Life is almost feeling fine.
Slowly picking up bass again. Once my coworker pays me back, I think I may purchase my own again. I'm having trouble with the coordination-which, I know, is normal-but it frustrates the shit out of me. I SHOULD have been doing this a decade ago. Or not. A brief history of the rock of Kevin:
I've always had a bizarrely diverse taste in music, my musical genius brother's bewildered stares at my music collection always told me I was on the right track. Genre? Fuck a genre. Period? Fuck time periods, music should be timeless and truly the best music can't give away when it was recorded. I knew I loved intensity-there's nothing more real than someone giving their all. Even with the hokiest of themes, music can convey something more-look at album musicals of classic science fiction, for example:Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds, yea it's goofy in theory to put that to music-but listen to it and tell me the musical battle cry of the Martians doesn't add, the building of the bass drums of the Thunderchild boldly holds back the advancing war machines.....or, how about Rick Wakeman's musical interpretation of "Journey To The Centre Of The Earth", guest vocalist's Ozzy passionate cries could fit anywhere, with or without plot context.
In the era of the music video boom, what kid DIDNT dream of being the spandex clad demigod, playing the blistering guitar solo? Yea, it'd have been cool-but I was more interested in what was BEHIND the loud riff and flashly solo, a guitar by itself cant do everything-what was it that was giving it resonance? Drums and bass-interlocking like a machine, ALWAYS fascinated with the mechanical/industrial sounds.
One day my brother and his friends were practicing on the back porch-I couldn't have been older than 8-and I asked if I could play with the drums. Drumming, it seemed so manic and physical-the kind of martial arts workout that was both martial and art, the perfect place for a high strung kid who was always picked on for being tiny. It only took a few beatings before I was in love. I wanted to go faster-but stumbled, on inexperience-but it stuck. I knew what I wanted to play...
Jump ahead a few years, to middle school and an opportunity to join the school band class-free lessons!? FUCK YES. I pressed to drum-I could learn, I'd have years, it'd be free (except for the cost of instrument of course), what could go wrong? By the time high school came around, I'd be good and probably have my own set and BAM-I'd get to make the tunes I could hear. Most importantly, I had a plan for my awkward puberty:by the time high school rolled around, I'd be a decent drummer and that would be the key to pussy. Obviously I wouldn't be riding on looks, money, popularity, I would use the power of music. Even as a kid, I knew what playing an instrument even only functionally meant:GIRLS. Fast, loose and free.
Except it was not to be. My parents know only subserviance, and assume that titles have meaning. When it was learned that I would play A SINGLE SNARE DRUM and nothing more for the next 3 years of class-well, no, I wanted out. I wanted to play DRUMS. Wise band teacher, though, advised AGAINST drum sets or lessons-"They just wouldn't be good for him" if I remember correctly. It was assumed, somehow, that what I was meant for was a high school or college marching band. How am I going to function drumming when all I'm learning is ONE drum, and I never get faster than an 8/8 beat? After two years of boredom practicing for the Christmas concert or whatever the hell, I quit. Parents of course didn't understand-I wanted to play drums. Not hit a snare drum for 3 years and walk away. That was the end of that....
.....but there was the other instrument in my mind. Doug Pinnick, my godless multiracial homosexual idol, had put my brain on bass. I was too frustrated to bring it up-and I knew how I'd be met when it came to the idea of lessons, the question would be raised "Is there a class at school?" Well, no, but- "Well then there's no way you can learn it and it's not worth doing." After Freshman year, I became friends with one Wes, and when I could get away to his house-unfortunately, only a few times in summer-I would instantly be drawn to his bass and he'd try our patience to teach me how to play SOMETHING, in the hopes that we could assemble a small band and I could convince my parents otherwise by all of us (competantly) playing something. Never happened, long story short, and I never could get my brother's bass-not that I'd have had anyone to teach me, even if he had.
The opportunity I truly messed up:3, or was it 4, years ago? I'd met a fellow named Austin-AWESOME musician, great guy in general. We were going to take over that tiny Floridian city, we CLICKED musically, and he had equipment to spare. I SHOULD have let him move in and abandoned the plans for Casa De Kevin/Darren/Anna/Stephanie.....due to difficult financial strains, I couldnt afford a bass, and thus we only played together a few times a month for a few months, and I was eventually resigned to piano. I wish I had some of those recordings that Austin/Jeff/and I did.
If I could have started BEFORE I was supposed to be knee deep in music, with my own equipment....
You know what the most frustrating part of writing this out to you is? I never have enough space, enough time, or enough words to express the depth of situations. There's SO MUCH more to know, and so much I've repressed. I hate thinking about my life. When I think of things I fought so hard (so in vain) for that were never to pan out, I want to smash my head with a hammer. The things I so desperately wanted and was denied-for no good reason. I dont know when, exactly, it was decided that I was the hated child and my sister the golden child, but I wonder often what I did to deserve it. I was better off in many ways than some people, but worse off where it mattered. Never supported, encouraged, listened to, believed in; despite the pile of JUNK that I owned, none of it would ever be something that actually MATTERED.
I dont have enough words. Words cant change anything anyway. Life begins BEFORE 18-keeping something locked in a cage too small stunts growth. I tried to grow too much in my tiny cage, and now I am cage shaped.
Slowly picking up bass again. Once my coworker pays me back, I think I may purchase my own again. I'm having trouble with the coordination-which, I know, is normal-but it frustrates the shit out of me. I SHOULD have been doing this a decade ago. Or not. A brief history of the rock of Kevin:
I've always had a bizarrely diverse taste in music, my musical genius brother's bewildered stares at my music collection always told me I was on the right track. Genre? Fuck a genre. Period? Fuck time periods, music should be timeless and truly the best music can't give away when it was recorded. I knew I loved intensity-there's nothing more real than someone giving their all. Even with the hokiest of themes, music can convey something more-look at album musicals of classic science fiction, for example:Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds, yea it's goofy in theory to put that to music-but listen to it and tell me the musical battle cry of the Martians doesn't add, the building of the bass drums of the Thunderchild boldly holds back the advancing war machines.....or, how about Rick Wakeman's musical interpretation of "Journey To The Centre Of The Earth", guest vocalist's Ozzy passionate cries could fit anywhere, with or without plot context.
In the era of the music video boom, what kid DIDNT dream of being the spandex clad demigod, playing the blistering guitar solo? Yea, it'd have been cool-but I was more interested in what was BEHIND the loud riff and flashly solo, a guitar by itself cant do everything-what was it that was giving it resonance? Drums and bass-interlocking like a machine, ALWAYS fascinated with the mechanical/industrial sounds.
One day my brother and his friends were practicing on the back porch-I couldn't have been older than 8-and I asked if I could play with the drums. Drumming, it seemed so manic and physical-the kind of martial arts workout that was both martial and art, the perfect place for a high strung kid who was always picked on for being tiny. It only took a few beatings before I was in love. I wanted to go faster-but stumbled, on inexperience-but it stuck. I knew what I wanted to play...
Jump ahead a few years, to middle school and an opportunity to join the school band class-free lessons!? FUCK YES. I pressed to drum-I could learn, I'd have years, it'd be free (except for the cost of instrument of course), what could go wrong? By the time high school came around, I'd be good and probably have my own set and BAM-I'd get to make the tunes I could hear. Most importantly, I had a plan for my awkward puberty:by the time high school rolled around, I'd be a decent drummer and that would be the key to pussy. Obviously I wouldn't be riding on looks, money, popularity, I would use the power of music. Even as a kid, I knew what playing an instrument even only functionally meant:GIRLS. Fast, loose and free.
Except it was not to be. My parents know only subserviance, and assume that titles have meaning. When it was learned that I would play A SINGLE SNARE DRUM and nothing more for the next 3 years of class-well, no, I wanted out. I wanted to play DRUMS. Wise band teacher, though, advised AGAINST drum sets or lessons-"They just wouldn't be good for him" if I remember correctly. It was assumed, somehow, that what I was meant for was a high school or college marching band. How am I going to function drumming when all I'm learning is ONE drum, and I never get faster than an 8/8 beat? After two years of boredom practicing for the Christmas concert or whatever the hell, I quit. Parents of course didn't understand-I wanted to play drums. Not hit a snare drum for 3 years and walk away. That was the end of that....
.....but there was the other instrument in my mind. Doug Pinnick, my godless multiracial homosexual idol, had put my brain on bass. I was too frustrated to bring it up-and I knew how I'd be met when it came to the idea of lessons, the question would be raised "Is there a class at school?" Well, no, but- "Well then there's no way you can learn it and it's not worth doing." After Freshman year, I became friends with one Wes, and when I could get away to his house-unfortunately, only a few times in summer-I would instantly be drawn to his bass and he'd try our patience to teach me how to play SOMETHING, in the hopes that we could assemble a small band and I could convince my parents otherwise by all of us (competantly) playing something. Never happened, long story short, and I never could get my brother's bass-not that I'd have had anyone to teach me, even if he had.
The opportunity I truly messed up:3, or was it 4, years ago? I'd met a fellow named Austin-AWESOME musician, great guy in general. We were going to take over that tiny Floridian city, we CLICKED musically, and he had equipment to spare. I SHOULD have let him move in and abandoned the plans for Casa De Kevin/Darren/Anna/Stephanie.....due to difficult financial strains, I couldnt afford a bass, and thus we only played together a few times a month for a few months, and I was eventually resigned to piano. I wish I had some of those recordings that Austin/Jeff/and I did.
If I could have started BEFORE I was supposed to be knee deep in music, with my own equipment....
You know what the most frustrating part of writing this out to you is? I never have enough space, enough time, or enough words to express the depth of situations. There's SO MUCH more to know, and so much I've repressed. I hate thinking about my life. When I think of things I fought so hard (so in vain) for that were never to pan out, I want to smash my head with a hammer. The things I so desperately wanted and was denied-for no good reason. I dont know when, exactly, it was decided that I was the hated child and my sister the golden child, but I wonder often what I did to deserve it. I was better off in many ways than some people, but worse off where it mattered. Never supported, encouraged, listened to, believed in; despite the pile of JUNK that I owned, none of it would ever be something that actually MATTERED.
I dont have enough words. Words cant change anything anyway. Life begins BEFORE 18-keeping something locked in a cage too small stunts growth. I tried to grow too much in my tiny cage, and now I am cage shaped.
If i learned to play an instrument, i thought i would learn violin.....because i want to play electric violin for a rock band.....but even renting a violin is financially out of the question right now. So i have been scanning the estate sales and thrift stores for something probably chep and possible repairable, but no luck.
Good luck with the bass!
Anyway, just wanted to say i enjoy reading your journals, you seem like an interesting guy.
You were wronged. I would do anything to change that for you, but I can't.
But please understand that I am glad you have gotten in contact with your friends again, and I am proud of you for taking up the bass, even if you feel it is too late. Even if you feel it is a mere drop in the bucket. You have a brilliant mind, musically and otherwise. This will produce something.
And while this all sounds rather 'GO TEAM!'ish, every word is genuine.