"Free music for the People :: free People for the Music"

[est'd 2004 A.D. :: New Jersey]

Saturday, November 7, 2009

A Moment for Quiet Reflection on the Current State of Shit

first, watch this video 3 to 5 times:

i was at this show. i was 16 or 17. i havent been the same since. it was the loudest show i have ever been to, as well as the hottest (both meanings) and most jamp-packed. take a close look, visually, at the video. this was a basement (the benrubi basement to be exact) no larger than a suburban garage (smaller, in fact) stuffed with more sweaty teenage boys (and 2 or 3 brave girls) than i have ever seen in one place. we didnt mosh, we danced and collided and smelled and sweated and heated it up to at least 95 degrees of stinking, smoke-saturated, girl-free, basement. it was the most tribal experience ive ever been a part of. movement, without aim to impress or hurt or hump, only out of necessity. a bi-polar, stoned out of his mind, anxious, nervous, Brandon, preaching without words, improvising without reservation, moving us all to the point of exhaustion. whispering ultra-loud nonsense in our ringing ears and finally we realized, in one way or another, this was the end of "it's 1969 okay!" and "i've been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand", the beginning of a realisation of the empty, inherantly beautiful, meaninglessness that was/is existence post year2000. how great it is to be invisible.

immediately afterwords, i lay on the deck of the back porch, staring upward, as if you could get further... up. or in any direction.

the thing about music is that it is the loudest thing.

all other things can both literally and metaphorically be boring/dulled by it.

do not mistake this show for some "passionate musician" playing a "great set" for some fucked up teenagers.

although it was also this. but 2nd.

the musicians were not famous, names unknown, people fucking with their equipment before their set. they were part of the tribe, dancing as well, in the middle, pushed around. not the center, only the source. the aliens spoke to them, not us, but we all heard the good word from outerspace.

and i wish i was the silent type to not try and put that night into words, to leave it for the man upstairs to meditate on with a finger up his ass. but, fuck that, ima try and explain what i can so that we can fuckin make something of it, besides "fuck, what now?" or at least all look at eachother and high-five, and stick our fingers in our butts, and smile.

i brought a few people to the show... my friend natalie, who i was dating at the time took this video, i assume on her phone. it is my favorite video on youtube. it is my favorite video of rasputins secret police, it is my favorite piece of video evidence of what my generation is/was/will be.

a bunch of insecure, eternally-emotionally-fucked-up-from-middle-school, stoned kids in a basement listening to what the weird, tall kid has to say.

and he didnt write a speech, he just mumbled some shit really loud.

i guess i have no point, but i'll make one up cause that's what they taught me:

let's not forget why we are here. let's not forget the things that made it so, without a doubt, clear to us that we do not feel the same way as most. it is not that we do not care but that we dont give a fuck.

and we care too much.

here: watch it some more 

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