I
was already well on my way…
Had been banging my head
For
some time by then,
But, as does occur in
Many
avenues, an affecting moment
Would
spring forth—
It
was something so intense—a
Reaction
that was so severe, it made
Not
the lick of common sense—and yet
Its
very existence revolutionized the inner
Songs
playing—the screaming stung—
and
from it—realities never dreamed of,
suddenly
appeared—proving to some kid, how
beautiful
a violent voice can be
in
that moment, on that fourth, of July, 1990,
on
an otherwise abandoned midnight beach, the
skies
exploded—in this place I never should have been—ever
the
reminder of the lie two friends shared—each telling their parents, over at the
others that night they’d be—yet finding chance encounters with an older
crowd—beyond anything that would have been approved—and it was here, on that
eve, two teens, would find their everything to alter, shift and rearrange—way
past any disruption they could have ever dared to learn—reaching far beyond
anything ever
Felt
before
My
friend, by some burnt out log near the waves, lost his innocence, to some
Canadian girl only stopping by after spotting us while on a midnight beachside
stroll…
Mine
had been removed much earlier…however, what innocence was left, would be sucked
clean there that night, after hearing what would be, a shift in possibility—a
parallel version, previously hidden, now received—where NEVER, never before,
had I listened to such a thing—
again
and again it would be played, by the beach, near the waves—
Sung,
spoken, screamed, with a unity that grabbed hold of someone not knowing they
needed something more, something unique, a treasured artistry, ever promising
to keep offering unknown necessity
And
like a sledgehammer to the basin of the skull, word would enmesh with the grey
matter, instantaneously releasing that which normally takes years to subtly
intimate—
It
wasn’t just the words, no, it couldn’t be just the poetry of the lyrics prayed
upon by the voice itself—but it was an unearthly combination of the grated
tonality of shredding steel, laid bare before the presence of a melodic
scream—where each rasping air collects all the emotion left exposed within,
infecting the resonating space of the combinatory experience, shared between
that voice in the machine, and the faction of our most repressed and desiring
side of personality—
Never
more, in any place, could a transformation’s definition be described so
poignantly in such unrefined manners of confused deliberation—for here, in this
case, the speaker is the singer, the singer is investigating—searching for the
same answers that shadow the path of the listener’s arc of internalized questioning—
Never
again could a verse appear, as it had done before the lake’s warm yet cooling
air—
It
would from that moment onwards, covet the comparisons I’d eventually have to
make, exiling the classically beloved, to a place that is now, nowhere near
what’s good enough, exposed for the flaws it demonstrates when placed adjacent
to such a revelation as this —
Raw
emotion purges out—spraying the canvas clutched upon—etching vignettes and
pointed scenes, each, riddled with questions that simultaneously tear and unite
the fraying sides and seams of the mortally withered fabric of being
And
finally, in summation, I reflect back fondly, to that sandy space, where the
names of the others occupying that short tract of beach there on that
particular evening have become impossible to recall as the years move further
away from this point of origin—no, I can’t recall their faces, let alone the
names and I just don’t care, for all of them were no more than insignificant
fillers of scene—they bore no consequence to the memories gathered there that
night—
I
certainly have refined my tastes over the years, yet still, this realization
created alongside those formative shores, still remains, still flashes forth as
it did that night, as an epiphany not quite as loud and shattering as it once
stood, but still holding steady as a significant point of reference for what
musicality has transpired within, these past twenty-two summers since
And
still, to this day, I find it difficult to remind myself that this was all but
a collection of songs—mere lyrics enhanced by creatively timed rhythms and
beats…and then, I smile slantingly, as I drift back to that space, hearing the
cascades caress the sandy shore, reflect upon all the available sensations
still available for recall…all the while knowing, that such songs…were not
simply heard…but were understood on levels indescribably so meaningful, that the
music became engrained into my very fiber, therein becoming ever so firmly rooted
deep.
This
was the first time, music truly touched my life.
*On
July 3rd, 1990 Pantera released Cowboys From Hell, which, in my
opinion, is one of the most influential records ever made, both for me as a
listener of music, and to the myriad of musicians who have quoted it’s
influence upon both their lives and unto their own compositions and musical
endeavors.
