It is all gravy.

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It is all gravy.

A Review

1. New Found Glory
with 2. Bayside, 3. Set Your Goals, 4. Shai Hulud
April 4th
Gothic Theater
Doors 6:30

It's tough to get excited about a show these days. Government grants and small business loans have given every two-bit hustler the funds to start up a music label. These inconsistent labels gain the empowerment to sign the musically impaired, package them with a pretty black and red bow and ship them off to the eager emo bangs waiting at the hippest, most-independent record store in town. "For fans of Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Boys Night Out and Fall Out Boy" functions as a deft warning to the keen observer of the human condition; but most of these impressionable youths shell out the 16.99 for what turns out to be mostly pomp and circumstance. Thank God for the bands who just play because they love music.
New Found Glory has always maintained street credibility as a band who love punk music but want to make it a little more fun. They dont hide behind fashion or motifs, but rather assault the stage with the kind of honesty and kindness that only many years in this business can bring. With the release of International Superheroes of Hardcore last year, they proved that irony and humor are much more precise and difficult than just growing that hilariously ironic magnum P.I. moustache all the scenesters are sporting these days. They provided deft commentary about the lack of definition between real musicians and teenagers with pro tools, between "emo" and emotive, driving music. Basically, they provided what they always have; fun, provocative pop music written and played by punks and hardcore kids.
With their release of Mutiny last year, Set Your Goals placed themselves atop the pack. With much more talent and creativity than many of their competitors, they have crafted a very specific sound that incorporates many of the best elements of punk and hardcore music into melodic overtures. They may draw the black hair dye and uneccessarily utilized hooded sweatshirts that infect local venues these days, but that could be a good thing. A show like this would be a great chance for exposure to some of the cornerstones of the genre. After all, these emo kids are tomorrow's music critics. Bayside brings vibrant authenticity to an all too common equation of the exhuberance of youth and ignorance; but while most bands come off as overwrought, these guys manage to transcend the stereotype and create impressive songs. All the melodies and pop punk fun will come as relief after Shai Hulud takes the stage and totally destroys. Somehow, having such a seminal and authentic hardcore band tour with these three gives more creedence the affair overall.
Some of what happens at the Gothic theater will most likely be forgettable, and I'm certain the requisite chest-popping bad boys will try to so totally rule over the tiny waifs with flattened bangs. What makes this show more than essential viewing is the wide variety of talent in what is quickly becoming a music scene ruled by fashion rather than substance. Every one of these bands is singularly admirable in the fact that they actually love the music. And, although it seems strange to say out loud, not many bands actually worry too much about the music these days.

A very rough first draft

The small bump on the landing rushed me out of my dream and into the rude efficiency of the cramped cabin. The fog of the unconscious moved slowly away from me as my eyes widened and focused. I was seated in the window seat. Directly to my right was an old black man wearing bent wire frames and a black bowler. To his right, a whale of a woman spilled over into the aisle. Her pale white flesh was sneaking out of every secret little crevice in her halter-top. I often wonder how each plane flight is completed without incident. Racial slurs and stereotypical epithets find their way into daily life all over this country in every city, and yet the cordiality of proximity prevented honesty and emotion. In a more accurate representation, I imagined the old black man snickering to himself about the sheer size of this woman. Instead the man slept quietly, awaking every now and then to adjust his glasses and then falling back into that kind of waking dream we can only experience in flight. When the man had earlier excused himself to the lavatory, I envisioned the woman commenting quietly to me about her unexplored interest in being sexually dominated by a man of color. Instead, she leaned forward in a big awkward performance to retrieve a large bag of cheetos from her bag.
We all shuffled the slow dance out of the cabin and onto the jet way. The familiar scent of unrecycled air crept in through the opened door and I breathed in heavy. The cold air moved quickly and calmly into my needy lungs. I had not felt the comfort of cold for weeks now.

********

“Wake up!” he screamed as a bucket of warm, salty liquid stung my eyes and invaded my nasal passages.
“How the hell did you even get in here?” He was looking for answers, and all I could think about was how horrible I smelled. It all became a little blurred in the next moment as something struck me on my left jaw and I recognized the cruel taste of blood on my swollen tongue.
A single bulb was swinging slowly around. I could see no shadows of a corner which led me to believe I was in a large room. I heard only one voice. I was with one man in a large room who was hitting me and pouring mysterious liquids on my head. I did not know how I had gotten there, but most of the time that’s the wrong question anyhow. My hands were tied behind me. My legs were free. The echoes sounded like stone. I was in a cave or a cell of some sort.
“Thwack!” Again, with the hitting. How did this guy expect me to answer him with a mouthful of blood and a nose full of god knows what?
“This is a restricted access zone. You do not belong here. What were you looking for?” He was screaming. I could tell by the tone in his voice he was about to hit me again.
“Hwaytecha” I gargled as blood drained from my mouth.
“What did you say?”
I coughed a little and spit out as much blood as I could. I raised my head to look my new friend in the eyes. “I was trying to say, ‘Hey wait a sec.’ I don’t like to have my ass kicked for no good reason friend. So I was wondering if you could inform me, that is to say, I was wondering if I could ask you a question.”
Clearly not amused, he kicked me in my chest and sent me falling backwards onto my arms. I felt my right shoulder dislocate as I crashed to the ground. I could tell by the steel digging into my neck that I was tied to a metal chair. My legs flailed and flipped backwards over my head. I must have looked pretty ridiculous.
“You know I’m no contortionist friend.” Even in immense pain, I couldn’t practice a little self-control and bite my tongue.

way out of context

I: “Why have you summoned me my lord?” (Kneeling before the council.)
C: “Iza, you have been a loyal and powerful tool of this council for your entire life. You are revered by all other hunters. We regret that we have to call you to a task unlike any before.”
I: “I seek to serve your wishes.”
C: “Uzume has become nothing more than a rogue in our careful creation of a peaceful, united Otherworld.”
I: “Uzume…” (As she raises her bowed head.)
C: “Uzume has made her decision.” (He stands and slams his sickle with authority.)
I: to herself “Uzume, what have you done?”
I: to the council “What is it you would have me do?”
C: “You are a hunter Izanami. We wish for you to do what you are made to do.”
I: “I understand my lord.” – pauses – “You expect for me to…”
C: “I expect you to respect your revered position. I expect you to complete each task we decide to give you. I expect you to find Uzume and bring her to us. And I expect you to do it quickly. I expect you, as I always have, to do what needs to be done.”
I: “It will be done.”

As she leaves, tears begin streaming down her face.
I: to herself “I do not wish to betray you my dear Uzume, but you have brought this evil to yourself.”
As she exits the great hall she puts her back to the wall and strains.
“ It is true that I love you Uzume, but I love the Otherworld and its purity with all of my soul. I will do what needs to be done.”

Thoughts on the ride home.

The beauty of Christianity comes in its base acknowledgment of the presence of good and evil on this planet. More subjective faith systems fail to accept the existence of a binary moral code. In this simple tenet lies the subtle truth: a faith system and worldview based on the existence and marginalization of evil can account for and explain why bad things happen to good people. In this acceptance of evil lies an understanding that evil exists outside of good and in the absence of good. God is good, and evil is bad. They are not of the same cloth. Fairness, or our conception of what should be fair, is then nothing more than a creation of our minds to account for the discrepancy in our humanity. If evil happens equally to all, good or bad or otherwise, then surely there must be vengeance...surely there must be justice. Eternally, there will be. Of that we are all familiar. But, here on earth, an even greater truth emerges. In a world without fairness, there are no victims. In a world with no victims, there is only personal responsibility and choice. In a world of choice there is freedom. In a world with that kind of freedom, I wonder why people keep telling me that Christianity just seems so oppressive.

It seems that the more subjective faith systems of Liberalism and the like (and yes, they are indeed faith systems) and its supporters would be hard-pressed to find a more oppressive ideology than their own; a system that is based upon the belief and faith that established, robust, dynamic and fulfilling faith systems like Christianity are to be distrusted because of their connection and attachment to wars, hypocrisy and the like. All the while, they fail to acknowledge that the disapproval and distrust of established faith systems is a belief system in and of itself. If we seek to know truth for ourselves, and in our arrogance think that only we can understand the mysteries of reality, then the denial of all those who claim to have found truth before us...is a denial of their own validity. So, the very things that Christianity is blasted for: oppression, close-mindedness, denial of other salient ideas, logical analysis etc. are ironically all present in the faith system of denial. To espouse a belief that all beliefs are wrong is just logically ridiculous and intellectually boring.

So stop asking me why I don't care about fairness. Stop asking me to care about victims. These things are ludicrous within the context of my worldview...and I enjoy being responsible with my intellect.

A Jazz Segment

Their reflective distance dulls the shrieks and squeals of mothers and children. The men talk in muted voices about the day’s events.
“The cotton certainly is yielding high returns this year.”
“Yes, it is quite profitable. These niggers sure make it easier on all of us.”
The conversing ceases when two men begin to ascend the staircase. The faces in the crowd are focused intensely on the first man who is being led by a second man in uniform. The first man wears white cotton long underwear that has been cut in the front and back. The bloodstains are dried and crusted. His bottoms are torn completely at the groin and his penis slips in and out as he ascends each step. Some recent wound has left fresh blood dripping from the head of his penis. His movements are soft and slow.
Physically, he is strong and his toned muscles show through the rags that now drape over his torso. His chocolate skin is covered in sweat and glistens in the afternoon sun. The hair on his head has been recently shaved ruthlessly with a razorblade. Pieces of scalp dangle from his skull. The peaceful crowd is silent.
The man has been accused of senselessly raping a young white woman. She has recently become pregnant and says that it was the young, chocolate-skinned slave that had raped her and made her with child. Her face is shrouded in black. The material disguises her tears of sorrow, love and regret. The man at the top of the staircase told the young woman of his dreams that they would escape together. They would go north and utilize the more understanding laws to begin their family together. She was scared though. Scared of what people would think, scared of never seeing any of her friends or family again.


Her mother was the first to notice. The baggy clothing and overalls were unable to hide the growth any longer. The young white woman made her choice. She did not want to face the shame and scorn of the community.
She told the young man of her decision. She told him to run. She told him that it would not be safe for him. She loved him too much to watch him die. He said he would not go anywhere. He had done nothing wrong. The world would just have to understand or he would have to face the consequences of his love. She pleaded with him. She begged him to go north or west or anywhere. He looked at her, touched her face gently and told her to that the world was not fit for perfect love.
The next day, the white men heard. They ran, with belts and picks and whips. The young man was praying in the slave chapel on the south side of the plantation. The men broke into the church, turned over the pews, grabbed the young man and began beating him. The men’s shadows fell onto the crudely sculpted Christ figure at the front of the church. There, on the church floor, the young man was stripped naked, beaten with hoes and picks. He was whipped. His flesh was torn from his bones. The young man’s brave mother and his brother later cleaned the blood and decaying flesh; he cursed the name of every white man he had ever known as he scrubbed the blood-soaked wooden floors. The white men took pliers and held the man's penis tightly as they branded it with a cattle iron. His screams could barely be heard over the cries of the white men. The wailing, defeated animal and the shouts of victory sounded like the end of a foxhunt. The rich men took the young brown man to the horse’s stable and rubbed animal excrement into his cuts and his genital wounds. They filled his mouth with pig filth. One white man shoved the feces of a goat into the man’s eyes. All the while, the young man screamed and pleaded that the young girl was in love with him, that he had not done as they were saying he did. This only made the men’s eyes more intense, focused and determined to make the lying, disgusting animal pay the price. They told him he would be an example.


As the man in uniform slides the rope around the young man’s tight, muscular neck, his eyes rise to meet the crowd for the first time. Immediately, he sees his lover, his child’s mother, and focuses all that is left in his brain, all that he can bring up from his soul, into his stare. She bursts into tears, and covers her face with her laced gloves. Her mother puts her arm around the young woman, and tells her not to shed tears over this animal. Her mother says that he was only worth what her father had paid for him, and not to worry. The young girl begins sobbing uncontrollably.
The young girl looks up from her hands and moves out of her mother’s warm embrace. She stares into the man, and he stares back into her. His eyes are full of tears, and as he blinks, two tears roll down each side of his face. The pain of the beating, and the branding, and the shaving, and the whipping are all met with intense pride and courage. This brave, beautiful, brown man is now crying tears of joy. He sees the beauty of his unborn child reflected in the flawless, fair skin of his lover.
As he notices her skin, and the soft reflection from the afternoon sun, her face changes. She has a look of determination. She looks purposeful. Her mouth begins to open. In an instant the young man realizes what she is about to do.
He envisions the crowd erupting. He can see them carrying her to the front and leading her up the stairs. He can see another rope. He can imagine his lover, and his unborn child hanging next to his limp body.
As the words accelerate from her mind, through her tongue and onto her lips, the young man with the glistening chocolate skin turns his head to the man with his hand on the lever and screams like fire,
“I’ll rape a hundred more if you don’t get on with it!”

The young woman’s thoughts stopped at her lips at the instant the lever was pulled, the gate dropped and the young man fell through the hole. Her words turned to silence. In that moment, the sound of bone sliding on bone could be heard as the man’s neck popped twice. His body popped back up once and then swayed slowly back and forth. He was completely limp. The young woman fell onto the muddy ground below. On her knees, she placed her hands together and began to pray. At the very same moment, her child moved inside of her.