The Dry Lung Martyr Growls

Call it hibernation? Possibly, If anything was to compel me to write to nobody about something it was to be Alice in Chains. As a music ‘tragic’ there are some bands you regret not having the opportunity to see in the flesh. I have a list and for a long time Alice in Chains and Nirvana shared number 1 on that list (it depended on the mood I was in that day). For a long time there was a third member of the ‘merry-go-round’ group. That band was Anthrax - not the John Bush version necessarily. I knew there was always a possibility they would make their way to Australian shores. The Joey, Franky and Dan version I grew up admiring. That dream eventually came true.

On Saturday just past another dream came true. That dream of seeing Alice in Chains live. I even visited Seattle years back hoping I might slip a chance of seeing such a legendary act play in a local bar. How unrealistic. Although it wasn’t all that long after I left that those surviving members were on stage with the Wilson women from Heart in a benefit gig. Their first public appearance as a group since 1996. As we all know now, the see was truly sewn.

Out of the two on my ‘gee I wish I had seen live list’ I must admit that Alice in it’s original form was my true number one. Kurt and Nirvana were such an influence on the music scene at the time. More so than Alice. But in reality, Kurt and Nirvana could be cloned. The easiest parallel to draw is the Frogstomp version of SIlverchair. Layne on the other hand, was one of a kind. A voice so sceachingly eerie, but incredibly powerful. Knowing what I know about the man post his death, I so much wanted to hear him sing those songs. Down in a Hole, Dirt etc.

I knew that was never going to happen, and thought the chance of them ever playing again together was virtually impossible. I should say that post Alice I have grown greater respect for Jerry. Not only the contribution he has made to Alice, but also his own solo efforts. Man can he write a cool song, and at the same time, a cool lick or two.

So naturally I was right of stage on Saturday, right in front of him for the entire concert. Wow - what a buzz. The set list was not to be faulted. During the hour we got to enjoy them, I began to take notice of Duval, the new lead-man. I wasn’t particularly interested in taking much notice of him. I would have been more than happy initially closing my eyes and pretending it was Layne. But you know what - looks aside (lol - c’mon he’s the complete opposite of Layne) he commands attention with his stage presence. Purposefully walking from end-to-end on the stage. Leaning out over the front, demanding attention and for a track or two saddling up on guitar to help with the rythmn. At that point, I couldn’t have asked for a better replacement. It just seemed right!!

Before I knew it, we were up to Rooster and the set was approx 5 mins from ending. 5 minutes that I wanted to last a lifetime. At this point I could hardly talk yet along bellow out the ‘Ohhhh, Ohhhh, Oh, Oh, Ohhhh’, but I gave it my best shot.

The rest of the night really didn’t matter to be honest. I had another ticked off my list of ‘I’ll never get to see them list’. What more could you ask for?

(the last question is rhetorical of course as of course I write this to nobody which would imply I am the only one who could answer and if that is to be the case, why would I ask it in the first place??….oppps, there I go again with another question to nobody. I’ll learn one day.)

As the once famous Hannibal said back in the 80’s “I love it when a plan comes together’, no truer phrase could ring in my ears and I rub my hands in glee over the ‘pathetic-ness’ of blogs.

I sit silently penning my inner thoughts to share to the world – there are sacrifices in doing such. In some forms of employment, people get paid to voice their thoughts or experiences – from such notables as Henry Rollins to Dr Feelgood. The interesting point here is who these people were before they decided to plat their opinions into the heads of anyone who cared to listen to them. They were, through their own hard work and perhaps, able to make a name for themselves in some other form.

Although I digressed slightly from the commencement of my thought process above (again, I can ‘rant’ – I’m not being marked on my paragraph structure and thought process here), the mention of old Hanky boy above brings me to my ultimate point. Nobody, in the greater community, or where the Internet is concerned, the WORLD, cares what YOU think unless YOU can create a sense of hype in what YOU say through your other endeavours (past or current) in life.

Who would care what a prisoner wrote about their sentencing to life in prison, if they weren’t famous in music circles beforehand. There are thousands of fellow inmates who think they have been wronged by the law, but do we hear about their stories?

How many people have the gift of the gab, an opinion on the war in Iraq or world peace, but don’t get to host their own radio show to further spin their opinions on the population in between interviews?

Further, how many politicians have genuine belief in their ability to make a difference for their chosen country and honestly represent their people, yet don’t get elevated to governor of a state quicker than you can say ‘I’ll be back’?

Now these are not the thoughts of a bitter man. No. In fact, I admire the tenacity of people who can make life successful for themselves.

My argument being – what’s the point of me telling YOU my thoughts? I’m not after YOUR pitty, guidance or friendship. If you gave it to me, I still wouldn’t care for it. The wider community doesn’t care what you write in a blog. The people most likely to read it are your own friends and peers who should know your thoughts anyway.

Whatever floats your boat hey? – but while I sat here writing this post and others, I could have been planning my way to truly make a name for myself, instead of hanging onto some false hope that someone might think that what I’ve got to say is actually groundbreaking, earth-shattering commonsense, or hilarity that’s going to change the world.

BAH!

Motherfucker!! Or if your Terrence and Philip ‘Mutha Fucka’! Have a think about it for a moment. Does it put you off your baked beans and sardines on toast (hmmm Sardines)? Now for those of you whose first thought was ‘Whose mother’…… leave this blog immediately.

I’ve had the unfortunate experience on a number of occasions to have such a term thrown at me. ‘So what’ do I hear you say - ‘there’s much worse in the world’??. ‘It’s not all that bad really’?? ‘I quite like it’ even?? I’ll agree that such a term is normally reserved for occasions where there is a need to spew forth numerous other derogatory terms at some dick who has pissed you off. Well then, here’s something further to ponder…….

There is a scary place out there where the kids of today shout and scream in approval of being called a ‘motherfucker’. Yep a place where one dude stands in front of a crowd - can be as small at 50 or as large as 50,000 - screams at the top of his lungs and gets a rosing chorus of cheers back from said crowd.

This is a heavy metal concert! It’s clearly a term of endearment to all involved.

Why is it then that I cannot respond in kind? I was recently fortunate enough to be standing not more than 3 meters away from Kerry King in the crowd of a recent concert. He’s was shredding his custom like there was no tomorrow. I responded to his efforts in what I thought was a ‘metal’ way - “Hey Kerry you motherfucker. You fucking rock, cocksucker”. Well needless to say the bruising I received from my fellow concert-goes is still subsiding.

There’s obviously an edicate here and I don’t like it. If you’re going to call me a ‘motherfucker’, I’ll give you some curry back - simple as that!! And don’t go screwing with my brain by chucking in a couple of additional Ozzy lines either - listening to a recent Ozzfest performance he continually called the crowd ‘fuckers’ and then proclaimed ‘I love you all! God bless you all! Thankyou!’ You don’t fool me for one second Ozzy. I bet you were one of those guys at school that whacked a kid in the back of the head when he wasn’t looking, ran to the teacher and stood behind them and poked your tongue out at the kid who started to chase you.

So here’s a challenge for all you pathetic enough to read this blog (don’t fear – that’s a term of endearment). A call to arms if you will. Next time you happen to find yourself in such a situation. Don’t send back a James Hetfieldesque ‘Yeeeeaaaaaaahhhhhh’ to the lead singer. Stand up and recognise YOU are the one paying to see this band. YOU don’t have to take such abuse. So next time you hear a ‘Are you ready motherfuckers’? Send right back a ‘Fuck yeah shitface!!!!’

Alright I may not be a pimply teenager these days (well the pimples part rings true after a hot curry gives me the sweats and I don’t wash for a couple of days), but you haven’t experienced peer pressure until you have Zan on your tail to join him in the blog community. Personally, I find the whole experience a distraction – I’d rather spend my time laughing at the Lions in Kenya or Magical Trevor (Weebls Stuff) than reading about other peoples poor excuses for a life.

So while this is me, it’s actually not me – I don’t grunt at the nuisance factor associated with all cable routers topping out at 8 lan ports. Nor do I pontificate on how I can improve Solaris, let alone ponder the purpose of a painter whose wife gives him a crisp clean pair of white overalls for painting in. It’s all for the laugh factor – if you don’t laugh (either with or at) then I don’t want to know you. If you do laugh, but like that girl from Seinfeld who laughed like a hyena, then I also don’t want to know you. Snorting is also completely banned.

So I suppose I should get something started for you all to bitch to your friends or mothers about.

In fact, it’s appropriate that I have linked Seinfeld into this blog early on (do I get points for that?). The term ‘Yadayada’ was to say the least, RIFE in Seinfeld! Well the trend did go on for a little time with smart alecs thinking they could lift the intelligence of their conversation by chucking in a ‘Yadayada’ here and there. No-ones impressed buddy – it’s a Yank thing. We’ve all seen Seinfeld and you are just a poser – get out of my life!

So what then do Australian’s like to do (and I’m sure it’s in other countries also)??? Why they go the ‘Blahblahblah’. It occurred to me the other night that I have found another friend who does the ‘Blahblahblah’ mid-sentence. WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT FOR??? Who says it’s up to YOU to decide what piece of information I should and shouldn’t hear? What’s the point of going to the trouble of talking to me if you’re just going to ‘Blah’ your way through a conversation – sign up to Scott, Aitken and Waterman and you have yourselves a shit boring song!!!

Just because YOU make the decision to skip pieces of information tells me a lot about YOU – you’re a dick! Simple as that!! I normally reserve such distaste for blokes who walk down the beach wearing more bling than Mr T used to wear (and that’s saying a lot). They don’t deserve the time of day. Now the infiltration has travelled down to my closest friends (yes you too Zan – although I should have known it – those nipple rings are only the start of the bling man aren’t they??

And just when you though the frustration ends there, I actually asked my ‘good’ friend the other night to go back and fill in the ‘Blahblahblah’ bit for me and tell me what they meant to say……..’Oh, it doesn’t matter, that wasn’t the important bit.’ If it wasn’t offensive to ‘Blah’ me in the first place, you’ve just completely gone over the top by reiterating to me, this time in plan English, that I am not worthy of your thoughts!

FUCK YOU BUDDY!