rock and roll musings by Tim Byrnes

Last Will and Teastament: The Massive Killers Piece Part 2
(On the Ascendancy of the Abyss, the Magic of Denial and the End of punkrockblues)

      ..... this is after all, a music blog.

     Over the last year I've purchased all 4 Killers CDs, had to buy 'Sam's Town' twice as it was in the player when my house burned down. As always I bought them out of order but have found small warm places in my heart for all of them. As I type this, their newest CD 'Day and Age' sits perched defiantly at #6 in Billboard's (and thus, America's) Top Ten, proving once and for all that my credibility as a wannabe rock critic is just gone, daddy, gone.

     Number SIX, fer chissakes.

    But one lokes what one likes and I really like this band because thewir entire body of work makes me play air guitar, lip synch singalong and most importantly, can make me laugh w/tears in my eyes, like I'm actually connecting on some real level w/these 4 classically trained control freaks who clearly want to take over the world. Still I am moved by their vaguer than vauge sentiments that may have little surface meaning, but to this old dog sounds remarkably like an intelligent heart asking 'Why?" ( the only real question. no?) w/both question marks and exclamation points. And in this day and age, that's enough for me.

     I told you we were doomed, right?
     Well, I've decided that when the wolf comes to MY door, I'm gonna eat the motherfucker.   
     The magic of denial!

     Now I could go on and on, like I did in my longhand notebook, about the pretentious bombast of the Killers' brushed chrome rush of talent on fire that skims the psychic nerves w/tantalizing high notes suggesting not only the existence of perfection, but the possibility of yr place in it as well, all carried on highwaves of Ronnie Vannucci's drums and the Paul McCartney on Bruce Thomas bass rumbling melodies of Mark Steuremer's bass or the dazzling fragments of higher composition that seem to snap out of guitarist Dave Kuening's pedalboard w/alarming regularity and of course there could be pages and pages of praise for the vocal wonder that is Brandon Flowers, but that'd all just be wannabe rock critic crap and I have no credibility, remember?

     Number SIX!!!

     In any event, the Killers are a great band and don't need my help andd I've basically stopped wondering if anyone else feels the same way as I do when I listen to them, or whether that's important, or maybe I make it too important adnw ho gives a fuck when we could all be on fire by midnight and all that crap that comes up when you (I) think too much. So what else to say?

     This page started out as a love letter to Mott the Hoople written by a  man about 2 bad decisions away from a nervous breakdown.

    Now it's like, what? 6 bad decisions later and I'm still here. Must have made a good one here and there. huh?

     Let's see, since I started typing this crap I've gone through one marriage (Lynn and I are going  on a date to see 'Watchmen' next month. She say's hi!), about 15 jobs (comin' up on a year at the Western Convenience, where I am loved, appreciated and have finally found a home), a 3 month relationship wreck w/Jackie (saw her last week, she's getting married in April, seems really happy for once and ALSO says hello), enough family drama, trauma, betrayal and bad behavior (especially mine) to fill 2 seasons of the Sopranos, have seen my littl barband Flashback grow into a showcase for my friend Rob Poulignot (he's singing everything now, and it's given us a new lease on life) and am now excitedly looking forward to the upcoming Tension Envelope reunion show in April. It's not wasted on me that a lot of people are going waaaaaaaaaaaaay out of their way to make this happen and I am not going to let them down. The theatre's booked, we get it for a full day of rehearsal as well as the entire day of the show. All I had to do was ask for the key.

     Ihave work to do and as much as I used to love coming here and typing at y'all, iys become obvious to me that my beloved little punkrockblues has become little more than the longest and most boring 'argument' between pinhead me and pinhead Jim. Y'now when I came here all I really wanted to do was believe in rock and roll again and I think all Jim's evet wanted was to win something.

     So in the name of Lesterfarian charity, Jim, I concede. You win. She's all yours. I hope you enjoy the victory, it's not just any Christian who can waste three years of his ministry shouting down an aging punk rocker who just wanted to talk about Mott the Hoople, I'm sure Jesus would be proud.


     So, later guys, this ain't goodbye, I'll turn up somewhere and as, always, I can be reached at timbyrnes@antimusic.net   But for the next little while I have a rock and roll show to organize, promote and enjoy the hell out so it's a minor adiue for this dude but I betcha I'll be back before you know it, not killing babies and selling DVDs. But for now, I got a Tension Envelopes show to practice.........................



(Loudly into microphone: FUCK YOU AND YOU AND YOU AND YOU AND >>>>)

Posted by: timbyrnes at 19:43 | link | comments (1)

Second to Last Will and Testament: The Massive Killers Piece Part One

    ( I Hear the Good Girl Died: On the Random Nature oif Life; Regarding Regret in Reference to Excellence and,            Eventually, the Killers )

     Much like that other self-referential nose on a stick, Pete Townshend, I too once hoped to die before I got old and, again much like Ol' Snagglesnoot I have failed to do so.l  Which I'm just about ready to recognize as a good thing overall and not some overblown dramaqueen, insurmountable burden which can make for both losy poetry and losy conversation. So what's left when one sheds the theatrical death wish? Well, whattaya know, it's freakin' life. Good ol' life! In all it's mollassic tedium and flashes of mythic, and i stress mythic, glory. Boring? Yeah, maybe most but not ALL the time. Hard? Again sometimes. And of course we all know life's boundless capacity to, well, suck. But you know what?

     That's all.

     I mean, yeah, life sucks, right? I mean right this very minute you7 and yr family are being pinned down by crossfactional gunfire in a one room mudhut somewhere in the cold third world, right?

    And if yr not, then shut the fuck up, send some money to the Red Cross, consider yrself lucky, pray if you must for fer Lester's sake GET ON WITH IT!

     The Sex Pistols' sang of 'no future'. I figured out, far too late as itr happens, that they meant no future would be HANDED to you. You had to make it. But no. Dumb old drunk, young and impressionable me bought into the whole nihilist chic vibe that hung over my beloved punk rock like a shroud. Living like you've got nothing to lose 'cause there's nothing left - and you know this because you heard it in a fucking SONG! - is OK, I guess, when one actually DOES die young, but I speak from experience when I say that the 'everything sucks' credo I took away from punk rock does absolutely nothing to prepare one to be a 50something human being in the 21st century.

    And, no, of course the 25 years of active alcoholism didn't help, but I'm pretty sure the midset came first. But minds change, right? People can change. It's one of the few things I truly believe and here's why.

     I don't write much, only in passing really, about my drinking/getting sober experience, which is odd considering what a central part it is of who I am. Who am I? i'm the gut who writes lousy sentences like that one 2 lines back. I rant, rave, dismiss, insult and blaspheme but dammit I don't drink anymore. And if you were unfortunate enough to spend any length of time w/my drunken 20th century ass you'd know what an accomplishment that is. Maybe I don't write about it because it IS that central, perhaps even true and we all know how much I hate anything purporting to be the truth. In any event, I have to believe at least that people can change because I have to decide - every day - to remain sober.

     See, even w/all the evidence and field experience I've gathered, which OVERWHELMINGLY proves that, for me, drinking is the proverbial one way ticket to Palookaville, rarely does a day go by that I don't THINK about having a beer. And every time I DON'T get drunk I'm changing and, barring childbirth I can't imaginer anything more painful, or complex, than getting - and staying - sober.

     A small number of people (2) have asked me "How did you finally quit?" and the best answer that I have is that I finally disgusted myself. I went into my 1srt detox 'cause my landlord threw me out. I wasn't looking for salvation (still ain't, actually) I was looking for a roof. I had the bulletproof vest of cynical denial to prevent any help from reaching me for close to 5 years. AA meetings were nothing, well little, more than rooms full of people for me to argue with. My loss, of course, but I hung around long enough to meet the right 6 people and hear the right 10 things which I took w/me when I left AA and New York to come skidding to a halt on this godforsaken prairie determined to figure it out for myself.

      It was 16 years last month.

     Now what I've DONE with those 16 years hasn't always been much to write home about, but to even get to the stage where I can scew up w/out drinking required a commitment to saving my own ass of which I thought myself incapable. But now that I've figured out I care enough about myself to put the brakes to the slow suicide that made Milwaukee famous I realize that, once again, I'm just getting started.

     FUCK!!!

     Commiting to what now seems so small a goal as saving my own ass has resulted in jst that. My ass is saved, barely, paycheck to paycheck, in sickness and perceived betrayal etc. But, you know, I work, play music, care for 2 dogs and about 100 cats and I'm essentially enjoying being a regular guy.

     But who am we kidding? I'm not a regular guy. What I needs to do now is commit me to some EXCELLENCE!

     Which brings me, finally to the Killers.


    

Posted by: timbyrnes at 19:57 | link | comments (8)