Entranced in the Music

Ok, I’ll admit it. The first minute I heard Thom Yorke’s voice I developed one of the longest lasting rock-star crushes to date (second only, of course, to Bono). The tangled up chords that echo in his voice make me putty in his hands. I don’t care about the fact that he has one lazy eye or that he’s a bit on the short side. The fact that he can write such haunting lyrics and sing them with such poignancy makes me adore him even more.

I think it all began in 1995 – that was the Christmas when my Uncle Rick gave me a CD of Radiohead’s second album, “The Bends.” I had asked for this album, because, as a stellar eighth grader, I wanted to be cool enough to own what Q and Rolling Stone called one of it’s “Must Have Albums.” I was done with trying to identify with the likes of Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith – artists that I had grown up with throughout the years as a student of a private Baptist school and a child of an Evangelical church – for me, those days were over.

I remember pouring over “The Bends” CD package, complete with obscure drawings and introspective lyrics, as I sat on my Grandmother’s art deco couch, and absorbing everything I saw in it before I had even heard a single song. My Uncle Rick looked over my shoulder and said, “Yeah, that album’s great. It’s one of my favorites.” This, of course, made me like Radiohead even more as my Uncle Rick, in those days at least, was the epitome of cool. He was the only one in my mom’s family who ventured out into the big city of Chicago, bought a fancy apartment at Lakeshore, became successful, and stayed there to make a life for himself. This had always been my dream, even as a teenager, so the fact that he was living it made him almost a god to me at that time.

Radiohead quickly became one of my favorite bands as well and I found myself constantly entranced with the lyrics on “The Bends.” Pretty soon after acquiring the album I noticed my poetry started sounding like Radiohead songs and all of the pictures I saved on my computer were either images of Thom Yorke or Bjork.

And that is how my incestuous love affair with the music of Radiohead began. So when I saw this video of Thom Yorke’s latest song, “The Present Tense,” on YouTube today, I was hooked. After downloading it I think I have played it a total of five times so far, and I’m sure that that number will only multiply as the days go on.

There are not many artists out there today who can enrapture me the way Thom Yorke does. Bono used to but once he started going mainstream pop with U2 in the mid-1990’s that was the end for me. In fact, a lot of the bands/artists I used to like lost a lot of their fervor in the mid to late 1990’s, which really is quite sad given their music will never quite be the same ever again. But, for me at least, Thom Yorke and his band, Radiohead, have remained steadfastly good throughout the decades no matter what. And that's made all the difference.

Forgotten Memories

For me, the only real up side to packing up all of your shit when you have to move is finding things you completely forgot existed. Lately I've been surrounded in the madness of this never-ending process, but was pleased to come across some old pieces I had written back in the day when I was a student at Interlochen Arts Academy. As I looked at them I found myself becoming either extremely mortified or actually quite proud - but felt nothing even remotely in between that. I guess, like any writer, I have my good periods and my bad.

One of the best pieces from that time period is a short non-fiction piece I did about Kurt Cobain. I was inspired by a photograph of him that I found in Rolling Stone (see image above) and went from there. It is called simply, "KURT":

" He sits, almost dazed, looking off into the nothingness surrounding him. Here, we have the voice of a generation, a voice so pungent you could not mistake it for anyone else's voice. And yet, he just stares, not at the guitar chords or the mike in front of him, but straight into the distance where oblivion exists in the minds of the immortal.

He's an idol, as much as he'd like to think that he's not, when he sings in, Smells Like Teen Spirit,"...I feel stupid and contagious, here we are now, entertainers...oh denial...oh denial...oh denial," as if it's all a dream that's vanished. He never believed what other people told him. He never thought of himself as a "rock star," he never tried to fit into any of the cliches in society - he simply was. There were no complicated messages in his songs, no fancy words to explain what he was feeling, just the constant vibration of his guitar and his angst-ridden voice.

When you look at him, you could almost mistake him for an angel or some heavenly creature. His guitar lays upon his chest as though they were his wings; the painfully poignant blue of his eyes off in some other world - who knows, I could be crazy, but isn't that what he's all about? Feeling lost and trapped in a chaotic world that doesn't even know who you are? Perhaps that is why so many of my friends identified with him, and looked up to him as if he were their god in holey jeans and a ripped t-shirt, an emblem of their future; an everlasting figure of youth they wanted to resemble.

His band, Nirvana, ushered in congregations of adolescent aggression and distrust. They came in seeking renewal, to wash themselves of the society they lived, breathed, and loathed in. His concerts were as spiritual as the Sunday mornings of church-goers, bodies falling in a heap at the altar, arms out-stretched, desperate for any kind of contact, in hopes that he might heal them. For all we knew he could've been Jesus Christ, or even a re-incarnation of Elvis; it didn't matter that he hated life and hated who he was, in fact the more he hated the world, the more we loved him for it.

But he never seems to be affected at all by this rather immense following of his - in fact, he hardly cares. He sits still, head pounding, with his headphone pressed against his left ear, hearing nothing but the constant drumming of voices that rage day and night. There always seemed to be 'Something in the Way,' something that never quite allowed him to be at peace with himself. His music was a reflection of everything that passed through him - the restless anger and increasing vulnerability to a harsh world he did not want to face.

His abrupt suicide made him even more of a legend. His songs are all that are left of him for future generations. As for the one he left behind, his words will always be their anthem and Kurt will always be the voice of a lost generation."

The Canvas Speaks for Itself

One of the best parts of making art is sharing it and watching people connect with what you have made. As an artist it's hard to tell sometime if what you have made can translate from the canvas and connect with your audience.

When I first began making my own art about six years ago I did it just as a side project with no intention of ever selling or sharing it. I started to make a visual diary of sorts and collected all of my thoughts, emotions and ideas into this book as a private way of expressing myself. But I realized about a year or so into making this diary that it was pointless to have without sharing it. I mean really, how can you call yourself an artist if nobody can see your art? There would be no point.

Just a few weeks ago, I offered to show and sell some of my pieces at a local arts venue in town called the Dreamland Theater. Going into it I didn't expect to sell anything, given the economy and the fact that most people around town have no clue who I am or what I make. But, to my surprise, I sold two pieces. In just a matter of mere minutes I finally felt validated as an artist and realized that I surpassed the biggest hurdle one has as an upcoming artist - communicating and connecting with your audience. That, in itself, makes being an artist all the more worthwhile.

Escape from Reality

Art, for me, is the best way to escape the dire states of reality. Whenever I feel bogged down by responsibilities, deadlines, or pressure of any sort I know that if I make some kind of art I’ll feel at least a little bit better. Recently I’ve gotten into photography and found it to be the perfect past time for someone who’s just been laid off (i.e. me) who has a ton of time on their hands.

After finding out today that my unemployment check won’t come for another six to eight weeks, I immediately took a shower and got out of the house as fast as I could - my camera in hand. I knew sitting in the house and applying for jobs all day would frustrate me only more at that point, and besides, it was a beautiful day not to be wasted. So I walked around Depot Town, past the mysterious mansion on the hill, through the neighborhoods, and then followed the railroad tracks to Forest Street to make my way home. It was, in fact, just what I needed to get through the day.

Introduction

Every one of us has something to create, whether we realize it or not. Some of us are artists and create visual metaphors for the human eye, while others around us are engineers or managers, creating solutions and theories that bring society together. For me, creation is a necessity, and it comes in many forms. Sometimes it's with art, whether it be photography, mixed media (see picture above) or graphic design, and at other times it can be with writing - whatever the form may be it always starts with an idea that slowly becomes a vision, and finally, a masterpiece.

And that is what this blog is for - to show you my creative musings through a variety of mediums. This is an experiment of sorts, so please be patient with me as I navigate the wild frontier of the blogging world. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.