A THANKSGIVING VIGNETTE...
...or, "What's that crazy kid doing upstairs?"
...or, "What's Neil Young got to do with this?"
...or, "What? It's not even November yet!!!"
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Back a long time ago, our family (me, my sister and Mom & Dad) got together for Thanksgiving. Those who've read this blog for a long time know that My Dad and I didn't see eye-to-eye on Anything. And I hated "going home" because things between he and I were so cold. It's just the way it was. Dysfunctional. My Dad would routinely point out everything that I was doing wrong, and when M0m sensed conflict, she'd jump right in and start doing the whole Martyr-Complex thing. Happy holidays, huh? When it's quiet, I can still hear Dad Yelling at me and I probably always will. After being at Mom and Dad's longer than I really wanted to be, I went home and "ruminated" about the Thanksgiving Dinner we'd all had. Dad was not friendly at all during that dinner. Dad could really cook, and he really would all put on a feast, as if food was designed to Resolve All Conflicts, which of course, it never does. Great food, a wonderful meal, sprinkled with a dash of tension and seasoned with a pinch of disquieting resent. Afterwards, in my apartment, I was sitting around, feeling worse and worse about the Thanksgiving Dinner I'd just had, and the more I thought about it, the worse I felt.
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At that time (1981, I think), I had an electric guitar, a fairly good amp, and what's known as a "Morley" Power Wah-fuzz pedal that I could plug my instrument into, and then the output plug was connected to my amplifier. When both buttons ("Wah-Wah" and "Fuzz") were activated, the amplifier would literally scream when I hit a chord. I could hang onto a note for eternity, making the note go "Wah-wah-wah-wah....". I wrote some lines, then got the cassette recorder out, and began to slam and bang my way through what I'd just written...

...Don't be nice to me, 'cos you think that you have to be...

And don't have me around, if I only bring you down...

'Cause I don't think you love me and I don't think you care...

And the emptiness I'm feelin' is more than I can bear...

And I'd rather...rather not be there...

I'll admit those aren't the greatest lyrics ever, but when applied to an Fmaj7th-C chord progression, and drenched in feedback, wah-wah, and extreme volume with extra sonic saturation provided by literally hammering on my guitar, and me screaming into the tape recorder, well, let's just say it was therapeutic in a sort of primal-scream sort of way. I still have the cassette I put that song on. Instead of getting a gun and going out and actually Killing Someone, I recorded that song. It's a product of pure impulse. And anger. On a holiday. I think the song itself is about ten or fifteen minutes long. Way too long, way too insane, way too erratic, way too loud. But, my neighbors were gone...I guess they had a more pleasant Thanksgiving than I'd had. But if they'd been home, they probably would've thot, "what's that crazy kid doing upstairs?"

Looking back on all of this, I guess people do hurt each other out of love, only it doesn't feel like love; it seems to breed anger, hurt, sadness, devastation and resentment. I know I let Dad down a lot, and I know he did his best. And yet I'm still angry. Just thinking about it as I'm typing this makes me want to go out in the living room and break something. Way deep down inside, I have my Dad's temper. How I've been able to toe the line all these years, I'll never know. Unless it's that I've always been afraid of confrontation. I'm a coward. Always have been. It started when all the kids kept beating me up after school. Every night. And I had to hide all of that when I went home. I felt like I was gonna have a nervous breakdown back then.

So, what's this got to do with Neil Young? I bought his new album, "Le Noise" and much of it contains overmodulated guitar, mountains of power chords, notes that hang on forever, and songs drenched with an ominous over-modulation. When I set out to write this post, I was merely going to say that this new Neil Young album reminds me of bashing my guitar and screaming all those years ago. The title of the album is obviously a play on words; it's produced by Daniel Lanois (Le Noise, get it?), who's best known for all the U-2 albums he's worked on. Lanois seems to favor an oblique, muddy desolate type of sound, and that's what's all over this Neil Young CD. No drums, no backing instruments, no rhythm machine, just Neil and his guitar.

I was gonna rip this album to shreds; I was gonna say that here's a really sloppy, dissonant album that grates on me and just bugs the hell out of me, but I can't do that. I had anger and resentment when I recorded my song so long ago, and tonight, Neil's feedback-drenched music is just the thing for dealing with a bad head-space like I'm experiencing right now. Somehow the blasts of volume I'm absorbing courtesy of Mr. Young are comforting in a way. A sort of sonic outlet for the bitterness I've always carried with me, that I can't seem to rid myself of. I was gonna say that when you love something, that something you love exasperates you, and I know I exasperated my Dad, as I did he. So where's the love? I don't know. And at first, this Neil Young album exasperated me. It still kinda does. It makes more sense each time I play it. Plus, it contains a couple of acoustic numbers...the loud, woozy songs and the pretty acoustic ballads serve to set each other off, but it's hard work listening to this album. I'm working on it. But it's beginning to make sense.

There's a line at the top of this blog, just under the 'Atmospheric Ruminations' title, something about writing a biography; and maybe that's what I should do; undergo cathartic mental dissection by posting rants about everything. Finally, I'd like to say this to Neil: I'll buy anything you put out there, however much it may exasperate me.