Sometimes it seems like, in this crazy, complicated and often troubled world, that we are on a hell bent path toward a critical point of destructive stupidity, and are spiraling into descending concentric circles of suck. Where that leads, who knows? But it can’t be good, I’m guessing. I often say to myself, ‘’where in Hell am I going, and why am I this $100 Longenberger basket’’?
So when you are feeling this way, I have but one suggestion: Well 2 actually. I mean, number one: get some help. Talking to yourself about Hell and baskets is a little too Hieronimus Bosch-y on your mental health for me. Anyway, number two: l Dig out an old Fishbone record, turn the volume to ‘11” and snap that M***F*** volume knob off. Simplistic? Sure. Effective. Absolutely.
F*** it. If it is indeed now Ground Zero, as all ‘geoglobals’ seem to indicate, an attitude like “Party at Ground Zero” is the most ‘Edward Appropos’. Party on Garth. Party on Wayne.
The year was something like 1986 or ‘87. Me, in my natural prime, was plying my trade in Boston, putting up sheetrock, bribing Union stewards, paying too much for coffee, and generally mastering my domain. On this particular evening, I travelled down to Providence RI where my old pal Usha Lee and I would go see Fishbone and old school rapper Schooly D. The show was at RISD, Rhode Island School of Design. An oh so bougy and pretentious art school, where there were plenty of mopy and pretentious art students, clad all in black and stinkin’ to high heaven of Patchouli. But even the bougy bourgeosie of RISD kids’ and their high fallootin’ moribundity could not diminish the mighty skank of the mighty band Fishbone. Lead singer Angelo Moore was bouncing around on and off the stage, like a June bug on amphetamines. Likewise, the rest of the band pogo’d and skanked up a dusty storm all night, like an up-beat, Patchouli smelling cyclone. The mosh pit was sublime and not a crowd surfer was dropped as they floated across the huddled, now rocking out masses on the floor, hopped onto the stage,’woo-hoo’d’ then leapt back into the moshing multitudes. Suffice it to say it was a great show. One of the best I’ve ever seen.
I awoke the next morning on the floor somewhere on Brown University campus, with some new found college pals, next to a big metal ‘Funeral - No Parking’ sign (another story), presumably swiped by one of our party on our way home that night. On the whole, I dont think I’d have changed a thing about the evening. To think I moight have missed such a funky armegeddon.Or worse, to think I might have been working instead.
So,.... in that spirit, play this video, at the previously mentioned maximum volume, and dwell not on the suck, but on the SKANK. Things will always likely suck. As William S. Burrough once said,’’the revolution will happen by ignoring the others out of existence’’. Or something like that. Rage, against the dying of the light….or against the machine…or whatever... If it’s really ground zero, you might as well roll with Burroughs…
“Party at Ground Zero,
A B Movie starring you,
And the world will turn to .....
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJCaFe1yamg&list=RDMJCaFe1yamg&start_radio=1
