I Return...With The Musings Of A Sentimental Old Fool

Finally seeing Filter in concert, a band that I leaned on during some downright dark and terrible times, has made me sentimental. Made me think about how music has been the common thread of my life that kept me from unraveling like a cheap sweater. There are albums that have comforted me, grieved with me, shaped me and empowered me. I wanted to share that list and so, for the first time in about three years, I wrote a blog.

When I started this entry, I thought it would just be a simple list of albums that I've connected with over the years. But it became much more than that. It become a chronological reflection of the music I listened to during my struggle with religion. And why wouldn't it? Religion was a dominating force in my life, and not in any kind of good way. For those who don't know me so well, I'll keep this brief. I was raised in a fundamentalist Christian church where the Bible was taken as fact. A tool used to control and condemn, rather than comfort. As a nine year old, I learned if I didn't conform to the church's ways (because all other religions - including Catholicism, Lutheranism and any other isms -  were wrong), I would spend my entire afterlife weeping, gnashing my teeth and burning in the fiery pits of hell. Little Boo was imaginative. This image stuck.

It was...traumatizing. 

As such, Christianity is no friend of mine. Now, that doesn't mean I don't like you if you're a Christian. Or that I think less of you because you believe in God. If I don't like you, it's not your religion. It's only because you're a judgmental asshole.

Having said that, I give you the albums that saved my soul more than any god ever could.

Alice in Chains – Dirt. I was an 80's pop girl. Paula Abdul (Forever Your Girl, yo), Janet Jackson (Rhythm Nation, baby) and yes, New Kids on the Block. But as I rolled into ten, eleven and twelve, I flirted with the darker side of pop – Depeche Mode, The Cure. And then classic rock – Queen, Tom Petty. And then I burned my New Kids on the Block posters very ceremoniously in the back yard.

When I was 13, a friend played Dirt for me (on tape…old school) and my eyes couldn’t have bugged out of my head far enough. First off, this band had a song called Angry Chair. What the hell does that mean? I didn’t know, but that title spoke to my random sense of humor. And the music? Nothing short of mesmerizing. Layne Staley’s haunting voice, filled with all the rage and pain and frustration I had inside myself, but no way to express was exactly the salve I needed to soothe my pre-teen angst. 

Megadeth – Countdown to Extinction. First heavy metal album I bought. I was 13 or 14. Dave Mustaine’s angry snarl was amusing and the crunch of guitars empowering. This kind of music also nicely complimented my newfound utter distaste of anything involving my parents. When I showed my mom what I had bought, I took immense delight in the disgusted, yet concerned look on her face. “So this is what you’re into now?” Yes. Read it and weep, lady. I’m going to listen to this while I read books on witchcraft.

Ironic that these days, Dave Mustaine has come to represent everything I hate, so fuck him for that. But at least he put me on the heavy metal path before he turned traitor. 

Blind Melon – Blind Melon. When I was 15 my family took a road trip to visit my great grandma in Detroit. This was over Halloween weekend in 1993. I was lying awake in my great grandma’s guest room Halloween night listening to a local rock station when I learned River Phoenix died. But I digress.

Detroit. That meant fourteen hours in a car with my parents and little brother. Seriously, kill me. Thank god I had my Walkman. Oh, but I left all my tapes in a bag on my bed at home. Fuck. After a pouty temper tantrum about that (my options were shit radio or suffering through the company of my family – the temper tantrum was justified), my dad relented and stopped at Walmart. It was a shit music selection, but I’d heard a couple of Blind Melon tracks and figured, why not? While I preferred metal, it ain't like we were exclusive, you know. Little did I know the effect Shannon Hoon’s lyrics would have on me.

Around this time, I was feeling immense pressure from my parents and other church folk to commit myself to God. Well, the International Churches of Christ's version of God. Except if I did, that meant no more swearing, kissing boys, smoking, and definitely no heavy metal music. Insert are-you-kidding-me face here. But if I didn’t do it, remember, I was going to burn in hell. At fifteen I was torn between the frustration of that inevitable and dissatisfying religious life and just wanting to be a normal fucking teenager. When I heard Blind Melon’s Holyman for the first time, I cried inside. “Holyman, you don't understand. The cuts on me they run much deeper.” 

Yeah, I understood. All too well. 

I put this poster on my wall...and my father cried a little.

Pantera – Far Beyond Driven. Also at 15, I discovered Pantera. The Far Beyond Driven album – also one of the first CD’s I ever owned – was given to me by a friend (who would later become my bother-in-law, actually). It was angry music. No coincidence that as my inevitable joining of The Church (trust me, it deserves ominous capitalization) loomed closer, my music tastes grew more extreme and more…angry. It was around this time that I flat out refused to go to The Church. In my mind, I’d soon be wasting away my days in that dull, mind numbing life. I just wanted to live it up a bit before I had to take that bitter pill. So I stopped going to The Church. My parents bristled at first, but it was futile. I was a headstrong teenager. And they eventually got tired of the fight. They decided to pick their battles. You know, like when I come home at 10:30 on a school night and announce I’m on acid. 

Garbage – Garbage. Welp, the tide finally turned. At 16 I drank that fucking Kool-Aid. The Church finally claimed me as one of its own. I thought I was doing it for the right reasons at the time, but in hindsight I know I just wanted the inner struggle I constantly felt to be over. I hadn’t completely abandoned my rock/metal music once I started going to The Church. Alice in Chains was forever in the rotation, for one. But bands like Pantera only made me yearn for the things I was convinced I couldn’t have. It was easier to not listen then be reminded of what a traitor I was to myself.

But thankfully I discovered Garbage. The blend of rock, pop and dance was energizing and emotional at a time when I mostly felt numb. And Shirley Manson has always been such a bad ass! A strong woman that dominates her audience and demands you listen to what she has to say. She was angry, but optimistic. Tough as nails, but vulnerable. And Garbage’s music reflected all of that. While I struggled with feeling I had to be one or the other, here she was walking that line with a ballerina’s grace. I envied and adored her.

That bitch was right. A mad man.

Ben Folds Five – Whatever and Ever Amen. First year of college I had a manager at Proex that was a complete bitch. Guys, you know me. I can get along with pretty much anybody. But this chick was a loose cannon. You never knew if she was going to smother you with kindness or smother you with a goddamn pillow. On one of her kindness days, she suggested a little album called Whatever and Ever Amen, because she knew I played piano. “You know that Brick song on the radio?” No. I rarely listened to the radio. And when I did it was KOOL108 (the oldies station). “Well, it doesn’t matter. That’s not even their best song. This guy plays piano like a mad man.” She insisted I borrow the CD and I went home that night and took a listen. It took me weeks to return that album to her. I probably came dangerously close to being smothered with a pillow.  

Whimsical. If I had one word to describe Ben Folds Five, that’s the word I’d use. I was eighteen going on nineteen. And at this point in my life I was so burdened. Burdened by The Church’s unrealistic expectations of me, burdened by my bitterness at living a life I hated (but was obligated to smile through like a Stepford Wife)…and mostly just burdened with the feeling that it would never change. The fear of hell became a sickness in me – a childhood Bible lesson that festered and grew, wrapped its barbed tentacles around my soul and shredded me slowly from the inside out. I desperately needed Ben Folds Five’s whimsy in my life, a bit of light to keep total darkness away. 

Filter – Title of Record. Filter and I had been friends for a while. I always liked the Short Bus record (had a dubbed tape of the album that I lost at some point in high school). He’d also done some songs for a couple of X-Files compilations that I owned. A coworker at Proex and I enjoyed Take a Picture whenever it came on the radio during work (the only time I listened to popular radio). And we laughed when we found out it was about him drunk on an airplane. That song was so different from Short Bus that I just had to buy the album and see what Mr. Richard Patrick was doing.  And I wasn't disappointed. Despite the radio friendly Take a Picture, Filter still had its metal edge. And I latched onto Richard's vocals, raw with emotion, edged with anger.  Dare I say...tormented. 

It's gonna kill you...unless you get a pair of these kick ass shades.

This was 1999. I was twenty years old and my sanity was fraying at the edges. I didn’t know how much longer I could do it. Do The Church thing, slap the stupid grin on my face and talk about how much I loved God when I really thought he was just a sadistic asshole that enjoyed my misery. I hated it. I hated every minute of it. I hated God. I hated The Church. I hated myself for being a part of it, and I hated myself even more for not being strong enough to leave it.

On a cold, dark December night after a long night of studying for finals I left Concordia and, desperate to do something that was just for me and me alone, I bought a pack of cigarettes from the gas station across the street. I then went to my car, sat there parked and blasted Title of Record on my Discman while I chain smoked. I’d been listening to the album pretty much nonstop for months, but this night, It’s Gonna Kill Me came on…and it hit me how appropriate that song title was.

I cried my goddamn eyes out. 

Incubus – Make Yourself. I bought the album when it first came out in 1999 (and played it ad nauseam, according to a couple of coworkers), but it wasn’t until mid-2000 when it became a defining album for me. I was a different person in 1999 – brimming with the denial of my unhappiness, I couldn’t be bothered to think too deeply about anything. But by 2000 I had to start thinking deeply or, as Richard Patrick reminded me, it’s gonna kill me.

I revisited Make Yourself and this time I paid attention to some of the lyrics. It was summer 2000. I’d been secretly smoking for months and playing hooky from The Church and its gatherings more often than I went. And the lyrics from the song Make Yourself kept rolling through my head: “If you let them make you, they’ll make you paper mache. At a distance you’re strong, until the wind comes, then you crumble and blow away.” I was paper mache. And I was starting to crumble. If I didn’t want to blow away, it was time to suck it up and make myself.

In August of 2000 I gave The Church my middle finger. And never once looked back. 

Tool – Aenima. Fall 2000 was a weird one. I’ve never felt so simultaneously free and yet crushed with depression. It was a dark time. I was grieving. Grieving the loss of the only kind of life I’d never known and the ambiguity of where the hell I go from here. So yeah, it was a scary time, but it was also a really, fucking fun time. I lost a good 30 pounds (shed some serious deadweight called The Church), put the first genuine smile on my face in a long while, and was ready to start my life over. And this time do it MY way.

All in the shades, yo.

Somebody suggested I check out Tool. I immediately recognized the band name, because a friend from high school (who would eventually become my husband) had talked about them and their Undertow album back in the day. So while Aenima had been around for several years, in 2000 it was new to me. I picked it up at Best Buy and it was the perfect album to put me back in touch with my metal roots, and thus, my true self. Maynard's voice. That bass. Need I say more? And is anybody surprised my favorite song on that album is Eulogy? It was my anthem during that time. I grieved, I said goodbye, and then I started to put the pieces of my broken self together. And God? Well, he had a lot of nothing to say.