Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Song for a Crappy Tuesday

In a recent post, my friend R. mentioned her position as satellite to the planet Geek. I feel the same way for most worlds, never entirely absorbing myself in that social circle or this type of music. But an observer. Watching how groups behave, what they like, wondering why they like it.

I was always on the outskirts of goth culture in high school. Goths I hung out with (and I mean, black haired, pierced, card carrying goths kids) were, I think, confused by my presence. I never died my hair with Manic Panic, I never pierced anything beyond my earlobes. I didn't get a tattoo until I was 34 (And I'm not sorry about that last one. An acquaintance pointed out, "At 34, why bother." My reply was "I was ready."). I never really fit in. Like most tribes, those who don't wear the uniform/colors/tats/ceremonial headdress are regarded with suspicion.

But, eventually, after putting in the hours smoking and drinking massive amounts of coffee at the Waffle House, I was accepted on a limited basis, sort of like Jane Goodall. They'd groom me (My friend L. once tried to perform a Goth "Makeunder"). I'd observe, wonder what it was like to BE one of them.

With this sort of observation comes an appreciation. I like Goth music quite a bit. I was a huge Bauhaus fan (When they reunited and came to town I was devastated that I couldn't get tickets), and I loved This Mortal Coil and Siouxsie and the Banshees.

Part of what appeals to me is the intense size of it. Everything, from the style of dress to the orchestration of the music, is huge. I like big ideas, big thoughts, big feelings. (I should probably see more opera.) Not all the time, mind you. Over the top emoting exhausts the resources and is part of why I'm thrilled that I am no longer 16 years old.

"This Corrosion" by the Sisters of Mercy has size to spare. The choir alone sounds like it's singing Damien home to his rightful place in hell. And with Andrew Eldritch's deep throated snarling "In days like this, In times like these, I feel like an animal" one wonders how we made it out of the 80's at all. We just don't get lyrical gems like that anymore.

The video is very much a product of its time: the era when Mad Max had convinced us that, in Post-Apocalyptica, we'd all be wearing leather and torn up lingerie on a scorched landscape of flaming trashcans. With all the rain and wind Lear might pop out any second.


Crazypants said...

let 's get tats in january.

Anonymous said...

I still have my tatterdaemalion clothing stashed away for the aformentioned 'Gothoclypse'.

Though it might not be quite as cool, battling mutants on a Vespa.

Ron K.

rebar said...

>>"At 34, why bother." My reply was "I was ready."

I think it makes a ton of sense to get a tatoo in your 30's.

Rarely is one the same person, with the same influences at 19 (or whatever "appropriate youth age" it is rendered "cool" for getting inked)as at 25, 39, 57, 64, etc.

I've seen waaaaay too many ill-concieved tats acquired as a youth that are now reviled and hid away like a syphallitic aunt or cleft-lipped child circa 1925.

I think it's entirely cool you waited until you were ready.

And Ron, rocking fake tats and a Vespa? I would pre-set my lawn chair for that parade.

And thanks for the shout-out Jen.
It's nice to know someone reads my blog now and then. Hell if I can get that stoopid sitemeter thing to work!

(The aforementioned entry was pegged "Nerd Moon" back in October if anyone's interested.)

Anonymous said...


All my tattoos (all one of them-age 26) are real.

If I can find a Vespa with 2 sidecars you and Little Jen are totaly on my post apocolypse scrounging team.


-j-j- said...


(Checking Ebay for side cars and plutonium: one item to fulfill the beautiful fantasy of riding in a tricked out Vespa wearing leather and torn up lingerie with Little Ron and Rebar, the other to get the Apocalypse here more lickety damn split.)

rebar said...

Uhm...does anyone else hear Tina Turner in the distance singing the theme to Thunderdome?

Just me.


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