Battles will be won. Victories will be celebrated. But we can’t let this momentary triumphs blind us to the grim reality — it never ends. Everything against which we fight will always come back, no matter how valiant our efforts. For as strong as we are, the enemies are immortal.
The Workload. The Stress. The Existential Crisis.
But it’s time that we cue up some new weapons. Tools with which we can wage our eternal struggle. This is the Monday Morning Commute, and I’m going to show you the entertainment that’s helping keep me alive. Your task? Hit up the comments section and show off your own wares.
Oh Shit! Caff-Pow up in your cereal! Eating allllllllllllllllll the fucking marshmallows out of your Lucky Charms. What are you going to do about it? Nothing, and you’ll like it! Anyways so yeah it appears that Rendar is still locked in the fucking bathroom or something. His cock stuck, somehow simultaneously sizzling and dripping, in his Ryan Gosling plushie. So it’s me. You. And our choices for Monday Morning Commute. The rundown on what we’re looking forward to this week.
Hello there, `fraidies and gentle-hams. My name is Rendar Frankenstein, and once upon a time I was one of the captains of the fine vessel known as Omega-Level. With Caffeine Powered, I helped steer this nerd-craft through the Interweb Ocean, fending off the ever-present threat of vibe-pirates and soul-trolls. In those early days, I’d write reviews and drink casks and even occasionally lend my word-vomit to the back of comic books.
But these days, I’ve taken to the dark underbelly of SPACESHIP OL. I like it here, where I can chat with the suspected mutineers about their murderous visions and incorrigible bloodlusts. And no, I wasn’t demoted to chomping on fish-heads and tossing the shit-barrels overboard by the powers-that-be, I volunteered for this spot. It fits me just fine.
Because the fact of the matter is that I’m Rendar Frankenstein — the hack writer extraordinaire who wears a heart on his sleeve that bleeds so profusely you’d swear he’s menstruating.
This here’s the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, a weekly show-and-tell session that promotes the cross-pollination of all things in the pop-nerd sphere. To get things started, I’m going to show you the various ways I’ll be staving off workweek ennui. Your job is to then hit up the comments section and share what you’ll be watching/reading/eating/playing/drinking/doing to exorcise the forty-hour-a-week demons.
Let’s do this.
[Werewolf Trilogy — Part III]
Holy shit, we’re nine days away from Hallow’s Eve, summit of the mountainous OCTOBERFEAST. This is the season of decaying matter and yet life never feels more invigorating. Wait until the sun goes down and step outside — bathe in the cool autumn air, breathe in the fragrance of crumpling leaves, and try to feel anything less than excited to be alive.
I dare you.
To round out the Werewolf Trilogy, we’re going to explore the notion that werewolves are fun-loving party-goers. While manhunters and bitch-mothers are small subsets of the community, most are just looking for a good time. Seriously. For example, this werewolf just wants to snort lines of blow. And this werewolf loves to shred.
Perhaps the best expression of this animalistic debauchery is found in Every Time I Die’s We’rewolf. Keith Buckley (genius that he is) masterfully outlines what it means to go through an evening as a wolfman.
It’s a full moon, denim is tight, and flannel shirt is freaking out.
Run for your life, cover your eyes, I don’t want you to see me party this hard.
I’ve got a bone to pick with the morning sun and the first last call.
But I didn’t put my hair in a pony tail for nothing,
So if I’m going home alone I ain’t going at all.
Yea. In the wild kingdom you don’t live until your ready to die.
Which one of you sons of bitches is gonna make me feel alive?
Which one of you motherfuckers is gonna get inside my heart?
Is gonna give me a heart attack?
Look away it’s too much to bear. I’ve been bitten by the party animal.
Save yourself. Save yourself. Tell my baby that I love her so.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I gave the world one hell of a time,
And I don’t regret a thing except for the times that I got caught giving it.
I never thought it would take. I had thick blood and cynical skin.
To where are you supposed to escape when the creature is lurking inside of you?
We all want to be werewolves, drinking beers and doing fucking headspins well past the witching hour. We want to resist the idea that our lives are run by suits and squares who only give us 2/7ths of the week to enjoy ourselves — and only so we don’t freak the fuck out.
Unfortunately, most of us are never fortunate enough to transform into mythical human/canine hybrids. In fact, most of us feel the need to blast ourselves in the heart with the `ole figurative silver bullet before we even consider living the werewolf life.
We should all take a note from Every Time I Die — periodically taking the opportunity to throw caution to the wind in order to live a life that defies rigid structure and routine. I’m not saying to be a fucking weirdo for the sake of it, but to give yourself the chance to occasionally allow your inner animal to surface.
Every Time I Die has been one of the few bands whose albums retain unchallenged positions in my personal rotation. Especially in their last effort (2007’s The Big Dirty), ETID combine straight-ahead thrash & paralysis-inducing breakdowns with southern-rock groove & clean hooks to create an irresistible sonic cocktail.
The garnish, of course, is Keith Buckley’s penchant for crafting evocative, powerful lyrics. Buckley’s anecdotes act as supportive frames, giving the listener just enough to imagine a more personal narrative. I’m not sure, but I’d bet that I’m not the only ETID fan who finds himself pondering lyrics such as those found at the end of Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Battery:
Stay wistful and young.
The affected are banking on oblivion
In the drone of embittered hope.
And we’re sold by the way they wrote it.
Oh, it’s the end of the line
I’m cornered by a precedent
The sneering public eye.
It is better to destroy than to create what is meaningless.
So the picture will not be finished…
Or maybe I just give Keith Buckley too much credit because he was a literature student & high school teacher. I don’t know.
In any case, September 15th sees the release of New Junk Aesthetic. I’ve been looking forward to this album for quite some time and have held my head high despite some more disparaging news (i.e. Fall Out Boy’s Pete Wentz contributing guest vocals & the departing of longtime drummer Mike “Ratboy” Novak).
My optimism for New Junk Aesthetic is instead rooted in the fact that it was completed before Novak left, providing one last documented recording of the foursome (Novak/Williams/the brothers Buckley) that I’ve learned to love. Further, my love for sweet album packaging is appeased by the stellar artwork of guitarist Jordan Buckley.
Yesterday, Wanderlust was released as the first official video for the new album. I’m still sorting out my feelings about the track, but my initial impression is favorable. That may change. Or it may not. But for right now, I’m going to pump my fist and contemplate the following:
We’ve lived under this dark cloud forever
Waiting for the bad light to break.
Just let me try that one again, with a little more feeling –
We slept at the crossroads together, trying to make an honest mistake.
Just let me try that one more time, without a smile on my face.
Give the video a view and tell me what you think.
Every Time I Die – “Wanderlust”