Dreamscapes

Art, writing and ramblings

[alexaro-blog]

Welcome To The Front Row Excerpt: SIDE PROJECTS

(from the upcoming book Welcome To The Front Row)

Artists, like most people of the world, aren’t defined by one sole thing. Take Massachusetts hardcore legends Converge for example, a band that has evolved its sound through a multitude of albums but also shares its members in a wide array of other projects. Vocalist Jacob Bannon, aside from running Deathwish Records, has also released solo records under his own name. Bassist Nate Newton plays guitar and lends vocals to both Old Man Gloom and Doomriders and drummer Ben Koller also drums for Mutoid Man, Acid Tiger, United Nations and All Pigs Must Die. Or better yet, my favorite band Deftones, which has seen vocalist Chino Moreno explore electronic textures and melodies in Team Sleep and his recent project Crosses, as well as dreamy post-rock alongside former members of Isis in Palms. Guitarist Stephen Carpenter also plays guitar with members of Cypress Hill in a project called Kush and we were awarded an intimate glance into the soul of former bass player Chi Cheng (RIP) on his spoken word poetry album The Bamboo Parachute.

            As an artist there is always the constant gnawing feeling to do more, to be more. Art is about exploration and understanding of the self. Art is about growing and expanding, it is about motion; it is about refusing to become stagnant. And while there are many artists and musicians who do stick to one band or project, that still does not define them as a whole. A side project could be anything outside of your ‘norm’. Maybe you’ve always dreamed of surfing but something has kept you from pursuing that interest, or maybe you’ve always wanted to run a business or be a photographer. Side projects are all about doing something new, they are about stepping outside of the box and adding a new definition to one’s self.

             What many would label “ADD”, I would call “creative overload”. My mind is like a constant traffic jam and all the cars are various ideas and dreams, goals and aspirations, caught at a busy intersection, beeping and revving their engines, all trying to make the green light to the other side of the road. Musically, it is hard for me to say no to anything. If someone asks if I’m interested in a project, more likely than not I will find a way to make time for it. It is the artist within me, always looking for new channels and experiences, telling me to go for it. Throughout the years I’ve been involved in countless side projects, some laughable, some halfhearted and others intensely cathartic, but no matter the quality or caliber of the project, all of them contain a degree of self and are an extension my artistic journey.

I: SIR SNIFFS CA$H A LOT

(2001-2002)

Sir Sniffs Ca$h A Lot (Alex Aro)

Hedizit (Jimmy Lantagne)

Lil’ Green Ca$h Machine (Eric Beaubien)

              While I would never claim to be a rap fan, I have enjoyed some rap artists throughout the years such as Notorious B.I.G., Death Grips and Tyler, The Creator. Freshman year of high school, when my musical palette consisted solely of nu-metal, I looked down upon rap as senseless rambling about bitches and hoes and loads of money. That type of thinking was the entire basis for Sir Sniffs Ca$h A Lot, a “project” inspired one morning while Jimmy and I were riding the bus to school discussing how much rap was nothing but talentless dribble and much of it sounded the same.

            That afternoon, using the microphone on my desktop computer and my brother’s keyboard, we composed our own rap song called “Ruff Ca$h”. I had come up with the moniker of Sir Sniffs Ca$h A Lot, while Jimmy donned the name Hedizit. After writing the lyrics and recording the song, I decided to give a shot at freestyling. The result was song called “Give It Up”, a performance that was both awkward and made me think that perhaps there was some type of talent in the art of rhyming coherent thoughts and ideas on the spot. “Give It Up” made absolutely no sense, jumping from one random line to the next, talking about girls with big titty cups, not fucking your Aunt Mable, getting fat from eating too much food and a lady with cats on her head.

            Originally intended to be a joke, soon the project became serious, or as serious as it could be anyway, and over the course of a month we wrote and recorded a total of five songs. Our style was more akin to groups like Run DMC and the Beastie Boys, with Jimmy and me chiming in together on the rhyming words. “Nite Rida” was easily the most racist of the bunch, about thugs riding around on bicycles at night, robbing houses and fucking other men’s wives. “Ghetto Glenn” was an ode to the local comic shop owner in town and “Jack’s Jell-O Jam” concerned Jack Cuneo and our opinion of his guitar skills after kicking him out of Shot Down Sun. On “Jack’s Jell-O Jam” we had Eric Beaubien do a guest appearance and gave him the name of Lil’ Green Ca$h Machine, though all he did on the track was say “party mix” in a comical voice. It didn’t take long for Sir Sniffs Ca$h A Lot to grow old and we stopped writing and recording rap songs. Out of the five songs we recorded, only two have survived to this day, those being “Ruff Ca$h” and “Give It Up”. Thankfully I had burned those to a disc, though I don’t know why the others weren’t as well, before my desktop crashed and I lost everything on it.

II: LANCEROUS TO THY LIGHT

(2001-2002)

Xavier Black (Alex Aro)

               The one exception to my small minded nu-metal taste buds freshman year was Cradle Of Filth. Though the band eventually became quite mainstream following their signing to Roadrunner Records and the release of Damnation And A Day, I first discovered them when Midian, which I still consider their finest album, was first released. Matt and I became infatuated with them and fell in love with both Midian and their earlier albums Cruelty And The Beast and Dusk…And Her Embrace. I’d never heard anything like them before. The keyboards and orchestral sounds were epic, the guitar work was darkly melodic and Dani Filth’s vocals were like the true sounds of Hell, especially his insanely high screeches. As such Cradle Of Filth was responsible for inspiring Lancerous To Thy Light.

            The idea first came to me during math class. I’d been daydreaming when the name just popped into my head and I began drawing out a fictional magazine ad for the project. Lancerous wasn’t a real word and I knew that, but the name as a whole rolled off the tongue easy and to me it sounded black metal. And much like Dani Filth, I chose a “stage name”, opting for the moniker Xavier Black. In the ad I named the album Grim Death X and that afternoon when I got home I set to work recording the first songs for it.

            Originally the idea was to do “keyboard death metal” and basically create eerie soundscapes on the keyboard and scream over it. Mind you I had no inkling of how to actually play the piano nor did I understand music theory or understand the various notes and scales and how they linked together. Instead, I merely found a setting I liked on the keyboard, usually something like a creepy organ sound or a string quartet and just made shit up. The recording process was as simple as opening up Microsoft Sound Recorder and hitting record, the same way Jimmy and I had recorded Sir Sniffs Ca$h A Lot. I’d written out lyrics ahead of time and had them laid out in front of me, but musically, once I hit record, everything was made up on the spot.

            The first half of the album was strictly keyboards and vocals. It wasn’t until the sixth song that I decided to throw guitars into the mix. Grim Death X took me approximately three weeks to write and record and featured nine songs. Somehow, with a beginner’s approach to guitar and no true knowledge of keyboards, I had crafted an album over 45 minutes in length, written entirely on the spot. For weeks afterwards I listened to the album privately on my computer. Lancerous To Thy Light was my secret project. I don’t even think I showed it to Matt or Jimmy. I was equally proud of my accomplishment and embarrassed of it at the same time. I didn’t want to show anyone and instead enjoyed it on my own.

(Album cover for Grim Death X)            

               It wasn’t long before I was ready to do a second album. This one I titled Black Aurora Of Decay and I intended it to be better and longer than Grim Death X. Though it wasn’t much, I felt as if I’d learned a few things during the process of writing and recording the first album that would serve me well for the next one. Black Aurora Of Decay featured keyboards and distorted guitars but also introduced acoustic guitars into the mix on the song “Supernatural Echoes”. “Step Into The Light Of Death” was my epic masterpiece, clocking in at ten minutes and the album as a whole contained ten tracks totaling sixty minutes. Compared to Grim Death X, I felt Black Aurora Of Decay was infinitely better. The album took roughly a month to write and record, again implementing the on the spot process and afterwards I spent days listening to it over and over. I was actually quite proud of that album to the point that I almost wanted to show it off, but instead it remained my sole secret.

(Album cover for Black Aurora of Decay)            

               For my third album, Year Of The Plague, I wanted to do a full on concept record. The story I had in mind was basically about an early civilization of man naïve to the true evils of the world, living in peace and harmony. Eventually they are invaded by demons when an earthquake opens a portal to Hell and for an entire year the humans battle with the demons, ultimately leading to man’s demise from Earth. The album was actually only going to contain four songs or “chapters” to the story, those being: I. The Tides of Peace II. Demon Entrance III. Year Of The Plague and IV. Epilogue To Death.

(Album cover for Year Of The Plague)

            I intended for each song to be long, with “Year Of The Plague” spanning twenty or more minutes, but only managed to record the first track before ceasing with Lancerous To Thy Light altogether. “The Tides of Peace” was a nine minute long acoustic song with some ambient keyboards thrown in, designed to symbolize the harmony of man prior to Hell on Earth. As far as never finishing Year Of The Plague, there was no true reason for stopping. I think I just moved on to other things and eventually the project slipped away. While planning for Year Of The Plague, I also laid the groundwork for a double album, titled Double Delight In Darkness, containing special “remixes”, demos and new songs on one disc and a compilation of my “greatest hits” on the other.

(Album cover for Double Delight In Darkness)

            There was only one copy of both Grim Death X and Black Aurora Of Decay burned to CD, mainly because at the time all I had was a shitty external CD burner that only worked when it wanted to. When our computer crashed and I lost everything, all I had were those two discs. Eventually, through carelessness, those discs were lost and aside from the lyric sheets and various drawings I still had, Lancerous To Thy Light essentially no longer existed. It would be interesting now, nearly thirteen years later, to sit down and listen to these albums again. I’m sure most of it would make me cringe, but every now and then I feel the gnawing of loss knowing that it’s gone and forever remains my secret.

[alexaro-blog]

Welcome To The Front Row: Chapter 10

One more excerpt from Welcome To The Front Row.

X: BACK TO SCHOOL, BACK TO REALITY

               The school bell rang and sophomore year had officially begun. Matt was now a freshman. Eric had advanced on to seventh grade and Jimmy and I wouldn’t see him in the halls of Haverhill High until we were seniors. With a new set of freshmen in the building, we needed to book a back to school show and gain some new fans. Matt had the perfect charisma to serve as the freshman ambassador and get tons of new kids out to our shows. I don’t know what it was exactly, but everyone loved him. While most that sported the Hot Topic mall goth look were treated as outcasts, Matt was accepted by all the clicks, and somehow, due to his easygoing nature, found common ground between them all. Jimmy and I didn’t possess that quality and more often than not also fell into the category of outcasts.

            Jimmy and I got used to our classes and were excited to share the same math class. We showed Matt our usual eating spot at lunch, which was where we remained for the rest of our high school days. As usual, with the influx of new arrivals, we met lots of new people. Jimmy met Ben Gostanian, who would become a future member of Shot Down Sun, in guitar class. Jimmy raved about Ben’s guitar skills and the beauty of his star spangled Ibanez Iceman. Ben even offered to let Jimmy use the guitar at our next show.

            Our “Back To School Bash” was booked for September 20th, at The Sad Café. By that point we had pretty much become the house band of The Sad Café. It was almost a given that we would play there at least once a month. At times I felt as if we were cursed, doomed to forever play the same venue for all eternity. We printed up a bunch of fliers and let Matt work his magic on his fellow classmates. If we were going to be cursed, we wanted to pack the place and make the best of it.

            That month we wrote two new songs, “Prove Your Point” and “Forget Your Weakness”, which became staples in our set list. We also wrote the joke song “Ryan, Let Me Borrow Your Bed”, which derived from an inside joke involving me, a girl and my friend Ryan’s bed. It wasn’t anything sexual; I was still a nervous as hell virgin, simply caught in the midst of an overly flirty girl in my friend’s bedroom.

            There were many fresh faces at the September 20th show and we gained new fans. As an encore we performed “Ryan, Let Me Borrow Your Bed”, which we never intended to play live. I invited Richie Hartford, future vocalist for Submerged Innocence, up on stage to scream nonsense with me. Much like “Angel”, it was the one and only time we played that song.

            We’d been selling the live recording of our May 24th show for months, and though it was nice to have something to sell, we wanted something with just our music. We were notorious for having long pauses in between songs, whether Eric was adjusting his bass pedals or Jimmy was tuning or fiddling with his amp. On some occasions Eric would forget what song was next and you could hear his tiny voice asking “What song? Which one is that? How does it go?” It wasn’t exactly the type of thing people wanted to hear, nor what we wanted to represent us as a band. The live recording from the September 20th show sounded the best of any we’d had so far. I had an audio editing program on my computer so I chose our four favorite songs, those being “Tribal”, “Jack The Ripper”, “Prove Your Point” and “Forget Your Weakness”, and cut out all the audience noise and pauses in between. This became our first “official” EP and as a bonus we included “Ryan, Let Me Borrow Your Bed” as a hidden track, separated by three minute long tracks of silence. We burned tons of copies and Matt and I continued the trend of putting unique designs on each CD.

  *

            Before Facebook, Youtube and other social media gave internet trolls platforms for which to spew forth their cowardice hatred, there was the guestbook on our website. Now that word had spread about us throughout school, nearly every day there was some sort of hateful message posted. Whether it was one person or multiple, I had no idea, but it seemed as though we were the most hated band in school. Our guestbook was littered with (mostly anonymous) posts like: “You guys are a bunch of fags, stop playing music and suck a dick”, “You talentless fucks sound like a cat stuck in a garbage disposal” or “I would rather die than have to listen to another second of your shitty music”.

               Many of the comments ridiculed Jimmy’s guitar riffs and told him to stop ripping off other bands. Matt, who was a chubbier in his younger days, often received the “your bass player is fat” insults. I recall my vocals once described as “cock haggling screams”. Eric, who was superiorly talented within the band, was usually left alone in the troll wars but often considered a “fag” by association. Someone even created an online quiz titled “Which member of Shot Down Sun are you?” It asked questions such as “Do you listen to shitty music?” and “How much do you like to suck cock?” The answers went something to the tune of:

You are Alex. You’re gay and need to learn how to scream. Also, stop trying to sing in everyone else’s bands, no one wants you.

You are Jimmy. You suck at guitar. Coal Chamber and Soulfly want their riffs back.

You are Matt. You’re fat, what else is there to say?

You are Eric. You’re the most talented in the band, but that isn’t saying much. Is that drum seat too big for you little dick drummer boy?

               The ridicule wasn’t only reserved for our guestbook. In the hallways at school someone had put up fliers stating: “Looking for donations to buy Shot Down Sun some talent”, which Jimmy and I furiously ripped down. Once I almost even got into a fist fight after someone made a comment to me about how much we sucked dick, to which I replied, “Your mother sucks dick.”

               We tried our best to let the comments slide, but at times it was overwhelming. I often thought, do we really suck that bad? At the core of my being I truly believed in what we were doing. I had faith in Shot Down Sun and was honored to be chasing the dream with my best friends. If I was happy then how much value should I place on what others said? Eventually the comments became jokes to us. We actually looked forward to seeing what imaginatively hateful lengths people would go to try and offend us. We stopped replying to the comments and feeding into their game, determined to show the haters they were wrong about us.

[alexaro-blog]

Final excerpt from "Welcome To The Front Row"

Well, here it is. The final excerpt I'm posting until I finish "Welcome To The Front Row". So far I've received many positive comments and for anyone interested in reading the completed book, I'm looking into cheap ways to make it available in book form. Until then, enjoy this last excerpt about the beginnings of Shot Down Sun.

CHAPTER THREE: SHOT DOWN SUN

            At six in the morning my doorbell rang. I opened the door and there was Jimmy, hair gelled and spiked, adorned in a Tool shirt and backpack. It was the first day of high school, but I didn’t expect Jimmy to arrive so early. I invited him in to wait while I wolfed down my waffle and finished getting ready. I rushed to the bathroom to brush my teeth and gel my hair. While Jimmy sat in my kitchen and waited, my mother gathered her camera. It was the same typical routine; the first day of school always meant pictures. I grabbed my backpack, ready to go and my mother forced Jimmy and I to pose in the driveway. I always hated getting my picture taken, especially on the first day of school. My mother did her best to coax smiles out of us and managed a slight tilt of the mouth from Jimmy. No matter what I did, I always managed to look miserable in each shot. After dozens of flashes, my mother was satisfied and we were free to go.

            As we ventured to the bus stop I wondered what high school was going to be like. Up until that point all we knew about high school were the depictions we’d seen in movies like American Pie and Ten Things I Hate About You. Were those accurate portrayals of high school life? Would I really see kids skateboarding around the halls? Would I get invited to insane parties? I was ready to find out. When we arrived at the bus stop there were hordes of parents dropping their kids off, many of them teary eyed; all of them with cameras.

            On the bus, I thought about the conversation Jimmy and I had not too long ago about meeting new people and finding new bands to form. The right people had to out there somewhere, wandering the halls of Haverhill High, eager to begin a new musical journey. I was ready, with my big, baggy pants and the plastic Hot Topic bracelets that suffocated my wrists. There had to be others like me, kids that aspired to become the next Coal Chamber or Mudvayne, there just had to.

  I: THE DISCOVERY

              Like most teenagers, I despised cleaning my room. But when I finally got around to doing it, most likely after the hundredth nag from my mother, I cleaned like it was a sickness I had to rid from my body. I’m a bit of a memory hoarder. I save notes, drawings; pretty much anything that proves a connection with someone else. While the physical act of cleaning never appealed to me, I loved the nostalgic sense of going through old things. One afternoon while cleaning I had found a box of random items, mostly back issues of Nintendo Power and little doodles, but most notably a blank cassette tape. I owned a tape recorder and often recorded silly conversations with friends and band practices, so I knew something had to be on the tape. I put it into my cassette player and was pleasantly surprised to hear an instrumental Hybrid Mind practice. I’d been so focused on the future, especially now that high school was underway, that Hybrid Mind seemed like eons ago. The session ended and I rewound the tape and played it again and again. What I heard with each new listen was potential. It would require lots of polishing and hard work, but with Jimmy’s help we could bring these songs back to life.

            After five or six listens I called Jimmy to tell him about the discovery. He came over to hear it and I could tell, watching his face as he listened, that he felt the same way I did. I no longer owned a drum set and I told Jimmy if we were going to do this, I wanted to be the vocalist. I was always screaming along to my favorite songs in my room and I felt, with enough practice, I could fulfill the role. I wanted to be like my idol Chino Moreno. We weren’t sure if we wanted to continue the Hybrid Mind name or begin anew, but we decided to focus on the music first. Jimmy owned a four track recorder and spent the next week hashing out songs and riff ideas and recording them. I was impressed with his new output, which was heavier and far more focused than the Hybrid Mind songs. The decision was made to forge ahead with new music rather than revisit the past.

            Before discovering the tape and reinvigorating the musical spirit within, Matt, whom we had kicked out of Hybrid Mind, expressed an interest to me about possibly learning bass. Though none of us were jamming at the time, I encouraged him to pursue the interest. He may not have worked as a vocalist or drummer, but I felt he would make a good bass player. Once Jimmy and I had started mapping out new songs, we showed them to Matt to help influence his decision on bass. Matt was excited and worked to convince his mom to get him startup gear. With that settled we were left with one question: who was going to play drums? We wanted a real drummer, one that understood the instrument inside and out, someone who ate and breathed and slept drums.

            Jimmy suggested Charo Molina, a recent transfer to our school from Lawrence. I was familiar with her because she was in my English class, but I’d yet to formally introduce myself. Jimmy had met her in Guitar Workshop and learned she played guitar and drums. She was, as I soon learned, amazingly talented. In English class one afternoon she busted out her guitar and performed a few original songs for the class. She could play and sing. She was a complete package, a triple threat. Jimmy asked her about drumming for our band and though she accepted, there was still one problem. Her mother didn’t drive and so she wasn’t exactly sure how she could get her gear to Matt’s house to jam. Despite the issue, we included Charo as an official member and continued to piece together songs while she figured out a solution to her situation.

  II: THE SUN ALSO RISES

              Thanksgiving break was always exciting. The Wednesday before was a half day and we also had the following Friday off for an extended weekend. What more could you ask for than no school, family, friends, and copious amounts of food? November 2001 was especially exciting for us as it marked the true birth of Shot Down Sun. When the bell rang at noon, signaling Thanksgiving break had officially begun; Jimmy and I couldn’t get on the bus fast enough. Not only were we participating in our half day Pizza Hut ritual, but afterwards was our first official band practice. Matt had finally secured a bass guitar and amp and so, aside from Charo and her drums, we had everything we needed to start jamming.

            Matt was a grade below us and still in middle school, so Jimmy and I waited until he met us at Pizza Hut. After we mowed on all the pizza and breadsticks our stomachs could handle, we hit up the Radioshack in the next plaza for a cheap microphone. We’d since lost the microphone we’d purchased for Hybrid Mind. I didn’t own a PA system yet, so my guitar amp would have to suffice for the time being. We ran all the way back to Matt’s house, hardly able to contain our excitement.

            Our first mission was learning a cover of “Sugar” by System Of A Down. Jimmy had already learned the song and I’d spent all week memorizing the lyrics. Matt had some trouble learning it. I couldn’t really blame him; he’d literally just picked up a bass. Since the cover didn’t seem to be going as well as planned we moved onto the next item of business: our first original song.

            Among the plethora of riffs and ideas Jimmy had come up with, he did have a fully completed song. Jimmy had shown it to me already, but Matt had yet to hear it. I’d already started laying the groundwork for the song lyrics and had tentatively dubbed the song “The Powderburnt Song”, after its resemblance to the band Powderburnt. Matt had a much easier time learning this song; mainly because he was free to play it how he pleased, but also due to the songs simple structure. While Jimmy Matt through the song piece by piece, I pulled out my notebook to finalize the lyrics. By the end of that afternoon the song would come to be called “Murderer”. It didn’t take long, once Matt had a basic understanding of the riffs and I had completed the lyrics, for us to finish it in its entirety. Matt and Jimmy both complimented my vocals, which was more like loud yelling than screaming, and praised the fact that I didn’t appear afraid to be the vocalist. I wasn’t used to screaming. Yelling into a microphone and having to project my voice was much different than quietly screaming along to songs in my bedroom, but I was determined to master it.

            Now that “Murderer” was complete, we had to show it off. Matt called a bunch of his friends over to hear our creation. Three or four kids came by and we played the song for them. Each of them approved and applauded and our smiles spread past our cheeks. I had been slightly nervous performing for them but was glad to see they enjoyed it. However, their approval wasn’t enough. There was one man we needed to show our song to. That man was Jimmy Garrity.

            Jimmy Garrity was a father, a local firefighter and a prominent figure in the local music scene. He lived on the next street over and Matt was good friends with his son. At the time he was the vocalist for Absence Of Faith, which featured Ben Carroll on guitar, who would go on to play for national recording artists Ra. Later, Jimmy Garrity would go on to manage Ra and got them signed to Universal Records. He was also close knit with Boston radio station WAAF, specifically the female DJ Mistress Carrie, and often sang the national anthem at their sponsored events such as Locobazooka. Matt, Jimmy and I all looked up to him as both a mentor and role model. We loved walking to his house and picking his brain. The man always had stories and loads of advice to give. He always made sure to put aside time in his busy life to talk with us and took an interest in our musical endeavors. With our first song under our belts, the only logical thing to do was get Jimmy Garrity over to hear it.

            After Matt’s friends left, we dropped our instruments and ran all the way to Jimmy Garrity’s house. When we arrived he was just pulling into his driveway. He had just picked up Chinese food for his family, ready to begin his own Thanksgiving holiday. We begged him to come over and hear our song. It will only take five minutes, we promised. Only FIVE minutes, please. Reluctantly, he agreed, as long as it was going to be quick. We thanked him immensely and hopped into his van and drove with him back to Matt’s house. The thing I always liked about Garrity was his honesty. He wasn’t going to sugarcoat any answers for us, he would tell us straight up what he felt or how things were. Proud as we were, he wasn’t crazy about our song. “It’s too long,” he said at first. “They would never play that on the radio. You need to cut it down, get it under three minutes, then come and get me.” Originally “Murderer” clocked in at over five minutes, so we understood what he meant. We thanked him again, let him get back to his Chinese food, and set to work shortening the song.

*

            Since our Christmas party the previous year had been such a success, we decided to throw another one. We’d held the party in Matt’s basement, complete with loud music, dancing and plenty of goofing around. I had even got my first kiss. We had bigger plans for the next party however, namely using it as a platform for our first performance. December 8th was the decided day, which gave us roughly two weeks to perfect our set, send out the invitations and clean the house.

            Jimmy, the overly obsessive planner, grabbed a calendar and wrote out an itinerary for each day leading to the party. For those two weeks, in between constant jamming, we cleaned the basement from top to bottom, scrubbing and dusting, and moving boxes of old junk and clothes to maximize space. In that time we wrote four more original songs and learned a cover of Deftones’ “Bored”. Jimmy also planned the setup of the room. We replaced the bulb in the ceiling with a black light and also placed floor black lights where each of us was positioned to play. We planned to start the set out in darkness except for a lone black light focused on Jimmy. The second I yelled “go!” which kicked “Murderer” into full gear; I would reach up and pull the chain to light up the rest of the room. Each of us loved the idea of having so called effects to our performance. For added flair we hung black light posters behind us, most notably a panther engulfed in flames.

            Soon everything was set to go. We had a six song set nearly perfected, all the invitations were in the hands of our guests, and the basement was spotless. Only one thing was missing: a band name. I took it upon myself to come up with a name but after multiple brainstorming sessions I had nothing. I took to the internet for ideas and came upon a site of unused band names free for the taking. I wrote down ten I liked best and then narrowed that list down to two, Half The Earth and Shot Down Sun. Matt and Jimmy liked both names and couldn’t decide. We figured the best idea would be putting it to a vote and began calling up friends. In the end the votes were fairly unanimous and after hanging up last the final phone call, we were officially named Shot Down Sun.

            December 8th came and we ran over our set countless times before the guests arrived. Nervousness resonated between us all. We’d dreamt of this moment for years, performing for people, but in our heads it was never horrifyingly nerve-racking. It was like attempting to ask out that girl you’d always had a crush on, all the mental preparation, only to finally face her and lose all sense of the English language, to forget even the simplest of words. With all the planning we had done, we wanted everything to be perfect. Originally we were going to include “Miss You (So Far Away)”, an acoustic song from the Hybrid Mind days, but ditched the idea last minute. We wanted to keep things loud and heavy and not slow down with a ballad.

            Night approached, the moonlight glistening off the snow in the yard, and soon party guests began to arrive. I paced the kitchen, my nerves spiraling out of control, feverishly going over lyrics in my head. Matt pulled me aside and told me to relax. He was right, no one would know if I slipped up or missed a line. But what mattered to me is that I would know. By 7pm nearly everyone we’d invited was at the house. No matter how jittery my nerves were, there was no turning back. We had worked so hard for this moment.

            We made the announcement and corralled everyone into the basement. This was it. Jimmy and Matt readied their instruments and turned on their amps. I had my hands on the mic stand, trying not to look at the crowd, doing my best to steady my mind. Someone hit the lights and we were ushered into darkness, except for Jimmy, illuminated by a blue glow. When “Murderer” kicked in, I yanked on the chain and lit up the rest of the room. The posters behind us beamed to life. I didn’t talk much between our songs. I was in a trance and I knew if I thought too much I would start forgetting lyrics or royally mess up, so I pushed us through the set as quickly as possible. We finished the set with our Deftones cover and I murmured a thank you to the crowd before rushing out of the room.

            I went outside onto the porch to cool off and reflect. Jimmy met me out there soon after. I hadn’t even bothered to put a coat on, but the cool air felt good on my sweaty skin. My nerves had finally begun to subside. We talked about our performance and feelings about it all. I was still unaccustomed to being the frontman. Behind the drum kit in Guitarmy I had felt confident and invincible. I was safe behind the barricade of drums. Being a vocalist felt nothing like that. I was practically naked in front of the crowd, unable to hide behind the thin mic stand, utterly vulnerable. I wondered if it would always feel that way, or if, eventually, I would grow comfortable in my skin and voice. Cooled off and feeling better after chatting with Jimmy, we went back to the party. Our first show at last, and no matter what, we had to be proud of that fact alone.

The story continues in "Welcome To The Front Row", coming soon!

[alexaro-blog]

Another excerpt from "Welcome To The Front Row"

I've been making excellent progress with my book and based on the reaction from the first excerpt I posted, I decided I'd post another. Anyone that attended J.G. Whittier Middle School between 2000-2001 may remember this. This chapter is dedicated to Guitarmy, the band I drummed for comprised of students and teachers. Enjoy.

CHAPTER TWO: GUITARMY

            Greg “Señor” Elliot, my eighth grade Spanish teacher, always had interesting ways of helping us to learn the language. How could I forget that preguntar means 'to ask' when he would always say "Preguntar, NEVER ask a woman if she is pregnant." Or better yet, when he would come to class armed with his acoustic guitar and bust out his rap/rock pronoun song (Yo, I'm talkin' bout me, Tu, not the number but you, El, not the letter but he...). As a student I was intrigued by Señor Elliot. I mean here was the whitest white guy you could possibly imagine, a rock and roll spirit with a surfer's attitude, doing his best to teach us kids the Spanish language.

I: TEENAGE HEADACHE

            After class one day Señor Elliot and I got talking about music. He loved all things rock and roll, from Led Zeppelin all the way to Rage Against The Machine. I told him about Hybrid Mind and how Jimmy, who was also in the Spanish class, was our guitarist. Señor Elliot loved the fact that we had started a band at such a young age. When I told him I was the drummer his eyes lit up. He said he’d had an idea about starting a band with teachers and students for the school talent show and he would love for me to be the drummer.

            Señor Elliot already had a song written and ready to go called “Teenage Headache”, which he played and sang for me. It was a simple, straightforward rock song about the teenage woes of school and parents. I loved the idea of doing the band and I happily agreed to take part.

            Mr. Gickas, a seventh grade history teacher and rock and roll aficionado, played bass and was soon brought into the fold. As for other guitarists, Señor Elliot had asked fellow eighth graders Kyle Kimball and Brad Guttadaro. While I never really had any true issues with Kyle himself, I did have problems with the group of kids he hung out with. But, it also didn’t help that he was a sloppy guitar player at best. Brad, whom I’d known since fifth grade and lived on the next block over, was actually a fairly decent guitar player. He was also the most grandiose liar I’d ever met in my life. Originally he was from Bakersfield, California and told me all about his adventures hanging out with Korn. One time he was being chased by a gang and the members of Korn just happened to be out on a front porch and proceeded to stop the gang and save Brad’s life. I’ll also never forget the classic about his fieldtrip to the police station at eight years old when he accidentally walked into the wrong room, got his picture taken and was issued a legitimate driver’s license.  

            Señor Elliot said he wanted to name the band Guitarmy. With the band members secured, and with permission from the school principal, we began jamming after school in the cafeteria. I had told Jimmy about the project and invited him to check out our practice. “Teenage Headache” was literally two power chords over and over, but Kyle could not quite get the rhythm of it. Jimmy, waiting and watching patiently, asked Kyle if he could try for a moment. Kyle handed over his guitar and Jimmy immediately played the song perfectly. Señor Elliot was impressed with how quickly Jimmy had caught on and invited him to be in the band, to which Jimmy accepted. Eventually, though I can’t recall how or why, Nate Dyer joined as the fifth guitar player since Mr. Gickas had already claimed the bass position. At that point Guitarmy featured ¾ of Hybrid Mind.

            For weeks we practiced after school, oftentimes for upwards of three to four hours. Guitarmy was like a machine with too many parts, an assembly line with untrained workers. There were, in my opinion, too many guitar players. But, like the guitar army we were, we soldiered on. Guitarmy would serve as the opening and closing act of the talent show that year. Our opening song was a mash-up cover of “Louie, Louie” and “Wild Thing” and we would close with our original “Teenage Headache”.  After a month of rehearsals, and the talent show only days away, we were as ready as we were going to be.

            Prior to the talent show was the school’s annual Harvest Fair, which featured all kinds of games and crafts for kids and their families. I’ll never forget the huge poster the health teacher had put together asking kids to write down all the activities they could be doing instead of having sex. At twelve I had a hard enough time talking to girls and was focused on getting my first kiss. Sex was like some invisible dimension my brain couldn’t even fathom. Señor Elliot had wanted to do a warm-up performance at the Harvest Fair in the gymnasium. Since it was a Saturday and some members had prior obligations, it ended up being a stripped down set with Señor Elliot, Mr. Gickas, Jimmy and me.

            Technically, this was my first ever live performance but in my mind the talent show was what truly counted. This was, like Señor Elliot had said, a warm-up. We received lots of compliments from the parents, teachers and students alike. It felt great hearing kind words from fellow students. Mr. Comeau, another history teacher and avid Stevie Ray Vaughn fan was impressed with our performance. He approached Señor Elliot about possibly performing with us at the talent show. Señor Elliot taught him the songs, and though Mr. Comeau was never included as an official member of the band, he was brought along to play with us at the talent show.

  *

              “Okay everyone,” said Billy Campbell, the host of the talent show. “We’ve got a band of teachers and students that are going to rock your socks off! Give it up for Guitarmy!” The curtain slid open and there before us were 300 or so students and faculty. We all wore sunglasses and Señor Elliot had smudged black makeup above our chins so we all sported fake goatees. I felt nervous but was able to partially hide behind the sunglasses. I started the song off with a slow downbeat on the floor tom and snare before the rest of the band joined in. “Louie, Louie/Wild Thing” was fun and the crowd gave us a good response.

(L to R: Mr. Comeau, Señor Elliot, Jimmy Lantagne, Nate Dyer, Kyle Kimball, Mr. Gickas, Brad Guttadaro)

            There were many varied acts at the talent show, singers, dancers, martial artists and other musicians. My brother was even in it, doing a solo dance routine. It felt like forever waiting for our turn to close the show. The first song had amped me up and I was ready for more. Finally it was time. The curtains were drawn as everyone rushed about to get the amps and drums in place again. I took my place behind the drums, awaiting the opening of the curtains. I no longer felt nervous. A fiery excitement burned within my bones.

            Billy introduced us again and the curtains whooshed open. I whirled into another downbeat, this one faster, punkier. Then Mr. Gickas joined in with the bass line. Before the guitars kicked in Señor Elliot came rocketing across the stage on a skateboard. Caught up in the excitement, he rode a little too far and pulled the chord out of his guitar. Luckily we had five other guitar players to keep the song moving as he ran to plug his guitar back in. We blazed through the song and at the end the crowd roared. I raised my drum sticks in the air and thanked the crowd before the curtains closed for the last time. Something within me changed. This was what playing music felt like: the adrenaline, the energy that resonated from and within the crowd, the unending smile on my face and the seemingly infinite glow of my soul. It was like a future junkie that had just taken his first hit. This wasn’t a casual occurrence; this wasn’t something I could just do once and then leave alone. I had tapped into the vein and affected the chemicals in my body. I was addicted.

  II: THE TROUBLE WITH JELLY DONUTS

              Guitarmy was supposed to be a onetime deal. It was as simple as students and teachers coming together to play music at the talent show, that was it. Now that the talent show was over, it seemed so too was Guitarmy. But I knew I wasn’t the only one that had felt it that day, the fire, the hit in my veins. Señor Elliot approached me after class one afternoon about continuing Guitarmy. Of course I was in but not everyone felt the same. Nate, who didn’t care to play guitar, was the first to leave. Brad was the next to go, whose lies and attitude didn’t quite gel with the rest in the band. Jimmy and I, having more sway over Señor Elliot than the others, decided Kyle had to go as well. When all was said and done, the band resumed the stripped down lineup we’d assumed at the Harvest Fair. For a while we continued jamming in the cafeteria and found it much easier to learn new songs with less people involved. Jimmy was not only a quick learner, but a clean player and collectively and creatively the four of us clicked.

            Eventually, though I’m sure it crossed some sort of teacher/student barriers, we moved practice to Señor Elliot’s house. He’d been jamming in bands for the past twenty years and had transformed his basement into a fully fledged jam room complete with a stage, a PA, strobe lights and a drum machine. It was here that Guitarmy finally began to feel like a real band rather than an after school activity. We were away from the building and all its rules, able to govern ourselves and stretch our artistic creativity in any direction we wished. The songs felt more alive in the basement, more real. I felt not only a part of something, but a true sense of comradery.

            We spent countless hours and afternoons in Señor Elliot’s basement, with lyric sheets and musical notes spread across the floor, discussing and attempting new ideas. While Señor Elliot wrote a vast majority of the music and lyrics, we all played a role in shaping the end result. We added a cover of “Knocking On Heaven’s Door” to our repertoire and even wrote a ballad of our own titled “Hornet’s Nest”. Señor Elliot shared stories and pictures with Jimmy and I about his former bands and musical adventures. At one particular show he had filled a plastic baby with spaghetti sauce and tossed it into the crowd. Up until that point in my life I didn’t think teachers could be that cool. I didn’t think there could be such a thing as getting to know a teacher beyond their function as such. I came to think of Señor Elliot as less a teacher and more of a friend, an equal. Considering Hybrid Mind was in a constant rocky place, Señor Elliot’s house was a nice departure. It was reassuring knowing that I could escape the banality of Hybrid Mind and come to a place where progress was obtainable.

*

            Fag was a word I had grown fairly accustomed to in eighth grade. It started with a kid named Ben continually calling my brother a fag at the bus stop, to which I told him to stop. I should have beat him up right then and there, but for some reason I didn’t. Initially Ben had been a friend of both mine and Jimmy’s. He lived a couple of streets over and we had gone over on multiple occasions to watch Jackass and swim in his pool. It was always funny to me that he called anyone a fag considering he used to try and pull down my bathing suit in his pool. Eventually my brother and his friends had enough and brought the issue to the principal. Ben got in some serious trouble and soon the bullying shifted from my brother to me and, by association, Jimmy. We became the fags.

            I won’t lie; it really bothered me at first. I hadn’t done anything. Maybe that was part of the problem. I should have done something more at the bus stop. But now, since Ben had gotten into trouble, Jimmy and I were to blame. We were the ‘band fags’, the ‘fags that played with teachers’, the ‘Hybrid Homos’, and basically anything else the words fag, homo or gay could be thrown into. Eventually I became numb to it all and ignored anything that came out of his mouth. It simply wasn’t worth my time.

            Ben wasn’t a skinny kid by any means. When Guitarmy began writing a song called “Feed Me More”, an ode to all things junk food, Jimmy and I dedicated it to Ben as a joke. It was something funny to us; something never meant to leave the walls of Señor Elliot’s house. I don't think Señor Elliot ever fully realized what the joke was about or the consequences of it leaving the room. He thought it was harmless senseless fun; not realizing the joke would soon get him in trouble and nearly cost him his job.

*

            Our final performance as Guitarmy was on June 1, 2001 at the school Spring Fair, which was basically an extended recess with an ice cream social thrown in. We now had complete songs and were slated to perform our full set. Since the event was outdoors not everyone stood and watched us play but we still had a decent crowd surrounding us. We played “Louie, Louie/Wild Thing” and “Teenage Headache” but also introduced new songs like “Rock Town”, a tribute to all things rock, “Get A Job”, a song about growing up and working and “Put It Down”, an anthem in protest against school shootings. Everything was going smoothly until it became time to play our final song, “Feed Me More”.

            “This last song,” Señor Elliot began, “goes out to Ben. You know, I heard whenever Ben eats a jelly donut all he can think about is the next jelly donut! This song is called Feed Me More!” Jimmy whipped his head around to stare at me. My jaw was to the floor. Did Señor Elliot really just announce our little joke to the entire student body? Regardless we jumped into the song and as we played I could see Ben and his friends plowing their way toward us. Teachers held him back from storming the stage. Of course I loved seeing Ben humiliated in front of the whole school, but not at the cost of Guitarmy’s reputation.

            In the aftermath Señor Elliot nearly got fired. Not long after he transferred to Haverhill High School to teach Spanish there. I imagine that incident played a role in that decision. Once eighth grade ended, the four of us did our best to maintain the band. During that summer my mother had bought me a new drum set so I no longer had to use the shitty gold drums. With school no longer sucking up our daytime hours, we could start jamming earlier and longer. We wrote a new song called “Trick Bikester”, which promptly became my favorite of the bunch. I even lent some vocals to it. Sadly, we never performed the song live. Before summer ended, without much reason, we ceased practicing entirely. We never played another show as Guitarmy. Eventually I gave up drums altogether, frustrated beyond belief trying to fully understand the instrument and opted instead for guitar. In high school Jimmy and I would visit Señor Elliot and reminisce about the Guitarmy days as if they happened years and years ago. The topic of reuniting Guitarmy often came up during those discussions, but the idea never came to fruition.

(Drawing I'd done for Guitarmy)

  III: SUPERCALIPALOOZA

              Senior year had just begun and Jimmy and I couldn’t believe it was already our last year of high school. Señor Elliot, still teaching at Haverhill High, came to me with an idea. He wanted to throw a show that hosted a variety of music genres, similar to Lalapalooza. The event was to be aptly titled Haverhillpalooza. He wanted my band, Shot Down Sun, to perform as the hardcore aspect of the show. Seed, good friends of ours, would be the progressive metal act, East Side Crew would be the rap/hip hop act and Señor Elliot’s latest band, Super Cali, would cover the rock n’ roll bases. Even more, Señor Elliot wanted Jimmy and I to perform with Super Cali on “Teenage Headache” and other classic Guitarmy songs, to which we agreed.

            Jimmy and I went over Señor Elliot’s house nights before the show to practice. It was such a nostalgic rush being back in his basement and jamming on his stage. In Super Cali, Señor Elliot used his drum machine, so Jimmy and I both played guitar. At that point I’d been playing guitar for close to four years and it felt good playing the old songs on a different instrument. Haverhillpalooza was a success. It was, in many ways, a funeral for Guitarmy. Jimmy and I were able to relive some old memories and at last bang those final nails into the Guitarmy coffin.

            I am forever grateful for Señor Elliot and all he did. Guitarmy was such an experience to have at a young age and without it, I don’t know what might have become of me musically. It was my first true taste of performing and allowed me to feel that hunger, that need that swells within every musician. Guitarmy, though relatively small in the timeline of my music career, will always be remembered and cherished.

[alexaro-blog]

Excerpt from "Welcome To The Front Row"

Here is an excerpt from the book I'm currently writing about band life called Welcome To The Front Row. This is the first chapter of the book about my start in music and the early bands I was in. Enjoy.

---

Band practice had just been cut short. Matt Feugill, the vocalist, was too nervous to sing and stood idly by the wall, staring down at his feet. He held the microphone loosely in his hands but never brought it anywhere near his face. Jimmy Lantagne, the guitarist, disappeared halfway through our set, unannounced, to make a microwave pizza. The bass player, Nate Dyer, and I continued to make attempts at our songs as the rhythm section with much frustration. Jimmy finally returned to the garage and when he picked his guitar back up, all hell broke loose. The songs were still voiceless, with Matt still focused on the floor while the microphone dangled from his fingertips. Jimmy spewed forth a sea of obscenities about our lack of progress. Nate, always the cooler head, tried his best to lay down smooth bass lines and ease the tension. I stayed behind the drum set and watched the chaos unfold. Jimmy’s voice filled the garage. Finally I stood up and screamed “Five minutes! Five minutes! FIVE MINUTES!” That was our band law, our code. If tensions were high, which they often were, then we take five to cool off. That day five minutes were not enough.

            Next thing I knew we were all piled in Matt’s mother’s red 94 Mazda on our way to Wal Mart. We were all averting one another’s glances, the car heavy in silence. Matt’s mother Joyce felt it. “I sense some tension in here boys,” she said. No one responded. I knew what everyone was thinking. Jimmy was right, we were going nowhere. This band was always going to be stuck in the same place. Something needed to change. We pulled into the Wal Mart parking lot and got out, making sure to keep a distance between ourselves. It was a hot day and I was thirsty. Luckily, I had a quarter in my pocket, just enough for one of the cheap Wal Mart knockoff sodas. I ran up to one of the soda machines outside, put my quarter in and pressed the button for cola. The machine rumbled and I listened as the can made its way to the bottom. I reached down and grabbed the can, ready to quench my thirst. I was about to pop the top when I read the can and noticed it was diet cola. I couldn’t take anymore. I screamed, “DIET COLA!” and slammed the can into the ground, causing it to rupture and spray soda all over the sidewalk. The other guys found the situation hilarious and burst out laughing. Then, I couldn’t help it and laughed along with them. That day, it wasn’t five minutes we needed to cool our heads; all we needed was a can of diet cola.

I: FROZEN CORPSE

            Gold drums. That’s what really started everything. A piece of shit set of golden, sparkly drums. Matt, Jimmy and I all lived on the same street and had grown quite close throughout middle school. Jimmy and I were in the same grade, Matt a year behind us. We all loved heavy music but it wasn’t until Jimmy and I started eighth grade that we actually talked about starting a band. Jimmy already played guitar and Matt and I were both interested in drums. I had briefly learned snare drum in fifth grade, but quit because I quickly grew bored playing just one drum. Obviously only one of us could be the drummer, and though I didn’t mind being the vocalist, I really wanted to be the one behind the kit. Matt ended up getting word from a friend that was selling a drum set for fairly cheap and was going to buy it. After he bought it, Jimmy and I excitedly ran up to his house to see it. We were going to be a real band with a real drum set! We went into his garage and there it was, in all its golden glory, our drum set.

            Neither of us knew much about drum hardware or what constituted a drum set, but this thing was hardly a real kit. The bass pedal was broken beyond repair, so right off the bat the bass drum was out of commission. There was no high-hat. There was one crash cymbal, which balanced on a stand without any washers. If you hit the crash too hard, the stand, which jutted up out the side of the bass drum, would fall forward, causing it to slip off and smash to the floor. The snare was dead, and the high and floor toms both had worn out heads. None of us had jobs, so fixing anything wasn’t an option. The set was an utter embarrassment and yet, we loved the thing.

            As for guitars, Jimmy had some cheesy knockoff guitar. It was called a Wildcat by some no name brand. He also had a tiny amp that couldn’t even produce distortion. The amp had two inputs, so we went to Radioshack and bought a cheap microphone for vocals. All we needed was a name. We decided on Frozen Corpse.

            After school afternoons became devoted to band practice. Under the name Frozen Corpse we only wrote one song, if you can even call it a song. There were no frets involved whatsoever. It was essentially some strumming on the top string and then a note on the bottom string. I played drums on the song. It had to have been the un-heaviest, least talented song ever crafted. One afternoon, as Jimmy and I were really getting into the song, his bottom string snapped. Well, we weren’t about to let that one little string get in the way of our song! He swapped out the note on the high E for the B string. We started the song again until snap! There went the B string. Before the afternoon session ended, his low E broke as well. There we were, a band that now couldn’t even play the one ‘song’ we had. We literally were a frozen corpse.

            I had designed the logo in class. I thought it was badass, and so did Matt and Jimmy. Since Jimmy and I had all the same classes, we were always dreaming up different things concerning the band. We sketched out lyric and song ideas and talked in length about our debut album. Before even writing any songs, we decided we wanted to call the album Fire Within. We thought the duality between the band name and album title was cool.

(Frozen Corpse logo)

            That Christmas Jimmy got all new gear. His parents got him an ESP Explorer guitar (Jimmy had wanted one because that’s what James Hettfield used), a 350 watt Marshall amp and a Boss Metal Zone distortion pedal. Forget Frozen Corpse. With all this new gear, things had to change. We could now accomplish so much more. Jimmy had a real guitar with a real amp. The band could actually be heavy; we could sound like Deftones and Staind. Though we were stuck with the gold drums for now, Jimmy’s new gear was a game changer.

II: HYBRID MIND

When I saw a flier for the robotics team at school, I had to apply. What twelve year old wouldn’t want to build robots? Space on the team was limited, so you had to be selected to be on the team. Luckily, I made the cut. To my dismay, we were not building actual robots but instead using Legos with computer chips in them that could be programmed. We had to build a vehicle of sorts and save this village from an exploding volcano by making it following a programmed track. I grew bored with the entire project quickly. My friend Nate Dyer was also a member of the team. We had become friends over a mutual interest in video games and Dragon Ball Z. Before I resigned from the team, he and I got talking about music. Nate, more into bands like Less Than Jake and Phish, was interested in learning the bass. I told him about the band and asked if he was interested in joining. He accepted and soon enough got a bass and started taking lessons. Within a few months he was easily the most talented in the band. Now that we had secured a bass player, we needed a new band name.

            I couldn’t tell you who came up with it, but we chose Hybrid Mind as our next moniker. I designed the logo for this band as well, opting for a simpler design this time. I’m not sure where the idea came from or how it related to the band name, but it was essentially a pointed Y with an exclamation point in between the space at the top and a little diamond at the bottom.

(L to R: Nate, Matt, Alex, Jimmy)

            The drummer/vocalist predicament between Matt and I still existed. I was by no means a good drummer, but I could, at the very least, hold a beat. Matt certainly tried his best, but nature did not intend for him to be a drummer. The only other problem was he was microphone shy. Whenever I was drumming, Matt would just stand there and stare at the mic like it was some foreign object. Other times I would take the mic and Matt would jump on the drum set. Obviously this formula wasn’t going to last forever.

            Our first song, “Oxygen”, was an improvement over Frozen Corpse. This time, Jimmy actually used his frets. Jimmy had written the guitar parts and taught them to Nate. I wrote the lyrics about things that are bigger than you can handle, which at that age was pretty much striking up the nerve to talk to a girl. We recorded the song once on my tape recorder, with Matt on drums and me on vocals. I’d be very interested to hear that recording now but the tape is most likely rotting away in the recesses of some dump.

  *

            I was pacing about my kitchen talking to Jimmy on the phone. We often talked on the phone at night, discussing band plans and getting more extravagant with conceptual ideas of the future. That night he was telling me about his girlfriend troubles. He wanted to break up with her, but he wasn’t sure how to go about doing it. He was afraid of her reaction, afraid of hurting her feelings. “Let’s write a song about it,” I suggested. After another hour of continued pacing and shooting lyrical lines back and forth, we had written the words for a song called “Confused”. We even had riff ideas for it, but never got around to making the song a reality.

            Nights like those were common. Jimmy and I shared the same excitement for the band, and our imaginations ran wild without limitations. When he and I were together and we allowed our dream machines to spill out, anything seemed possible. Or, at the very least, we believed our dreams enough so that they seemed possible. We talked about music videos and being on MTV. We planned concerts and tours, album covers and t-shirt designs. We imagined our name on the second stage roster of Ozzfest. We wanted to be rock stars so badly, to be out there touring, playing music professionally, being interviewed in magazines and have our video in the TRL countdown. We wanted our name up there with the likes of Korn and Limp Bizkit. In our minds, all of this was possible with hard work and determination.

            We continued to write more songs. Our second song, “Blind Drive”, thrashed harder than “Oxygen” and oozed with a St. Anger Metallica vibe (though that album would not be out for a couple more years). Again, I wrote the lyrics to this song, which dealt with uncertainty about the future. At twelve years old, none of the lyrics had any masked poetic sense to them and instead were very straightforward. Our third song, “Kill The Man”, had a groovy rock feel to it. For our fourth song, we decided to strip things down and write an acoustic song. That had always been one of the goals for Hybrid Mind, to be both soft and heavy, like many of our favorite bands. Jimmy threw some chords together on his acoustic and we penned the song “Miss You (So Far Away)”. I wrote the song for a friend who was moving away (twenty minutes away mind you), which again goes to show where my head was at twelve years old. The last song we wrote under the name Hybrid Mind was “Triangle Sand”. What the fuck does that even mean? I honestly don’t know.

            With five songs under our belt, we were itching to finally perform for people. That was always the ultimate goal, the only reason for starting the band, playing shows. We figured the best place for having our first show would be right in Matt’s basement. For the show Matt would play drums and I would do vocals, seeing as I was more comfortable with the mic. Guitarmy (see chapter two) would serve as the opening band and then we would headline. We planned the show for March 16th, 2001. I drew up a flier and we slapped a $1 ticket price on it. That past December we had thrown a Christmas party in Matt’s basement and tons of kids from school came. There was no reason why we couldn’t get that same number of kids, or more even, to show up for this. I can’t recall exactly why, most likely the fact that in all honesty we still weren’t ready, the show never happened. It most likely would have been a disaster, but also something I could look back on now and laugh.

              My mind has always been ten steps ahead of me. While I’m trying to finish project A, my mind is already thinking about projects B, C and D. As such, with only five songs completed, I had already gone ahead and written full lyrics for our entire debut album and started planning our sophomore record. The debut self titled album was going to have ten songs on it. I had even done up artwork and a CD booklet, which I had printed out, cut up and put into a CD jewel case. Once the ball started rolling with ideas, it became nearly impossible for me to stop it. That is still the case for me today. My mind is a factory of thoughts and ideas that never stops.

            During this creative process, I never stopped to consider how we were going to record a ten song album. Not only were we jobless twelve year olds, but the times were much different. It wasn’t like today where everyone and their neighbor have a home studio and recording a song is as easy as opening Garageband on your Macbook. In 2001, computers weren’t as advanced as they are now, the software and much of the equipment people use today simply didn’t exist. Audio recording wasn’t just something you “picked up” by watching tutorials on Youtube. None of us had a clue where a real studio even was. We had heard stories about bands spending thousands on recordings, even thousands on one song. Who was going to front that bill, our parents? And so the album remained non-existent, the songs forever trapped within the confines of a small garage on Alvanos Dr.

III: THE RED EVOLUTION TOWARDS THE TENTH DIMENSION

In May, near the end of that school year, we had grown tired of the name Hybrid Mind. Once again, we had new ideas on the direction the band should take and the name didn’t excite us anymore. I believe it was Nate that came up with our next name, Red Evolution. The name stuck for a little while as we continued to jam. Soon, that name also fell under scrutiny. We were afraid Red Evolution sounded too communist and we didn’t want anyone thinking we were a political band pushing an agenda. Unsure of what to call the band, we floated for a while in limbo between Hybrid Mind and Red Evolution.

*

            “We have to kick Matt out of the band,” Jimmy said to me one afternoon. “He’s slowing us down and we are going nowhere. He doesn’t practice or anything. All he cares about is his girlfriend.” I didn’t know how to respond at first. Matt was one of my best friends. How was I supposed to kick my best friend out of the band? The band which, not only did we practice at his house, but he had supplied the drum set to? I felt sick. I hated the idea of kicking Matt out of the band and forever altering our friendship. Even worse, I hated the fact that I agreed with Jimmy and that deep down, now that this dilemma had been brought out into the open, there ultimately was only one solution.

            Jimmy, Nate and I talked things over. There were so many factors to consider. Mostly, I was concerned with losing a good friend and doing irreversible damage. But also, we would be losing our jam space and our drum set. We didn’t know anyone else that owned a drum set or anyone that played drums. However, when it came down to the future of the band, we decided that Matt had to be let go.

            The professional and courteous thing to do would have been to talk with him face to face, man to man. That is what we should have done. Instead, we went to his girlfriend and blamed her for Matt’s shortcomings in the band. We told her she had turned Matt into a love slave and she had cost him his place in the band. Of course it didn’t take long for her to run and tell Matt about it. I felt awful about the entire thing. That afternoon I got off the bus and saw Matt walking towards his house. I tried to get him to stop and talk to me but he rushed past without even a glance.

            That night I went out to eat with my family and told them about kicking Matt out of the band. “You what!?” my mother exclaimed. “Do you realize you just lost your best friend?” It was all too much for me and I started crying. My stomach punched itself and I pushed my plate away. What had I done? Did I really just lose my best friend?

  *

            Eventually things healed between us and Matt. School was over and Jimmy and I would be starting high school in a few months. We now jammed at Jimmy’s house, though we hadn’t accomplished much since kicking Matt out. Things felt old and uninspired, the songs were devoid of life. We needed something to make us feel again, to motivate us, something that would light the fire within us once more. We were too young to just give up.

            Nate and Jimmy went to see Green Day that summer and it changed them. I remember their faces when they got back from the concert. Jimmy beamed with excitement and screamed, “Alex! I’m a punk fan now!” It was with those words that a new direction came into view. We decided to completely abandon our rock/metal roots and start anew as a punk band. Jimmy quickly got to work writing songs. It was, in a way, easier to write punk songs than our older material. Nate was overjoyed to be playing songs more akin to his musical taste. For me however, punk was something totally new. I had never delved into the back catalog of The Offspring or Operation Ivy, but I was willing to give it a shot. And so, with a complete musical makeover and a renewed vigor, we became The Tenth Dimension.

  *

            Louie’s Music had just opened in Haverhill, right next to the Comic Book Palace on Primrose St. Nate and I noticed it one afternoon walking home from school. I was going to be the drummer for The Tenth Dimension and had started looking for a drum set of my own. Now that Matt was over being kicked out of the band, he let me use the gold drums until I found a set of my own. When we saw Louie’s Music, I was stoked to see what he had for drums. The store still wasn’t open yet, but we vowed to return that weekend.

            That Saturday we had our usual jam session at Jimmy’s house. Before we headed down to Louie’s Music, we whipped together a flier looking for a vocalist that we hoped to hang in the store. When we arrived the store still wasn’t open but the owner noticed us outside and let us in. He was a nice guy, short and stocky, and happened to be a drummer himself. I told him I was looking to buy a kit and he started pulling out everything he had and gave me prices. The guy really knew his stuff. We told him about our band and our flier and he told us he would hang it up. We went back to Louie’s Music a couple more times and always ended up shooting the shit with him. I never did buy a drum set, or anything from the store. By the end of the year, Louie’s Music had closed up shop.

When I finally bought a drum set from Daddy’s Junky Music, The Tenth Dimension had completely fizzled out. We had all simply grown tired. Looking back, we had wasted the entire year and had nothing to show for it. We had changed our name four times and changed our musical style. We had kicked out a member. At the end of it all, we only had a few songs for The Tenth Dimension and no drive to continue. It was a vicious cycle that showed no signs of ending. Eventually Nate stopped showing up to practice and Jimmy and I didn’t bother to chase him down. It was time to throw in the towel.

            With my new drum set, one that had a working high hat and bass drum pedal, I began to realize just how difficult it is to learn the drums. I had grown so accustomed to the gold drums that trying to now incorporate these new pieces was beyond my capabilities. In a bout of frustration I sold my kit to my uncle, who had played drums previously during his stint in the marines. With that money I bought a guitar and an amp, which I found much easier to learn.

IV: EPILOGUE

Jimmy and I were walking around the block. The nights were still warm but summer was coming to a close. In a few weeks we were going to be in high school. We talked about what it might be like, our hopes and fears, how much we were going to change over the next four years. We wondered what kinds of people we would meet, what new friends we would make and how our friendship would sustain itself. Would we find new clicks and drift away? Would high school be the death of everything we know?

            After lapping the block numerous times, we stopped in Jimmy’s drive way. “This isn’t the end,” he said. “There’s so many new people in high school, there’s bound to be new people to jam with.”

            “You’re right,” I said. “There has to be someone.”

            “Even if we aren’t in a band together, we will find our place.”

            I nodded and waved goodbye. As I walked back to my house I thought of all the potential people I might meet in high school. Middle school had hundreds of kids, but in high school there was going to be thousands. It was simple statistics that someone out of those thousands would be fit to jam with. My chest pounded with excitement over the changes that would occur in the coming weeks. Once in my yard, I sat on the swing and watched the sun go down. 

[alexaro-blog]

Nothing better than seeing your name in print. 

[alexaro-blog]

And this is it, a year. I'm alone in the bed.

What is it to be content? To wake up and greet the day and say "Hey, I am okay. Hey I am here and that is okay."

Is happiness not our smiles and teeth, our spit and kiss? Is it not the grass beneath our feet, the soft stomp of our feet under a summer sky, the warm brush of a cheek in the autumn air? Is it not the weight on a mattress, the whisper that cuts the quiet night, arms outstretched and ready for flight? Is it not our hair in the rain, a dinner with just enough for two, the film that is too awful to ignore? Does it not first start within, behind the bones, and grow and entangle? 

Where did my gardener go? Why does my garden not grow?

This is it, a year. I close my eyes and see nothing. This may have been a mistake. The truth, the ever so hard pill to swallow, is I have no idea what I'm doing anymore.

[alexaro-blog]

Image made for my short story "The Desert Lights" by my good friend Maxwell Lee

[alexaro-blog]

"And then the fireworks begin and the crowd cheers. Spastic patterns of all colors spiral across the night. Red and blue sparkles, purple and yellow palm trees, green bursts that produce maraca sounds. After the first few fireworks explode Becky leans in closer to me and we kiss. A red and blue kiss, a kiss under purple and yellow palm trees and kissing to maraca sounds. The sky above is a spectacle to behold and the field below a shadow land of awed onlookers and us, kissing."

[alexaro-blog]

[alexaro-blog]

Dear self,

Why are you so tired all of the time? How come you wake up and go to work only to come home and desire bed? You used to be able to work through the day and then play long into the night, drinking into delirium, laughing with friends, being alive. 

Where did your heart go? There isn't a beat when the rhythm of the music comes on. You play because that is what you have always done, because it used to define a major part of you. What do you do it for now? Do you even know?

Why have you become scared of your writing, your art? What was once so effortless, so natural, has become the ultimate terror. Why does everything feel so immediate, so small and enclosed? What happened to fun, to the joy of the art itself? You have become the wall in front of yourself. You, alone.

What happened where you are not even sad, but feel nothing at all? What happens when nothing is worth anything? 

What are you going to do? Please help.

Sincerely,

Your self

[greenlightpress]

I want to cut off my lips and rip holes through my cheeks. Maybe then I wouldn’t be a definition. Yes, I’ll cut off my lips and rip holes in my cheeks because no one wants to look at a girl who looks like that. No one wants to photograph a girl who looks like that.

I wish I had a dick, and...

[alexaro-blog]

Check it!

[alexaro-blog]

ADVERSARIES - GLASS HOUSE, GLASS HEART

Spread the word!

[alexaro-blog]

Something is happening that I can't quite grasp. 

[alexaro-blog]

"When I enter the lights are so bright because they don’t want me to see. I’m engulfed; I’m washed away by brightness and white. I’m squinting just to see where to step next. This is what they want, a tactic they use to get me to buy things I don’t need. I’m supposed to buy things based on sound, based on touch, a soft feminine voice saying “…and it’s all natural, the main ingredient is the leaves from an exotic plant native to Venezuela, your skin will be refreshed, will feel like new…” and me I reply, “I don’t want to feel like new. I want to feel like me.”"

[alexaro-blog]