It's been awhile.
I have this wallpaper on my computer now. I've already forgotten who's painted it but I want to say it's a Cezanne. I may have spelled that wrong but whatever. It's a painting of a tree and I want to say it's symbolic of my growth by moving to California and getting serious with a girl that I really am crazy about but in reality it's just a picture that I find beautiful. There are mountains in the background and the tree is full and prosperous atop this hill as if the deserterous mountains that engulf it have no effect. To be more accurate we'd be a shrub on the side of this tree, maybe even a weed that the other trees are trying to kill yet somehow we have survived.
I don't belong here. That much is evident. I seem to assimilate, making friends with the locals and waving a hello to the neighbors whose money we stole in a friendly game of poker a couple of weeks ago, but they all know. They know that normal families don't leave an eaten up couch sitting in front of their driveway for weeks at a time. They know that the families don't park their car on the rocks directly in front of the doorway. They know that we aren't married and we don't have kids. We're a sight for irritated eyes with our alcoholic roomy that stumbles his way into the walls and eventually into his bedroom on a nightly basis as though it is a part of his occupation. They realize that there is something off about our presence here, but there is nothing they can do about it but pray that I find a job elsewhere.
And believe me, I'm trying. When I thought about places that I could live once getting out of the army, you better believe that California was atop the list of possibilities. But this California is nit the California of a young man's dreams, through Sublime songs, of a down to earth community of musicians trying to survive underground in a community filled with other artists with the same plight. No. My California is one of desperation and deprivation. A California where the metropolis, if you can even call it that, is so far away that you could not even claim L.A. residency.
One hour is the difference between us and "civilization". But I'm not sure I would even consider L.A. civilization. It's more of a country club, that I'm not a part of. A country club that you need to make more than a million a year to even be considered for membership. I was only there briefly but I realized, very quickly, that I did not belong. And if I'm not here for the proximity of L.A. then why am I here. I'll assure you it isn't for the hour long trips to work each day. I will assure that regardless of the substantial pay being thrown at me to remain here, that I am looking for a ticket out. I'm miserable.
Our town, which some say is "the biggest that they've ever live in" (from Wisconsin), is a glip, less than a glip even, on a google map. The "big" bar here is a bar called "Mr. V's" and it is approximately the size of the bowling alley in Hilton, NY (population 5,000). And yet, I find some comfort here. Not in the house that we rent, or our neighbors, that really do make an effort to accept us, but from a 46-year-old punk rocker passing through.
Mr'V's has Karaoke night, EVERY night, except for Friday and on this particular night Kayleen and I decided to sing a couple of songs. My, song, very different than the songs I sing with my father was "I Want to be Sedated" drawing mainly from the Ramones rendition that I find much more appealing than the Billy Idol version years later.
I've been working vehemently on my thesis, trying to complete my degree and as my research increases, so does my taste for punk rock music and my interest in groups that set the standard as far as the music is concerned. When it comes to the Ramones, I'm not sure you can say that there is any group that was more influential on the movement. Though many think the Sex Pistols are the originators of the movement, research will tell that The Ramones, Television, Iggy, New York Dolls, Velvet Underground and even to a certain extent The Doors, preceded the Sex Pistols and influenced them greatly.
So my approach this song has been heavily influenced by the bands that I've been listening to as of recent: The Ramones, The Clash, Fugazi, The Buzzcocks, Rise Against, Sonic Youth, Bad Religion, Televison, MC5, Iggy and Flogging Molly among others. So when I stepped up and took control of this, (quite small) audience, I was taking with me a history of music that I find most appealing. Punk.
I didn't try to recite the lyrics in a way that sounded like anyone that had sung the sound before me. Not that I was trying to be unique. I just have my own voice that doesn't exactly fit with the way the song had been interpreted before. What I found is that my rendition took on a life of its own. I wasn't just singing someone else's song any longer. I had made the song my own. My scruff voice started the song as many may have sung it before myself but as the song progressed, so did my movements on the stage and the intensity of my voice. Before I realized what was occurring, the crowd was moving and I was belching a scream, more typical of "hardcore" punk, than of anything that had been done in the past. I was performing again. I was where I may have always been meant to be, on stage.
I remember my friend Jeff asked me awhile ago whether I'd be interested in being in a band with him. At the time, I realized that I had/have no voice. I was researching punk but I hadn't realized how unimportant this was to everything. I thought "I can't sing, why would I even attempt to be a singer in a band?" I write. That's what I do. But as I came off the stage, in a rush of emotion someone pulled me over and complimented me on my performance. He said that he was from the east and that I was better than any of the shit he had seen on stage before me. I kind of blew it off but we wound up talking a little bit later and he said that he had connections and he wanted to hear me sing again. So I did the song one last time and I felt a real comfort with the mic, jumping around the stage and shifting the cord as needed. For the first time in my life I thought. "Hey, maybe, I can be a real punk rocker".
Who knows? Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. This is one group of people that believe in me. This is one person with some connections that may or may not work out. But I can't help but yearn for that stage presence again. I was talking with a good friend of mine recently who has been encouraging me to start writing again and I asked her about what she honestly thought about my short-lived career as an actor. I trust this friend's opinion and critique of any artistic venture I find myself involved in and she had belief in my talent as a performer and as a writer. I can't help but think "Maybe I've been a punk rocker all along." Maybe it's a deep-rooted wish of mine, especially after my research. I mean, who wouldn't want to be a punk rocker? But maybe it isn't just a crazy wish. Maybe this guy really does have connections. And maybe I have found my allotment in life. Could someone teach me how to write a song?
