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Monday, June 23, 2014
SUPER, UNKNOWN
I was 24 years old, a year out of college, living in a run-down house near the school. I rented one of the four bedrooms – the only one that had its own bathroom – and split the utilities with the schizophrenic down the hall and a rotating cast of foreign and graduate students who occupied the other rooms. The kitchen stove only had two working burners, and the oven didn’t govern temperature, heating until maximum any time you turned it on. The lime green countertops gave away the age of the décor, and the roaches were an omnipresent reminder of how much on the cheap we were all choosing to live.
It was not an optimal time in my life.
Often, you could find me crashed on my loveseat, a book propped on my chest, my eyes deeply engrossed in the text. I was working a half-time job, four days a week, and I had a lot of time on my hands but not much money. What I did have, I spent (usually) on the usual crap of youth. Movies. Comics.
And music. God, did I buy a lot of music.
Wish I could say I was more discriminate about what I bought, but frankly a lot of my choices went wrong. But there were gems. I had started gaining interest in the stuff coming out of Seattle when Nirvana landed in ’91, quickly followed by Pearl Jam’s “Ten.” But it wasn’t until three years later that things got really good – no, scratch that – they got great.
March of ’94 was when “Superunknown” by Soundgarden was released, and I took little notice of it at first. What I had heard on the radio was pretty good, mind you, but I was on a budget and tired of getting burned. But a co-worker I told this to looked at me like I was insane and demanded I buy the disc. He even offered to buy it back from me if I didn’t like it. So, what the hell? I picked it up.
I tore it open late that night, popping it into my player and hitting play, just hoping that most of it would be listenable. The opening chords of “Let Me Drown” kicked in and suddenly… I knew. I just knew.
The book got put down on the floor. I turned out the lights and began to listen. Not just with my ears, because that was not the sole intent of the album. I swear on my life that I felt like Soundgarden was trying to talk to my inner being. The music, the lyrics… I began mainlining them. Each song seemed to speak to a different part of my life and the confusion I was feeling about what direction I should take with my future. In a moment of horrific clarity, I wondered if what I was feeling was akin to what the crazy guys who claimed that they were instructed to kill by heavy metal albums felt.
Jesus, did that scare the hell out of me!
As the final notes of “Like Suicide” played out, and I dried my eyes as I thought about a friend who had been having some mental health issues, I realized that I could not go to bed. Not yet. So I walked over to the player and restarted the disc, listening to it all over again in the darkness.
Hard to believe that was 20 years ago.
For months, I would, on nights when it was possible, lay in the dark and just listen to “Superunknown.” As my life shifted and changed, so did the meanings I took from the various songs. As I began to realize that, I discovered a new layer to the album – it was like great literature, something that evolves with the maturity and experiences of the reader, or in this case, listener. No other music in my collection did that. Not like this. The power of this album was incredible.
A few weeks ago, Soundgarden released a 20-year anniversary edition, re-mastered for modern digital stereo systems. I bought it, of course. How could I not? It arrived this past weekend, but it has taken me until this evening to crack it open and press play.
God. Damn.
I’m a far better, stronger, and wiser man now, but the power of this particular piece of music remains undeniable. The lyrics remain some of the finest rock lyrics of the modern era. The music is muscular and dives beneath your skin within seconds. The vocals are remarkable, hitting notes few singers even now can reach. It is a piece of pristine, glorious alternative rock that stands the time as the best album released in its particular decade, and as one of the true all-time greats.
For what the album did to carry me through some very tough times, I will always be grateful. For what the album did in helping me learn about and understand myself better, I can never show my appreciation enough. And for the album to continue to show me the amazing effect that music can have on the depths of my soul? I do not know if I have the words to describe how much that means to me. I just know that I am glad it is still with me.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to turn out the lights and listen again.
10:05 PM
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Wednesday, March 19, 2014
THE SURVIVORS
by Marc Mason
It had been twelve full days by our
counting since last we heard sound from above. Before that, the sounds of
battle echoed for at least three days, thunderous explosions tearing their way
through the waning infrastructure of the city, erasing civilization as we know
it.
The
quiet was harder to take.
The
group of us had found our way into a bunker as the carnage began. That day had
begun so simply: my intern, a bilingual young man with a fantastic sense of
style, had stopped and brought in donuts, making sure to save me a maple-iced,
and those of us on the design team gathered in the conference room to eat
sugary goodness and discuss our next move with the athletic shoe company that
had just hired us. It was smoggy, as Los Angeles usually is, but the sun seemed
particularly radiant, like it refused to be shut down by the brown haze in the
sky. Then we felt the rumbles begin.
Earthquakes
are a fact of life for Southern California, so no one really panicked. Plus,
the rumbles were rather short, not sustained. But then they began to increase
in intensity, and they felt… closer is, I guess, the right word. My intern
thought they might be coming from somewhere on the opposite side of the
building, so he ran that way to see if he could see anything. This was to be
his one and only mistake while he was under my supervision.
Goodbye,
Jose. You were a fine web designer, and your taste in donut shops was
impeccable.
We
all heard him scream his final words: “Holy shi--!”
The
“t” was silent as what looked like a huge, white beam of energy tore upward
through that side of the building, eradicating everything in its path.
Everything around us shook, and pieces of the ceiling began to cave in. But I
didn’t move. Not at first. I was frozen in horror as I stared through the
gaping wound in our building and saw what was out there. It was so insane, my
mind could barely cope with it. What I would estimate to be a three hundred
foot tall dinosaur was walking toward us. Toward downtown, really. I watched as
its jaws flared wide and that energy beam erupted, the creature destroying
buildings next to ours, too.
I
would have stayed still, but one of the team members grabbed me and yelled at
me that we needed to go. So I ran, following my crew down the stairs and out of
the building and into the streets. The insanity outside was worse. Emergency
services vehicles were clogging the roads, a select few ridiculously brave
people answering the call of duty. Helicopters zoomed by overhead, and it
looked like a couple of them might be military. I went numb as my body
registered the fact that my city had just become a warzone.
But
war against what was the lingering
question.
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7:41 PM
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