Touched

or: A Tribute To Ben Spangler [1975-2007]

Ben Spangler died in Bozeman, MT on June 22, 2007. That name only holds weight for certain circles, but wherever that weight has worth, it tends to carry an ominous clout with it. Bipolar Ben (as he was often called, and not without apt cause) was a musician, and a damn good one. I don’t know much of his personal history – I knew him as a contemporary and never had the opportunity to dig into his past. Besides, the less I speculate on his life the better, so just know that who he was inside is not as important as what he said outwardly. And how he said it.

Perhaps the most fitting epitaph would be the last two lines of his last recorded song (“Dollar At The Bottom Of The Pool”): “As a dog returneth to it vomit, I wasn’t down but now I’m up above it.”

(I'm not sure who to credit for this touching photography, no pun intended. But that's Ben on the left, with and former lead guitarist Donnie Evil on the far right.)

Suffering from bipolar disorder, that did not stop Ben from achieving that classic status as a singer/songwriter - in fact, I'm sure it helped. Whether alone on his guitar, or best yet with his band the Touchers, Ben was always creating his own worlds and presenting them in such a fashion that it was effortless to dive right in with him if you wanted. You’re either along for the ride or not, and when you are, the songs do their job in making you think of nothing else.

The Touchers were a shapeshifting collective of musicians (over a dozen in and out) founded, fronted and focused by Bipolar Ben. They were “dedicated to the demise of sexist, homophobic, unoriginal rock and roll.” At CDBaby (a truly independent online music store), the Touchers’ album The Shotgun is placed into its own unique amalgamation of genres: “happy sadness indie rock honky tonk surf punk..” Without hearing Ben strum and shriek for yourself, this is the best words are going to do to describe it; simply put, it must be felt. But Ben’s words - humane observations [“If you think that good guys always win/You got another thing coming”] often laced with incisive humor [“Mama told me I was an unwanted pregnancy/And it seemed easy to believe”] and delivered always with sincerity and passion - left to their own devices still get the job done.

A BRIEF OVERVIEW OF THE TOUCHERS DISCOGRAPHY

Headless Breakfast (2000) Showcases “Bipolar Ben & The Touchers” at their rawest and loosest. These songs are like all good young rock band births – they’re wildly experimental, punkadelic and playful, prone to fits of sudden outbursts and giddiness. Quite unusual for what was to follow the Touchers, this album features female vocals, keyboards and a violin amidst the echoing drums, throbbing bass and distorted guitars. With 17 tracks at 44 minutes and forty-four seconds, the album is one sprawling epic of demo sessions for an up and coming songwriter.

Bloodbath (2002) The beginning of producer Chuck Goodwin's (unofficially titled) “Strictly Bozeman” Trilogy (recorded, mixed and mastered entirely in Bozeman by said Mr Goodwin), and arguably the first serious Touchers-is-a-truly-tight-band album (dropping the “Bipolar Ben & The” from the band name altogether and no longer feeling like friendly jam sessions). With lead guitarist Chris Donahue a.k.a. Donnie Evil firmly in place to twang a hook into slithery perfection, and a crisp rhythm section in Keith Martinez (drums) and Brent “Blue” Maciulski (bass), Ben screeches and swoons through fierce, frantic pop fury or somber, sadistic acoustic meditations, always backed up by that indie rock/honky tonk swagger. [22 songs in 55:15.]

The Shotgun (2003) In many ways, the third Touchers album is their most ambitious. Apparently recorded in the span on the day (in the same order as the songs appear on the record), The Shotgun features smoking hot new renditions of established Touchers material, with an emphasis of the same blistering soul and distortion that accompany the tight new batch of tunes. The mix of new and old songs, with the fantastic-sounding tightly-executed fury, is the closest to hearing a premier Touchers live experience (even more so than on Touchers next album, Live Below: April 1 2004, their first and only official live release). [19 tracks at 44:56.]

Pretty Baby (2005) The Touchers version of "The White Album," except when the Touchers got so bloated of new material that they had to pack in twice as many songs as a normal record, they could still keep it at less than an hour. 26 tracks of entirely new, never before released jams that feature Touchers at their biggest, most diverse sound yet. And while it may be the cleanest sounding of all their albums, it’s also got some of their filthiest riffs and darkest melodies amidst brighter turns at rock, punk and country.

The Underwater Fascist (2006) [Originally known as The Long Goodbye.] Ben got the attention of "the Northwest sound" producer Jack Endino (if you like grunge, punk or metal from the 1990s, you probably heard of him) and recorded 17 songs in his studio in Seattle. He then cut out four and released The Underwater Fascist as a 13 track, 28:14 blast of hot, hot heat. Half new songs, half new versions, some at their most incendiary, all of them interesting at least. Follows Pretty Baby as a serious bid for quality produced and executed rock excitement.

Blithe (2008) The posthumous album, recorded with a new lineup (the hip-hop band Eightrack Mind’s rhythm section) and finalized by Ben before he died. More of the half new/half old routine, resurrecting (and arguable besting) some Touchers classics not recorded since the Headless Breakfast and Pretty Baby sessions. Recorded and mixed by both Chuck and Jack, and even with the new band, it’s still solely Ben’s world, and if he knew it was coming, he must’ve died smiling knowing that Blithe made every Touchers album a great album. [14 tracks, 44:09]

SPINNING AND DRIVING: The Maddening Meanderingss Of Bipolar Ben

I think Melville said that “a good poem spins against the way it drives.” It has also been said that good poetry is hard to come by, because most people write openly about their thoughts and reactions; but honest emotion is not mysterious, and a poem needs that sense of ambiguity, to call to question our perception of it, in order to justify itself. If such is the case, then you could strip away Ben’s sonic craftsmanship and he’d still be one fine writer with some of the best poetry of this new millennium. As good a pop hook as Ben could come up with, he also knew how to find the right words to support the sound.

I heard someone said that any one Touchers songs would be most other bands’ best song. I don’t know it that’s quite true, but I do know that Ben wrote and played well over 100 compositions with the Touchers (including covers of John Lennon and Butthole Surfers, amongst many others in between), and most of them are classics, pure and simple, joyous, raucous rockabilly rollin’. In honor of his 32 years on this earth, I have transcribed and am transmitting thirty-two of his works to be studied, adored or admonished. I am doing this on February 22 because I wonder how he’d be celebrating this day if he were alive today (he was a huge Drew Barrymore fan, even going so far as to name one of his songs after her birth date). So please, enjoy. Or don’t (your loss). Whatever.

[NOTE: The Touchers reinterpreted their songs all the time, so I have sometimes cut-and-fused lyrics from different versions of a song into the same transcription in an effort to give Ben’s words a more cohesive flow for storytelling. I have my own theories of his lyrics being self-referential/prophesizing (just look to the lyrics of “The Mattress Song” or look at song titles like "Death Trap," "Everybody Loves A Funeral" and "Ghost Dance"). But ignoring that, the prose is still ripe for picking and polishing.]

ALWAYS KNOW YOUR DEALER
Melissa, gotta call her everyday
She’s always dealing with the other squealers
Melissa, she’s gonna get her own home
She’s always on the roam with the other dealers
Melissa is gonna wear that black dress
Take care of her little mess with the other squealers
Melissa, you gotta call her everyday
She’s got a beeper
Always know your dealer

APES IN HELL
Met him at the bus stop on 42^nd St.
He said, “I missed my address, missed my address”
Said he once left town back in ‘63
Been drinking since ‘Nam, got too much THC
“I’m in love with a girl, she drinks and she’s horny
She came up from the South, she can read me her warnings”
I said down, down, down in the gutter:
The people seem weak but there’s a secret at heart
Wanna figure it out, wanna see in the dark
Want to get rich, so sick of being poor
I said, “I’m out on the street now, in the 7^th Ward”
Said we’re lower and lower, lower and lower
We’re so far gone, can’t think what to utter
I say down, down, down in the gutter:
The people seem weak but there’s a secret at heart
Wanna figure it out, wanna see in the dark...

BIG WORRY
He was sloppy and a–readin’ back in ‘64
Making friends with Georgie Orwell’s 1984
When she found that man you know she had a son
Cold roses in the garden and the dead guy with a gun
All the sea folk came cheeky, and my father he did try
His uncle was a rich man that was too wealthy to die
From that egg there comes a seed
From that seed there comes a boy
In the summer of my origin
My head got mighty boiled
He gets home only weekends anymore
What we know is that she’s waiting
Smoking a Cuban cigar
He gets some for the weekend
Yeah, he’s hopping back for shore
In three days, my big worry…
I won’t see you anymore…
Well he knows just what the facts are
But he doesn’t know romance
He wants to find a lover
But he’s too afraid to dance
In the Navy, all the seamen, they are pining for the shore
The constant sight of water turns them into a big whore
In the Navy, all the semen, it just spatters on the floor
From that egg there comes a seed, from that seed there comes a boy
I am the son of shotguns, I am the son of whores
In three days, my big worry…
I won’t see you anymore…

BLACK WALL STREET
The street was lost in ‘21
The KKK and Beelzebub
Went down on Black Wall Street
The kerosene paint did its job
But not as well as the mob
Way down on Black Wall Street
And I know you cannot fall…
They shot down mobs
In their beds
And strung them up
Cold and dead
Way back in 1921
When it was said that they won
The world wide war number one
Laid down on Black Wall Street
And I know you cannot fall
And I know she was used to men to please
She liked to take the sleaze
She liked to terrorize
Her feet were put to fire
And I know…

BLOOD FLOOD
Like a dead man in a dead land
In a big room, it’s a big tomb
Like a big bang, like a big bang
What we need is a flood
To wash away all the blood
That we spilled on the ground
Without a care, without a sound
We’re gonna kick in the dirt
Buying drugs, buying guns
Cos they rock to the beat
Of the North and the East
Like a dead girl in a dead world
It’s a big room, it’s a big tomb
Like a big bang, like a big bang
What we need is a flood
To wash away all the blood
That we spilled on the ground
Without a care, without a sound
We’re gonna kick in the dirt
Buying drugs, buying guns
Cos we know they’ll be dead
In the end, without friends

CHILDREN WILL BUY IT
The children will buy it
Or at least they’ll probably try it
And no one will take the pain today
The children will buy it
Or at least they’ll probably try it
And no one will ever be the same
They sat down for execution
They said “It’s time for choosing”
And no one will take the blame today
The children will buy it
Or at least they’ll probably try it
And one will ever be the same!

COLUMBUS DAY
Her father went down to the desert
Her father went down to be killed
You could say she’ll never fix it
Cos she could never be rebuilt
Everybody celebrate!
It’s Columbus Day!
She starred in a movie about an alien
She went downtown to get a drink
You could say she’s got big features
Being a kid with pyro-kinesis
Everybody celebrate!
It’s Columbus Day!

COUNTRY KILLER
No no no no no no no no
Beelzebub, he has a tub (it’s a curse…)
He will drink all the poison (it’s a curse…)
Drinking till oblivion (it’s a curse…)
She’s on her head
She looks good dead
She’s on my mind
I want it back!
She’s on her own
She’s gonna crack
Throw the children in the air (it’s a curse…)
Got a gun so I don’t care (it’s a curse…)
Drinking in the Devil’s lair (it’s a curse…)

CRACKHOUSE
If you want to find a cure for being such a bore
Well then you and I could be the best of friends
Cos in the land of everything it’s hard to find a thing
When you’re shopping at the local discount store
And if you want to fight a lot and wage war on your friends
Well that’s sure to be arranged before you die
And if you want to find yourself and never be again
Well there is a little place you could try
Cos there’s a little crack house down on Philadelphia St.
Where they don’t expect that much out of time

DEATH TRAP
If you can find it
I want it, don’t hide it
I never know better
No better than you
I could be why
You think and you try
I think it’s like nothing
Yeah, nothing you know
Into the mountain, into the death trap
Don’t care ‘bout nothin’…
No, nothin’ at all…
In 1942, they came to find out
Don’t care ‘bout nothin’…
No, nothin’ at all…
Started out something
You thought you could leave it
You never knew no one
Yeah, no one like me
I could be someone
You thought had a reason
I love you much better
Yeah, better than me
Into the mountain
Into the death trap
Don’t care ‘bout nothin’…
No, nothin’ at all…
In 1942,
They came to find you
Don’t care ‘bout nothin’…
No, nothin’ at all…

DO THE NEW PLAGUE, BABE
I know they’re up to something
That’s just the way we are
I killed off all the big shots
I killed off all the stars
I like it, so much so
They got a lot to try
I’m thinking procreation
They want to multiply
Their job is not knowing
They just believe their eyes
A new plague, babe, it’s coming
They dance until they die

FEBRUARY 22^nd, 1975
I got no shoes
I got bad news
Spent all my money on entertainment
And I got some friends who are near the end
They gave up at age eleven
And there was some time
For your mind to rewind
Lost my head back in the 80s
And I got some friends who are lesbians
They gave up at age eleven
February Twenty-Second, Nineteen Hundred Seventy-Five

THE GALVESTON GIANT (blithe)
Blithe went down to Desert Reno
She said he said to bring the beat down
She flagged their gaze with her smile
She knew that they had come for miles
He checks his brain without warning
Oh my god, what a morning
Knew they all would know his name
But still this bitch was like a flame
If you see her ghost, gut the motherfucker
Betray the host, can’t have one without the other
Then the great white hope went down into the corner
If you see her throat, cut the motherfucker
Well she was a good goliath
Whose victory did start a riot
They all looked on and screamed in silence
300 years of revenge violence
She brings the pain without warning
Oh my god, what a morning
Knew they all would make a change
The world would never be the same

HEADLESS MEDLEY [HEADLESS CHICKEN/HEADLESS]
You were the headless chicken
You tried so hard to live
You died, your head was severed
Just like that condemned kid
You ran for fifteen minutes
You bled atrociously
Most men are just like you tricks
Evil in all their glee...

Without age
And the help of your friends
And your mom
You could play
Everyday
And never give back
To the dark
There was this girl
She made the world
But she wanted to move on
Without rules they grew wings
They started to drop bombs
Said I was headless…

IN THE GHETTO
Yeah he’s gonna buy a meal with a two-dollar cup
For the ten-year-old with the bonnet on her head
Who feels dead inside as the cops drive by
But the cracked out streets are giving her what she needs
But you don’t come here no more
No you don’t get anymore
And the cracks in the street are entrapping her feet
And the word on the street is that the people are mean
In the ghetto
You’ll never get out of the ghetto
You don’t want to be in the ghetto
You don’t want to breed in the ghetto
Don’t want to feed in the ghetto

LAX DELAY
There is a man in the land
With the pieces in his hand
Lives in California
Where he drives a fast car
And this girl on the scale
Going down to visit jail
Just to be a movie star
She’s gonna be in LA…
You gotta admit
She’s playing the game
And those girls on the scale
Going down to do their nails
Gonna lie
Just to be a movie star
And those boys on the stage
Going out to be in a race
Gonna die
Just to be a movie star
There’s gonna be a delay
They’re gonna be in LA
You gotta admit
They’re playing the game

LEFT HAND IS UNCLEAN
She came, thirteen
She was the queen
She said “My son,
What have you done?”
He came too quick
He got her sick
He knew too soon
He got the flu
And now you’ll never see her again…
She said The One
Is not the one
She said her son
Has got a gun
He came too quick
He got her sick
You know it’s true
The child was doomed
And now you’ll never see her again…
Never again…

MADE AND SOLD
I watched the news today
They’d all been killed
I went in on some whim
To get my prescription filled
It’s a cutthroat business, mom
It’s a game of words
The rules aren’t quite the same
They seem to have less worth
Made and sold…
Got a dirty look today
From the prettiest girl in town
She loved to comb her hair
Imagine the men going down
It’s a cutthroat business, mom
It’s a game of words
The rules aren’t quite the same
Using boys for wars
Made and sold…
Right away
From the start
There was pay dirt
And they said,
With a grin,
“It’s a go!”
And they came from the East
To make babies
And they lived on the land
They made and sold
They can never go home
Cos they knew it was gone

THE MATTRESS
In the morning by yourself
You could try to figure out
The things you did, the things you said
The way you live with your regret
In the morning, on the mattress
You could find a piece of you
In the bedroom, on the blanket
You could find a piece of you
When you died you took some pills
The way you lived you made no will
When you said those things to me
The way you lived you were never free
In the morning
On the mattress
You could find a piece of you
In the bedroom
On the blanket
You could find a piece of you

NEBRASKAN BEER WHORE
Told me a story about a friend you had
Came from Nebraska with a beer in his hand
He looked down on the rich ones
He looked down on the poor
He looked down on the no ones
He looked down on the whores
But you can’t hide from what you are
No, you can’t hide from what you are
Told me a story about a friend you had
Went back to Nebraska with a beer in his hand
He looked down on the mirror
He looked down on the soul
He looked down on the nothing
He looked down on you all
But you can’t hide from what you are
No, you can’t hide from what you are

NUMBER OF THE BEAST
He came from Jamaica with a fire in his eye
He said, “Son, you’re my brethren,
Can I tell you a lie?
I think you are the number of the beast!”
Yeah you are the number of the beast…
He came from New England with the fire in his eyes
He said, “Son, you’re a killer,
Can I ask you all to die?”
I think you are the number of the beast!
Yeah you are the number of the beast…
He came here from Texas with a fire deep inside
He said “God is not neutral”
He said “God’s on my side!”
I said, “You are the number of the beast!’
Yeah you are the number of the beast…

RUSSIAN BRIDE
Got a gin and tonic on another rainy day
Got a Russian bride and I know she’s on her way
Gotta run, gotta bug you
But I don’t fix
I don’t fix a thing!
Got a look up closer
And another of your remarks
Gotta lot of peaches
And there ain’t no end in sight
Gotta run, gotta find you
But I don’t face
I don’t face a thing!
Got a gin and tonic
And another rainy day
Got a Russian bride
And I know she’s on her way
Hope I wake up sleeping
Hope I wake up and you’re dead!
I’ll wake up in your bed…

THE SHOTGUN
Way back when, 1987
He dropped down and he went to heaven
Ended up in a rut with a wife and kids
And the bloodstained mirror coming out of their will
Shotguns aren’t used to being useful
I was full and never had a spoonful
Shotguns aren’t used to being useful
I never had a thing and I never wanted you
There are people living ‘round in pretty pastures
And they look around like everything matters
Looking for things to sell that might be useful
And I never thought it’d take getting used to
Shotguns aren’t used to being useful
I never played with guns
But I want to be a target

SOMEDAY
I will never get to meet you
I’ll be the one you cannot see
I will let you down and never pick you up again
I will wait, crave away
Another fix to save the day
I will keep your picture by my bed
Cos someday you’ll be dead
And someday I’ll dead dead
(That’s right, the women are smarter)
There’ll be time when we grow old
To count the things that we have sold
I will let you down and never pick you up again
I will wait and fade away
Another truth to save the day
I will keep your picture by my bed
And someday we’ll be dead...
That’s right, the women are smarter

THE SUN
I think it’s all crystal
I think it’s quite clear
When a men can read the paper
And not even shed a tear
She came across the border
With money on her mind
So she sold her body
Oh no, they wouldn’t mind
She said she’d like to see the sun set town
Said the bullet hit her eye
Said, “You got to get to work on time,”
But you know they’re gonna bury you
I think it’s all useless
I think we all know
When you go to California
And you see the money show
She came across the border
With murder on her mind
Now she sells her children
Oh no, they wouldn’t mind
She said she’d like to see the sun set town
Said the bullet hit her eye
Said, “You got to get to work on time,”
But you know they’re gonna bury you
Cos she knows they’re gonna bury you

THINGS ARE ONLY GETTING WORSE
Things are only getting worse
Humanity, yes it’s a curse
Killing one another to make a dime
Well I’m wasting all my time
Yeah I’m wasting all my time…
She looked like a healthy mother
She had a criminal smile
She knows she’s on my mind
But I’m wasting all my time
And I’m wasting all my time (it’s alright)
Things are only getting worse…

TWO SHIT ICEPICK (uh oh)
I want you, but you don’t even care
I love you, but you don’t give a damn
I love you, but you don’t give a shit
I want you, but you got the icepick
She had a son that never won…
He’s got bubbles in his blood…
I want you, but you are in demand
I love you, but you got other plans
I want you, but you don’t give two shits
I want you, but you got your icepick

UNREQUITED TEENAGE LOVE SONG
She’s a bright and pretty girl
Who’s popular
And I can’t say a thing,
I know she thinks about
Those other guys,
Playing on the football team
It’s a black t-shirt marathon of losers in my school
I know you can make it
Make it go away
I got your picture on my TV
So I can stare all day
No one really knows
What’s good for them
And no one knows my name,
I know she never says
Hello to me,
Playing by their games
There’s a black t-shirt marathon of losers in my school
But I know that you can make it
Make it go away
I got your picture on my TV
So I can stare all day
I know your Christian-set opinion
We can go to church
I think we got something to talk about
But we can make it work

VACANT LOT
Said I,
“I can be the one you want”
We went down
Down to Arizona
Said I,
“I can’t find the vacant lot alone”
Alone…
You said,
“I can feel it coming on”
We went down
Down to Arizona
You said,
“I can be there while you’re all alone”
Alone…
Said I,
“I can feel it coming on”
You went down
Down to find the one you want
You went down
Down to find the vacant lot alone

WAKE DOWN
A girl named Penny walked up to me
Pushed a little red button inside of me
She said, “I wanna be your girl, I wanna be your friend”
I said, “Hey pretty baby, do you wanna sing?”
We sang, “Wake down!”
Wake down…

WATER WALTZ
To their ears came the sound
Of their ship going down
There was all hands on deck
Flames all around
The captain was done
He picked up the gun
Decided a bullet was better
There was not time for another
Cos blood was thicker than water
Her parents, you see
They were buried at sea
There was no one for you
No one for me
First she was poor
Now drifts through the shore
Searching for her family
There was not time for another
Cos blood was thicker than water

YOU’LL GO FAR
I had a friend named Rocco
He lived in the back of a Scirocco
Sells on the streets, but he’s a good man
His kids gotta eat, but they got a new plan
Parents drink in their car
Competition at the local bar
With quick reactions, chances are,
If you’re in the mood, you’ll go far
I had a friend named Rico
Kept his habit incognito
He disappeared into the gutter
The thought alone makes me shudder
Parents drink in their car
Competition at the local bar
With quick reactions, chances are,
If you’re in the mood, you’ll go far

All titles and lyrics copyright of Ben Spangler
Administered by Beard Of Blood Records

APPENDIX:
If you're interested in more on the Touchers, here's some stuff to get you started:

Touchers MySpace Page

Touchers websitre

Bipolar Ben's Myspace Page

The Shotgun on CDBaby (Good place to read reviews and hear some tracks for yourself. Don't forget to check out Pretty Baby and The Underwater Fascist while you're there!)

An interesting blog about a Touchers show (or lack therof). Also of note, a CN&R News article written and published just months before Ben's death, as well as an obituary (of sorts) written by a festival organizer and friend of Ben's in Missoula. (I think the "weblog from a Cactus employee" may be mine, back when I used to work at the local Bozeman record store and slang Touchers albums every chance I could.)

Sadly, I do not have any video of the Touchers performing to post here. It would have been great to share the live experience, even if not authentically.

One Need Not Be Lonely

or: An Essay On Valentine's Day

Without naming names, I've got a lot of friends who have it in their head that February 14th, (St.) Valentine's Day (it was named after a saint, who remembers?), is a day to feel either sad, lonely and isolated, or forced, obligated and extravagant. It is the humble opinion of this writer that every day is both of those concepts, only in as much as we allow ourselves to be shackled to pre-conceived notions of singularlity or commitment. Both of these things can be a blessing, or contrarily, a curse.

Personally, Valentine's Day is the one day a year I count myself lucky to be single. I don't have to wake up on this particular day thinking, "Okay, will the flowers get there on time or am I gonna have to yell at/shoot/not tip the delivery company?" or "God I hope those reservations I made at [insert prototypically fancy restaurant name here] stick or I'ma hafta beat somebody..." Nor do I have to spend mad stacks of cash just to compete with every other asshole couple who is buying into the idea that if we spread a lot more commerce for this one single day, love is on our side. Not that being in a relationship on V-Day has to be a drag. But let's face it - these acts of kindness, adoration and some might say love that we express should be bestowed upon our companions each and every day we are lucky enough to be alive together. And not in such exagerated terms, either. I'm all for romantic interludes and candlelit dinners. But why go out on the one day everyone else is? Why pay triple price on chocolates and flowers just because everyone else feels it necessary? Nay people, today (or any other day), I say take your lover aside and for just five sweet minutes, kiss them everywhere they like and tell them between each peck how remarkable they've made you feel. Cook a dinner for two in your own domicile (kick out those single roommates if you must, or have the feast in your already-love adorned bedroom), and take a day away from the hoopleheaded masses to remind yourself that today is a day like any other day - we only remember it because of a strange little massacre that gave us a great name for a corporate-cash-influxed day of capitalism...

...and to my single friends, let me just say that you too should feel lucky to not have to buy into any of this. Sure, there will be jerks every step you take today reminding you of how single you are, but let's be honest, that could be just about any day. And being alone can be a great thing - you are responsible for only your own happiness, which is a lot easier than you're probably letting yourself believe. And your money is yours to keep today, or to spend on you and only you, in whatever fashion you deem fulfilling.

Bottom line, today is just a day, like most others; don't let it bring you down. Count your blessings (if you're online right now you probably have some) and give yourself a muhfuckin' hug - you deserve it! And give one to every person you see today that you know you love, in whatever fashion that may apply. Besides being awesome sources of soothing stimuli, hugs are also free and usually only given by those you dig. Now go out there and try not to punch some irritate couple in the face...

Better Late Than Never

or: The Forgotten Wrap-Up Of The Year Of The Pig, 2007

So, whew! 2007, over and done with. I remember when the very concept fo 2007 was so far into the future, so "21st century" that it seemed like an impossible feat to conceive of myself and those that I know living/surviving "long enough" to make it here. And now it's gone, like all those years past have become, a relic of a bygone era that was so close to yesterday we can hold onto it like some euphoric epoch. This feeling seems to happen to many of us, each and every year, which makes me smirk as I contemplate what it is about the human condition that keeps us surprised in the passing of time (which, like the weather, does not have any cause or concern related to our acceptance or understanding of it).

Having gone through that derivative diatribe, I now allow myself to present myself's opinion of last year. 2007, which was The Year Of The Pig for you non-Chinese astrologists (a fact which will find merit in here a few paragraphs further), was a year of much loss for me. Loss, in and of itself, is inherently neutral, or more accurately natural, so I hope this won't end up sounding like the blog equivilant of "emo rap." All things comes to an end, and loss is simply the world letting something let itself go. It does not necessarily need to be painful, until we attach some sort of personal connection to it and realize what a potentially profound absense said whatever has left in us. Loss becomes mourning, or sorrow, or regret. But it also is a chance to learn, to create, to move on. So with that in mind, I'd like to draw up a list for 2007. But unlike years past, this will not highlight my favorite or least liked moments or movies/music or anything of the like. Instead, I intend to explain why, for me, 2007 was The Year Of The Loss, and hopefully an integral one in my ever-developing adventure called Growing The Fuck Up.

So, the things I lost in 2007:

1. BEN SPANGLER

If you lived in Bozeman and listened to rock, you were probably as distressed as I was when you heard that news that truly indie icon Ben Spangler died on June 22. It was all quite surreal. During that time, I was working just about every waking hour. Between Cactus Records in the afternoon, Bozeman Inn through the night, and the end of The Pizza Show occupying all hours in between those jobs and sleep, I had so little time to interact or participate with the community which I was working so hard for. Luckily, time at the record shop did allow me to keep my finger on the pulse and maintain a small semblance of sociability. I love the people of this town and frequently smile to see them, especially when they were coming in to buy/listen to music or shoot the shit. Ben was no exception.

I didn't know him very well but we seemed to get along. We shared a few laughs and personal nuggets, but mostly seemed to have a very similar sense of humor and darkness about life. I never told him, for fear of becoming sycophantic, but he was one of the first local musicians I saw; but more importantly, he was the musician that I actually knew that I respected the most. His songs were brilliant (often obvious in their influences but never derivative) and his presense onstage was inescapable. He shrieked and strummed like no one I had ever seen, live or otherwise.

I was at Cactus when I heard the news. I had just seen the newest incarnation of the shapeshifiting Touchers a week or so ago, and had just spoken to Ben the day before. I must have been working a graveyard shift at the Bozeman Inn when he died, because otherwise, I would have been at the Filler waiting for him to show up and play his scheduled set. But I was in my isolated job, removed from most public notices, so when I showed up the next afternoon for my shift at Cactus I had no idea why there was something somber in the air. My friend Tory came in and was looking for some news tunes. I recommended the newest Touchers album, to which she off-handedly said something like, "Yeah, I can't believe he's dead." I couldn't believe what I had heard, I was certain she was mistaken. But it turned out to be true, and suddenly, my favorite local artist was gone. It's hard to define or even describe that feeling of suddenly realizing something is gone, and even harder when applied to being on the job.

For those that never knew, the Touchers were great. They embodied the love of musicmaking like any true collective of friends who just wanna kick out the jams. Ben was gifted and disturbed, which usually leads to equal measures of greatness and sadness. I still feel like he had so much to say and do, like his work was only getting started. Now, the Touchers catalogue is doomed to relative obscurity (until he gets sampled or covered by some groundbreaking artist decades from now) and it's so weird to say "and that's that." Bozeman and those that knew Ben were blessed in ways we will only be able to share now with the six full-lengths of Touchers albums and stories of his idiosyncratic ways. He is a brother and a friend to many and he is dearly missed. And for Bozeman, I think he represents a greater loss of independence that is happening to this area right now. Maybe it's fitting then, because the Touchers formed in Portland, OR but abandoned it for Bozeman, where the scene is small but people are sincere. In the years to come, Bozeman seems to be headed for more growth and less cohesion, especially amongst the musical circles. Touchers will now serve as a testament to the possibilities of an underground scene, driven to rhythm no matter what nefarious forces lurk on the horizon. For all the bleakness, their songs are now filled with hope of maintaining something honest and integral in an everchanging world of hit singles and disposable artists. (The first track to their forth album Pretty Baby, entitled "Pig Has Gone Away," is ripe with lyrics pointing out the absurdities of life, as well as being one of the catchiest rock singles to never reach the world at large's ears. The fact that Ben died and "gone away" in The Year Of The Pig seems to be just one of many self-prophesizing lyrics now strewn throughout his catalogue.)

One cool thing about Ben's death before ever "hitting it big": he can never be written off as a burnout, sellout or for any other bad sort of "-out"ing a musician might receive. I'll end this chaotic attempt at understanding with a quote attributed to Ben that I find the most fitting: "The candle that burns twice as bright also burns twice as fast." I just feel lucky to have been shown the light while it lasted.


2. MY JOB AT CACTUS RECORDS

After almost three and a half years of living the dream, I finally had to get rid of the Dream Job At The Record Store. It ended somewhat strained, but in the end, I don't regret one bit of my experience there. I made many friends, I learned more about music (on record and on stage) than I thought possible, and I got paid to enjoy myself (a rare feat in the world of minimum wage living). I was hired within a year of moving to Bozeman. When I first entered it, I wanted to be there every day. But my dreams of working there were shattered by my many friends in town who said that no one ever leaves, no jobs are ever available, because it's just that cool a store. So to get to work there full time was a life changing moment. But it didn't stay my only job for very long, as I looked to other sources of income and enlightenment (meaning I'd get more jobs for more money, and then do various gratis oddjobs for my music- and movie-making buddies).

But after burning myself out working up to four jobs simultaneously for a year and half straight, I needed to give myself a break. And while my time was great at the old record store, I began to acknowledge that it was time to give it up. I don't know if I'll ever love a job as much I loved that one. I had the coolest co-workers (except for a select few, who didn't last that long and never quite fit in), the sweetest clientele, and access to the best of the best aural orgasms possible, all in the middle of beautiful downtown Bozeman. And the bonus perks were great: Discounts on music, getting to drink during open-hours parties (and especially during the after-hours parties), knowledge of all the cool spots and shows in town, not to mention getting to meet so many musicians and other influential figures in town. I have accumulated more albums and have seen more shows in my three years at Cactus than I have in any other three years period of time, and that will probably stay true for the rest of my life. And I'm certain that, in any and all roundabout ways, I've gotten laid a few times because of working there.

In my dream future, where I accomplish my cinematic visions and rest on my millions of dollars, I am still working at the record store (or another like it) because it will always be a socially and sonically engaging environment to stay active and alert (both for myself and the world at large). I have that mentality, that euphoric ideal of some later greatness, thanks to my time there. I got the job I wanted most when I needed it most, and I will never be able to proper express my graditude for all my experiences there. Except by continuing to support not just music and muscians, but also music stores - the little oasises spread across the world for enthusiasts of sound to relate to fellow enthusiasts about what's hot and what's not, old school or new school. It's a lovely thing in this weird world of ours, a possibly dying thing, and I hope humanity has enough sense to keep these places alive.


3. THE SOPRANOS

My favorite cinematic experience finally wrapped itself up on June 10 this year. While any Sopranos fan can tell you just how mindblowing those final moments were (whether they liked it or not, we were all totally caught off guard), I was simply happy that my most loved television series remained so throughout its entire run. Many so-called fans voiced their displeasure with the sixth season (up to and including the finale), but I found the final season to be the most illuminating. This was a show that changed so much about what we expect from television, films, and narrative fiction in general. It treated its viewers with respect and gave them only what they needed to form their own thoughts and feelings. Things were rarely black or white. People said the opposite of what they thought was the truth. Events unfolded and escalated and sometimes faded into the background without full closure. Characters, while often morally or physically reprehensible, found ways of reminding us of things both good and bad that we found in ourselves and our own lives.

When you make a show like this, you can easily go down dark roads and become lost. The Sopranos never did that. Every episode, every scene, every nuance had a point to it, and that point usually solidified itself by proving that things were always a part of something much bigger. Children learning their roles in family. Mafia soldiers realizing that their own rises to power do not truly make them significant or different from others. Dreams and psychology pointed out that there is more going on than just what we speak or see. As often quoted throughout the earlier part of Season Six, the Objibwe Indian saying sheds light on this best: "Sometimes I go about and pity for myself, and all the while, a great wind is carrying me across the sky." That recognition that we can create or hold onto personal problems and identity yet we are all a part of a larger reality.

Now that it's all been made and released, I realize that my high regard is highly personal, and that's fine with me. The Sopranos makes no such claims to being the greatest. In fact, it is downright humble in its allusions and references to the arts and artists of the past, particularly with the love bestowed to The Godfather Films (which has now become the most sacred of movie trilogies - sorry naysayers, but Star Wars is no longer sacred or a trilogy; Lord Of The Rings came too little too late; and Indiana Jones is getting a geriatric 4th installment - and the only one that can be referred to by number without name) and all those classic rock songs that Tony sang along to in his car, or the ones that filled the soundtrack at just the right moment to bring it all back home.

Whether you liked every episode or not, The Sopranos had something to offer everyone. I'll never understand why people complained about it. The Italian Anti-Deformation League cried that it painted Italian-Americans in a bad light; yet the show reminded them that Italians are a successful part of the American Experiment and Dream. Some didn't care for the violence, swearing, drugs or objectification of women, but the show never did any of those things without showing that there are consequences (although it also reveled in the reality that sometimes those consequences don't add to much - after all, all those things just listed existed long before The Sopranos ever aired, and will continue to exist long after). And for those who complained that they never found out about The Russian, the black bear or just what the hell happened to Tony after that infamous and abrupt cut to black, just what the fuck were you expecting? The very first episode ended with Tony's mother and uncle admitting their dissatisfaction with Tony and the possbility that "something may have to be done," followed immediately by a shot of a family gathering inside the house to eat and getting far away from the silent and still pool, where ducks had recently lived in and flew away from, symbolizing Tony and everyone's fears of the ones they love leaving them. That's about as open an ending as you can have, and it's what made the world fall in love with this show in the first place.

And for however many detractors there are, there's just as many who held on tight for each exciting ride, many even gathering family and friends for meals and parties every Sunday, all centered around the viewing and enjoying of such a high caliber series. If that isn't top notch programming, I don't know what is. I've noticed a huge trend in TV show-themed weekly parties, and while I've only been old enough to host/go to them for a few years now, I am fairly certain that they weren't having M*A*S*H or Dallas parties back in the day. Not to mention the increase of cinematic, acting and writing quality that has risen steadily over the years since The Sopranos debuted. So give it up for The Sopranos, a show that broke all the rules and came up with so many new ones that it will probably never get full recognition of just how influential it truly has become. Like it or not, you're just going to have to deal with that.


4. THE SIMPSONS MOVIE CHERRY (AND FUTURAMA TO BOOT)

Anyone born between 1975 and 1995 has spent most of, if not all of, their life aware of the worldwide yellow family known as The Simpsons. And anyone who was even a remote fan has been waiting for years for The Simpsons Movie (even if it was just to say they were right in knowing it would suck). It took a damn long time for the movie to make it (many would argue it was long overdue and came too late at the expense of the quality of the still-running series), but when it did, every fan felt that they finally reached an important milestone in their life: The day they could finally pay hard earned wages for a whole new Simpsons experience (we'd been shelling out the moolah for DVDs, but most of us had already seen 90% of what those had to offer).

Sure, the movie got mixed reviews (as all movies do, especially when there is so much buzz and so many expectations built way too high up before they even come it), but the box office grosses revealed that they had a hit. And so The Simpsons empire seems to still be on pretty high ground, after twenty years of celebrity. At this rate, we can expect about another decade or so. Would would thought that an Oregonian cartoonist with a penchant for overbites and skin discoloration would be responsible for one of the most socially conscious (and commenting) series on earth? Just goes to show that you should never underestimate the power of doodling.

P.S. I was even more excited this year for the Futurama movie, Bender's Big Score. While it didn't make it to theaters, it was made in widescreen and was a visual feast. It surpassed my exceptionally high expectations and, in all honesty, I liked it a lot more than The Simpsons Movie. Nice to get both of the first films out of the way. I have a feeling these are just the start to a nice series of new stories from some of my favorite animated adventurers. Cheers!


5. MYSELF

Some might say I've lost what's left of my sanity and decency. One of these people might include me, which might also suggest I've lost myself in 2007.

Psych! I feel more connected to myself than in years past, and more ready for anything in the years to come. This year, for all the losses I experienced, also gave me so much joy and so many blessings that I couldn't list 'em all if I tried. I won't, quite frankly, because I fear sounding boring and making my experiences seem less than magnificent. But make no mistake, 2007 kicked my ass, as every year should, and I do not lament any of this, because every day that one is alive is a day to relearn how to put my best foot forward and deal with whatever life throws my way.

If you're one of the seven or so people who reads what I write here regularly, I apologize for the lack of entries in a while. Life has a way of distracting you from your duties (or allowing yourself to get distracted, as the case may be), and to not put too fine a point of it, I've been dealing with some shit. But the more I write away here, the more I feel like there may be more to say, more to hear it, and more ways to go about getting that accomplished on both ends. My views regarding the internet, bloggings, cultural leveling and the world at large make it unclear just what I intend to do about it, but as I count more and more days that I've been lucky enough to be alive I know that it feels right every time I pick up my pen and create some movement on my pad. I feel alive, in all good senses of that, and it makes me want to create, connect, concoct and continue. It makes me wonder just what the hell it means when I...