did, while he was a waiter.

It’s dumb. I know. But I was proud. Proud that I went on to learn 13 different instruments, play several national tours, open for my idols such as Hatebreed, Madball, Earth Crisis, The Misfits, Agent Orange, Rancid, and so many more. I felt some shallow victory in my music career.

Which now means absolutely nothing. I’m ten years removed from being in a hardcore band. I’ve gained 8 gabillion pounds. I play more acoustic guitar than ever and practically forgot what drop-d-tuning was with hammer-ons.

I have a REAL job now. It’s a really good one. But holy shit there is this passion in my hear that’s going to set my shirt on fire. I WANT. Oh my GOD I want to play music again. I play that acoustic guitar now until my fingers bleed from beneath the fingernails.

I want I want I want I want I want I want and in more of a way to top my friend. I’m having this existential moment where I just want my life back- pre cocaine, pre music vidoe’s, pre national tours.....just playing music with super talented dudes.

Anyway. Here’s an incredibly over-built up song I recorded drunk on whiskey and on a whim.