There is nothing I fear more than knowing all of my efforts and self-sacrifices made for an endeavor were all for naught. Time and time again, as I said in "Preclusion" (the last essay), Patch had been in a constant trial and error, try, try again anomaly. I've come to the realization that most bands go through experiences like this. Having people come and go, losing people to intoxication and addiction, failure, short sightedness, laziness, the want of instant gratification, etc. Basically, children.
"Preclusion" is part 1 to a two part meta-story about my frustrations with trying to become a live band. The second part, "Acknowledgments", is the angriest, most visceral and non-fictitious song I've written to date. It takes direct quotes and points fingers at real people.
Now, this might not be a polite thing to do. Embarking on meta-songwriting (I always think of that song by Carly Simon sung about Warren Beaty "You're So Vain") is a tricky business. But I think that there should be a happy medium.
Just as there is a countless amount of broken hearted sad bastard music out there based off of real relationship woes turned into semi-fiction, it should only be allowed that there be songs about band woes.
I basically think that if people have the gall to quit or wrong me after we've agreed to embark on a shared experience where I trust in their ability to show up on time, learn material, it's only fair that I can write a little song about my anger at being fucked over time and time again without naming names. One wrong by one person? Eh, not appropriate. Two wrongs by two people? Still not appropriate. How's about fifteen plus people? The anger was immense, and I felt I deserved a little public ventilation.
And if you call me out on that, fuck you, to put it bluntly. You gave an agreement, you gave me your word. And you failed. To say I can't vent about it makes your abuse of your word ever more pathetic. So take your leave of absence like a man (or a woman, in one case). It's the only time I'll do it, I promise.
Just to thank all of the people who got us to where we set out to be.
The real honest-to-goodness people to thank would be Schuyler Tsuda, who mixed and mastered our first EP, "Schematics", and curated our debut and CD release shows. Greg Strom, who stuck with the band since the very beginning. Paul St. Turner, who also stuck it out in the end. Carl Nyflot for his photography. Taylor Park for his art inspiration and the first Patch logo. These are the people who helped get us to the beginning of Era 1.
But the tongue-in-cheek Acknowledgments go to not all the fifteen of the come-and-go's, but a select few. Some people legitimately could not play in Patch due to busy lives and we mutually agreed that they should or could leave Patch. Some, however, just left unannounced. Disappeared. Some bridges were burnt. And I became so fed up.
This goes to those who went AWOL.
"Thanks, and fuck you, too."
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A. TRI
2. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Looking at the stars, looking at the czars
I can make it, I can make it if I only hold on
You taught me how to sing, how to act, how to dance
How to fuck, fuck, fuck and drink my head away
"Tonight, tonight
Is the beginning of the rest of your life!
So grab the bull by the horns and get
Made, Paid, Laid
And by the way
We believe in you, we believe in you, we believe in you, we believe in you."
So they buy up a piece of un-Real Estate
In a sector called "Hope" through a conjugate
We join hands and we smile and we celebrate
I can't shake off the feeling that they'll desecrate
Commit robbery in the worst degree
Friends turn into enemies
And thrown out down the drain
An abortion of another dream
I know what you'd like
To smoke, drink, fuck every night
The small print of the deal
Says "Devotion isn't real".
So take the money and run
Fueled by mistakes and the sight of Cloud 9
I brought them in, one by one, with a promise divine
Of Art, of Truth, the components that are missing
In this fickle falling world where only power chords shine
Well, one left for money
And one in shame
And countless others who held fast to the Simplicity Game
YOU: I did nothing but help you out
YOU: You gave me nothing but a seed to sprout--
--the Curse of Altruism helps nobody in the end
Except the ones with no remorse to take advantage of a friend
But they believe in me, they believe in me . . .
Well, belief doesn't play a guitar for me
Nor does it hit skins or tickle ivory
You fell between the cracks built with the void of all you lack
And thrown out down the drain
An abortion of another dream
I know what you'd like
To smoke, drink, fuck every night
The small print of the deal
Says "Devotion isn't real".
So take the money and run
I hope you're fairing well on the other side
And will you step up to me?
And will you step up to me?
And will you step up to me?
I know you won't
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This song was written on a Saturday night, two nights after Trifectic was conceived. It was based off of my want for raw, emotional simplicity. Something Greg could play on the drums (he had never played drums before) while I sang upfront. Paul would supply the guitars, with Greg switching over to bass on the more poignant musical parts. Same with me on the drums. It was inspired by a song from Liars called "Plaster Casts of Everything" and Nirvana's "Breed".
I had written a musical outline immediately after "Preclusion" to see how the journey between the two songs would pan out. I wanted "Acknowledgments" to be the high point of the first third of the Trifectic set.
A storm was raging outside. Perhaps the most violent storm of 2010. As I was about to start on the lyrics and riff writing on Word, I got a call from my roommate who said "Are the tornado sirens going off at the house?"
I said "Tornado?!" Immediately after I said this, sure enough, the tornado sirens started blaring. I checked the weather and apparently a funnel cloud was headed directly toward the house. Yet, a minute later, the sirens turned off. Reports were on and off about the funnel cloud, so I thought "Whatever" and continued writing.
Writing with a raging storm outside of your window, thunder blasting from the heavens, tornado sirens off in the distance, is extremely conducive to writing angry, bitter lyrics. The crux of this song was written in the space of one hour with the storm, only paused by the arrival of my girlfriend, Kristy, who had been driving through the storm from Wisconsin to stay the night, meaning that any efforts to keep writing the song would have been the rudest thing to do in light of her harsh travels. The song was finished the following Sunday afternoon.
The lyrics are both direct quotes from the aforementioned fifteen and direct references to how some of them left. The notion of "Smoke, Drink, Fuck" was a quote from a close friend (one of the people who actually helped legitimately in getting Patch off the ground, so this song isn't directed toward him) about the nature of what we've heard local budding rockers say is the ultimate goal. To be at a level where the goal is to play your music as a means to get to the rest of your life where all you'll do is smoke cigarettes (or whatever), drink the night away, and fuck a new girl of your choosing. Some of our contacts in the local scene wanted to do just these things. It's not about the art. It's about getting Made, Paid, and Laid.
In all of my experience as a local musician, the only time where getting laid was ever in the cards was once while playing a private show at my house with my old band, Citizens Banned. I didn't see it coming. A couple of girls whom we didn't know showed up in our rehearsal space. After the show, they sought me out and found me in my room. One voluptuously said, "Hey." I got up from my chair and went to the door, thinking they knew someone at the party and were going to introduce themselves. It became clear to them however, that I was not all I was cracked up to be offstage.
"Oh, you looked taller during the show." And they left the party immediately.
I frowned. "What?" It hit me. "Ohhhhhhhh . . ."
Musically, "Acknowledgments" is not as musically storytelling as "Preclusion", where buildups and premature endings symbolize the try, try again nature of Patch live. This time around, the driving beat is just angry. I spout a spoken word rant on a soap box up front. The guitars are dissonant and ripe with bitter rage.
The main idea I had coming into the song was the nature of dual drums. I wanted Greg and I to play together during the solo with Paul providing dissonant noise on the guitar. Symbolically, this is supposed to address the fact that the Acknowledged not only affected me and all of my dreams, but the time and effort by Greg and Paul as well. They took time out of their busy lives and certain people made all of that null and void when they figured "Whelp, I don't think I'll show up anymore."
I believe in getting Made and Paid for the effort and time. This is the ultimate goal. I'd like to make a living off of my art. Yet I make art not for the purpose to get paid, if you can understand. If money comes my way due to my art, amazing! I make the art for the sole purpose of making art. I'd like to have a fanbase of people that demand my art so that my job can be solely making art.
And yet it seems that this mentality is not what is held by most in the locally famous scene. It's a world of sharks. Poor art is rewarded because of its accessibility, and its wide draw. Poor artists get rewarded for poor art. They are not artists. They are models wearing clothes and playing riffs that have no new ideas. There is no statement except to get a big house, plenty of women, yaddah yaddah yaddah. These are not new sentiments.
Only in the aspect that these people infiltrated my band, tainting its honest message, is it new. Because I experienced it time and time again on a personal level.
There is a difference between a Poor Artist and a Starving Artist. And the Poor's are taking the sustenance that the Starving need and laughing all the way to the bank.
VIDEO:
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS @ 1419 -- December 17, 2010
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