Skull & Bones

Last book of the month, kids.

Spooky Month has been full of freaky deeky books. There's been children's books that made a lasting impression, comics to make a visual spectacle, some gnarly stories about zombies and plenty of Stephen King. To finish out the week in circuitous fashion, how about a look at my favorite collection of King's short stories? Sound good? All right, then - Skeleton Crew. Published back in 85, the collection is a series of shorts that were all written and published early in the horror writer's career when he was apparently bursting with ideas, this book following on the heels of the collection Night Shift and the novella-grouping of Different Seasons. Skeleton Crew is King at his best, writing bursts of characterization and tossing out horrendous and even offensive ideas, doing so with inspired bits of creativity giving them life.

I first read this book back in 1997, actually on the recommendation of me darling mum. She had recapped a fairly edited and cleaned up version of one of the more remarkable tales in the book, about a man who finds himself stranded on a tiny island with no food and only a bit of water. When pressed for details, instead of relating the grisly bits she drove me to the library. As I mentioned in another King-focused post, it didn't matter what I read, so long as I kept my mind moving. So I checked out Skeleton Crew and devoured it - it quickly became my personal favorite of his short stories collection. Full to the brim with his signature style, the stories here are perfect for getting under your skin for Halloween.

 'Survivor Type', I should explain, is just as remarkable and horrible as I was lead to believe. Related in a series of broken journal entries, the tale of a h smuggler gone wrong is captivating and without an ounce of fat on it. It's a lean, fast-paced story that cuts right to the chase and sucks you in, creating repulsive images in your head as you read. I love just regaling friends with the concept of what happens in it and watching them squirm. Fun cocktail party stuff, for sure. Another iconic tale in the collection, 'The Monkey', evokes more of an inescapable terror but in a more mystical sense. Your classic children's toy becomes an unshakeable omen in impending doom, to the terror of a young man. It seems to have been the inspiration to more than a couple episodes of television, from The X Files to b-movies in MST3K. 'The Jaunt' sees King veering out of his comfort zone into science fiction. In typical fashion, though, he uses the genre as a launching point for some creative concepts and horrible, mind-bending results. The basic premise involves a future in which a form of teleportation has become common practice. The only catch to the revolutionary manner of travel is that the traveler must be unconscious for the jaunt. To be awake would...well, you'll have to read the story to find out, but I have to say, it's one that has always stood out as a high point in short-form fiction. I particularly loved the portion where King relates the scientist creating the technology and experimenting with mice to varying degrees of success.

 I would be remiss if I were to discuss Skeleton Crew without talking about the heavyweight in the bunch - The Mist. This has to be one of my favorite bits of fiction by King, ever. It's one of those things that is somehow able to suggest so much from so little. To long to be a short, too short to be a novel, King leads off the book with this fascinating tale of military experiments gone wrong. Actually, that's never really confirmed in the story, only rumored. You see, there's a man who's community endures a terrible storm. Afterwords, while he waits with his son to get some groceries and supplies while the power is out, a heavy and pervasive mist rolls through, blanketing everything. He and everyone in the store are curious but cautious at this strange development - it's not fog, so what is it? A man bursts in, in a panic, screaming about monsters, things, in the mist. They soon find out he's right. The paranoia and survival instinct-driven mob mentalities that follow are harrowing. King is scarily effective at conjuring up the worst in people who are under the worst circumstances. The hints we get of the creatures and their potential origins are horrifying and fascinating, some of the most memorable fiction I've read. 

So you've stuck with me for the first leg of Spooky Month. You've got plenty of fodder for the rest of the month - something for your kids (but only if they can handle it), something for lighter fare, and some longer stuff to chew through. If you want some quick shots of nasty, bizarre horror - look no further than Skeleton Crew. It's King at his best, when he was young and full of vinegar. Stay tuned for more Spooky stuff. 

Repressed

Alright, here's the thing.


I fully intended on writing up a piece on some of the most disturbing books I read as a kid, all in the name of Spooky Month and this book themed week. I did some research, I looked some stuff up on the ol' Google. Then I started to remember why I blocked out my experiences of reading the books. Then the pictures showed me why I couldn't just post a bunch of them and wipe my hands of this. They were actually really disturbing.


If you were a kid in the last, say, 30 years who enjoyed reading, the odds are you came across Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark. When I was a child the collected Urban Legends and folk tales  were spine chilling. Now I find them to be enjoyable slices of lore that distill what unnerves us. The drawings that accompanied them were as disturbing then as they are now, to the point that just seeing pictures of them online brings me back to the discomfort and terror I felt as a child. Having read other people's recollections of their experiences and their disbelief at how the images compare with any other children's books, I am obviously just one of many who have been traumatized by this short lived series.

Written and compiled by Alvin Schwartz, the books all tell tales that are brief and to the point. There are classic Urban  Legends like the Man with the Hook Hand or the Unseen Hitchhiker in the Backseat or the Roommate who was Dead All Along. There are folktales of the uncanny and the taboo - tales of songs and chants and things to ward off evil. Again, these are not the most bone-chilling reads as an adult, more capsular versions of our horror movies. As a child - I slept more than a night or two on the floor of my parents room, feeling safe in their presence. 

The illustrations accompanying the collected writings are by Stephen Gammell, who has a long and celebrated career as an illustrator for children's books. Having over fifty books to his name, it's a bit of a wonder this series stands out the way it does in his career. Once you see them, though, it becomes a question of forgetting them rather than remembering them. The surreal and deformed, decaying figures are uncanny in the worst possible way. They are things of remarkable artistry, there is no question of that - they are so well made, though, that you can't help but shudder just a bit as you see some of the more...inspired...creations.


These books terrified me. If you think your kids can handle it, by all means let them have at them. But please, err on the side of safety. If you read them as a kid, conquer one of your old fears. Spooky Month! 

Desperate Measures

Hola, gang.


Let's just cut right to the chase, shall we? 


As I have made it abundantly clear, I do love me some Stephen King. For better or worse, I'm hooked on his relentless writing, all character based and paired up with other-worldly horrors. It may not be the most high minded and literary for those of us that still enjoy the written word, but man if it isn't habit forming. It all began years ago.


I"m pretty sure Desperation was the first book of King's that I read. There's the possibility that it was Needful Things but that cold winter year was so damn unpleasant that I tend to run together or straight up block out some of the memories. I was a miserable little pissant in middle school, I recall that much. My older brother had either sneaked home a book of King's or just slipped it under the parent's watchful radar. He could be plenty convincing when he wanted to be. Whatever the case, I picked up Desperation out of curiosity, having heard his conversations with our neighbor Ryan over the messed up thematic elements and horrible occurances. My morbid litte mind was more than just a bit curious, I'll confess. The illicit nature of the book was soon lost on my hungry mind - I was so desperate to keep reading that I thought nothing of bringing the book to school, sneaking the 700+ page book into my stack of required texts. I still remember Ms. Zubrowski asking me if my parents knew I was reading such gruesome fodder. I smiled and nodded, saying "They don't mind, as long as I'm reading."

In what was perhaps a harbinger of things to come, Desperation was both an examination of faith and a tale of evil things setting their sights on mankind. I was struck, as a young adult, by the honest and frustrated take on religion and nature of God that King took in the novel. On top of the angst-ridden diatribes were the nihilistic attacks on humanity as seen through the ancient deity Tak. In a way, they set the tone for my appreciation for horror literature and my rationalization for the world around me - awful, incomprehensible things may happen on any given day, but they do not mean I have to lie down and accept them. I am not just a reaction to the world but a presence in it, one that can shape it as it happens. 

The plot of the book is actually fairly simple - a long forgotten and malevolent evil is released from its imprisonment beneath the ground in the desert. It begins leaping from person to person, killing and consuming everything in its path as it continues marauding through the desert. When the ancient entity inhabits the hulking body of a local sheriff, it uses the man's authority and power to capture a group of people travelling through the local township. These people are find themselves imprisoned by the sheriff as a result of his con, and soon find themselves tasked with combating the demonic force. What ensues is a confrontation with evil, faith and one's own fallibility. It's a moving book.

Desperation is not one of King's highest regarded works. I'm willing to overlook that, though, as it has always been one of my favorites, if only for it being one of my earlier experiences. There's plenty of horror to go around here - animals being possessed, inhuman acts of violence, wanton destruction and an absence of the divine. Desperation is filled with the lonesome scares of the wilderness that draw on our sense of the natural world aligning with the gods against us. It set me on a new path when I was a teenager, one full of peculiar tales with distinct characters. Give it a read for a Southwestern taste of torture. 

From Below

Let's lighten the load, shall we?

Yesterday's piece on The Living Dead collection was a bit grim. That is one macabre book full of dismemberment and head shots. Fun stuff if you're into it, but maybe we take a bit lighter approach today? Let's use today's Book themed Spooky Month post to take a look at one of my favorite comics. Let's take a look at Hellboy.

 Created by Mike Mignola back in the early 90s, Hellboy is something of a fighter. The long suffering but good natured demon weathered the treacherous comic industry that snuffed out many a smart book in the latter part of the decade. A surprisingly enjoyable movie was adapted from the first few volumes of the book, directed by Guillermo Del Toro and starring Ron Perlman in a perfect fit for the titular demon. On top of that, Big Red has seen enough enduring appeal and marketability to warrant a second, more ambitious motion picture adaptation while the book continues its extended run. Spin offs have been successfully launched. Animated adventures have been created to expand the universe and satisfy a demanding audience. All of this without being on one of the two major labels. The cigar chomping, trench coat sporting paranormal investigator is one hard demon to keep down.

So why the love? Why all the adoration for what could easily have been a one-shot or cameo, a character too outlandish or taboo to last?

I think it has to be the attitude. Not like Poochy, I should clarify. Despite the amazing and vivid artistry on the pages, I suspect it has to be the scripts and dialogue that make this comic such a (forgive the pun) dark horse. Created and published at a time when darker, edgier and more extreme were the rules by which the suits played, Hellboy kept it simple and accessible despite the other-worldly concept and settings. One could chalk it up to serendipitous choices in creative direction, but you get the sense within just a few pages that Mignola struck just the right balance between Lovecraftian-inspired, n fueled trappings and a 'just my luck' down to Earth sensibility for the comic. Hellboy may be dealing with Old Gods and steam-punk stormtroopers but he does it all with such a dogged good nature that you don't feel like you're reading a dour and unpleasant comic. Red's got a soft spot for kittens and cartoons, how dark can it be? 

That being said, I love everything about the Hellboy universe - from the folklore that creeps in to the mixture between slapstick and violence that (unlike many comics) has danger and consequences. Characters die. Things hurt. Baba Yaga has a house on a chicken leg. Rasputin summons Red with incantation and painfully cool devices that look right at home among the pop-art-meets-German-expressionism stylings of the comic. Subject matter that could come across as too self-serious or absurd in the wrong hands instead has an air of mystery and menace, walking that fine line between horror and jovial comedy. What many have pointed to as an unrecognized reason for the success of Ghostbusters and Shaun of the Dead is also a large part of the enduring appeal of Hellboy - that back and forth interplay between the comedy and horror. They play off of each other in such a subtle manner you forget they are separate elements. That they work together so seamlessly is a testament to the craft. 

Of course, none of this would work as well without the dynamic visuals. The characters lend themselves to such iconic depictions that it's no wonder they've made the impact they have. The bold, bright colors and heavy lines compliment the old-world themes. Fellow paranormal investigators Abe Sapien and Liz Sherman the pyrokinetic look just as impressive as Red himself. There is such an undeniably cool simplicity to the pop-art aesthetic here that place Hellboy in its own league. I can think of few other books that feature anywhere near as much architecture as this - an inspired move that aids immensely in creating vivid, almost tangible settings for outlandish happenings.

Full of things that go bump in the night, these comics are a perfect compliment to Halloween. Trade paperbacks of the first issues are easily available today. If you're not into reading a comic the movies are fantastic, loving adaptations of the source material. Not all the best comics are Marvel or DC, for those of you that don't know - Hellboy is a great place to go off the beaten path. Check it out and see for yourself. 

Dead & Loving It

This literary introduction to Spooky Month won't be all King.

A couple years back a kind and generous family member had bestowed upon me a gift card to a major book retailer. It's always been known in my family that I was a voracious reader, a fact that has always been embraced and cultivated. What was not known, however, was that as my tastes developed they also tended to turn and decay ever so slightly. While I would whip through my high school homework with ease I would also find the weirdest and most divergent books to make my mind stretch and expand. In college, in addition to carving out time for philosophy texts, I would also devote too much of my time indulging in schlock and pulp, loads of comics and King. Sure, some of it was to blow off steam after exams or kill time on flights before the days of iPads. But let's be honest here, people - I love a good ol' grimy horror story. So when I was looking through the nationally known purveyor of the written word, I stumble upon something I had to have. It was awesome. It was huge. It was all about zombies.

The Living Dead collection, compiled and edited by John Joseph Adams, is a massive tome. Touting contributors from all over the spectrum, there are some big names between the covers. King makes an appearance, naturally, as does his son, Joe Hill. They're almost expected, sure, but there are also fantastic tales from the likes of Neil Gaiman, Clive Barker, George R.R. Martin, even Poppy Brite. The authors here are all at their freewheeling best, writing unconstrained by potentially offended or sensitive palates. The stories are all unflinching and raw, the plots and backdrops going for gusto. It's not a collection of essays on the first time they saw a scary movie. No, these are stories that delve deep into the meat of a good zombie tale - horrible, unspeakable (but well written) things happen. Worlds perish. People are c. It's grimy. It's gritty. It's hard to enjoy while eating dinner.

The stories are all unique and all strong enough to stand on their own. King's is a collection of all his hallmarks - your classic Romero-type outbreak in a small island town in Maine, complete with ordinary people dealing with horrendous things. Gaiman's is also identifiably his, with lots of quirks of humanity and touches of personality that make the scenes and people come to life, despite the overwhelming presence of death. There's a fascinating examination of the potential abuse of the political system in light of the deceased being granted the right to vote. The implications of Dale Bailey's story are mind blowing, it's a must-read for anyone interested in our current political mess, let alone fans of the undead. The tragic and heartbreaking tale of adolescent influence, 'The Dead Kid' by Darrell Schweitzer, still stays with me now, a moving and disturbing piece of fiction. George R. R. Martin paints huge vistas of dying and decaying worlds, telling a story of machinery and tech gone inhuman.

I have to say this book is unlike anything else I've ever read. I picked it up years before the whole zombie resurgence reared up. Now we have critically acclaimed television series, more video games than I can count and legions of films celebrating this micro genre of horror. While it was definitely ascending at the time, it was not the omnipresent force that it is today. I'm not claiming some 'cooler than the fad, in before it was popular' hipsterism, I'm just explaining that it was an eye opening gift from the world of fiction to have such an awesomely brutal collection of stories like The Living Dead. Give it a read, if you can stomach it. Just don't read it while you eat your lunch at the office. You might end up a vegetarian. 

Life Or Death

Already one post in and I'm thinking this is gonna be a long month.

I'm all about Halloween, Spooky things and the macabre. Sometimes, though, the subject matter presented in some of this freaky-deeky fiction gets the best of me. While I would love nothing more than to spend a week making emphatic recommendations about Stephen King's career, this one bums me out the more I think about it. It might have something to do with the fact that I just spent Sunday night watching a movie with my cat sleeping in my arms, but man...here we go.

Pet Semetary is some uncanny business. I mean that in the most straight-forward sense. Published back in 1983, the books is about a family in Maine (duh) who move to a rural homestead not far from the titular cemetery. Kind neighbors show them the lay of the land and get them set up in their new life as country folk, but also show them the local pet cemetery as part of the surrounding area. Louis Creed is okay with letting his children learn about the circle of life, his wife is less than okay with it. A busy county highway in front of their house forces their hand in the matter when their cat, Church, is struck down by a semi. Louis, not wanting to upset the balance of his family at a fragile time, makes the kind elderly neighbor Jud take him past a dead-fall at the border of the pet cemetery, into land that has been avoided due to its...strange properties. Known to the local Native American inhabitants as sour ground, their have been legends and tales of things being buried that come back to life. The catch is that the things that come back...come back...wrong. As the neighbor cautions "Sometimes dead is better". It only gets worse from there.

I remember seeing the movie adaptation of Pet Semetary on USA back in the mid 90s, when I was much more easily scared. I'm pretty sure it was broad daylight, but I was definitely disturbed by the images and concepts put forth. Dale Midkiff (who is somehow not Gary Sinise, despite my mind's fervent insistence) put in a great performance in the movie, particularly when a horrible tragedy befalls his family. Fred Gwynne plays Jud! How can you not enjoy that little twist of casting - it's Herman Munster! Anyway, the movie is not a bad adaptation of the book, having aged considerably well for the time and production values. I'd recommend it if you won't read the book.

Honestly, though? Read the book. You get so much more creep factor than you do with the movie. The movie is more of a drama, where as the book is out-and-out disturbingly developing horror. It builds so well. King puts you into Creed's head so well, you begin to understand his rationalization for his actions, even as you think he's off his rocker. What starts as a quiet tale of a family settling in to a new home quickly goes off the rails into a world of old gods and things in the woods that laugh at our assumptions. I still get the willies when thinking about some of what King suggests stalks the woods in Maine. All of this on top of the most repulsive ideas of the uncanny make for an unforgettably creepy tale. 

See how we do this? I might get a little squeamish at my own favorites, but as soon as I start to retread that familiar territory I remember why I get so excited and evangelical in the first place. You have to read this book if you want some horror for October. It's all about walks through the woods in the country, dead leaves and empty trees all around. Believable and relatable characters endure the worst things King can conjure. Nasty stuff. Just look both ways before crossing the street. 

New Signal

Spooky, gang.

This is a whole month of spooky. 

I've mentioned since returning from my honeymoon how I wanted to do larger themed projects for this site. This was one of the first things I thought of - a whole month (October, natch) centered around the freaky-deeky. Halloween is my favorite holiday, hands down. I love fall, I love the macabre, I love the costumes, I love the mystery, I love the night. Can not get enough of it, no joke. All of the month of October will be focusing on my favorite spooky things that I feel are deserving of more love and accolades - a week of books, a week of music, a week of shows and a week of movies. There's probably gonna be a lot of zombies. Also, a lot of Simpsons. Just warning you.

So - where do we start? 

October 1st, naturally. On October 1st in Stephen King's Cell, all is well with the world. Graphic novelist Clay Ridell has sold his idea to a popular independent label and he looks forward to seeing his young son. Without warning, the world loses its collective mind. The peaceful afternoon is shattered by planes crashing, cars colliding and people violently, and without provocation, tearing each other to pieces. While it's not apparent at first, the cause is soon traced to a widespread signal, a single call, spread through the world's cell network. The signal, from unspecified origin, effectively wipes out the higher functions in the mind, reducing all who hear it into aggressive, dangerous beasts. Society collapses in a moment and Clay is on the run, banding together with a few other stragglers and late-adopters to the common tech. As their group of surviving unaffected head north to an area supposedly without cell signal, the people affected begin to change, to demonstrate flocking behavior. It only gets crazier and more panicked as the tale unfolds.

Cell is a book that starts with a bang and explores the aftershocks. It's a short jaunt for King, clocking in at just 354 pages, a third the size of some of his larger works. The pace in the beginning is frenetic and scrambled, effectively throwing the reader into the chaos ensuing from a novel manner of terrorism or warfare. It's an interesting concept which serves as a strong jumping-off point for King, allowing him to play with the idea and expand it in horrible ways. From the pace and creative concept, it's not unlike Crichton or other tech-centered authors while summoning concepts and carnage owing to the zombie-auteur George Romero. Sure, it lags a bit as the characters spend a sizeable chunk of the book on foot, but the plot developments are always surprising and captivating. 

If you have any stomach for grisly horror or want some classic-styled but freshly energetic King for Halloween, read Cell. It's not one of his bigger works, but it's a passionately written book that's genuinely frightening and original. It's gripping from the word go - a page turner if there ever was one. This manic tale of technology gone rogue is just the opening salvo in my month of Spooky Stuff. Stay tuned to stay scared. You're gonna love it.

No Reason

Sometimes these things come out of the ether like ghosts rising from the grave.

I love Garbage. Most of what they have released has been really solid, thought provoking music. They've had some great albums, a collection of artistically unique videos and one mammoth greatest hits collection. I love their sound, in general - all the churning electro elements and post-grunge guitars mashed together by a group of renowned producers, all of which compliment vocalist Shirley Manson's distinct voice incredibly well. It's a shame that they've mostly been going in spurts and sputters for the last decade, because I would always love to have more from them. Their last official album, Bleed Like Me, came in a series of fits and false starts after the lukewarm album that proceeded it. Beautiful Garbage was too slick and soulless for their own good - they went from taking the p out of pop music to becoming robots themselves. Bleed Like Me brought all the warts back in (mostly) the right places. As I have admitted in previous pieces on the band, they have yet to hit the heights of their earlier work, but there is a really great song that stands out on Bleed Like Me. 

When the band released the patchwork tune that is 'Why Do You Love Me' as the lead-in single to the album, they came out with both barrels blazing. The only problem was they ran out of ammo -it's easily the best, most memorable song on an album that runs out of steam. This song, though, is a monster. The opening guitar licks are massive, the tone so fat and raucous it hardly feels like a guitar. Abruptly, the song switches gears for what will be the first of a few distinct sections. The verses are skittering and light as Manson sings of not being a Barbie doll or "as pretty as those girls in magazines". It could easily come off as trite riot grrl posturing of yesteryear but the band and Manson sell it with such conviction you're willing to buy it at face value. The band's distinct use of layered guitar lines build in to the chorus, where the song breaks wide open. Over squealing guitars and pounding drums, Manson wails the title of the track over and over, making it into an obsessive accusation as much as a derisive rhetorical question. As a segueway the same over-stuffed guitars pop back in to transition to another verse. It also shows up in a quiet little break wherein Manson coos about suspicions of a cheating mate, the separate pieces of the song making a bit more sense as they repeat. 

This single, released in 2004, felt oddly out of time when I first heard it. Not in the structure of the song, mind you, but in its tone. Other than the layers of polish granted by modern tech, it could easily have been written and released back in the band's early period when they were full of drive. Here, though, it's a welcome reminder that not all music in the 90s was dour grunge and flannel - there were, and are, bands that can play with energy and conviction beyond the indie scene. In fact, in a curious move, this single has none of the trademark electronic bells and whistles of their typical sound. I'm sure, given the sources, that the guitars and drums are twisted and tweaked beyond any natural existence, but you'd hardly know it without any blatantly artificial noises. 

I wish the rest of Bleed Like Me was written out of the pieces they were stringing together to make this track. It feels a bit like there's a whole album crammed in to this one single. The rest of the album, while not a waste by any means, fails to live up to this high point. There are some solid rockers and an interesting breather or two, but at best it's a bit of a let down, just reminding the listener of how good they used to be. Considering that Beautiful Garbage was such a mess, I was surprised Bleed Like Me was this good, to be honest. It's not the best of their career, but if you're into them I would recommend checking it out. There's some good stuff hidden in it.   

Feeling Blue

Sometimes I'm too stupid for my own good.

I remember being in 8th grade at my dilapidated middle school. It was Fall and the day was almost over. Everyone was grabbing their homework and throwing on jackets and backpacks. A friend of mine had a copy of Third Eye Blind's first album sitting on her desk, having borrowed it from a friend. Being a misanthropic little teenage snot, I started giving her grief over listening to such a blatantly poppy, radio friendly band. How dare she go out of her way to listen to music she actually enjoys, and on top of that it's popular! The horrors! Well, she stood up for herself (as she rightly should have) and I shrugged it off to go be opinionated about something else. Hindsight proved me to be pretty off the mark on that album - it was full of really catchy, strong songs. Even now, in the midst of my all-too-often played list of 90s songs, there are no less than three singles from that one album. 'Semi Charmed Life', 'Jumper' and 'How's It Gonna Be' are all insanely catchy, well written pop songs that, while not the hardest rocking tunes ever, are still satisfying. They've held up a lot better than some of the crud I was listening to at the time.

Sometime later, I think about halfway through high school or perhaps more, I found myself in the flipside of that situation. I found myself becoming obsessed with popular culture and the joys of mass appeal. I'd gone from being judgmental to feeling sheepish over diving in too far. Third Eye Blind's sophomore album was getting really strong reviews and the single 'Never Let You Go' was on heavy rotation on the radio.  In stride with the struggles over single-versus-album debate that I've written about before, I decided to throw caution to the wind and buy the album on the recommendation of a popular magazine. Maybe it was an attempt to feel like part of the youth culture I always seemed separated from. Maybe I didn't have sufficiently strong or well formed opinions of what I liked or would like. Who knows. Point is, I never learened my lesson about buying singles. So I bought Blue by Third Eye Blind. It seemed...alright. I wasn't blown away by it at the time. Looking back, even with my desire to fit in and be one of the popular kids, I wanted music with teeth. I still dug Marilyn Manson, NOFX and Method Man & Redman.  I still liked weird music. I was, in essence, trying to find a balance between my indulgent pop side and my indulgent art-rock side. Eventually, years later as I settle into a life I understand and out of which can make some semblance of sense, I think I've found that balance. In doing so I've come to appreciate that album.

In all honesty I don't know why I feel this strange, persistent pull to Blue. It was a bit of a flop, frankly. Maybe it's the fact that Third Eye Blind's first album broke so big and this one was so small that makes it appealing, like I can only rationalize enjoying the album if it's not ultra mainstream. Then again, I bought it in the anticipation of it being a big success, so what do I know about my own justification? Whatever my subconsciousness tries to tell me is really beside the point - there's something that makes me spin through these tracks every couple years and just see what shakes out. 

While it's not the great neglected album that, say, Neutral Milk Hotel can claim as their own, there are definately some superb little secrets here. The song most people would know from this album, the aforementioned 'Never Let You Go', is a pretty solid single, but not the best here. I'd make a passionate case for the likes of the shorter but sweeter and more punchy '10 Days Late', with its burbling bass line and snapping guitar chords, it's a great song about the terrors of unplanned p and how we cope with it. Another great, seemingly overlooked song is the wide open and airy 'Wounded'. It has some wonderful bits of echoed and reverberated guitars. 'Deep Inside of You', which I oddly remember being on the soundtrack to Me, Myself & Irene, is your typical millenium-era acoustic radio ballad. You know what, though? I don't care - sometimes I want to embrace some commercial-grade radio rock. It's easy on the ears and is really relaxing. I like singer Stephan Jenkins' voice. They're nice songs that don't stress me out.

Gun to my head, why do I like this album? I think the accessibility. The songs are strong, not mindblowing, but strong and enjoyable. Nice, poppy stuff for a bright and sunny day. That's what I was way off base about, back in middle school. I made the mistaken assumption that only (perceived) depth mattered. My pretentious angst-rock wasn't any fun for anyone but me - something I learned once I started driving and had control of the tunes in my car. You have to embrace what you enjoy, no matter who gives you guff. Within reason. We all have to have some accountability. Maybe I'm rambling. I'm rambling.

Impending Music

My older brother took me to what I consider to be my first concert.

Growing up in the goon docks, I had only seen bands that would come through and play festivals. These acts were rarely of concern or relevance to me. Acts like Lynyrd Skynyrd and Twisted Sister and Alice Cooper were a big loud spectacle, even fun at times, but their shows were more an instance of causality than seeking them out. Rock Fest or (ugh) Country Jam would throw these festivals in the countryside, packing in as many inebriated attendees as possible, boasting lineups of bands well past their prime, all of it happening in a chaotic, messy amphitheater. Not to say First Ave is a pristine, sterile environment, but it kind of kills the excitement to see any live acts when mosquitoes and sunburn are of more concern than a band's latest album. Compounding these concerns was the reality that I was (and continue to make myself) an outsider - I was weird, made strange jokes, looked as awkward as I felt, liked unusual music. Basically I was a prototype of my modern self, which was great for embracing who I am today, but hard and lonely when surrounded by avid Kenny Chesney fans. So while I had seen concerts, I didn't consider any of them my 'first concert'.

The older brother fixed that with a birthday surprise - tickets to see Green Day as they toured to support their latest album, Warning. I was crazy excited, both for what I knew would be a great show and that my brother had made such a cool gesture - not only did he make a big investment (Ticketmaster was just as bad then as it is today) but he's never been a huge Green Day fan, either, so it meant he would make the most of it just to make me happy. I was really touched at the gesture. The night before we were driving up to the Twin Cities for the show I recall excitedly boasting to friends about the concert. In hindsight, they were polite but not as enthused. I get it, now. But I didn't care at the time - first show! Plus, it was a band that (in my mind) was huge! I never thought I would get to see them live, either by my tastes evolving or the band calling it quits. Fortunately neither have come true and I could see them again if I so desired. Interestingly, they seemed older then than they do today.

Warning is recognized today as a transitory album. In the wake of two major-label albums full of snotty punk anthems, Warning's predecessor Nimrod saw them wobble on their legs, ever so slightly. It was an album with experiments and the occasional misstep - for every up-tempo single, there would be a laid-back surf number or acoustic ballad. They were evolving as they grew older, as any band does. Warning exemplified that evolution. The song tempos slowed down even further, there were more natural sounds like acoustic guitars and harmonicas. More than ever, the band appeared to be putting greater thought into their song writing process. These weren't more of the band's standard fare of petulant take-downs and negativity. Instead, they offered songs decrying our coddled and pacified lives (Warning), examinations of faith in relationships (Church On Sunday) and fictional tales of dramatic doings (Misery). While some reviewers cried foul at the time, I really enjoyed the strange new sound coming from what had been a (fantastic) single-minded band. It was a fresh step, even if it sounded less youthful and energetic.

Despite the change in tone, the band was great live. If anything they sounded more vibrant in light of the more down-beat tunes. They played a fantastically energetic set full of old hits, new numbers that sounded just as intense (like the punchy 'Castaway' and 'Fashion Victim') and got the crowd really riled up. Green Day, at one point late in the show, brought people up on stage to play their instruments. Like an idiot, I crowd-surfed out of the pit only minutes before. Slight regret aside, it was a great show, one that had everything I wanted and some a great opening band, the Australian rock outfit The Living End. On the long drive back to our humble town we broke down our respective experiences, me being agog at the sound and energy, he being impressed with their quality live show and The Living End. Even with a two hour drive each way, it was still absolutely a more enjoyable experience than anything I had seen before, hands down.

The point I made earlier about transition and the band sounding older then than they do now is brought to light by their own work. After Warning came a lull in the band's career - they had made almost an entire album to follow Warning but the tapes were stolen from the studio. In a writing exercise and act of frustration, they started writing little 30-second suites to compose a larger number. This simple idea would usher in a new era for the band, selling millions of the rock opera American Idiot and even creating a Broadway show. They play with more piss and vinegar now, but they were just as passionate to perform back then, almost 10 years ago. A brief glimpse into an older, wiser Green Day showed that they were capable of new sounds, they just needed a bit of a push to get rolling. Warning was a transitional album, one that's full of great songs from a seemingly divergent band. You really ought to give it a listen - it's fascinating in light of where their sound actually ended up.

I always think of that killer first show whenever I hear this album. Songs from Warning first hit the airwaves around this time of year when it was slated for release, so when the sun sets a certain way, I flash back to high school and where I was when I heard them for the first time. Funny how the memories come together like connecting dots. I should thank my brother for that concert, the next time I talk to him. I don't think I conveyed how much it meant to me at the time.