mental health

#1081: Have I Ever Really Enjoyed A Concert?

With the Dead Daisies having just played here, and Sven Gali coming this fall, this seems like a timely posting for today.

RECORD STORE TALES #1081: Have I Ever Really Enjoyed A Concert?

A few years ago, I outed myself as someone who suffers from high anxiety in public places.  That wasn’t easy for me.  I had this reputation as this cool music guy, but contrary to that image, my concert resume was light.  People did wonder why there were bands I loved, like Iron Maiden and Judas Priest, that I had never seen live.  I won a ton of concert tickets from the radio, Kiss, I Mother Earth, Billion Dollar Babies, and lots more.  Yet at those shows, I wasn’t anywhere to be seen.  Why?

I’ve avoided a lot of events over the years, big and small, just because that anxiety makes it really hard to actually push myself out the door.  I’ve paid for tickets…many tickets…and never attended.  The money wasted is one thing, and missing the event is the other.  I blew my chance to meet Sean Kelly and Andy Curran at a Coney Hatch show in Waterloo.  Sean even promised me.  I blew it.  Couldn’t do it.  Too anxious.  Small room, lots of bodies.  So uncomfortable, being conscious of every human surrounding me, and trying to maintain a small amount of personal space.  Keeping my limbs tight to my body.  Feet firmly planted on the ground.  That’s what a concert feels like to me.

How can you enjoy a concert when your whole body is on red alert?  I can ignore it somewhat, but it’s always there, clawing away at the back of my brain.  My eyes dart from one side of the room to the other, as I battle the feeling of imminent panic.  Always tickling my nerves, asking me if I’m truly comfortable?

I’m not.

In concerts, my mind wanders.  How many more songs?  Will that guy with the beer spill it on me?  What about the guy pounding his fists behind me?  Will he lose track of his personal space and make contact?  What about that girl in front?  She’s so tall, I can’t see the drummer, but if I move, I might lose sight of my friends.  Those kinds of thoughts.  Seated shows are not as bad, but there’s still the usual anxiety before and after.  Standing in a line close to other people.  Exiting the venue with the mob.

Can you truly enjoy and lose yourself at a show when these kinds of anxieties are always gnawing away at the mind and stomach?  I have a hard time.  I have a hard time feeling comfortable.

I can think of a couple times when I truly did enjoy myself.  Small shows.  Familiar venue.  Lots of friendly faces in the crowd that I knew from work.  Feeling more like home.

Scratching Post was a band I saw twice under circumstances like this.  They were great!  I shouted and screamed and rocked!  They were at a small room called the Banke, which no longer exists.  I had been there a number of times to see friends’ bands.  It felt like all the usual faces were there; welcoming and inviting faces that allowed me to drop my fears and anxieties.  I lost myself in those shows at the Banke, with those people.  I truly enjoyed those concerts.

Another example was Brent Doerner’s Decibel at another small venue.  Jen and I had a table (hardly any seizures back then) and the band knew us.  Their manager came up and introduced himself.  I felt like a guest of honour in some ways.  That was a show I thoroughly enjoyed.

I didn’t feel that way at Rush in 2008.  Jen had a fall down some stairs and I just wanted to go home.  We left during the intermission.  We never caught the second half of the show.  Too many people, too much of a crush, and I was not enjoying myself at all.  I could not wait to get the hell out of there and get home.  I was always checking on Jen to make sure she was safe.  It wasn’t a good vibe.  The tickets were a wedding gift from her.

So, have I ever really enjoyed a concert?  A few.  Small ones, more like parties with friends than concerts.  Sadly, I think that euphoric concert experience of losing oneself in the music and the atmosphere is one that is totally lost on me.

 

 

#1080: S.A.D. Origins

RECORD STORE TALES #1080: S.A.D. Origins

As long as I can remember, I’ve hated winter, and craved the warm rays of summer.  My dominant genes are Mediterranean.  My not-so-distant ancestors made their living on the balmy coasts of Sicily, and Amalfi before that.  I was never cut out for the cold months.

I took hockey lessons as a kid.  I hated putting on those uncomfortable skates and all that cold-weather gear.  “Why do I have to take hockey lessons, mom?”

“Every good Canadian boy should know how to skate,” she answered.

Why?  Why couldn’t I just stay indoors where it was warm and I didn’t have to bundle up in three layers to go outside?  Hockey lessons never appealed, and to this day, I can’t really skate.  I mean, I can go forward…I can turn…but I can’t stop.  So, I can’t really skate.  Do I care?  No.  It’s been 27 years since I was last on skates.  More than half my life ago.

I can’t ski.  I can’t even get on the chairlift properly.  I haven’t been on skis since…1986 maybe?  No interest whatsoever.  We would build snowforts and take toboggans downhill, but I would much rather it be warm outside, riding my bike and playing in the sun.  The winter was always wet and messy.

My earliest memory of seasonal affective disorder was studying a globe with my dad as a kid.  I’ve long been obsessed with maps.  I’d study maps until the cows came home.  This time, we were looking at a globe.  He was explaining how the analemma on the globe worked: that figure-eight line that tracked the movement of the sun over the 12 months of the year.  The line can be traced by finding the position of the Sun as viewed from the same position on Earth at the same time every day.  In the winter, the sun can be found travelling the line in the southern hemisphere on our globe, but my dad explained, once December 21 came and went, the sun would be making its way back north again.  I would look at the globe and find the date on the analemma.  It sure made it feel like summer was coming, to see it translated into mere centimeters on a globe.

It’s quite remarkable that I was feeling those feelings as a kid.  Not even 10 years old yet?  Counting the days until the sun was back in the northern hemisphere.  To the days when I shed my outer skin of parkas and boots, and went back down to a T-shirt and shorts, basking in the comfort of the Canadian summer.  Seasonal affective disorder has been with me at least that long.

Another memory:  winter time, putting on my layers to go outside.  By the time all the layers were on, I didn’t want to go outside anymore.  My parents really struggled with trying to keep me active in the winter.  I wished I could have hibernated through it all.

I wonder if the added component here was school?  I hated school.  I hated the bullies.  The summer represented time away from all of that.  I wonder how much that fed into my seasonal affective disorder?

I guess that’s something I can explore with my mental health team this winter, as I try new strategies to stave off the S.A.D.ness.  We have some tentative plans and vitamin D is on the menu.  Let’s make the most of it.

Wish me luck.

 

#1079: How To Take the Weekend Off Guilt-Free

RECORD STORE TALES #1079: How To Take the Weekend Off Guilt-Free

Out of necessity, I’ve leaned back into live streaming hard this summer.  It was survival and I have to thank Jex Russell and Harrison Kopp for helping me make this happen.  Jex was there for me when all plans went out the window and along with Mr. Kopp and an array of awesome friends, we have managed to put out some of the best shows, and most popular to date.  The Canada Day show was a raging success.

I’ve also been busy recording projects behind the scenes some of which haven’t even been released yet.  I did a couple with Tim’s Vinyl Confessions, one with Grant’s Rock Warehaus. and one with Rock Daydream Nation, among other projects.  It’ll be cool for me to watch these as they finally drop, as we had good times talking controversial rock topics!

In order to enjoy what’s left of summer, and some earned time off, there will be no Grab A Stack of Rock tonight.  In fact, for the remainder of the season, if I’m at the cottage there won’t be a night show.  The sun is setting earlier, and there’s no wasting daylight around here.  And so, we’re taking this weekend off guilt-free.

It’s not easy, but sometimes in work, in life, and even in friendships, you have to prioritise yourself.   That’s OK; and you have to tell yourself that’s OK.  Get all your work stuff together so all your responsibilities are taken care of.  Make sure you’re good to go.  And then go!

There’s only so much time left before the leaves start changing, and this time, I’m going into autumn with a new attitude and new strategies.  No more making my plans around other people.  This time it’s about me – guilt free.

 

#1054: The Darkest Winter

RECORD STORE TALES #1054: The Darkest Winter

I think I’m going to go ahead and declare winter “over”.  In Canada that can be a rather meaningless gesture, but I’m going to do it anyway.  So let’s talk about mental health during the winter of 2022-23.

Winter started mild.  Most importantly though, I had this plan, see….

Well you know what they say about plans.

It was a simple plan, and it did work for the first part of the winter.  Because I have Seasonal Affective Disorder, winter can be the most difficult time of year for me.  Winter in Canada can be unpleasant.  Dark, wet, cold, often all three at once.  The nights are long.  The days are spent in an office.  When I arrived at work, it was still dark.  When I left for home, it was already dark.  This takes its toll.  So what was the plan, then?  The plan was to try and see winter through new eyes.  My American friend MarriedandHeels has never experienced winter.  I thought it would be fun to share images and videos of things she doesn’t see every day, like giant icicles, road salt, snowbanks and all the rest of it.  For a time, it worked.  The novelty of it was really fun.  Some of these snowbanks were mountains!  Her reactions were entertaining (especially to the idea of road salt).  However, as the months dragged it, this wore itself out on me.  Every day seemed like a repeat of the last.  The snow lingered and lingered on, accumulating and dominating the images.

Things started to go to hell.  Everyone in my family except my dad has had Covid, including my 98 year old grandmother.

Oh, my grandmother.

She took ill early this year.  We thought was was gone, twice.  I wrote her eulogy!  I came home from work early and wrote a eulogy…and she keeps hanging on.  I have grieved her twice this year already!  But she is currently doing well.

My sister has been sick, my mom has been sick, my dad is feeling the years take their toll on his body.

I’ve been sick twice, once with stomach ailments and once with Covid.  Same with Jen, but she’s had a much longer dance with Lady ‘Rona.  The isolation also takes its toll.

I would say I fell apart a couple times this winter.  Two people thought I should see a psychiatrist and get put on happy pills.  I have tried happy pills before and they do not work for me.  They wreak havoc on my stomach and I prefer to do this without prescriptions.  MarriedandHeels expressed her concern that I had fallen into a depression, and I agreed with her.

But then things started to change.  The clocks went forward, giving more daylight during the leisure hours.  The snow started to finally melt.  The birds are returning.  And soon the snow tires will be off!  And that can only mean one thing.  Cottage season!

I’m starting to feel like myself again.

This has been without a doubt the most brutal winter since the winter of cancer, 2018.  Did you know it was actually the darkest winter in Ontario in 80 years?  That means it was the darkest winter most of us have ever experienced.

Winter took its toll, did its damage, but I won.  I am still standing and it is gone.

I won.

 

 

#1027: I Feel Alright

RECORD STORE TALES #1027: I Feel Alright

We all have ups and downs.  If you say you don’t then I don’t believe you.  I’ve never been diagnosed bipolar but I’ve always wondered, the way my spirits can sway to and fro.  I can’t remember how long it has been this way for me, but I think since University – around age 19.  That’s when I really started to feel lonely.  Up until then my best friend Bob and I had been tighter than tight, but now we were at different schools and in different circles of friends.  It felt weird but I knew it was a natural thing that happens.  I certainly had read enough teen fiction on the concept of friends drifting apart.  Alice Cooper even had a song about it called “Alma Mater” on the School’s Out album.  Up until that point my life was fairly uncomplicated by things like girls.

I’ve worked hard to get where I am today, the point at which I can self-reflect with a little more knowledge and wisdom.  In some ways, I’ve pulled it together better than ever in 2022 with a solid support group and strategies.  On the other hand, there have been unforeseen difficulties in 2022.  I used to be driven by the idea of writing every day.  This year writing really became stale for me so I have had to look to other creative avenues instead.  Even though this feeling had been building a long time, it is still a difficult adjustment to my routine.  But I’m adjusting.  I still listen to music every day at work, in the car and at home.  I just don’t want to force myself to write about it anymore.  Maybe I just want to chill on the couch watching YouTube.

Speaking of YouTube, one of the surprises this fall is that live streaming just happened to feel right for me again.  Keeping things loose, simple and unprepared is way more fun than spending hours and hours on taking notes every week.  And I need to thank Harrison, the Mad Metal Man, my trusty co-host.  I prefer having a co-host to being a solo artist and Harrison has been with me every single week so far.  He’s helped me put the social fun back into my Friday nights.  Harrison the Mad Metal Man deserves a hell of a lot of praise, even if you’re not watching our show (Grab a Stack of Rock with Mike and the Mad Metal Man).  Pat him on the back just for being a part of a thing that’s helping me get through this cold, dark winter.

Dark indeed!  I leave for work before the sun is up.  The sun is setting, and just laying on the horizon during my drive home.  I get no daylight at all; I’m stuck in my office.  But hope is not lost.  The solstice is only 17 days away.  That means soon the days will be getting longer again.  In one month, the sun will still set at approximately the same time as tonight, but each night thereafter it will be setting later and later.  That is a warming thought.

You’ll notice the thread running through these paragraphs is, as always, music.  The one constant in my life.  The one thing that never ghosted me, stabbed me in the back or left me out to dry.  Music, possibly the most powerful form of communication on earth.  It combines words with feelings, in a way that naturally resonates with the human soul.

Have you ever seen American Dad?  The episode where Roger is on a blind date with a girl:

Girl:  “So…do you like music?”

Roger:  “Do I like music?  No, no I’m the one person on Earth who doesn’t like music.”

 

From that first moment when Styx made me feel cool, to this very moment rocking out to hard rock as I hammer out words, music has been there my whole life.  My parents nurtured this from a young age by buying me John Williams records.  Then came Styx, and Quiet Riot really sold me on the kind of music that I craved.  Maiden changed my life, and Kiss wormed their way into my heart.  The tunes are part of me.  Playing them is like drawing strength from an infinite well.  When I’m miserable, music is there to take the edge off just a little bit.

Even at the Catholic school retreat where music was forbidden, they could not take “Love Gun” out of my head.  I hummed it to myself as a shield.

Even as the bullies made my days hell, Kiss made my nights happy.

Even as I sat alone in my room in my 20s, I was comforted by Van Halen, Motley Crue, Extreme, Guns N’ Roses, Tesla, Skid Row, Rush, Steve Vai, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, and Deep Purple.

I feel alright.  I’m making it.  Seasonal affective disorder is a bitch, and every year is unique in small ways.  This year was no exception.  It actually feels like a monumental shift in my life, losing the passion for writing while making a new friend.  But there’s the balance.  Lose one thing, gain another.  It’s mostly a matter of navigating the bumps.

I feel alright!  We’re almost through this year.  New adventures lay ahead.  Let’s look forward to them, whatever they may be.

 

#1023: “Just the pieces of the man I used to be”

RECORD STORE TALES #1023: “Just the pieces of the man I used to be”

You never know how it’s gonna go.

You roll out of bed feeling like a winner, and then suddenly for absolutely no reason, that completely changes and you’re struggling to break even.

Maybe it’s the pressures of modern life.  The hustle and the bustle.  The need to get things done, even though you’re behind and energy is in short supply.

The feeling of loneliness even though you are not alone.  There’s a dark place in your heart, only inhabited by you, that no one can break into.  It’s not that you can’t let them in.  It’s that you don’t even know how to open that door.  Of if you actually want to.  If you’d prefer to be alone.

The daily monotony, the commute, the cold, the damp.

The fact that all the hours of daylight happen when you’re in an office doing your daily grind.

The pressure and drive to do something important, to be someone who matters.  To make a difference.  To be somebody…anybody…but who you are.

Somehow, a sad song helps.  There’s something about a sad song that can pry its way into your soul.  Provide sympathy.  Warmth.  Help you dry the tears.  That tells you someone out there is feeling the exact same way you do.  It’s as if someone in the world knows you, just as well as you know yourself.

You could be in a room full of happy celebrations, and feel so alone, so completely down, yet have to fake it to make it.

One of the worst winters of my younger life was the winter of ’95-96.  I had just been dumped by my first real serious girlfriend.  I put on a brave face and for a few days, I thought I had weathered the storm.  I listened to “classic British hard blues” that week and felt super strong.  The crash came later.  One of the albums that helped me through that winter was Queen’s Made In Heaven.  The final album with Freddie.  Though there is some undeniable dark material on the album, such as “Mother Love”, and “Too Much Love Will Kill You”, I was amazed at how positive some of the other songs such as “Heaven For Everyone” were.  The album was like a journey through my own convoluted feelings.

“I’m just the pieces of the man I used to be,
Too many bitter tears are raining down on me.”

Yet on the same album:

“In these days of cold affections,
You sit by me and everything’s fine.”

What will the album for the winter of 2022 be?  For the last several years, I’ve been digging deep down into the albums that made me happy as a youth.

“Listen! They said I didn’t stand a chance,
I wouldn’t win no way,
But I’ve got news for you,
There’s nothing I can’t do!”

It was a different time.  There was misery, but nothing can duplicate that feeling of hearing a song for the first time.  A song that you know means something to you.  That is destined to stick with you for your whole life.  And when you put those records on again, a million things start happening in your head.  You can be 12 or 13 again.  A time when the real problems of life were completely unknown to you and the biggest issue you had was figuring out how to talk to the girl you liked.

Like a phantom of a dream, old songs make the memories real again.  As you wipe a tear from your eye, you remember.  It can help sooth the sadness.

Sometimes you just have to cry it out, whatever it is.  Hell, I don’t know what it is exactly.  I just know it sucks.

They say that life never hands you anything you can’t handle.  I don’t know about that.  History is rife with people who could not handle what life has given them.  I think I can – but it’s never simple, straightforward, or obvious how to do it.

So I write.

It’s the only thing I’m really good at.  The only thing people really notice about me.

I write in the hopes that someone will understand.

That someone will relate.

That someone can take what I have experienced and draw something good from it.

And that maybe I’ll get some of that goodness back.

This winter has been pretty good.  My strategies are working.  My support personnel are solid.  But there will always be days where I can’t help it.  Can’t help FEELING IT.  The old familiar sting of that cold, unrelenting loneliness.  The kind of loneliness that can strike even when you are in a room full of loved ones.

One of the best albums for this time of year is Catherine Wheel’s Adam & Eve record.  It captures it all.

“Start the day, in a cold December way, feel what’s new, it’s December through and through.”

And on the same record:

“And we crown ourselves again,
There’s been no change since you and I were young,
When we burned ourselves again,
The spaceship days when you and I were young.”

I crave those spaceship days so hard sometimes.  But you can never really go back.

Except with a song.

Come back with me.  Join me in my memories, on this sad, cold winter day.

#1010: A Quick One

RECORD STORE TALES #1010: A Quick One

“And I said welcome to the show!”

Welcome to this “Behind the Scenes” instalment of Record Store Tales!  Just a quick update on music, writing, and other assorted goings-on!  The soundtrack for me writing this is the new Marillion album, An Hour Before It’s Dark.  Great album.

Things are rolling on, and we are enjoying our summer.  Together.  Jen and I have not spent this much time together in years.  I’m happy to report that we still enjoy each other’s company.  I have to tell you, I don’t miss the show.  The LeBrain Train – remember the LeBrain Train?  Instead of broadcasting to YouTube every Friday night, we’re enjoying the sunset.  I’m sorry if that’s hard news, but I don’t miss it.  I can’t help how I feel.  On the other hand, as many of you know, I tend to get depressed in the fall and winter.  I like to have strategies to cope with the depression, and for the last two years, that has been the LeBrain Train.  So, I am certain that when winter rolls in, I will need the show back.  It won’t be the same — I want to keep things fresh.  The Meat Man and I have been discussing ideas.  We will be back at some point in time.  I know that because I know my depression will eventually return.  The show, and you the viewers, help me cope.

Be patient.  It’s not time yet.  I will know when it feels right.  Summer is short in Canada.  We only get so many weeks, and before too long the days are short and the temperatures cold.  I know some of my pals, like my good buddy Aaron, love the winter.  All I can say is there are times I’m envious.

I’ve been posting daily, keeping a steady pace, but don’t be surprised to see “filler posts” pop up now and again.  Kind of like this one.  For me to sit down and spend two hours listening and writing every single night — it’s just a hard pace to keep up.  You’ll know the filler posts when you see them!  I was thinking of doing a “Sheik Week” – an entire week of posts dedicated to the tweets of the Iron Sheik.

Views are down, comments are down, but I keep on keepin’ on.  Music and writing.  It’s what I do.  What I have done for most of my life.  I’ve been branching out.  Fiction is refreshing.  The ways the words flow so easily when I write fiction, it’s remarkable!  Writing a music article is hard work.  Finding out the facts, confirming the details, describing the music…sometimes I feel like I am running out of words.  I don’t have that problem with fiction.  It’s so refreshing.  You have already read The Adventures of Tee Bone Man, we have seven chapters now, and we are building the story into something huge.  You’ll see.  In my spare time I have also been writing “sexy fiction” that is not for public consumption.  I have been inspired and the words flow easily.  It keeps things fresh.  I enjoy writing fiction.  I need to find more ways to incorporate fiction with my musical writings here.  I will figure it out!

In the meantime, I will be continuing to report from the lake with fantastic photos, rocking videos, and stories of our musical roadtrips.  Jen and I met 17 years ago and I’ve never felt closer.

It has been a great summer.  And it ain’t over yet.

#950: A Letter To S

Hey S,

I felt like writing again, I hope you don’t mind.  My emails are not the esteemed A Life in Letters by Isaac Asimov, but it’s more about the process of the writing for me.

I’ve been listening to Van Halen in the car a lot.  Long story short:  I’ve been having issues with my music hard drive in the car, with it repeating tracks.  I discovered I could fix it by formatting the drive and starting over.  Certain Van Halen albums used to give me issues in the car, with the repeating songs.  It’s been a pleasure to rock to King Edward this week.  It’s hard to believe but he died over a year ago now.

I remember coming home from work the day he died and I was just in a foul mood.  Not only was I grieving Edward Van Halen, but I felt stupid for grieving someone I never met and never hoped to meet.  It was a torrent of shitty feelings, plus I hadn’t eaten properly.  It was a Tuesday and I had to do laundry or something, and I snapped at Jen.  I felt like an asshole afterwards.  I also remember telling you this story, and you were the one who said it was OK to be grieving.  Until that moment I didn’t really consider that maybe you don’t have to be a psycho to be upset about Van Halen’s death.

Music aside — which was usually warm, fun with instrumental and occasional lyrical depth — Van Halen meant a lot to me.  I must have been 13 years old when I was sitting on the porch with my best friend Bob, hearing 1984 on the tape deck for the first time.  My dad came home from work, heard the noise and asked what we were listening to, as dads often did.  “Van Halen!?” he said.  “Sounds like some kind of tropical disease!”

My dad was always good with one liners!  When we watched music videos on Much, he would mock the singers shrieking their best operatic screams.  “What’s wrong with that man?  Should he go to the hospital?  He sounds like he’s in pain!”

Good memories, all.  I’m very attached to those childhood memories.  I’m trying to commit them all to writing before they’re gone.  Often, lost memories can be triggered by an old photograph.  But there are many things I wish I had video of!  If only there was a tape or photograph of that first time I heard Van Halen.  But film was a precious commodity until the last 15 years or so.  You didn’t just take pictures of you and your friends listening to music on the front porch.

I remember some of the tapes, and conversations.  Iron Maiden’s Maiden Japan was popular in our porch listening sessions.  George would come over from next door, and Bob would come over with his tapes.  My house was right in the middle!  I wonder how much of my happiest childhood memories are due to geographic concerns.  If my house wasn’t right there in the middle of everybody, maybe I never would have been there that day to hear Van Halen or Iron Maiden.

Sometimes I worry that I spend too much time living in the past and trying to recapture those moments.  But then I think about what you would say to that.  “Why are you worried about something that brings you happiness?” I think you might ask.  And you’d be right.  So bring on the Van Halen.  Bring on the Iron Maiden.  Let’s party like it’s 1985.  Might as well go for a soda — nobody hurts, nobody dies.

Mike

 

#940: My Friend of Misery

RECORD STORE TALES #940: My Friend of Misery

“You insist that the weight of the world,
Should be on your shoulders,
There’s much more to life than what you see,
My friend of misery.”

James Hetfield may as well have been talking about me.  But it’s not that simple.  I don’t insist the weight of the world should be on my shoulders.  I’d give anything to take some of the weight off.  But I have a lot of responsibility.

Having somebody’s dirty bathwater leaking all over my floor and carpet the last two weeks has pushed me to the breaking point.

“These times are sent to try men’s souls,
But something’s wrong with all you see,
You, you’ll take it on all yourself,
Remember, misery loves company.”

Trying to be proactive about my health, I took a hiatus from writing.  We now have the plumbing fixed.  There’s plenty of damage to repair and lots of stress.  But I think maybe it’ll be OK dipping my toe back into writing.  A little bit.  Cross fingers, knock wood that nothing else gets fucked up.

Metallica has been a soothing remedy.  I haven’t listened to old Metallica in a long time.  This 14 CD / 6 DVD / 6 LP box set is something else.  I’ve played all the LPs and now I’m into the CDs.  James’ riffs tapes range from startling to suck!  The initial “Sad But True” riff is painfully badly recorded.  But a 22 second snippet of a punk rock “Unforgiven” is a truly cool moment.  There’s a lot to go through here.  Metallica have been taking my mind off things.

I did discover something interesting about my car stereo.  It seems to be able to read files that have been deleted.  When you “delete” something off a hard drive, it doesn’t necessarily go away unless you overwrite it.  My car appears to be able to read tracks like this.  This weekend I ripped the massive Metallica box set, and replaced the old album on my hard drive with the newly remastered one.  I also took the time to rip all my Load, Reload and Garage Inc. CD singles to the hard drive.  A complete set of singles, I might add.  Up until St. Anger, the only Metallica release I was only missing was The 6½ Year Anniversary 12″ EP and a “Neckbrace” remix of “Whiplash” (still need both).

On to the car.  The easiest way for me to clean up the car’s hard drive was to completely delete the Metallica folder and then copy over a new one.  What I discovered when I jumped in the fire…I mean car…was that the car drive now had two copies of Kill ‘Em All, Master of Puppets, etc.  My original rip of the Metallica CD was still there, even though I deleted it.  So it seems my car can read deleted files, at least until they are eventually overwritten.

The annoying thing about this is that because of the way the car reads the ID3 tags, each song gets played twice in a row.  So when I play Kill ‘Em All, I get “Hit the Lights”, then “Hit the Lights”, “The Four Horsemen”, “The Four Horsemen”, and so on.  I can fix this but it’s annoying.

So much to fix.  And I haven’t touched on the family health challenges of late.  Some things should stay private.

So let’s try a little writing again.  Because I want to give this Metallica box set a good solid listen, and I’m only about 1/6th of the way through, I won’t be writing up reviews for a little while.  Instead I’ll be focusing on Record Store Tales, a real WTF of a comment, and a new feature.  Now that I’m not trying to constantly keep my floors dry, I can try to be creative again.

I can try.  Yoda says “Do, or do not, there is no try.”

I say “Fucked, you must get, Yoda.”  I’m doing the best I can here!

#938: Tears of a Clown

RECORD STORE TALES #938: Tears of a Clown

Yesterday, September 10, was Suicide Prevention and Awareness Day.  I was reminded of a good story, about a special young man that I met only once.  It was years ago, but for background, I’m going to tell you some things about myself that I’ve never shared publicly before.

The stigma on people who suffer from mental health issues is real.  We get called “crazy” or “weak”.  In reality we are some of the strongest people you will ever meet because we wrestle daily with things just because the chemistry of our brains is a little bit out of whack.  Every day that we finish is a day that we won.  Support is hard to find.  Everybody here should know by now that I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  This is compounded daily by the stresses of supporting a wife sick with untreatable epilepsy.  Nobody can accuse me of having it easy.  I went to the doctor and got some “happy pills” but they didn’t agree with me.  One day when I couldn’t take it anymore, I went back to the doctor and she immediately put me on a sick leave.  I begged her not to.  I didn’t want my work to have to deal with it.  The doctor talked some sense into me.  I went on sick leave, and I made damn sure I did not waste my time.  As far as I was concerned, I might not have been “at” work, but I had to work, and that meant working on myself.

I enrolled in a class called Cognitive Behavioural Therapy.  It’s called “CBT” for short, which means something else too. I’ll get into that in a bit.

The people I met at CBT group were just like anyone else I ever met.  There was en executive.  There was a goth.  There were people who worked in finance.  Parents and grandparents.  People who cared for sick family members.  All walks of life.  Some I’m still friends with today.  We worked through things together and it was heavy.  We had some laughs too, as you should, but we dealt with a lot of things in that group.

One of the ladies I met there, “Katy”, became a friend immediately.  She was an office professional in the world of finance.  I think when she was younger, she worked as stage crew for touring bands.  We knew a lot of the same groups.  She was a fan of the Genitorturers, who I believe she worked for in the past.  One day in CBT class she leaned over and with a sly grin and whispered to me, “Do you know what else CBT stands for?”

I had an idea.  Thanks to some friends in the UK tattoo and piercing community, I knew that CBT also stands for “Cock and Ball Torture”.

She laughed that I knew it, and our bond was cemented.  It was an intense class and I needed a friend.  We got sad and anxious as the weeks wound up, and we were set to go back to our lives.  A bunch of us exchanged phone numbers and made plans to stay in touch.  I was really in a state of worry about heading back to work, as was “Katy”.  I wanted to get some new shoes for the job, and she agreed to help me pick out a pair.

“Is it OK if my son comes along?” she asked.  “You’ll like him.”

I did.  I liked him a lot.

I met up with “Katy” and her son “Kenny” at a central Tim Hortons location.  He reminded me of a young Jeremy Taggart from Our Lady Peace.  We drank coffee for an hour or two, while “Kenny” kept me in stitches with his natural sense of humour.  He reminded me of a stand-up comedian.  He just had the natural ability to make people laugh and entertain.  It was one of the best coffee visits I’ve ever had with anyone.  I asked him if he’d ever be interested in working together.  I didn’t have any clear ideas, I just knew that I wanted to do some kind of video with him.  A commentary, a discussion, a stunt…I knew he’d be hilarious.

After coffee we went to a store looking for my new shoes.  When we got there, “Kenny” asked if he could try on some skin-tight spandex workout suits.  He had no reason to try one on…he was not getting into cycling all of a sudden.  I think he just wanted to make us laugh.  He came out of the change room in this ridiculous outfit that was far too tight.  I’m sure his circulation was cut off and he couldn’t feel his feet.  Seeing him pose around the store in this skin-tight wrapping was both awkward and hilarious.  I recall he had a devil of a time trying to get it off.

I really enjoyed my day with them.  I wore my new shoes on my first day back in the office and it felt good to be in the driver’s seat again.  “Katy” and I kept in touch a little bit.  I knew “Kenny” had his own issues, but I was always a big supporter and fan of his.

Then one day in 2015, “Katy” sent me a message on Facebook.  Her son was gone.  I froze in the shock of it.  One day, I guess he just couldn’t take it anymore.  A feeling that I thought I knew, but had never taken further.  I simply could not believe what I was reading.  It seemed impossibly wrong.  This young man, destined to be someone truly special, who made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe, was gone.

“It’s always the funniest ones,” I thought to myself.  The year before, Robin Williams took his own life.  Iron Maiden wrote a song about it called “Tears of a Clown”.

“All alone in a crowded room, he tries to force a smile.”  Could I ever relate to that.  “Wonder why he’s feeling down, tears of a clown.”

When I think of all those comedians who struggle or have struggled with their own problems, I think of my friend and her son.  Without exaggeration, one of the funniest people I ever met, if only for a few hours.  It was a long time ago but I still talk about that day.  He was a special kid and I’m sorry that you’ll never get to see the two of us in a video together like I hoped.  It would have been hilarious.