Volume X: The Industry of Chemical Artistry - or - The Age of Rockism

Part 2: Vaguely. Inside. // 1. Artistic Reflection

My highly meticulous nature comes from my parents. Being they were both shrinks, I came to learn to analyze. Take nothing at face value. Be always watchful and observant. And I was. I learned to use their methods for my own madness. It’s given me a successful way to work, to live. Mom and Dad analyze everything - ideas, people, especially stories. There’s nothing that escapes the over scrupulous eyes. And in turn, I watch because I was born to watch. I listen intently because I was bred to do so. I speak sparingly, choosing my words deliberately and carefully, aware of any slight error. I speak my mind almost never, only stating factitious certainties. Rely only on what’s true and you’ll never be mistaken.

The most common house band was composed of five young guys. They played once a week, religiously. I never missed a show. Funny, with all the music, all the words in my mind, I can’t remember their name, as a whole. But I remember the players, and their parts. I remember the sound that comes from each, the composed tone of the group. But not the group’s name. How tragic, the mental collection, my internal composition of names, facts, times, places. People, faces, everything - stored neatly in my mind. Yet that escapes me. Somehow, it doesn’t shock me.

Lucius - the bassist. He was dating one of the regular patrons of the shows - Brie. I’ll get to her in a moment. Lucius was a quick-tempered alcoholic. Probably genetic, I’m sure that his girl caught the blunt of it. He was talented at his art. Between sets, he would sit and brood at the bar, trying to tune the world out. Perhaps he had a war going on inside him, you could always see the fire in his eyes, moving from side to side. There was a state of anguish hidden in his fingers that bled out onto the strings that brought his soul to life. I think he only felt alive when he was on the stage, playing with everything he had. Or everything he had left.

Wes - the drummer. Sat all the way in the back, fairly straight edge, might have smoked some marijuana habitually, nothing too heavy. Still lived at home with his parents, had a stable and fairly happy family life. The oldest child out of three. He kept a steady job and graduated from high school with slightly above average grades. By the amount of effort he puts into it, he desires to play drums for the rest of his life. He’s always tapping a rhythm, even when the sticks aren’t in hand. I learned all this from observation.

Mason - the secondary guitarist. Also fairly straight edge with a shaky family situation. Things are stable most of the time, works with Wes part time. They’re childhood friends, who grew up together and still spend most of their time together. They speak without words and play like their lives were on the line. Mason taught himself how to play, and frequently takes time to teach others. He aspires to be a music teacher, though his grades lack the power to get him there. After dropping out of high school, he did a good deal of wandering, unsure of where to go with his life. His travels led him to the band. He fell out of touch with Wes when he abandoned school, but they resumed their friendship after time apart had ceased. This, too, I learned from observation - time and patience.

Jekt - primary guitarist and some vocals. A wanderer, family history unknown. I don’t know if he ran away or they abandoned him, either which way, he’s on his own. He does odd jobs, like I do. Spends most of his time at the bar, working for Irish when she’ll let him. He plays because he’s got nothing else, nothing but song. Blessed with no other artistic sensory except his hearing, everything goes into it. Joy, depression, loneliness, pain, anything he has on hand. He plays with his heart, his soul, his madness and misery. A loner by nature, though he’ll take girls on when the need or desire strikes him, none survive as serious long-term relationships. He writes his own songs that he keeps to himself, fearful of the band’s rejection. Although self-confident, he’s soft spoken and cool, keeping himself collected at all times. The band plays what the rest of them like, which is fine either which way. He plays with them because they’ve all lost something, or have nothing left to lose.