364/365

feels so right in the moment
clutching the mic stand like an anchor:
a jump, a headbang, a thrust
total freedom like in your room
at eight, ten, twelve, eighteen, twenty four
and so on and so on. a bottle of wine
at your feet and enough songs in your throat
to warrant applause. the little voice, gone
from your head, under the lights: the one
asking the obvious questions: am i good enough?
will they like me? is this cool or pathetic: us
up here, missing fifty, playing rock stars.

there are moments- eyes closed, spinning,
riding the bassline, drum beat pounding, searing
quitar solo, when you let go and quiet the voice,
there is no play acting, there is no doubt. only
a fierce freedom too hot not to trust. there is no
choice but to let yourself burn and sing. a voice
committed to rock and roll in a small room to a small
crowd will always be a beautiful thing.

316/365

punk rocker hippie,
rock and roller,
long haired head banger,
awkward authority figure
rebellious rabble rouser,
tattooed, hands in pocket
swaying lead singer
curriculum writer.
apathetic ambitious
change maker.

weakened weekend
head ache take it to the
next level. nothing else
matters, nothing
else ever will.

285/365

click clack
type writer.
vinyl grooves.
denim corduroy
seventies hues.
les paul sunburst
born to wrong tunes.

don’t turn your back
on the recklessness of youth.
the wide eyed promises
of rock and roll
might not fit as well
around the waist
and waddled throat.
chipped black nail polish.
smeared eye liner,
broken reflections
of dreams barely had.

a candle in a wine bottle
and hand made shoes.
roots exposed
through bleach.

it all seems silly
in the rearview
unless we’re
driving in a loop.

271/365

do you see us
up near the barrier?
got here early to
manifest our devotion-
hear how loud we sing.
we know every word.
notice us absorbed,
admire our knowledge
of the catalogue.
soon we will loose
our boots, feet in the air
moshing. surfing. wanting
to be adored and passed around
knocked down and picked up.
we want to be loved as
we are beautiful
alone and together.
a ripped shirt,
scratched with bruises,
our shared sweat
the conductor keeping
us together. connected.
look at us
reveling in this youth,
nothing to lose but these
worthless possessions.
how could we know
this won’t last forever
when we don’t trust
anything we are told?
how could we know
how fragile life will become?
when tonight in this smoke,
under these lights
between the waves of
bass, drums and guitar
we are indestructible pure bliss-
flammable and threatening inferno.   

we want to be loved as
we are beautiful.
look at us.
we need you to notice.

251/365

reach out for anything
that makes you
feel alive
as you age.
take a wednesday night
in the throes of work stress
and grab the mic,
jump around,
feel your weight.
grow your hair.
bang your head.
always remember
there are only
so many days
to do what
you love.

144/354

life is the laborious
realisation that
everything plods
toward the inevitable
cliché.

how could one with
such kerouacian dreams,
and rock and roll yearning
succumb to this state
of mid-life crisis.

my dad told me
on the phone
the other day,
that although
he is turning seventy one
this year, he still sees
a young man in the mirror,
whenever he looks—
“i feel like i am still
in my forties or fifties.”

the true spirit of adventure
blooms in the ability to transform
what the average person
sees as obstacles,
into opportunities.  

you can’t rely on
the open road
or the ocean
or a raging freezing
himalayan river,
or the alleyways of
foreign streets,
or sunrise at mount kenya
or the gentle waves
of a fire in the wild,
to make you feel alive.

there is heroism
in banality,
it’s the work that
reveals the frenzy
in contentment.

134/365

we played music
tonight,
rock and roll.
complying with the laws,
keeping everyone safe.
bass. drums. guitars. me.
not sure how to be the front man,
when everyone is finally staring at me,
jump around. bang the tambourine.
stare off into the lights.
belt out the chorus.
ignore the looks.
don’t make eye contact.
make eye contact,
you’ve seen how it’s done
your whole life,
grab that microphone
and let out everything
that’s inside you.
we played music
tonight,
rock and roll.

91/365

it’s late.
i’m tired.
nearly
two
bottles
of wine
and three
hours of
rock songs,
later:
the swagger
kicks
in toward
the end,
but
it’s been
nestled
in
deep
and tight
since
the start.

71/365

it took forever to get a cab.
we played rock and roll music all night
but we were all a little off
i couldn’t hit the notes.

started with:
a beer,
a martini,
two island iced teas,
and a bottle of wine.
a few whiskeys afterwards.

it took forever to get a cab.

listened  to neil young—
    see the lonely boy, out on the weekend
    trying to make it pay
    can't relate to joy, he tries to speak and
    can't begin to say.

and lady gaga—
    turning up emotional faders
    keep repeating self-hating phrases
    i have heard enough of these voices
    almost like I have no choice.

and phoebe bridgers—
    walking scott street, feeling like a stranger
    with an open heart, open container
    i’ve got a stack of mail and a tall can
    it's a shower beer, it's a payment plan.

i was bold and weak.
sure and empty.
the front man and the wallflower.

it took forever to get a cab.
we played rock and roll music all night

8/365

i didn’t want to play music.

lurking around the house:
taking down decorations,
fighting allergies or a cold.
keeping tabs on the news.

a quick run in the rain
up and down a few hills.

but I grabbed a few left over beers
and a half a bottle of wine.

I wore the fat cords I bought on
Haight street
and worked up a leading man swagger.

drums. bass, guitar.
change every mood.

by the end….screaming;

“some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses.”

felt like the truest thing in my whole life.

got lost in little india walking home
trying to find a cab.

cold pizza.
safe bed.
ringing in the ears.

Chips on Shoulders

There was something gritty and angry about the early 90s. And I am now far away enough from that time to look back on it with the hazy rose coloured glasses of nostalgia.

1992.

I have just graduated from high school and started a decade long experiment with community college education, a foray into the service industry and a lifestyle, that looking back now, can only be described as free. I did what I wanted, when I wanted and seldom let anything that resembles society dictate what I had to do. I collected checks, paid my own way, must have had a bank account, maybe paid taxes, but for the most part I slept in, stayed up late, and for lack of a better word “explored” life.

I was angry for many reasons and had a chip on my shoulder. Maybe several chips. And whether it was my attitude that influenced my musical choices or whether the music guided my attitude, the early nineties “grunge” sound was the soundtrack of my life. Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, Nine Inch Nails, Rage Against The Machine, Nirvana and others were the perfect background noise for a person who stayed up late and crawled to some restaurant job in the early evening.

I am sure every generation looks back at their twenties and thinks it was the best, but I know that being eighteen in 1992 was perfect. I think of kids turning eighteen this year and feel sorry for them. At least in terms of music. Where is their angry, gritty, loud rock and roll? Imagine Dragons? Fall Out Boy? Not even close.

So it was humorous when I saw the clip below that turned the most recognizable grunge anthem into a neutered major chord, auto-tuned version of itself. One that sounds eerily like what passes for rock music today.

Nirvirna - Teen Sprite from Sleep Good on Vimeo.

Am I just an old man? Do you know of any bands today playing with the grit and angst and anger of the nineties? Or are we to believe that pop-punk is the best we can do.