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...