The Swiss Army

Has it been twelve years?!  Northern Portrait’s debut album, along with their initial EP’s, were a breath of fresh air.  And now this four-piece from Denmark have returned over a decade later with their second LP, The Swiss Army.  Maybe they waited so long, because they knew that another rush of air was needed.

I think I wrote about all of their early releases, and I went overboard comparing them to The Smiths.  Yes, there is and was similarities in sound and style.  Vocalist Stefan Larsen has a wonderfully infectious vocal style that begs to be sung along to with great zeal!  Their music is timeless and sounds effortless and endlessly catchy.  And they have fantastic song titles, and lyrics like: “I have come to disappoint you!”   I think the similarities are strong in sound, but they also give me the same kind of rush and excitement that I first felt when I discovered The Smiths. 

Now, after all of these years, the new LP, is less Smithsy.  They’ve boosted the low end with this recording and have added a layer of organ to most of these tracks.  They still have all of their attributes fully intact, except now they are more in league with what Gene was doing from albums two through four.   Northern Portrait have not lost their knack for creating beautifully executed intelligent pop music tinged with longing, melancholy, feeling and fantastic melodies.

Each LP side opens with two singles.  “At attention” to open side one is one of those whoosh songs that always fills me with energy.  Side two’s “Once Upon a Bombshell” is one of those mid-tempo cautionary sad tales of faded glamor and attention that Morrissey used to capture so beautifully, while in The Smiths (“Paint a Vulgar Picture”).  In fact, much of the flawless second side feels like a strong caution of focusing one’s priorities on fleeting attractions of youth and commercialism.  The rousing “business Class Hero” is my favorite here with its life-giving guitar strums to its hammering and abrupt close and its tale of greed unhinged.  Sadly, there’s no karmic end awaiting this questionable character as they go on to “join the superhuman race.”  “World History part I and II” continues to focus on our penchant for fame and glory at all costs.  So damn good.  The Elsewhere, the jaunty “Long Live Tonight” grab a classic groove from pop bands going back to the 50s, but that still entice one to jump around, and likewise, the slow ballad, “The Soft Revolution,” could be a slow dancer from that time.

If you were or are a fan of 90s Britpop and Seattle’s National Honor Society, then you will likely really like this.  There are songs that can remind of the guitar attack of Suede, Sleeper, Blur, and even the classic melodies of the Stone Roses’ first album.  It’s also one of those records that gets better with each listen and it begs for repeated listens.  Can we wait for them to revive us in another twelve years?  I sure hope not.

(https://shop.matineerecordings.com/collections/new/products/northern-portrait-the-swiss-army)

 

Northern Portrait "Business Class Hero"

Song Stories: Grave Digger

 When Wil and I started the This Wreckage ‘zine over 30 years ago now, the idea is that we would have people submit material that we would throw in each issue as is and put it out to the world.  What we didn’t realize going in is that most people do not want to actually share things like that.  We struggled in finding material to achieve our albeit ambitious goal of a monthly issue. 

However, in a small way, I’d like to float out a similar request we used to do every issue, but with more of a singular focus.  I am hoping that anyone who reads this would be willing to send some kind of story of a certain song that means something to them.  This could mean a short story, an essay, a drawing, a photograph, a poem, a few words, I don’t know.  One of my favorite things is to tie music to pretty much every waking minute of my life.  It’s a problem really.  There are hundreds of songs that evoke a lot of emotions for me for a variety of reasons based on their being nearby at the time.  I absolutely love hearing and reading other people’s stories along these lines.  I don’t care the genre or the artist, or my personal history, if any, with the song, I find these stories endlessly fascinating.

I’m hoping to encourage any and every one who might be willing to send some of their stories to me via messenger, or via email: tangledrec@hotmail.com.  I would like to share them here, on this site, if given the permission.

Please ask any questions you may have.

Andy has been kind enough to tell a story.  Here it is: 

Later in life I was made fun of for liking them, and I was too quick to let judgement of peers, those self-proclaimed culture vanguards who read lots of Rolling Stone magazine and hung out in record shops and went to punk shows, skew my own thoughts, my own loves. I’ll never forget the feeling of being at The Gorge Amphitheater and see them live before the sunset. They were our generations Grateful Dead, and Dave Mathews had some tortured aspect of his voice that touched a nerve for me. Many songs echoed in my mind, but one in particular about Little Mikey Carson and the gravediggers that wait for us all - that one lingered and surfaced again and again. It mixed the pain and separateness of teenage angst, twisted up in a deep yearning for meaning, with a glimpse of acceptance, of peace, of human fate. And as he asked the Gravedigger, “won’t you make it shallow, so that I can feel the rain?” So, I find myself thinking of Keats, and his mighty grasp of the language and culture of a time bygone, who wanted nothing more than to proclaim, “here lies one whose grave is writ in water.” The feeling never faded; the feeling never died.

The Dave Matthews Band "Grave Digger"

Song Stories: Tainted Love

When Wil and I started the This Wreckage ‘zine over 30 years ago now, the idea is that we would have people submit material that we would throw in each issue as is and put it out to the world.  What we didn’t realize going in is that most people do not want to actually share things like that.  We struggled in finding material to achieve our albeit ambitious goal of a monthly issue. 

However, in a small way, I’d like to float out a similar request we used to do every issue, but with more of a singular focus.  I am hoping that anyone who reads this would be willing to send some kind of story of a certain song that means something to them.  This could mean a short story, an essay, a drawing, a photograph, a poem, a few words, I don’t know.  One of my favorite things is to tie music to pretty much every waking minute of my life.  It’s a problem really.  There are hundreds of songs that evoke a lot of emotions for me for a variety of reasons based on their being nearby at the time.  I absolutely love hearing and reading other people’s stories along these lines.  I don’t care the genre or the artist, or my personal history, if any, with the song, I find these stories endlessly fascinating.

I’m hoping to encourage any and every one who might be willing to send some of their stories to me via messenger, or via email: tangledrec@hotmail.com.  I would like to share them here, on this site, if given the permission.

Please ask any questions you may have.

Nuhamin has been kind enough to tell a story.  Here it is: 

“Tainted Love” (cover by Milky Chance): the thing is, the sun is out. We can get a cottage or a mansion or a shoebox apartment. It wouldn’t matter. We can be in each other’s embrace and the golden rays will pour in. All sweat and neck and limbs, we can drink the rays off each other’s skin. It will feel different. We can look into each other’s eyes and see all the colors. Already drunk off the idea of us bathed in warmth and coiled. I’m the heat of love…desire. No, love is more honest and braver still. Less cowardly. Yes, that’s it. The thing is, the sun’s been out for weeks and you keep walling yourself away. You never leave your house and you’ve erected impenetrable walls to keep the sun rays at bay. You are not brave.

Milky Chance "Tainted Love"

Song Stories: Something About You

When Wil and I started the This Wreckage ‘zine over 30 years ago now, the idea is that we would have people submit material that we would throw in each issue as is and put it out to the world.  What we didn’t realize going in is that most people do not want to actually share things like that.  We struggled in finding material to achieve our albeit ambitious goal of a monthly issue. 

However, in a small way, I’d like to float out a similar request we used to do every issue, but with more of a singular focus.  I am hoping that anyone who reads this would be willing to send some kind of story of a certain song that means something to them.  This could mean a short story, an essay, a drawing, a photograph, a poem, a few words, I don’t know.  One of my favorite things is to tie music to pretty much every waking minute of my life.  It’s a problem really.  There are hundreds of songs that evoke a lot of emotions for me for a variety of reasons based on their being nearby at the time.  I absolutely love hearing and reading other people’s stories along these lines.  I don’t care the genre or the artist, or my personal history, if any, with the song, I find these stories endlessly fascinating.

I’m hoping to encourage any and every one who might be willing to send some of their stories to me via messenger, or via email: tangledrec@hotmail.com.  I would like to share them here, on this site, if given the permission.

Please ask any questions you may have.

Heidi Holstein Larson has been kind enough to tell a story.  Here it is:

Here’s one of my favorite songs and it just so happens to be from the 80’s - one of the best decades for music, in my opinion. You may recognize this song from the radio, by Level 42, called, “Something About You.”  It came out in 1985 on World Machine….so I was probably around 15 when I heard it. It was the only top 10 song, this UK band, (formed in 1979) ever had in the States.

My brother Tony really got me into them and I started listening to their other albums…they were probably actually cassette tapes…lol…later I bought some of their CD’s.

I love this band so much. This video is completely 80’s and is so cheesy. In fact, it was just the other night I first watched the video! I went down a rabbit hole and started researching the band and learned a lot about them. Sadly, a couple of their members have passed away. One of the founding members, “Boon” Gould, who was a guitar and saxophone player and songwriter, tragically took his own life a few years ago. He suffered from bipolar disorder and from panic attacks onstage. He would go into deep depression and would self-medicate with alcohol, but finally lost the will to live and hung himself.

Another favorite song of mine is off of the World Machine album from 1985 and is called, “Leaving Me Now.” The lyrics and vocals, sung by lead singer, Mark King (also the bass player), are hauntingly beautiful. The last minute of the song features the piano and it has such a cool vibe to it.

I remember really getting into this band when I started going to PCC from 1988-1990. Staring at the Sun came out in 1988 and I recall times when I would wash and clean my car while blasting these tunes at my parents’ house. It’s funny that I have memories of cleaning the car and doing this. I enjoyed this whole album. It definitely had an 80’s jazz/funk sound to it. “Gresham Blues” was an instrumental piece on this album that I recall was inspired when the band was in Gresham, OR - perhaps for The Mt. Hood Jazz Festival(?) I was trying to google this, but couldn’t verify it online.

They have so many other songs that I enjoy. These guys are true musicians with such talent.

Level 42 "Something About You"

We Don't Need Another Hero

 

This is a post I’ve wanted to write for years, but haven’t had the courage to share, because I’m afraid it will be misconstrued.  Ever since Von Hippel Lindau (VHL) was diagnosed in my family back in 1985, people have been trying to “save” us.  By “save,” I mean that people have come out of the woodwork to heal us of a genetic disorder via various means.  I am not referring to people who offer help – like providing meals, or rides, or fundraisers, or valuable friendship and support.  We’ve had that over the years and it is a blessing.  It is difficult for me personally to accept, but it is truly amazing!  No, I’m talking about people who seem to be determined to cure us.  With my family, early on, it was often people we barely knew.  There have been Gypsies, Empaths, New Age Healers (not the band), Shamanism, Macrobiotics, as well as friends who have offered advice (never asked for) about how to beat this disorder.  My family as a group, and me personally, have always tried these things out.  We’ve drastically changed diets several times, tried acupuncture, acupressure, various therapies, lifestyles, etc.  None of these things have stopped the growth of tumors.  Most of these people have come and gone over the 35+ years it’s been going on.  Again, I’ve taken all of this very seriously and have tried different things to stop this garbage from growing in me and, on some level, appreciate the effort, though I worry that it has had a very negative effect on me over the years.

 

One consistency with these “healers” is that nearly universally, they try to get us to reject modern medicine and science – that the disorder can be controlled and dealt with the right attitude and their guidance.  I have always found this strange, because I have yet to encounter a medical doctor who has dismissed alternative treatments.  It is concerning.  The negativity comes from the constant failure of these treatments.  If the “healer” hasn’t already vanished, I am instructed that I didn’t do the treatment right, or that I didn’t commit enough.  The net result is that I feel like a failure, because this treatment worked on their second cousin’s sixth grade teacher’s Aunt, or something.  It’s confusing and discouraging.  I’ve failed at everything from full lifestyle changes to trying to wish away my tumors.  Maybe it is my lack of commitment.  I cannot write off medical science and keep from getting my annual scans to check on tumor growth. 

Don’t get me wrong, for the most part, I think these people have had the best of intentions and I truly appreciate that, which is why I have always tried.  However, I am tired of feeling like failure.  I’m tired of the lack of understanding.  I often get the feeling that these “healers” believe that I want to be riddled with tumors.  I can assure you, that’s not the case!  I have been willing to try a lot of different things over the years to try to avoid surgeries and specialists and constant various exams.  It is like having full time job, where instead of being paid periodically, you pay your boss.  

I think of that idea, where someone may complain about their problems, not to have the recipient of these complaints fix the problems, but just to listen and understand.  This is similar, except, most of the time, I do not complain about my health issues (or try not to), but I’m often getting strange solutions from people that completely ignore the fact that I have nearly forty years of experience and knowledge.  What it tells me is that the desire to help is more about them than it is me.  It is refreshing when people offer to pray for me, or to send good vibes, or try to understand my medical experiences, before jumping into shaming modern medicine and trying to convince me that I have been foolish all these years by not trying their latest favorite healing method.  Modern medicine and I have had a rocky relationship over these many years, yet it has been the only consistency in helping me deal with this shit.

Please take this into consideration, if you find someone close to you stricken with health issues.  Your love and support are much more helpful than a million self help books.  I may a selfish whiny asshole, but, as a longtime member of the chronic medical issues club, I do not think I’m alone in this. 

 

Song Stories: Dead Skunk

When Wil and I started the This Wreckage ‘zine over 30 years ago now, the idea is that we would have people submit material that we would throw in each issue as is and put it out to the world.  What we didn’t realize going in is that most people do not want to actually share things like that.  We struggled in finding material to achieve our albeit ambitious goal of a monthly issue. 

However, in a small way, I’d like to float out a similar request we used to do every issue, but with more of a singular focus.  I am hoping that anyone who reads this would be willing to send some kind of story of a certain song that means something to them.  This could mean a short story, an essay, a drawing, a photograph, a poem, a few words, I don’t know.  One of my favorite things is to tie music to pretty much every waking minute of my life.  It’s a problem really.  There are hundreds of songs that evoke a lot of emotions for me for a variety of reasons based on their being nearby at the time.  I absolutely love hearing and reading other people’s stories along these lines.  I don’t care the genre or the artist, or my personal history, if any, with the song, I find these stories endlessly fascinating.

I’m hoping to encourage any and every one who might be willing to send some of their stories to me via messenger, or via email: tangledrec@hotmail.com.  I would like to share them here, on this site, if given the permission.

Please ask any questions you may have.

Jamie Trigg has been kind enough to tell a fun story.  Here it is:

I have an infinite connection with a silly little folk song called “Dead Skunk” by a guy called Loudon Wainwright III. It was only in the last decade or so that I knew of Loudon’s recording of the song. I knew it as the second to last campfire song each night at Camp Colman where I spent most of my summers from age 11 through High School. Simply known as “Skunk” on the nightly Song/Skit list, it was always the second to last song (the last being our Camp-specific end of day song called “Tell Me Why / Ties that Bind”). Skunk, a silly song about the odiferous smell of an ex-skunk permeating a car as it drove down the midnight highway, was always our last few minutes of light-heartedness before we’d scamper back to our cabins in the dark, tell a couple ghost stories, and turn in for the evening. It marked the end of many a fun-filled day at Camp and, despite its somewhat morbid subject matter, always puts a smile on my face - even today.

Loudon Wainwright III "Dead Skunk"

Vanishing Point

 

This past Spring, my niece Ashley caught a really nice day and she treated me to a wine tasting.  We were just north of Yamhill and she decided to drive, which was a good idea, because I was a bit tipsy.  As we turned onto highway 47 to head back toward town, I noticed a small sign that was knocked over and barely visible amongst the roadside weeds.  I only caught it out of the corner of my eye and read it as “Chris Man Can.”  I thought it was strange, and it gave me the same kind of strange chill I got when I passed the “Don’t Give Up” motivational sign in Yamhill County a couple of years earlier (read about it here), when I was driving back country roads and falling apart at the seams. 

This stuck with me.  Unlike the “Don’t Give Up” sign, this one was oddly specific.  I later went back to that stretch of road and it turns out that the sign really read: “Chris Mann Can” and had been replaced by a new sign saying the same words, but also included a picture of this Chris Mann and wanting us to vote him in for Congress.  Cue the Replacements fantastic song “Valentine:” “well you wish upon a star / that turns into a plane.”  In other words, it was a disappointment.  I was planning on taking a picture, before realizing that it was not some sort of message to me and all the other Chris Men, but a Republican campaign sign. 

 

The Replacements "Valentine"

I’m not sure how I would’ve processed the message that I originally thought the sign was giving, other than bewilderment.  What I do know is that this Chris Man Can’t.

Recently, I visited the Oregon coast.  While I grew up there, there were two FM stations nearby and they both played a strange combination of adult contemporary and classic rock.  There are several stations now.  This trip, I chose to listen to 100.7 The Otter.  It was basically the same format as the others.  Heavy rotation was Ready for the World’s “Oh Sheila” and Bad Company’s “Feel like Making Love.”  I don’t think I had heard “Oh Sheila” since the 80s, but had heard it twice within the first hour of my visit.  Sadly, I hear “Feel Like Making Love” far too often.  For some reason, as I drove along the ocean highway, I tried to figure out the meaning of these things.  What brought about this combination?  Sheer evil genius.  Clearly, I am not ready for the world.  This Chris Man Can’t. 

Ready for the World "Oh Sheila"

This trip was a bold move for me.  Ever since I started the anti-tumor medication Belzutifan early this year, I have somehow experienced every side effect listed on the paperwork.  I hit the jackpot!  It has been a struggle – one I didn’t expect.  During my life, for the most part, I have handled medication, drugs, alcohol, etc. pretty well.  I think it’s because I am a big guy with a massive need for control.  However, in this case, I have been devastated.  My hemoglobin drops really low, so I have no energy, I lose my breath with almost any movement, and my heart races and hurts if I am not laying down.  So, I have no life, aside from rerun broadcast TV stations like MeTV, and my music collection (I try to read, but my eyes haven’t been right since my last surgery).  The trip was made to avoid the heat and to try to cure serious cabin fever.  I’ve been told by a few neurosurgeons that they will not perform another brain surgery on me, because it would be too dangerous – too high of a chance for serious hemorrhage.  I currently have five small brain tumors.  The nature of these is that they continue to grow until they cut off parts of the brain around them.  The medication has slightly shrunk these tumors over the past seven months.  However, my quality of life is not quality.  Am I making the right decision continuing the medication?  What would you do?  I’m already seriously limited physically from past surgeries and strokes.  This Chris Man Can’t figure out what’s best.

Honestly, I could go on and on about what I can’t do or take.  Ever since the pandemic hit, it seems like everyone is on edge, and I am no different.  I’ve been struggling with evolving friendships as my health and mobility has declined.  I struggle with the divisive politics and how anything and everything is now political.  I’m not sure there ever was any, but I would love to see and hear nuanced and reasoned debate when disagreement arises.  It feels like we’ve all become too isolated, where anything that interrupts our flow in any manner becomes our enemy.  I can see it in myself.  About a year ago, I went to the grocery store to buy a few things.  As usual, I chose the check out lane with the shortest line, but still had to wait forever.  For some reason, the checker liked to touch and examine everyone’s items.  He did the same with my items.  I handed over a .30 cent coupon for something and it didn’t work.  I think I had chosen a different sized package for a product than the coupon required.  Instead of just saying so, he began digging through my bags.  I lost it.  I suddenly started cussing him out before storming out.  It was not my finest moment and I felt terrible.  It was so unlike me.

I write these types of things to help organize my thoughts and to help ease my stress.  I post them in a vain effort to connect with others.  I hope that someone out there might relate and that it might somehow help in some small way.  Somehow though, Chris Man Can’t anymore.  None of this is enough.   

 

Raise Hell

Fresh

Raise Hell

(Get Better) 

I’ve often wondered why the search for new music has been such an important part of my life, and though I don’t really ever find a satisfactory answer, I think the biggest part is to find a way to capture and keep capturing that initial joy of discovery that comes with finding music at a young age.  It’s like an eternal search for youth.  I know that there are a few releases every year where a big part of their appeal to me is from the artist’s high energy alone.  Speaking of energy, the aptly named Fresh released their third album, Raise Hell, last month and I’m pretty excited about it.

My summer of 2019 was pretty well dominated by their last LP, Withdraw.  I fed into the pop hooks, the youthful energy of the performances, and especially the frank words (mostly about low self-esteem) and vocals Kathryn Woods.  I don’t know, it boosted me.  It was refreshing to hear twelve songs in under 30 minutes that are not all identical.  I’ve listened to it endlessly and have had each song as a favorite at different points in time.  Their second album was them finding their voice.  It is a marked improvement on their debut, as it claims their own territory and stands out as unique.

 Not sure if I had any expectations for the new album.  Gone, for me, are those days of high expectations of bands and then harshly judging them on the actual results.  Nowadays I prefer to just wait and see.  I liked their singles leading up to Raise Hell, and I can announce that there’s nothing super different here, yet it’s still a blast to listen and often!  They are a band that puts together songs that feel effortless in the sense that they can go all kinds of different directions and it all sounds right.  Plus, they play with such gusto, it is addictive.

The opener, “Our Love,” is a slow builder that utilizes a similar keyboard sound to The Kinks’ nostalgic elegy “Come Dancing” from 1982, before heading into becoming  a full-on rousing number.  The pre-LP single, “Morgan & Joanne,” pops up next and I dare one to not get this tune about a relationship that is doomed from the get go, stuck in their head.  For the real highlight comes at track four, “Going to Bed.”  It opens quietly, befitting the title, but quickly turns into a pseudo-ska jaunty pop classic, complete with horn section, that sounds as fresh to me now as the old 2 Tone stuff did 40 years ago.  For some reason, the wonderful chorus in the round makes me think of The Rifles at their best.  What a great song!

This album isn’t as starkly as dramatic lyrically as Withdraw, but the breezy sounding “Fuck Up” and the vulnerable “Deer in the Headlights” show that a mental health break might still be needed.  I could easily see any of these songs becoming huge hits, but in a good way, like “hey look at that indie rock band on tv!”  The recording is excellent as well, I love how many songs have a soloing guitar slotted to the left a bit, kind of like a Dinosaur Jr. song.

This kind of music feeds my soul and keeps me going.  When I listen, I feel like jumping around.  I no longer ever feel young anymore, but it does get me out of bed.

(https://freshpunks.bandcamp.com/album/raise-hell)

 

Fresh "Going to Bed:

Song Stories: Push

When Wil and I started the This Wreckage ‘zine over 30 years ago now, the idea is that we would have people submit material that we would throw in each issue as is and put it out to the world.  What we didn’t realize going in is that most people do not want to actually share things like that.  We struggled in finding material to achieve our albeit ambitious goal of a monthly issue. 

However, in a small way, I’d like to float out a similar request we used to do every issue, but with more of a singular focus.  I am hoping that anyone who reads this would be willing to send some kind of story of a certain song that means something to them.  This could mean a short story, an essay, a drawing, a photograph, a poem, a few words, I don’t know.  One of my favorite things is to tie music to pretty much every waking minute of my life.  It’s a problem really.  There are hundreds of songs that evoke a lot of emotions for me for a variety of reasons based on their being nearby at the time.  I absolutely love hearing and reading other people’s stories along these lines.  I don’t care the genre or the artist, or my personal history, if any, with the song, I find these stories endlessly fascinating.

I’m hoping to encourage any and every one who might be willing to send some of their stories to me via messenger, or via email: tangledrec@hotmail.com.  I would like to share them here, on this site, if given the permission.

Please ask any questions you may have.

Taliatha Anderson has been kind enough to tell a very personal story.  Here it is:

In 8th grade I formed some of the first friendships of my short life. I had been moving around a lot in the Seattle area and had never formed any relationships outside of my family that lasted longer than a couple of months. I was shy, sad, and socially terrified. When I came back to my birthplace of Lincoln City, Oregon and started attending Taft Middle School, I found a sense of belonging for the first time. The misfit crowd absorbed me into their ranks and they became my people. In Mr. Parker’s shop class, I sat with one girl from this crowd who had band names written all over the outside of her binder. The Smiths, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Depeche Mode, Joy Division, New Order and The Cure. I was uninformed and for a minute thought that The Smiths was a romantic notion that the boy she was dating, Shaw Smith and herself hoped Jr. High love would go the distance. “No! It’s a band” she laughed, but happy I took their romance as seriously as she did. I secretly wrote down all the names when she looked away and slowly started to accumulate these artists and more.

Our local record store, Driftwood Mac was a treasure chest for me. The owner Mike became a face I couldn’t wait to see. When I bought The Head on the Door by The Cure from him in 1987 I had unknowingly bought my favorite record for the next year. I was introduced to so many good artists at this time, but I kept coming back to this album time and again, listening to it over and over. Learning every inflection of Robert Smith’s voice and his whiny cries and howls, going over every word like religious text in my journal. It’s probably my favorite Cure album to this day. 10 perfect songs and oh man!! That album art!!!! A blurry x-ray of a face turning into smoke to my mind. I’ve never wanted to find out what the art really is, I’m still under its spell and knowing would take away a fundamental truth of my life. Robert Smith wrote that album for me. That evaporating screaming head with glowing eye sockets and hands covering it’s face in the x-ray is looking in to my own mind, a frenzied light captured in darkness and losing shape.

“Push” comes on 5th. There’s a clean channel distorted guitar riff punctuated by drum fills and it builds until the band all joins in. It becomes poppy, upbeat and danceable. For a couple of minutes, it goes on until dropping off again to build up again after another lonely guitar riff and Robert howls in the distance. Then the lyrics begin. The phrases that gave voice to my rage. “He gets inside to stare at her, the seeping mouth, the mouth that knows the secret you, always you, a smile to hide the fear away, oh smear this man across the walls like strawberries and cream!!”

I haven’t written those words in ages. They still move me and even now I feel my pulse gain speed. As an 8th grader I would find myself alone at home occasionally. If this happened as soon as the coast was clear I sprinted to the stereo. I’d put on “Push” loud and scream till I was hoarse. I’d pick up the needle to restart the song after the short lyrical portion ends the offering abruptly after it levels its accusations and makes its threat and resigns. The second time was always the best listen because I had just sung the lyrics so now the instrumental part was my youthful, uncoordinated dancing painting my living room with my wildly waving arms having just sang the most affecting words I had heard in my life up to that point. Yelling as loud as I could to “smear this man across the walls like strawberries and cream!”

I am not sure this song was written about what it became for me. I’ve never whole heartedly jumped into the side of music that becomes academic or analytical. Maybe there’s a narcissism in me that only wants to know what it means to me. I have always found music gave me a language I could never speak myself and that raw, vital connection has always felt fragile if I loved the music from a part of my mind that was beyond my visceral reaction.

At a young age I had lived a life of chaos and violence and my emotions were held hostage. Years of being told to “wipe that look off your face”, “don’t you dare cry”, “if you make a sound…!”, physically having a hand over my mouth and nose had buried my voice deep down inside of me and The Cure was coaxing it out of me until I reached the pinnacle and would scream with all the voice I could summon as if sheer volume and intensity could smear that man across the wall. “It’s the only way, it’s the only waaaaay to beeeeeeeeeeeeeyaaaaaaaaaaaoooooow!!!”

Cut from 87 to May 2008. 21 years later I was with my daughter Autumn at Sasquatch Music Festival in Quincy, Washington at the Gorge Amphitheater. Death Cab for Cutie played a fairly hurried set because Ben and the guys couldn’t wait to hear “the fucking Cure” as he put it. Even as a fan of Death Cab I couldn’t have agreed more.

I could write a novel about this show and what it meant to me but for the edification of “Push” as it applies to my experience, I will limit my bursting mind. I will say that opening with “Under the Stars” with that background and under actual stars might have been a little on the nose, but it was sublime. My relationship with this song comes full circle when midway through The Cure’s set that guitar riff begins. I was not in control for a time. I was an 8th grader alone in my home, finding my pain an outlet for the first time. I was a frenzied head evaporating into smoke on that x-ray.

I had to pull myself back to that moment I could not miss. I leaned into my daughter, now 5 inches taller than me. She knew my love of this artist and was protecting my view and my experience from the drunken scene around me so I could focus on this moment in time. I can still see Robert’s head completely still while his eyes wander from side to side above his messy lipstick. He was constantly making sideways glances through the edges of his ratty, black, cotton candy hair, as if avoiding eye contact with his crowd. He began to plead into his mic “exactly the same clean room, exactly the same clean bed, but I’ve stayed away to long this time and I’ve got to big to fit this time” and I immediately felt those 21 years.

My life no longer was contained and defined by moments, it had become a fuller experience. I can no longer fit into “Push” so completely. My voice now has a mind of its own to speak for it. But, the beginning needed “Push.” The feeling of growth and calm in the shadow of my beloved 15 year old daughter needed “Push.” I needed “Push.” A menagerie of artists and art forms have continued to assist me in exploring the emotional side of life, but this was my beginning of my relationship with my fractured self. It has been the most difficult journey of my life, but holy shit!!! It has a kick ass mix-tape, and the opener, the hook….

(Cue Push guitar riff).

The Cure "Push"

Song Stories: Half A Person

 When Wil and I started the This Wreckage ‘zine over 30 years ago now, the idea is that we would have people submit material that we would throw in each issue as is and put it out to the world.  What we didn’t realize going in is that most people do not want to actually share things like that.  We struggled in finding material to achieve our albeit ambitious goal of a monthly issue. 

However, in a small way, I’d like to float out a similar request we used to do every issue, but with more of a singular focus.  I am hoping that anyone who reads this would be willing to send some kind of story of a certain song that means something to them.  This could mean a short story, an essay, a drawing, a photograph, a poem, a few words, I don’t know.  One of my favorite things is to tie music to pretty much every waking minute of my life.  It’s a problem really.  There are hundreds of songs that evoke a lot of emotions for me for a variety of reasons based on their being nearby at the time.  I absolutely love hearing and reading other people’s stories along these lines.  I don’t care the genre or the artist, or my personal history, if any, with the song, I find these stories endlessly fascinating.

I’m hoping to encourage any and every one who might be willing to send some of their stories to me via messenger, or via email: tangledrec@hotmail.com.  I would like to share them here, on this site, if given the permission.

Please ask any questions you may have.

Jimmy Rattanasouk has been generous enough to share a story!  Here it is:

“16, clumsy, and shy”. Anyone who feels music as part of their life can relate to these lyrics. I first heard the Smiths on an AM station in high school, it was the music that became my lullaby. It wasn’t until college that I found out the name of the band. I was fortunate to find out about the band, and the song, and sound that felt like me that then turned into a romance.

In college I found someone that smelled like the Smiths, made my life feel like I was a Smiths song, and gave me an ending that a Smiths song could only expect. Other Smiths lyrics may be more appropriate, but Half a Person can capture any emotion, “Call me morbid, call me pale. I've spent too long on your trail. Far too long chasing your tail, oh”.

At 19 I made it to England and had to make the pilgrimage to Manchester to trace the chalk marks I made in my mind of this song. The song was based in London, but it was really Manchester for me. I went to the “why WCA” and as expected there wasn’t a vacancy for me. I walked around the downtown tracing my fingers on the walls of old churches going out of style and bridges that held up the city people for centuries that weathered like the parents of the same folk who walked them. I went to a Pizza Hut and ordered a pizza from the counter girl who couldn’t understand me and sounded like she was speaking Gallic, but got my personal pizza and ate it on the bridge overlooking the many canals of the city.

I thought about staying at a nice hotel since I had some extra money, but decided to just take the 6 hour train ride back to mirror the train ride I took that morning. The first ride was for the hope of discovery the city of the Smiths. The second part was to remember what I discovered. And I still wanted to feel 16, clumsy, and shy.

The Smiths "Half a Person"

Thanks so much Jimmy!