Author: Krista S.

Authority

Years ago, when I was an obnoxious and in-your-face teen, I attempted to write poetry. I had some of it published in my school’s literary magazine, but on later reflection, I realized it was pretty awful. Sometime in my 20’s, I purged all of it, so as not to embarrass future generations with my whiny-ass Emo drivel. However, there was one poem whose subject matter still resonates. I wrote a poem about conformity in which I questioned why we had to listen to authority.

Now, mind you, I was ALL ABOUT questioning and bucking authority. There wasn’t a rule in my school’s rule book for which I couldn’t find a work-around. In fact, by the time I left the school, they had made some adjustments to be far more specific about hair color, ear piercings, and how many buttons students could place on the school’s vaunted uniform blazers. I even had a wonderful chat one day with the school’s dean of discipline who threatened to suspend me for (queue gasp) dying my hair a lovely shade of burgundy. This all seems completely inane and trivial now as intense hair color, piercings, tattoos, etc. are pretty commonplace, but, I assure you, that was NOT the case if you lived in the burbs during the 1980s!

After School at Holy Cross High School, Delran, NJ (NOT wearing the official school blazer)

So why all the ramblings about conformity and authority now? Truthfully, the subject is rarely far from my mind. I’m always questioning, always suspicious, always cynical, especially when those with “authority” demand that I pay attention to them. 9 times out of 10, I ignore the messaging and move on with my day. But, the recent dust-up between Spotify and Neil Young intrigued me.

Now, let me state at the outset—I don’t listen to Joe Rogan’s podcast. I’m generally not a fan of podcasts or YouTube videos where people wax poetic. I’m usually bored with the presentation within thirty seconds. And those videos with slow-moving and scrolling information reveals—KILL ME NOW!! Give me a book, a journal article, even a decent website or blog over podcasts and videos any day. So, I truly don’t care what Joe Rogan has to say.

But, the minute the ban hammer, the swarming shill posts, and the calls for cancellation begin in earnest, I’m inclined to offer at least tacit support to whoever is being vilified by the “authorities,” if for nothing else to stick it to those same “authorities.” You can take the girl out of the Punk scene, but you cannot take the Punk out of the girl and all that.

As the rhetoric about Joe Rogan spreading “disinformation” and “misinformation” caught fire, my interest in the matter perked up precisely because “disinformation” and “misinformation” are such lovely, weak, weasel words. They mean whatever the “authorities” want them to mean—their flexibility undoubtedly providing so many golden opportunities for those who work in the Ministry of Truth. Orwell would be so proud!

1984 Directed by Micheal Radford

Moreover, the irony of septuagenarian Neil Young, whose music fueled the counter-culture movement of the 1960s and early 1970s, forcefully demanding that Spotify censure Rogan is beyond hilarious. What happened to “never trust anyone over thirty” and all that? I guess that lasted until those bright-eyed, rebellious youths became the “authorities.”

And when Spotify refused to comply, Young demanded all of his music be pulled from the platform. Other musicians like Joni Mitchell soon followed and “news” reports about Spotfiy’s revenue losses came thereafter. Conform or else you’re really going to be sorry! How dare you cretins go against us, the “authorities!”

This whole sorry situation quickly resembled the PMRC debacle of the late 1980s after which songs and albums were forced to carry warning labels. God forbid someone heard an f’bomb, or some saucy lyrics, or even worse, political ramblings which questioned the prevailing “authorities.” Nope, “you cannot think for yourself. We have to mold you so that when you’re older, you can think for yourself,” as the dean of discipline informed me in the infamous burgundy hair episode. Obviously, I committed that little gem to the long-term memory banks. . .

However, I shouldn’t be surprised at all of this. Not because of our currently fractured socio-political environment, but, rather, because this whole demand that we conform to “authority” is most likely as old as human civilization itself. The ruling elite tends to insist that the slovenly masses pay attention to whatever they’re saying no matter how insane, ludicrous, or injurious.

As proof, I offer a fantastic literary example courtesy of Geoffrey Chaucer’s Wife of Bath. The Wife is a bold and imposing character with her ridiculously large head covering, her scarlet-red stockings, and the knowledge that “Housbondes at chirche dore she hadde fyve / Withouten oother compaignye in youthe,”¹

But one of the more interesting things about the Wife is the argument she makes about “auctoritee” in the prologue to her tale. But first, we need a little background about The Canterbury Tales. The frame for the entire piece is that a disparate group of individuals, reflecting the various estates of medieval society, meet at the Tabard Inn in Southwark, just outside of the City of London, to journey together on a pilgrimage to the shrine of Saint Thomas Becket. The host, Harry Bailey, suggests that the pilgrims each tell tales with the winner of the best tale receiving a free meal at the inn upon the completion of the pilgrimage.

The narrator, Chaucer the pilgrim, acts like a sideline reporter, describing the pilgrims for us and letting us know how the pilgrims interact with each other. Various pilgrims try to one-up each other with their tales; they also actively squabble with each other. The Wife’s lengthy discourse about marriage in her prologue may very well have resulted from one of those squabbles although we do not have clear indication of that from the extant manuscript. What we do have is her spirited defense of her many marriages in the prologue and the fact that the Friar and the Summoner decide to voice their opinions of her prologue at its conclusion.

It’s precisely that defense which gives rise to the question of “auctoritee.” She begins by stating that “experience, though noon auctoritee / Were in this world, is right ynogh for me.”² She claims that she doesn’t need authority—experience is enough for her. But then she takes great pains, citing chapter and verse, from various “auctoritees” including Saint Paul and God himself to refute Saint Jerome’s position (in Adversus Jovinianum) that marriage is less valuable than virginity or perpetual continence. Thus, she is brilliantly able to counter the “authority” of Jerome’s claim by offering some “authorities” of her own.

What the Wife proves and what political leaders, tastemakers, and popular figures always want to forget is that there is rarely consensus on any subject no matter how “settled” that subject might appear to be. For every appeal to “authority” to justify a position, you can be certain that someone else has a completely different “authority” to back an opposing position. And, that’s precisely why we should never be afraid to start asking questions or be suspicious and cynical whenever “authority” is touted.

1. Geoffrey Chaucer. “The General Prologue,” in The Canterbury Tales, ed. F.N. Robinson (Boston, Houghton Mifflin, 1961), 21.

2. Geoffrey Chaucer. “The Wife of Bath’s Prologue,” in The Canterbury Tales, ed. F.N. Robinson ( Boston, Houghton Mifflin, 1961), 76.

February 19, 2022

authority, canterbury tales, chaucer, joe rogan, neil young, observation, spotify, wife of bath
The Brave New World of Havoc Faction
Havoc Faction is a Los Angeles based rock band whose multi-disciplinary approach encourages participants to journey into a post-apocalyptic future where the landscape has been significantly damaged and humanity genetically altered, but where the human spirit rises valiantly to fight against tyranny and injustice.

The Havoc Faction project is the creation of artist and musician, Kyle Rutchland. Beginning with the first single, “Keyboard Warriors,” back in 2016, Rutchland has been revealing his vision of a dystopian future through songs, videos, and art. It’s a dazzling take on the classic world building so beloved by science fiction and fantasy authors. Instead of relying on elaborate descriptions, maps, and illustrations to lure the participant into the worldview, we are encouraged instead to feel our way in through carefully constructed visual images, poignant lyrics, and soaring music.

A brief video on Havoc Faction’s YouTube channel provides the necessary background information we need to understand the world we are about to visit.

A more detailed comic book version is available on Havoc Faction’s Instagram page:

https://www.instagram.com/havoc_faction/

Although the dystopian backstory is interesting, it’s not what makes Havoc Faction so unique. Ever since the late nineteenth century beginning with the works of Jules Verne, the genres of science fiction and fantasy have exploded exponentially. In fact, a prominent Tolkien scholar, Tom Shippey, once claimed that “the dominant literary mode of the twentieth century has been the fantastic.”¹ And when one views the enormous output in novels, short stories, comics, films, and video games that are based in science fiction or fantasy, the obviousness of Shippey’s claim becomes ever more apparent.

In this regard, crafting a dystopian world is fairly common, but crafting that dystopian world as the backstory for a rock band is what makes Havoc Faction so intriguing. While rock musicians have long produced unique concept albums like Pink Floyd’s The Wall or molded themselves into specific sub-genres necessitating elaborate album art, specific instrumentation, or defined lyrics to conform to the genre, Havoc Faction, instead, uses its self-created backstory as the wellspring for its musical expression.

With Havoc Faction, each song, unveils more of the story. Thus far, we have 8 original lyrical songs, 1 collaborative piece with Whyel (“Dead to Me”), 1 cover of a Thrice song (“Firebreather”), 4 instrumentals, and 2 alternative presentations of songs, 1 a remix by The Anix. Beginning with “Keyboard Warriors,” through to the current, “Crossfire,” we’re led into the world that Backdraft, the story’s protagonist/singer inhabits.

It’s a harsh world, filled with sorrow—the world fashioned by psychopaths intent on a utopian society benefitting the few at the total expense of the many. Backdraft courses through the landscape singing about what he sees around him. Sometimes his anger is palpable; sometimes it’s his sorrow, but he’s always singing with fervor. As listeners, we’re carried along on the wave of his emotion. We’re furious with him as he questions the inhumanity of what led to the creation of Unity City and the desolate wasteland which surrounds it; we’re the ones he rallies to fight injustice; and we’re introspective with him as he ponders the meaning of it all.

Havoc Faction accomplishes this by varying the musical approach. Elements of punk, synthwave, thrash, metal, industrial, pop, and rock are all employed to make us feel what Backdraft is feeling. Rutchland’s vocals range from soft melancholy mourns to aggressive growls and convey so much passion and intensity that when matched with the always interesting musical changes, we’re left dazzled and wanting more. Fortunately, Havoc Faction delivers by offering multiple presentations of its material.

Case in point is the most recent single, “Crossfire.” It has three variations—the original song, the remix by The Anix, and a piano version without vocals. Moreover, it has 3 different video versions—1 official video and 2 animated visuals.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/7TZbO5Tn7LY

https://www.youtube.com/embed/hw2Q6Y2qtGo

https://www.youtube.com/embed/GY5NDMpXS98

Precisely because Havoc Faction offers us multiple ways of looking at the world they’ve built, we’re also encouraged to view their song lyrics from multiple perspectives. Obviously, the first level is that of Backdraft’s narrative. Each song he sings is a first-person account of what he is experiencing. Sometimes questioning, often accusatory, Backdraft actively rails against the society that has failed him and itself.

No mere disgruntled youth, Backdraft truly wants some explanation for why his world is so fractured and flawed. “Why can’t you just see that /You’re the disease” he sings in “Keyboard Warriors,” damning those whose parasitical actions created the nightmare world in which he lives. Moreover, in “Homewrecked,” he tells us that “No matter how loud we scream/ They won’t see things the way we do / They’re stuck in the past and their old ways of life,” expressing his frustration with their inability to see how their actions have brought about such misery.

In this, Backdraft’s pleadings call to mind the notion of generational sin as evidenced in the Old Testament. Backdraft and his brethren have truly inherited the fruits of the “sins of their fathers”—a vast, polluted, barren wasteland, the classic post-apocalyptic landscape of characters like Mad Max. This is also Eliot’s wasteland:

“What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water.”²

It’s the place Arthur’s knights discover in their quest for the Holy Grail. But, unlike the Grail knights, Backdraft’s quest isn’t leading to the Holy Grail and the crucial question which will help Anfortas heal himself and the wasteland. Like Eliot’s wasteland, the Fisher King remains unhealed, and the land decimated. Instead, Backdraft and his companions will forge a new path by delivering vigilante justice. In this, his narrative evokes the great historical novels of the French Revolution by Dickens and Hugo. As such Backdraft is both the protagonist and the chronicler of the struggle against the forces which created the wasteland.

Beyond the literary allusions, Havoc Faction’s music also speaks to this now moment. The world of Havoc Faction contains a deadly pathogen, bioengineering, a ruined environment, corporate greed, and the utter hubris of individuals who believe they have the right to make the big decisions for all of humanity. No matter where one falls on the political spectrum, it’s difficult not to see reflections of Havoc Faction’s world all around us. It’s also not difficult to see the anguish of younger people toward their ancestors at being left with such devastation as Backdraft painfully reminds us when he sings, “when will you see/when will you see that we’re caught in your crossfire?”

For those of us who have already guided children to adulthood or are in the process of doing so, we need to take a long, hard look at what our actions (or lack thereof) have done and are doing to those who will follow us. Have we given them nothing more than a barren wasteland with no promise of restoration, or have we given them the tools they need to thrive, survive, and create something new and beautiful out of the wreckage?

Backdraft is still traveling through the wasteland and chronicling his thoughts in song. We don’t know how his story will end, just as we have no idea how our stories will end, but we owe it to Backdraft and his many companions to say mea culpa, mea maxima culpa and try to leave them with even a little bit of something that they can use to heal the wasteland and secure their future.
1. Tom Shippey. J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2000).
2. T. S. Eliot. “The Wasteland.” Poetry Foundation. January 29, 2022, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47311/the-waste-land .
January 27, 2022

Analysis, dystopian, havoc faction, Holy Grail, music, music analysis, post-apocalyptic, T. S. Eliot, wasteland
Choice Point

In Robert Frost’s seminal poem, “The Road Not Taken,” we are treated to a beautiful lesson about choice points. By using the metaphor of a fork in the road, Frost invites us to see ourselves as travelers journeying along a road. When we come upon an intersection, we must decide which path suits us better. In other words, we must make a choice.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44272/the-road-not-taken

Life is filled with choices. Every single moment of every day presents us with a unique opportunity to make a choice, to declare our intent, to assert our identity. In the 1989 film, The Dead Poets Society, Robin Williams’ character, Mr. Keating, delivers a masterclass in choice. Although he is actively teaching about conformity when he instructs the students to march in cadence around the courtyard before encouraging them to find their own walk, in reality, he is encouraging them to understand that they always have choices. Only one student, Charlie Dalton, recognizes this and decides not to participate, choosing instead to lean against the column. When questioned by Keating, he states, that he is “exercising his right not to walk.”

How often do we find ourselves in situations like this? Presented with a seemingly finite set of choice points—walk in cadence or walk your own way? What about the other choice points?

The last two years have brought startling clarity to this understanding. The entire population is being encouraged to make significant choices. From the moment, word spread about a pathogen, we started to see a series of choice points emerge about masks, lockdowns, treatments, and so much more. These choices go far beyond the simplistic presentation offered by media types. It’s not really a question of one’s political or religious beliefs, or whether one trusts an “authority” or not. There’s a sense that something much larger is at stake.

But, instead of maybe delving into what that larger issue could be, we’ve all been encouraged to solidify our choice points into designated divisions. Fraternization is increasingly discouraged. Those people over there are anathema sit. Stay away! Beware! Few wonder why such atomization is encouraged and who benefits from such. Keep in your little quadrants and pigeonhole yourselves into nice, neat little boxes, and no matter what you do, “pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.”

But is that the only option? To pick a side, adorn it with fast, easy slogans or catchy memes and that’s that. That path “forever will it dominate your destiny,” as Yoda says. Maybe. Some choices do seem to have a finality to them. Choosing a path which leads to the direct death of the physical body is pretty absolute.

But, short of that, every choice leads to another choice which leads to another choice and the truth is that despite slick marketing, endless propaganda, peer pressure, preconceived notions, and collective beliefs, every single moment of every single day, we are faced with so many choice points. We get to decide.

We can eat an entire bag of potato chips, drink ourselves into oblivion, or binge watch a series. We can run a marathon, write a poem, or sing in the shower. We can pick fights, connive and cajole, or devastate and destroy. We can smile, laugh, love, share, respect, and spread joy. Endless choices. Endless opportunities. No matter what happens, remember that you always, always have a choice.

January 15, 2022

choice, choice point, dead poets society, observation, road not taken, robert frost, wizard of oz
Patron

In the Spring of 1983, during the tail end of my freshmen year in high school, I met a character whose mantra, “life is a banquet and most poor sons-of-bitches are starving to death,” deeply embedded itself in my psyche. That character, Mame Dennis or Auntie Mame, is the star of a book, stage play, stage musical, movie, and musical movie. Famous actresses such as Rosalind Russell, Lucille Ball, and Angela Lansbury have all portrayed the character and a children’s book, Auntie Claus, pays homage to her as well.

Mame is larger than life—at turns flamboyant, charming, irrepressible, and outrageous. Her elegantly decorated New York City home, her unending support of artists and intellectuals, and her dedication to broadening the mind of her nephew, Patrick fascinated me as soon as I discovered her.

During my freshman year, I joined the school’s stage crew team. Like many high schools around the country, my school put on a few productions a year, one of which was a musical. Not only did my fellow students act in the production, we also provided the musicians (as a side note, one of my classmates, who played in both the school’s band and orchestra became an Oscar-winning film composer) and built the sets. It was during those Friday night and Saturday morning set-building sessions that I first learned about Auntie Mame.

Throughout the musical, Mame’s luxury apartment goes through several different phases and we needed to convey that by building and painting various sets, screens, and flats. The sets were attractive—we painted faux marble on the steps we’d built and created art pieces to mirror the décor in Mame’s apartment. But, it was during rehearsals that I really fell in love with the character. Our director had chosen an elegant, tall girl with bobbed dark hair to portray Mame. In retrospect, she was perfect because every eye was drawn to her, sucking all of us in to the spell Mame weaves on the audience.

Since then, I’ve seen a touring production of Mame, watched the film versions many times over, read the book, and even produced an academic paper and presentation about all of the various iterations of the character for a class on American theater. To say that I love the character would be an understatement. I’ve always joked to my daughter that when I got older, I would enter my Auntie Mame period.

Well that time has come. I’m definitely older (hah, where the hell did all those years go?) and I’m so ready to become my best version of Auntie Mame. I’m not inclined to dress flamboyantly and I’m far too clumsy to be elegant, but there is one aspect of Auntie Mame’s character I can heartily embrace—patronage. Although I’m not exactly buying the most cutting edge pieces of art to furnish my home nor sending money to experimental schools in the Village, I am stepping into the patronage role by supporting that which nourishes my soul—music.

Let me clarify something from the outset—I’ve always supported musicians. Buying vinyl, cassettes, CDs, digital copies, merch, and attending concerts has always been my thing. But, like most people, I’m pretty clueless about how the music industry actually works. I can only surmise from my time spent working in publishing, that contracts and royalties are rarely in favor of the artist. And, unlike book publishing, the costs are definitely a whole lot higher.

Over the past year, as I discovered a lot of great young bands, it dawned on me that these bands could really use some support. It’s really far too easy to just stream a song, add it to a playlist, and go about your day. If one subscribes to any of the streaming platforms, there’s an underlying assumption that the artist is being properly compensated for their work, so it’s okay just to listen without actually paying.

The falsity of this premise became clear to me over the summer when I was participating in one of Vertical Horizon’s Thursday Night Therapy streaming events and Matt Scannell casually mentioned how pitiful the streaming royalty percentages were. I took immediate notice. That offhand remark really made me think about how careless and casual we are about the fruits of someone else’s labor.

We seem to assume that because something entertains us, we’re not only entitled to be entertained, but that we really shouldn’t have to pay for it either. So much of that stems from both radio and television which seemingly presented things to us for free, while, in fact, advertisers paid the bills. We’ve also been fooled into thinking that all musicians become multimillionaires—from Elvis to the Beatles to the Stones to U2, the list of musicians who cash the big paychecks seems endless. And, sure while there are a LOT of very successful musicians, there are undoubtedly a far greater number who never even sniff at that kind of success.

And, it’s precisely to those musicians that I wish to offer my patronage. I don’t have some vast fund or portfolio to draw from, but whatever disposable income I have is primarily headed to any new, young, independent, or non-mainstream band which strikes my fancy. To that end, I subscribe to ALL of the major streaming platforms. I buy digital downloads from Bandcamp whenever available because they pay more out to the artists than Apple does. I buy physical copies and other merch, and I make sure to follow bands, like, love, and download songs, and create playlists featuring those songs. Seeing how many bands took photos of their Spotify streaming numbers and posted them on Instagram at the tail end of last year tells me exactly how important those likes, follows, downloads, and adds really are.

So until I have grandbabies to spoil (and even after) I plan to keep on supporting musicians so that they can continue to make the music which nourishes my soul. It’s the very least I can do. . .

Some Recent Purchases

Bandcamp Collection

More Bandcamp

January 8, 2022

Auntie Mame, bandcamp, Mame, Matt Scannell, music, musicians, patron, patronage, Support musicians, Thursday Night Therapy, Vertical Horizon
Comfort Zone

Netflix binges, must-have foods, favorite vacation spots, annual traditions, re-reading a beloved series for the billionth time—all of these are familiar and comforting. They’re go-to zones in times of both happiness and distress—places to which we return without thought or question so much that they can become stagnating or limiting to the point where we need a kick to the system or a fresh perspective.

This past fall, I got a much needed jolt to my musical comfort zone. If you were to look at my entire music collection, you’d see a heavy punk/new wave/alternative presence. That is my comfort zone. It’s the place where I find myself day in and day out. Feeling gloomy? Bring on The Cure or The Twilight Sad. Pissed off? Never Mind the Bollocks, It’s the Sex Pistols is the gold standard. And then, there’s Depeche Mode. Just because.

For me to venture out of the cushy, velvet-lined music box I’ve happily placed myself in for 40 plus years takes a lot. I’m kind of like those Eastern European vampires in the Twilight Series—you know the ones who said they’d become like stone, just sitting there doing nothing for millennia? It’s simply too easy to keep adding more rooms to the box, especially since there’s been a renewed interest in new wave and dark wave. Lots of great new bands are working in those genres; my playlists are overflowing these days.

So what was the catalyst which caused me to look farther afield? Ironically, it emerged out of one my other passions—literature. My academic degrees are in English literature, specifically British literature, and more precisely medieval literature. As part of my studies, I took several courses in Anglo-Saxon literature where I learned Old English and translated texts into modern English. To modern English speakers, Old English is essentially a foreign language. And, it is definitely not the language of Shakespeare, so please get that notion right out of your head!

In mid-October, I was scrolling Instagram and I came upon a sponsored ad for a band called Eallic. On that particular day, I had seen a number of bands’ ads crop up and I decided to give each one a listen. I figured that since these bands had spent precious resources buying ads to gain new listeners, the least I could do was give them a few seconds of my time. But, it wasn’t the music which caught my attention with Eallic, it was the name of the band. I got all excited because I knew that the band’s name came from Old English. Eallīc (alternative spelling: allīc) means “all-like” or universal. Knowing that the majority of the texts we have in Old English were a) produced or kept by Christian monks and that b) those texts are primarily either legal or ecclesiastical, I reasoned that the term was most likely used to translate the Greek word ΚαθολιΚός (katholikos “universal”) into Old English.

I immediately ran over to Spotify, Bandcamp, and Apple Music and started listening and downloading. The music was way out of my comfort zone. And I mean way out. Eallic’s music is categorized as metal with some songs specifically defined as death metal. Although I actually appreciate a good bit of heavy and edgy music, I can’t say I’ve ever been a fan of metal and all of its various subgenres. Part of that comes from silly old punk versus metal feuds from back in the day ( slam dancing versus moshing, anyone?) and part of it just comes from my preference for melancholy, melodic English music—songs which are more obviously “poetic.” Picture a black-shroud wearing EMO chick and you’ve probably got a good idea of me (LOL).

But, on that warmish October day, I decided to take myself right out of those cozy musical pajamas I’d been happily lounging in and open myself to new musical experiences. I also messaged Eallic on Instagram and began a dialogue with the band’s principal songwriter, Shawn Maddy. Shawn patiently answered my questions and kindly pointed me toward some other metal and death metal bands that I could explore to get a better feeling for the genre. I also searched metal and death metal on the internet and gave myself a crash course in the wide world of extreme music.

The breadth and scope of what constitutes metal is so vast, I’m still struggling to conceptualize it. What I have learned is that metal and the fans who love it fall far short of any preconceived notions or stereotypes the rest of us living in non-metal land may have developed over the years, thanks in no small part to media hype and the antics of artists like Ozzy Osbourne back in the 1970s. Add to that some tele-preacher’s admonitions about the link between metal and satanic worship and it’s fairly easy to develop a skewed view. But the truth is that extreme music encompasses a variety of sounds and themes. Some of it is hard and angry; some of it is poignant and melodic; some of it is campy, and some of it is thoughtful and literary.

It’s that last category which, of course, fascinates me and with Eallic’s music in particular. What I soon discovered is that Eallic’s ties to Old English go beyond using an OE word as a cool band name. In fact, their music has a few things in common with the world of the Anglo-Saxons. Three of the elements found in Old English literature: alliteration, hero tales, and a brooding melancholy are all present in Eallic’s music. This is not obvious, however, just by listening to the music. The intricate, and often sweeping, rapid guitar work and growling vocals don’t immediately clue the listener in.

For that one must turn to the lyrics, read the explanatory blurb about their album, Rake of the Astral Leviathan on Bandcamp, and look at the accompanying artwork. All of it taken together recall the gloomy world of Hrothgar’s hall where thanes are mysteriously being abducted ( and later consumed) by an awful monster or the decaying splendor an unnamed poet highlights in “The Ruin.”

The Ruin

Although, Eallic’s Bandcamp blurb appears to be more directly linked to the world of H.P. Lovecraft than to the Anglo-Saxons, I would argue that the Lovecraftian world itself descends from the old heroic tales of the Anglo-Saxons and their counterparts in Scandinavia and continental Europe. Monster stories abound in mythology and literature and if we’re honest, we all admit to enjoying a good scare from time to time, especially within the safety of home and hearth.

“Deep in the celestial black slumbers a fetid form as old as time itself. The ancient star-born one devours planet after planet driven by survival; living to feed. After leaving a world obliterated in ruin, the bloody behemoth excretes countless eggs. The progeny are discharged through space as pathfinders to new worlds. When disturbed by life, the seed erupt in a devastating blast signaling their maker to the feast that awaits. In the aftermath of the blast, a portal appears in the ether above that allows the astral leviathan to descend upon his bounty. The cycle repeats; the demon survives.

In the belly of a mining facility, an ovum of the cosmic monolith has laid unnoticed and undisturbed for centuries. Earth will soon host a most unwanted guest. Krjjl awaits. . .” (https://eallic.bandcamp.com/album/rake-of-the-astral-leviathan)

Listening to Eallic and other metal bands like those found on labels such as Life After Death or Metal Blade Records can transport the listener back to an earlier time in human history—a time when small groups of people gathered together to learn the history of their people, to marvel at the feats of heroes, to cower in fear at the thought of monsters and demons, and ultimately to be grateful for the warmth of a communal fire and the company of fellow kinsmen.

While I still can’t declare myself a metal fan, I have discovered that I enjoy a lot more of the music than I ever thought I would. Taking the time to pull myself out of my comfort zone has afforded me the opportunity to learn about and to appreciate more than just my usual fare. Without pausing to stop at that Instagram ad, or without striking up a conversation with Shawn, I would have never run across bands like Whitechapel or Katatonia, both of whom have music that I’ve come to love. And I would never have had the pleasure of finding the alliteration in Eallic’s lyrics or enjoying the amazing guitar work on Rake of the Astral Leviathan. I am so glad that I got out of that plushy chair and forced my ass to move out of my music box. And I’m so very grateful to Shawn for taking the time to educate me.

January 6, 2022

Anglo-Saxon, beowulf, comfort zone, death metal, Eallic, literature, metal, music, old english, rake of the astral leviathan, the ruin
Beautiful Sadness: The Broken View’s On the Mend

On the Mend is the debut album by independent rockers, The Broken View. It’s poignant, painful, and powerful–a tone poem about love and loss. After years of angry, ornery, decadent, and political rock tunes, an eleven song exploration on the exquisite passion and sadness inherent in love is refreshing. It’s also brutally honest, illustrating anger and frustration as much as desire and warmth.

From the opening “Reverie” to the closing, “Leave Love Out of It,” we witness the anguish of love peeled back and exposed like an onion. In fact, if we play the album straight through and allow it to roll back to the beginning, we realize that the anguish loops back on itself. It begins as it ends–in tears.

In this, taken together, the songs in On the Mend call to mind one of the world’s greatest tragic love stories, Tristan and Iseult. Tristan and Iseult’s forbidden love ignites quickly, causes great strife, and ends in the deaths of both lovers. Although nothing quite that dramatic is present in On the Mend, it’s the intensity of the feelings in each song and the inevitability of the ending which reflects the medieval legend.

Ten out of the songs have a solo male narrator who speaks/sings about and to an unknown female counterpart. At times, the narrator is harsh and unforgiving; at others, he is sorrowful and pleading. He alternates between blaming himself and his lover for their failed love affair. The eleventh song, “Stay,” is a duet between the male and female lovers. Introducing the lilting, soft voice of the female singer forces us to remember that in every relationship, both parties are equally responsible for its success or failure.

Although the album overall is masterful and deserves to be heard in its entirety, the title song, “On the Mend” is a definite stand-out. Positioned as the second song on the album, it carries some of the finest lyrics in the entire album–“before I write myself into final decimation /I’ll retrace this life under sober empty skies.” Those stirring lines deliver both a promise and a declaration to keep going, keep living, and keep loving until the very end.

Schadenfreude is the German expression which explains the joy we often experience in the midst of sorrow. It’s not a term of self-satisfied gloating at the misfortune of others. Rather, it recognizes that there can be a transcendent and beautiful expression of contentment and happiness from partaking in and witnessing that which is melancholic or sorrowful. When we read a story, watch a film, or hear a piece of music which moves us to tears, and yet. leaves us satisfied at the conclusion, we are experiencing schadenfreude.

It’s precisely that quality which appears to be the hallmark of this elegantly constructed album. Singer Austin Kranick’s aspirated vocals highlight the intense, often mercurial and conflicted, feelings of young love. Combined with dreamy synth effects, sharp, punctuated rhythms, and soaring guitars, we ride the wave of passion in each song, forcing us to live vicariously through the mind of the narrator as his bruised heart bleeds out in every note he sings. By the time, we reach the closing song and we’re exhorted to “leave love out of it” repeatedly, we’ve bled along with the narrator and we are content in knowing that “love is not enough sometimes/to right another wrong.”

https://open.spotify.com/album/0qASR2PsoD85s3rfXSm8Qg?si=dlrQ9ZbqTUmMSaUm5wo2ww

December 31, 2021

album review, music review, on the mend, the broken view
Eventide’s “The City is Dead”

Interpretation of any artistic medium is largely subjective. What makes one person love a song or fires the imagination of another is highly individualistic and dependent upon a complex system of personal and cultural cues. As such, consensus on something like song meaning is impossible. While those of a critical bent tend to focus upon certain key features or aspects and ignore others, in truth, most of the time, those features are the product of a shared cultural milieu even if both critic and artist are blithely unaware of such. Thus, every time, every time an artist creates and every time a patron experiences, they are participating in a larger shared collective human experience. Jung referred to this as the collective unconscious. Those of a more esoteric bent might call it the ether, but the fact remains, that no human creative product is an island unto itself. Each artistic creation is related to and a part of every single creative endeavor that has ever existed even if an artist is unaware of such.

Eventide’s “The City is Dead” effectively demonstrates that a simple song can have a rich complexity of meaning. In fact, this song beautifully exemplifies Hemingway’s Iceberg technique. Like an iceberg, the words which compose the lyrics are only the visible part of what the song contains—the rest lies beneath the surface. In this short analysis, I propose that we can see at least three distinct levels in the song: 1) an exchange or a relationship between two individuals 2) a discourse on the need for belief and 3) an exploration of the Wasteland as depicted in the Grail legend. Of these, the third will be the primary focus of this analysis.

            However, it is necessary to explore the other levels to demonstrate exactly how rich this song is. The words, “eyes,” “knees,” “tears,” “blood,” “hand,” and “face” are all descriptions we use to speak about human beings. Then when we add in direct commands like “turn around and go the other way,” and “get down on your knees,” along with the use of the second person pronoun, “you” we see that one person, a speaker is talking/singing to at least one other person, either directly or as a form of lamentation. Moreover, the suggestion of the “pain we hold inside” indicates that the conversation between the parties is deeply emotional. When we add to that, “touch my hand upon your face,” we get the sense of a deep and intimate relationship between two people. But, since there are also words suggestive of conflict like “blackened,” “cold,” “dead,” and “rain like blood mixed with fire,” we also sense that there is an impasse between those people. When we then combine that with those direct commands like “get down on your knees,” we can conclude that the speaker is trying to convince the other party of something, to come to her/his point of view.

            This then leads us to the second level we see, that of a discourse on belief and this widens the focus beyond two people to include all of us who are hearing the speaker sing. Throughout the song, the speaker is commanding or pleading that we “gotta believe in something” and that we need to “get down on our[sic] knees.” This implies that we who are listening are lacking in belief, specifically supernatural belief. This is further clarified by the phrase, “because the city is dead, the city is dead, it’s fallen,” conjuring images of death, decay, and destruction, a dystopian, unviable construct. While acknowledging that the city “was prettier then, prettier then while alive,” it is obvious that that state no longer exists. It is barren and devoid of life, a bleak nihilistic expanse. All the prettiness once afforded us by the technological wonders that define a city are now “blackened haze.” Our reliance on “prettiness” has fallen short and we have no justification or explanation for the decay. The “science” is“further away now” and no longer offers any kind of assurance, the “closer we[sic] get” to death. As such, the speaker/singer implores us to “believe.”

            Questions of civilizational decay and the need for belief present in the second level of analysis cause us to reflect on one of the most significant literary tropes in western literature and mythology, that of the Wasteland. The Wasteland is a key component of the Grail legend as depicted in medieval romance. Whether we view Wolfram’s Parzival, or Chrétien’s Perceval, we are presented with images of a barren desolate landscape when questing knights from Arthur’s court come upon the Fisher King’s realm. Moreover, we soon discover that the state of the land is directly tied to the condition of its king whose unhealed wound in the thigh, or groin is the reason that the land is infertile and unproductive. Only after the noble quester asks the correct question of the wounded king, “what is the grail and whom does it serve” is the Fisher King healed and the land restored.

            T.S. Eliot, in his seminal work, “The Wasteland” uses the wasteland motif of the Grail legends as a commentary on modern society. In the first part, “The Burial of the Dead” he writes:

              Unreal City,

Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,

A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,

I had not thought death had undone so many,

Sighs, short, and infrequent were exhaled,

And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.

Eventide’s lyrics “Sunrise, blackened haze, stop the train cold in its place “and, “because the city is dead, the city is dead, it’s fallen” are conveying much the same feeling as we see in the above passage. In fact, Eliot’s notion that modern society is the Wasteland has become the central reference point for countless dystopian songs, music videos, films, and works of art. As such, finding evidence of this in a current song should not surprise anyone, but what Eventide adds to this tradition is far more than a mere recognition of the link between society and the Wasteland. Precisely because we are encouraged to “believe in something” throughout the song, we are brought back to the reason Arthur’s questing knights set forth in search of the Holy Grail—like Gawain, Perceval, and Galahad, we need to seek something outside of ourselves, something numinous, or otherworldly. And even though the song ends with an acknowledgment that “the world’s in a state of divide,” the driving message of belief affords us a way out of the Wasteland, we too can become the seeker who finally asks the correct question so that the land is restored once more.

December 31, 2021

eventide, eventideband, literary critcism, music analysis, music review, post-apocalyptic, thecityisdead, wasteland
Gratitude

It’s Thanksgiving Day 2021, and I’m doing something different for change. Instead of killing myself in the kitchen, trying to impress my husband with culinary delights, I’m taking a break pre-feast to blog about gratitude.

Of course, I’m grateful for all the things everyone always talks about, but I have no desire to write about those. Instead, I wanted to give my heartfelt thanks to all the musicians whose work has inspired me over the past 40+ years. Truthfully, I cannot remember a time when music wasn’t integral to my life, from listening to Philadelphia’s classical radio station, WFLN, at my grandparents’ house to playing my mom’s Beatles and Credence Clearwater Revival 45’s on my GE Show and Tell viewer, to getting my first little stereo and Elton John’s Greatest Hits compilation album for my 7th birthday, to calling & pestering Philly’s top 40 station to play Kiss’ “Beth” in 1976, to obsessively watching MTV in the early 1980s, and to fangirling for Duran Duran before moving on to be an arrogantly morbid goth chick, music has been the soundtrack to my life’s story.

April 1990, Hanging out backstage with local NJ band, Gladhouse at Philly’s JC Dobbs

If I’m being honest, I don’t think I ever really expressed just how grateful I am for the gift of music. I’ve taken it for granted and that ends now. Like most people, I never really considered how much practice, drive, and determination it takes to make songs or perform live. I’ve never thought about how often musicians were apart from their family and friends just so that fans like me could see them perform live. I’ve never considered all the stresses of the music industry. It’s all been a huge blur, hidden by the perfection of each recorded song or the intensity of each live performance.

So to all of the musicians who’ve shared their passion with the world, thank you!!

I crafted a 3 hour playlist of songs which have touched my soul in some way. From young bands like New York’s The Broken View, to favorites like Depeche Mode and the Twilight Sad, this collection represents just a fraction of the many bands and thousands of songs for which I am truly grateful. So, maybe, today, while you’re giving thanks for all of your many blessings, spare a moment to thank all those musicians who have touched your soul too.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6celsXSzw8PN0Ue4a43Bj1?si=sXAcieeKT56top1LmIcTAw

November 25, 2021

grateful, music, musicians, playlist, thanksgiving
To the Batcave

As the spookiest time of the year draws near, my mind naturally turns to all things gothic. Books, music, the way the Spanish moss drips from the live oak trees, the deep russet sunsets fading to darkness as the days grow shorter, all combine to paint a vivid portrait of the world that lies just beyond the veil.

To see me now as an unremarkable 50-something who spends a lot of time being a beach bum, you might never believe that I consider myself a goth. Unless, of course, you glanced at my music collection, then, perhaps, you might believe me.

In retrospect, I can see how I gravitated to the original goth movement. As a nerdy pre-teen, I read the great gothic classics, Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights several times before moving on to Dracula. My parents and I had watched the 1979 film version of Dracula together and something in it really stuck with me. Of course, the film and the book also equally frightened me, and I can remember sleeping with my rosary beads, just in case a vampire might find his way past the air conditioner which occupied the window of my Philly rowhome.

But, ultimately, I was attracted to the original goth movement because of the music. When MTV started in 1981, the videos of English New Wave artists captured my imagination. Beginning with Duran Duran, I listened to all of the post-punk music I could find. I bought imported British music magazines and poured over them so often I developed an encyclopedic knowledge of the wider post-punk scene. And, it was in one of those magazines, that I first learned about a band called The Specimen who held court at a place called The Batcave.

I loved everything about the Specimen, but they were by no means my first introduction into the goth world. I was already actively listening to The Cure, Siouxsie and The Banshees, and Bauhaus. In fact, I watched Tony Scott’s art house vampire film, The Hunger, repeatedly just to see the opening credits featuring Peter Murphy writhing around in a club, arms outstretched like a bat while “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” played in the background.

I desperately wanted to hang out in a nightclub like that. High school dances held in the cafeteria with DJ’s spinning Top 40 tunes and preppy Catholic kids doing a variation on the Gator to the Isley Brothers’ “Shout” wasn’t really my idea of a good time. And being 16 pretty much meant that I was shit out of luck for another five years. Or so I thought.

In 1984, my friend and I convinced our parents to let us go and have a grand adventure in London, by ourselves. I had already been to London once on one of those school-sponsored trips abroad. And, since my friend basically lived by herself with her elderly grandmother on the upper west side of Manhattan (her parents had moved to D.C. and she was finishing school in New York), we figured we were street smart enough to be able to handle a 2-week trip alone.

We had a bucket list of places we had to visit: Carnaby Street, the BOY of London shop on the King’s Road, the British Museum, the Camden Town Market, record shops, and nightclubs. Throughout our two week-stay we went to several venues: the Hippodrome, Heaven, and Foubert’s.

Of those, I remember very little about the Hippodrome other than riding the late bus back to where our B&B was located near the Gloucester Road tube station. And, I only remember that bus ride because two 30-something drunk guys hit on my friend and I, remarking that we had “the effervescence of youth.”

We went to the famed gay club, Heaven, for its Thursday night session called The Asylum and on our way to the club, we ran into another group of young Americans who, like us, had managed to get their parents to let them loose on 1980s London. But, I have the fondest memories of Wednesday night at Foubert’s because that was the night The Specimen hosted the Batcave.

My friend and I spent quality time preparing ourselves to head to the Batcave and this I what I looked like:

After dancing for a bit, we made our way to the bar where Olli Wisdom and Jon Klein of the Specimen were chatting with visitors. Both Olli and Jon were very gracious, and very welcoming. They asked where we were from and if we were enjoying the club. Upon hearing that we were Americans, a woman with brightly colored hair who was sitting nearby joined the conversation. It was legendary German singer, Nina Hagen. She told us in her heavily accented English, “Ronald Reagan is the beast. Six, Six, Six. Don’t you vote for him. Vote for me!” Of course, neither one of us bothered to tell her that we weren’t old enough to vote anyway.

Every year during the spooky season, I think back to that summer when I went to the Batcave and this year is no different. But, this year, the memory is bittersweet because on August 23 of this year, Olli Wisdom passed away. Requiescat in pace, Olli. And thank you so very much for creating and hosting the Batcave, being a goth pioneer, and for being so kind to a couple of young Americans who visited the Batcave one summer night, long ago.

October 23, 2021

1980s, batcave, goth, jon klein, london, nina hagen, olii wisdom, spooky season, the hunger, thespecimen
Life Changing

40 years ago, MTV emerged and changed my life. I was an eccentric rising eighth grader about to switch schools again. Over the summer, I’d lounged at the local swim club, hung out with friends, and watched Raiders of the Lost Ark about a million times on hot sticky afternoons. I also discovered that guys could actually be fun and that impressing them was something I probably wanted to do, especially when a friend and I were asked to join two older guys on an excursion to Great Adventure!

But, something happened that changed my trajectory. Instead of becoming a typical boy crazy young teen, MTV sent me on an entirely different path instead. For weeks prior to the launch of MTV on August 1, 1981, the local cable company in my area promoted the new channel endlessly. Of course, I wanted to watch, although at the time I was obsessing over orchestral music (fueled by all of those fantastic John Williams soundtracks)–the rock music of my childhood momentarily forgotten.

MTV ensured that I would never turn my back on rock again. MTV also turned me into the opinionated, non-conforming, hair-dying, black clothes-wearing woman that I am today. From the first time I watched MTV, I was hooked, and the videos that really captured my interest were the beautiful little mini films of artists like David Bowie, Ultravox, and Duran Duran. From that point on, I became obsessed with what is now commonly known as new wave. I read every music magazine and book I could find that discussed the new wave scene and learned that it was linked to the revolutionary punk rock scene of late 1970s England.

I learned about all of the various subgenres spawned by the energy of the punk movement like ska, new romanticism, goth, cowpunk, hardcore, electronica, and industrial. I devoted myself to bands, hung posters on my bedroom walls, bought as much vinyl as I could, scrounged thrift shops and punk shops like Philly’s Skinz and Zipperhead for clothes and accessories, and dedicated myself to what was quickly becoming a lifestyle.

I was ridiculed by random losers in the mall, punched in the face by some asshole on South Street who told me “Punk sucks,” and reprimanded by the dean of discipline at my Catholic high school because I dared to dye my hair a lovely shade of burgundy. My first boyfriend’s very Catholic parents hated me, and my father was embarrassed to be seen with me in public. My lime-green and black spattered pants were just a bridge too far for him, apparently. But, nothing deterred me from pursuing my love affair with the wider punk/new wave/alternative scene.

That love affair is ongoing. It has endured through relationships, career changes, parenting, and the loss of loved ones. It has been the one enduring constant in my life and for that I am eternally grateful. So, thanks, MTV, for changing my life.

October 20, 2021

1980s, 1980s philly, mtv, new romantic, new wave, punk, skinz, south street, ultravox, zipperhead