Priestess – “Blood”

No description just a sweet-ass fucking jam. I’m pretty sure I first heard this on The Punk Show around the time Priestess’ first album Hello Master came out in 2005. Like all good things they’re from Montreal. “Blood” makes me nostalgic for a time I wasn’t alive for. It sounds like velour and parents’ basements and teenage flirtations with Satanism. I like that.

A decade under the influence

Copying Jessica who just posted her journal entry for a Something Corporate show at the 9:30 Club ten years ago (holy motherfucking shit.) She and I and Adriana went together, and I also have an entry for this show, although it was posted five days later, on February 1st, 2005. I thought it would be interesting to compare notes.

2/1/05 9:49PM

“Soco was Thursday”

Amazing.

Went with Jess & Yana. We were 2 or 3 people in, center-right for the opening acts (The Academy Is…, Hidden in Plain View, Straylight Run) but I got out after Straylight Run because the crowd was getting uncharacteristically violent (it’s a Something Corporate show, come on now). Grabbed some much needed water from the bar, bought a hoody (hoodie?) and headed up to the balcony. Not as great viewing (distance-wise), but a better all around experience since I was able to breathe and ENJOY the show.

I’m unsure what to say about the setlist, if you’re into Something Corporate, they ran through the major singles, plus an acoustic version of I Want To Save You, Watch the Sky, and Konstantine. They spun a disco ball during the part of Konstantine which goes “when the first star you see may not be a star.” Being up in the balcony with the club glowing purple from the lights, and these little twinkling disco ball stars… a dorky comment I know, but it was so surreal, kind of magical.

Andrew broke one of his piano keys. I know nothing about pianos, it’s not like I can grade his abilities as a pianist, but you can tell he’s passionate. I think that counts more.

Survived first encounter with DDRmom outside after the show. Grabbed a bunch of flyers from the street teams. Got a Black Maria sampler from some guy. Felt like looting.

Got home at like 1:30. Can someone pay me to do this please. Really. I was thinking about this when I was lying in bed Thursday night. I just want to go to shows every night and come home exhausted and sweaty and smelling like smoke and pass out in my bed with my clothes on and go “well this is rock and roll.” Because IT IS like that. It’s like an alternate universe. You come out of it and it’s like YOU SAW the music. It’s not a teenybopper thing, it’s purer than that…

It’s like the lights and the crowd and the energy and the noise.

I don’t know. I don’t see the use in trying to describe it, since knowing the explaination for why something makes you happy really never seems to change a damn thing

I truly think they should teach journaling at the high school level, or at least start some pro-diary initiative. I had a suspicion in middle school that at some point I would come to value the records of these events, no matter how mundane, and it’s already paying off. The funny thing is, the conclusion I draw from every single old entry I read, is exactly the same: it’s amazing how much you change, and it’s amazing how much you stay the same. I was always hung up on the saying “you are who you were in high school,” on one hand I wanted it to be true, because that time seemed like such a distilled, sincere expression of who I am, but at the same time, fuck, high school, really? But through reading old things I’ve written, I’ve realized It’s not an either/or proposition. I haven’t deviated 70% from who I was at sixteen, and retained 30% of my characteristics. I’m 100% a different person, and 100% the same person at the same time.

P.S. here is the hoody/hoodie

soco piano hoodie

Side note: Team Cat Fight

Jessica posted a retrospective on our adventures as teenage music journalists over at Jessica of Suburbia, if you are yearning for a deeper understanding of us. She even posted a picture that I was not aware existed of our first website layout, and damn, my love of grunge fonts will never die.

Meg Myers is a fucked up bitch and I love every second

In eleventh grade when I wrote for my high school newspaper I got screwed into writing an article about our Battle of the Bands. I had serious interests in being a music journalist which were largely fueled by the movie Almost Famous and Sarah Lewitinn. This was not how I intended to pursue those interests. Unfolding almost exactly as I pictured it would, I described a completely uninspired high school band as metal. I really wanted to describe them as nu metal, but I was trying to be kind. The morning the papers were delivered, I got approached by this “band’s” “frontman” in fourth period Russian History and informed, in the most indignant tone possible, that they were not metal, but in fact proto-punk-seventh-wave-prog-rock.

From this second on, I have never wanted to be a music journalist. I figured if high school bands were this big of assholes, any musician that ever received a shred of positive reinforcement must be a fucking nightmare. The genuinely famous and/or talented seem to (confusingly) be nicer and less delusional, but God knows you’re going to be dealing with this Satanic middle group most of the time.

So that’s why I hate writing about music.

But,

Last night in my continued Buzzfeed Video YouTube binge, I got recommended this music video. I almost never click on recommended music, because it is almost always a thirteen year old girl singing country music with heavy Christian imagery, and I WILL NOT BE TRICKED AGAIN THIRTEEN YEAR OLD GIRLS, but this drew me in:

Holy shit I am fucking in love with this girl. She instantly reminded me of music’s power to creep you the fuck out. I felt like I was a teenager watching the music videos Chris Cunningham directed for Aphex Twin, or the screeching descent into chaos that is Veruca Salt’s Shimmer Like a Girl, with a dash of Jamie Lee Curtis’s weird, sexualized virgin in Halloween. I had forgotten how much I missed that feeling.

I can’t help but think this is what all those black-lipstick, upside down cross loving, pseudo-junkie teens are going for, but Meg Myers actually delivers. With music. In a pair of sneakers.