Dive Bars...

Tom Petty, Soulja Boy, Britney Spears, Queen, Prince...

What the fuck kind of playlist is this and who in the hell is picking the tunes!? I'm convinced whoever made the playlist is on crack, and judging from the state of the bar...it would be an accurate assumption. The Space Room has the good fortune of playing host to me and some of my friends. And while I could understand the rather shady clientele, the music was horrendous!! And I just think, how much better would everyone's experience be with a good mixture of old school/new school songs.

And then I think of my favorite campus bar, Max's. Great songs. No liquor, all beer, one pool table, like four booths and still packed every weekend. I want to point the success towards the selection of music a bunch of drunk collegiates can lose themselves (and their voices) in! Nothing beats the memory of Shannon aka Shay-Bug doing a awkward, spirited dance for the song, "Shout."

You know what? Illegal thoughts flash through my mind. Like what if I karate chopped the owner of this shitty shitty bar named The Space Room and threatened his family harm if he didn't oblige to a better set of tunes. Yeah, that sounds about right. Add some crowd-friendly anthems from Weezer and maybe sprinkle in some hard rock gems from Guns N' Roses. Not hard. But then I realize...shitty music defines dive bars.

Playing two or three songs in succession from the same artist is perfectly acceptable. Well not only acceptable, it's expected. A wretched smile pains my face as Queen's "We Will Rock You" was followed by "Fat Bottomed Girls." Ideally, played in Meghan's departure (the only friend I know who has an ungodly obsession with Freddie Mercury). The rest of the night played out like a bad dream, but I can't help look back with a chuckle. Kory, my best friend, entertained his lady friend while I found myself lost between Britney Spear's Blackout and Souja Boy's one-hit wonder.

I have every intention to burn a CD and leave it on the counter anonymously to see if anyone might be interested in playing something with a bit more credibility. So while I find myself single for the first time in awhile, I feel I've taken on music as my mistress and God forbid she be dressed in this whorish costume. She needs to be streamlined and free to evolve and express distinct creativity. Anything else would be sacrilege.

God...I've become a musical elitist.

Finally.



P.S. - How one typo can destroy a beautiful post. Yes, I just realized that I meant to say no liquor. All Beer. Thank you for the fact checkers! And while some may make certain allegations that I enjoy some lesser forms for music - this is true. I think that was the point. Almost every song had a certain memory attached like Prince's "Little Red Corvette." Meghan and I giggled as we recounted almost driving Jonathan to the brink of insanity, dancing in place as we jostled the car ever closer to our icy death. It was just the mix and the mood that was conjured. It was odd and ill-placed. Certainly not one that I would have wanted for this dark nightmare.



This.Is. Truth.

My Depraved Soundtrack

...May the haunting footsteps of those lost strike a chord of merriment that in fact we are not alone...

I can't even feign the importance that the circumstances of my demeanor and disposition are mine and mine alone. Millions around the world with conditions worse and ultimately heart-breaking may scoff at my despair. And while that brings some measure of comfort, I have only one life to live and when the bottom slides out from under my stable ground, I have no knowledge of the depths that I descend into.

Damien Rice said once that he couldn't write songs unless he was sad....

Melancholy melodies often find themselves more poignant than those spirited tunes, partly because we recognize and appreciate the kinship misery feels with its kind. However, I can't help but relish the serrated beating of my own heart lapping up pools of my own disdain for my own temperament. It's useless to curse the skies. It's useless to waste the bold, brave energy that being angry lazily points its beam towards. Anger has produced bombs that have destroyed innocent lives that have no business paying for other's transgressions. Angry is apathetic. Anger is easy.

I am not angry....I am disappointed and dead.

Dead to the ways of the past and born anew, fostering a new set of ideologies to tackle the obstacle at hand. I must continue to perish and awake new like a phoenix out of the ashes. I allow mere moments to mourn the passing of another son, but I must learn to remember the mistakes and improve. Anything else would be sacrilege. So, as the devil cackles somewhere in the dark, I can only begin again.

And how does this deal with music?

All conventional logic points to irrelevance, but in times like this, I think of how war-torn nations and poverty-stricken projects have produced violent light so bright it can't be ignored. Rappers such as Nas, Jay, and a slew of others that not only made it out, but brought some experiences to mainstream audiences who may not have otherwise been given such a visceral testimony. Illmatic, often regarded as the best hip/hop album of all time features first-person narrative of a young Nasir Jones accounting death, life, routine days, and grief housed within the fenced hell that manifested itself as the Queensbridge projects.

I will fall....

And continue to fall because I have too much pride not to. I am destined to do more than what I have allowed myself to waste during the first 23 years of my life. I have allowed myself to make excuses for myself and lend comparisons to others when there are none. I am an individual responsible for lifting myself out of this grave that is slowing filling in. I will fall because it's the only way we learn how to pick ourselves back up.


This. Is. Truth.