I Finally Understand All Those Straight Edge Songs on the Radio!

November 15, 2014

"I Finally Understand All Those Straight Edge Songs on the Radio!" 8/11/14. Ink. 6x6".
“I Finally Understand All Those Straight Edge Songs on the Radio!” 8/11/14. Ink. 6×6″.

The four drawings in this series were all completed following (what I guess I’d call) a “break-up.” We weren’t officially dating but we spent virtually every night together for a month straight. I was the one to end the relationship but I wasn’t happy about it. I don’t think I even realized it at the time but – in hindsight – it’s hard not to recognize that I was outright mad. At what exactly, I’m not sure. At the time, it was easy to fault her drinking for all of our relational issues but (while I definitely think it was a factor) I think my own emotional insecurity and low self-esteem was just as much (probably more) to blame. Maybe that’s what I was so mad about – my inability to feel okay in a relationship. The slightest bit of criticism or the slightest disagreement would push me over the edge and I’d find myself instantly packing my things until she was able to soothe, comfort, and calm me. The night she was too drunk to manage (or too drunk to care) was the night I finally left for real.

This is the angriest of the four drawings – the one in which I really get mean. It says:

What about any of this [me, my lifestyle, my personality disorder] made you think that I’m boyfriend material? Enjoy me for what I am or don’t.

I don’t wanna come across as one of those “I wouldn’t belong to any club that’d have me as a member”-types but – seriously – if you wanna date me, something is seriously wrong with you. Your emotional issues are worse than mine and that’s saying something.

If your past is littered with broken friendships, there’s a reason your past is littered with broken friendships. It’s got nothing to do with the universe. It’s YOU. It’s the people YOU choose to surround yourself with. It’s the way you behave and the kind of people that behavior attracts.

I’m a bit of a broken fuck-up but I’m not so broke to stick around for this. You could’ve chosen to be better. You’re on the precipice. You chose not to. You chose old habits.
Enjoy “drinking [your] dinner.” It makes me sad but not that sad.

I finally understand all those straight edge songs on the radio!

For those of you keeping score at home, here’s the “Hindsight’s 20/20 Recap.” 1) When I got to Chicago, I was in no fucking shape to be any kind of a partner to anyone. 2) We attract (and are attracted to) people who are about as emotionally healthy/sick as we are. 3) I thought I was leaving because I was too well for this girl but we were probably at just about the same level. 4) I might be flighty and insecure but drinking (as a coping mechanism) sucks and will only ever make everything worse; it precludes so much as the initiation of any real, lasting solution.

 

It’s worth pointing out that this drawing was finished in August and the relationship to which it refers is not the one I bailed on last week. (This one ended a day and a half before that one started).

Three best guest vocals that weren’t actually by “guests”

November 13, 2014

The obvious: a “guest vocal” is when a band has someone who isn’t in the band come in to record vocals for part of a song. The premise of this list: when band members (who don’t usually sing leads)  step up front and take the mic for a moment.

ONE
Like Iron Chic in Fall 2008, Vacation in Summer 2010, or Tenement for (what seems like fuckin’) years, Potboiler were one of those bands that most kids didn’t give a fuck (or hadn’t even heard) about but that a small handful of weirdos were losing their fucking shit over. The difference between Potboiler and those other bands is that Potboiler broke up before everyone caught on. Get Bent was a different story. Comprised of Potboiler’s lead vocalist/guitarist and drummer, Jared Santiago and Mike Vlad, plus Andy Dennison (guitarist of Red & Blue and The State Lottery) and Mike Dumps (bassist/vocalist of Down in the Dumps and Jonesin’), Get Bent’s debut 7-inch, split released by Dead Broke and Dirt Cult, caught on fast. They followed that up with a split 7-inch on Kiss of Death with JCJB. Each band only contributed a single song to the record but Get Bent’s was even better than anything on their EP. Up to this point, guitarists Jared and Andy were the only voices we had heard up front and center, and in the first half of “Face Mush,” that’s still true. But when Mike Dumps pops out in the lead midway through the second verse, with his cement-mixer-gravel-fuck of a voice… it’s fucking glorious. The raw power and menace of Mike’s voice contrasted with the (relatively) softer, smoother voices of the other members makes for one of the most beautiful contrasts in the history of recorded music. And I fucking mean that. It’s awesome.

TWO
In the years that I was fucked up worst on heroin (2010-2012) and in/out of treatment (2012-2013), I fell a little behind on new bands and records. I knew that P.S. Eliot had broken up and I knew that its members had disbursed and formed Waxahatchee and Swearin’ but it wasn’t until a few months ago that I got around to listening to either band. I wasn’t excited enough to sit down and really listen to the Swearin’ record (which is awesome by the way) but I put it on my iPhone and the songs would come up on shuffle. On day, I’m driving around somewhere, “Just” is playing, and – out of nowhere – a familiar voice comes through… “What the fuck? This is great… Why does this sound so familiar? Oh shit – it’s the kid from Big Soda! They got the kid from Big Soda to come in and sing a part! Whatever happened to that band?” Well, as I figured out after hearing a few more Swearin’ songs, what happened is that Swearin’ didn’t get him to come in and do one vocal part – he’s in the band. Like Mike Dumps in Get Bent though, Kyle Gilbride’s voice in Swearin’ is mostly relegated to back-ups. Which is – you know – fine. Singer/guitarist Allison Crutchfield takes the lead 95% of the time and she’s fucking phenomenal. (For especially compelling evidence of this, check out her vocal performance in “Kenosha;” it’s lazy, spiteful, and cooler than Miles fucking Davis). So that’s pretty decent consolation for only getting to hear Gilbride pipe up occasionally. And it makes it all that much more profound when he does and especially on “Just.” The chorus of “I just wanted you to love me” (sung by Crutchfield) is made exponentially more powerful by Gilbride’s delivery late in the second verse. He sounds so fucking whiny and bratty in the most wonderful way possible. When I sing along, “Overslept and I’m alone a lot… no one’s asking,” with him, I feel like I’m simultaneously crying, laughing, in love with everything, and ready to fall apart. It’s that emotive.

THREE
Rational Anthem used to be a four-piece and in their first year, it wasn’t Noelle Stolp or Chris Hembrough at the wheel. Lead vocals, as well as songwriting, were primarily the domain of (now) ex-member Alex Heil. So when Alex quit the band in late 2008, the other kids had a little bit of a logistical problem. For their first performance following their demo and the departure of their frontman, Rational Anthem recorded a single song for the first installment in the Dangerous Intersections 7-inch series. Noelle wrote the song but it was Chris who took on the role of lead vocalist. Chris sings leads on a lot of Rational’s songs these days but back when the band recorded “Of Kids in Cars With Windows Up,” he didn’t have much of a clue what he was doing and he sounds like a totally different person than the guy you’ve heard on any of their LPs. (Fun fact: Chris was so unconfident in his vocal abilities that Noelle took over on leads for the next few years and in their first recording session after “Of Kids in Cars,” Chris asked me to sing all the back-ups so he wouldn’t have to, despite the fact that I’m not (and have never been) a member of the band). I don’t know how Chris feels about that recording these days but I loved it then and I love it now. He’s so scratchy and strained and rough and fragile and it’s so much higher than he sings now – almost squeaky at times. It’s a little bit John Brown Battery and a little bit A Radio With Guts and it’s totally unlike any performance Chris would ever give after he finally stepped back up to the mic on 2012’s Sensitivity Training. The song is a wonderful little time capsule of the band in flux, trying to figure themselves out at a time when most others would have just thrown in the towel and started from scratch.

http://youtu.be/WCXKmRxFc-o

 

These aren’t ranked / listed in any particular order and I’ve got a few more I could have written about but these three are definitely some of my absolute favorites. Whether you knew ’em before or not, I hope you enjoy ’em.

Shitty articles about punk’s “faux-inclusivity”

November 10, 2014

I just read another article (this one from The Guardian, penned by a member of Ramshackle Glory) condemning punk rock as being some club for straight white boys. The author, a white trans woman, laments that white males ” get to be their whole authentic selves on stage and off” while other punks like her are stuck feeling like they’re “being given permission to play along.”

I’m not gonna laundry list women who play a major role in this scene in order to counter the author’s argument that “men run the scene, men are the scene, and men always have been and probably always will be at the center of the scene.” What I am gonna do is explain why I find these articles so frustrating.

I am white, straight, and (for all intents and purposes) male. I qualify that last one ’cause I was the kind of kid who grew up getting called a “pussy” and a “faggot.” I wear tight low-waisted jeans and crop tops. In other words, I’m not the most masculine guy around. I still refer to myself as a “kid” not because I have delusions about my age (29) but because the word “man” makes me uncomfortable.

Anyway, I’ve played in punk bands, written for punk zines, and I used to run a punk record label. I have more friends in punk rock than I can count and – by any outsider’s estimation – it’s almost certainly inarguable that I have been accepted by (and my contributions have been valued by) the punk community. And you know what? I still don’t feel like I belong. I still feel anxious at shows, I still don’t ever feel secure, I still feel like I exist on the fringe of the community and like I’ve somehow snuck past the guard and tricked the others into thinking that I belong here. Do you know why? Because I’m a weirdo, an emotional fucking basketcase, and a perpetual outsider. In other words, I’m a punk.

My problem with these articles has nothing to do with race, gender, or anything like that. My problem is that the authors always assume that these feelings of alienation and discomfort are something that they have a monopoly on. They don’t. We’re all fucked up and we’re all broken; that’s why we came to punk rock in the first place. That’s why we were fucking born into punk rock. Because there’s something that’s not quite right about all of us. And that sensation of not belonging has a lot more to do with our own fractured psyches than gender, orientation, or anything that we can blame punk for. This scene bends over backward to make sure that we all feel like we’re welcome. I know because I’ve seen it and because – despite my own sense that I’m some kind of outsider or intruder – I still fake the role of ambassador and make those efforts  to try and help others feel comfortable, welcome, and wanted in this scene.

If you feel like you can’t be your “whole authentic self” in this community, I’ve got some advice for you: DO IT ANYWAY. Instead of writing editorials bad mouthing this scene (that, for all its flaws, has given us all more than we could ever hope to give back to it) why don’t you brave up and fucking be yourself? I can’t promise you that you won’t still feel like a fucking weirdo. In fact, you’re probably still gonna feel like you don’t quite belong. Just like the rest of us.

And that’s okay. It’s why we’re here.

11/8/14 status update

November 8, 2014

I’ve neglected my blog for so long that it’s hard to know where to start. While anyone who follows me on Facebook is pretty up to date with the gruesome details of what’s going on in my life, here’s the gist of it for anyone who’s not up to speed:

  • I moved in with a girl in Chicago in July. We broke up in August.
  • A day and a half later, I started seeing another girl in Chicago. That lasted three months, until Thursday, when I finally left.
  • I love the girl but the relationship was incredibly dysfunctional and it had me more fucked up, twisted around, confused, depressed, anxious, and suicidal than I’ve been since December 2012.
  • While I’ve neglected writing the statements for my artwork, I’ve still been actively creating new pieces. The lack of updates can be accounted for by (1) not having had the new pieces photographed yet, (2) not having their statements written, and (3) the fact that these new pieces are HUGE and the last two have each taken more than a month to complete.
  • My charges are still pending and still stressing me out but I’m still (sort of) optimistic that some kind of a resolution can be reached – or at least resigned to accept the punishment that’s being offered as part of the plea deal that’s currently on the table.
  • As the weather got colder in Chicago, I saw a dramatic decrease in my print sales when I’d go downtown to set up, paint, and sell. Consequently, my income this last month is lower than it’s been since January, which is stressing me out but not killing me.
  • I desperately needed to get out of Chicago to escape my shitty relationship, so I’m in St. Louis now. On November 22nd, I’ll go to Minneapolis for the Rivethead reunion. On November 24th, I’ll return to Normal/Bloomington, IL for my next court date. From there, I’m not sure what I’ll do but if I have to accept the plea deal, I’ll be put on two years probation and will need to choose a state to serve it out in, since my movement will be restricted and I’ll have to be physically present for monthly check-ups. My art career would warrant that I choose either New York or California but I would probably have to choose Florida for the sake of my mental health, as that’s where I’ve got the most emotional support. In theory, I would be able to apply for travel permits to leave the state for my “job” (for example, to go to Minneapolis for my exhibition in March).
  • When I left Chicago on Thursday, I left without Chris Spillane. It was six months ago that I petitioned the court to have him picked up by police and put into detox and six months since I picked him up from detox and brought him out on the road with me. He now has six months clean, a job, a place to live, and everything else that could be reasonably expected of relatively well-balanced kid of our ilk. When I return to Illinois for my court date at the end of the month, he’ll have the option to rejoin me but I suspect that he’s gonna keep on in Chicago, building up his new life.
  • In September, I started seeing a psychiatrist in Chicago. In October, she put me back on antipsychotic and antidepressant medications (in addition to the Adderall that I’ve been on for ten years). The last time I was on antidepressants was as an inpatient at Tranquil Shores in February 2013. The last time I was on antipsychotics was (I think) as an inpatient at the Wellness Resource Center in February 2012, though I almost went back on them in January 2013.
  • In addition to the psychiatrist in Chicago, I’ve also started meeting once weekly (via Skype or Facetime) with Tracy, my counselor from Tranquil Shores.
  • Anxiety and depression destroyed my appetite the last month or so and I’m skinnier than I’ve been in at least twelve years. That’s good because I have body dysmorphic disorder and being this thin makes me feel good about myself. It’s bad ’cause… I don’t know… ’cause people say it’s bad…?

1182014

I have no idea how this all comes across as a whole but here’s what I think should be the important point to take away from it all: October was a bad month but – here, in St. Louis – I am safe, and cared for, and feeling eight million times better. I am no longer suicidally depressed and though I am afraid of what will happen once I leave St. Louis in two weeks, I am okay and I am once again grateful.

I’m going to spend the day with my current work-in-progress, possibly do some layout work for a new flier or work on written statements for finished pieces, and – tonight – I’m going to go downtown to see Rational Anthem play with The Copyrights and The Murderburgers.

If you wanna buy some art right now, that’d be pretty great.

I Work Hard For the Money

October 13, 2014

"I Work Hard For the Money." 8/11/14. Ink. 8x6".
“I Work Hard For the Money.” 8/11/14. Ink. 8×6″.

A friend made a joke that hurt my feelings. I put my response in a drawing.

If you wanna make me angry, suggest that I’m lazy or somehow less than self-sufficient. My job is emotionally fucking taxing. Every day that I’m not getting more famous feels like some kind of a failure. I’m in the business of trying to convince strangers that I’m extraordinary. It’s a fragile position to be in.

It’d be easy to say that your desk job is an easy, coward’s way out but I’m not gonna ’cause I couldn’t do that shit. But don’t tell me that I have it easier on the streets, selling my story and my essence to people that – 9 times outta 10 – don’t even wanna make eye contact with me.

You don’t got it any harder or any better than me; it’s just different. I don’t shit on your desk; don’t act like you’re better than me. You’re just more stable. If you think my job is easier then – by all means – there’s plenty of room in the marketplace.

This was one in a series of four drawings that I made two months ago. I realized last week that I’m angry. And that I have been for some time now. Back when I was still on heroin (and all throughout my life even before that) I had a really terrible temper. By the time I got out of Tranquil Shores though, I had learned to control it. And – honestly – I don’t even really think I needed to control it at that point. It’d flare up occasionally but, for the most part, I was happy enough that things didn’t get to me the way that they always had in the past. I’m realizing that that’s no longer the case and this drawing is evidence that it’s been that way since (at least) mid-summer. I’m hyper-sensitive and it’s fucking up my life. I think I need regular counseling again and (as much as I hate the idea) I’m even considering new medication.

On another note, my legal situation remains unresolved and I am (consequently) still accepting online orders to help with my legal expenses. Check out my GoFundMe page for more info.

The World Can Be Cold and Mean But I’m Gonna Try to Do My Best Anyway

September 22, 2014

"The World Can Be Cold and Mean But I’m Gonna Try to Do My Best Anyway." 8/13/14. Acrylic paint. 60x40".
“The World Can Be Cold and Mean But I’m Gonna Try to Do My Best Anyway.” 8/13/14. Acrylic paint. 60×40″.

I’m facing felony charges for possession of a controlled substance. These are not old charges pending from my days on heroin; I was arrested earlier this month for possession of Adderall, the prescription medication I’ve been on for nearly ten years. Adderall is one of those meds that can’t be refilled with a phone call each month. The patient has to actually go in to the doctor’s office for an appointment every thirty days, physically pick up the prescription, and bring it to the pharmacy. My prescription lapsed before I found a doctor, here in Chicago, and a friend with a prescription gave me a few pills to hold me over until I could get my own. (I have an appointment with a new doctor tomorrow but – a little late).

My case is still pending but the offer from the state that’s currently on the table includes two years of supervised probation, a shit ton of fines and fees, community service, and enrollment in a substance abuse treatment program. Everyone can always benefit from counseling but, these days, I get invited to speak at substance abuse treatment facilities; I don’t need to be a patient in one.

At the moment, I’m optimistic about a resolution to my case but don’t necessarily have any reason to be. For a while, it looked like the state was actually going to push for a conviction and, possibly, even a jail sentence. No one (defense lawyers included) seems to care that I’m not actually abusing drugs or that my entire life and career are pretty much based on that fact. No one cares that I help other people suffering with addiction and other mental illnesses, on a daily basis, both directly and through my art and writing. In the eyes of the court, I’m just some faceless degenerate that got busted with some pills. Just to get released on bail, I had to pay $1,025 in cash. Getting that money together (without even being allowed access to my bank account) through collect calls in a city three hours from anywhere that I know anyone was not an easy thing to do. Being stuck in Illinois, on probation in Normal, is not conducive to what I’m doing with my life. Two years of criminal fines are not in the budget. And god forbid I somehow fuck up, get tagged with a “violation of probation” and actually get put in jail after all. I’m caught up in a shitty, unfeeling system that doesn’t care about me and it hurts and it’s scary.

This was the last painting I finished before my arrest so the journal written on the canvas isn’t actually about this situation but … it seems even more relevant now than it was when I wrote it.

My world gets pretty dark some days. I try to smile, try to have fun, encourage other people to do the same but sometimes the world just spits at you. At me. Negativity is poisonous and infectious. I don’t let tragedy beyond my immediate vicinity affect me these days but a single mean word directed my way can still obliterate me.

I understand why people kill themselves and I don’t fault them for it but, today, I’m gonna try my best to not succumb to my darker impulses. I’m gonna listen to pop punk songs with my friend, Chris, and I’m gonna walk into five galleries, bare my soul, and try to get my funny faces and emotional instability up on their walls. I believe in myself and what I do and if you don’t get it or you don’t like me, that’s nothing I need to focus my energy on.

The world can be cold and mean but I’m gonna try to do my best anyway.

This painting already sold but BEAUTIFUL 12×18-inch prints are available in the webstore. They’re one of my favorites.

9/9/14

September 9, 2014

Waking up sick. Walking around a city I’m only vaguely familiar with. Don’t have a working car. Charges hanging over my head. Dwindling bank account. (My bail last week was $1,025 and I don’t even know yet what my van repair will cost). This doesn’t seem all that different from relapse. I’m trying to keep my head up but this is shaping up to be a really tough month. Still, I’m down but I could definitely feel worse. I’ve definitely felt worse. I’m not suicidal but I’m definitely depressed. That’s something at least.

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