While I prefer the intensity of the Mr. Bungle cover - they only exist as live bootlegs; so I’ll post the proper studio quality original.
Time and its passage seem to me like a paradox that never really exists until it’s already existed. Kind of like how the future only exists within the memories that initially shaped those experiences.
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Right now I’m enjoying a long weekend here in Canada, it’s technically some sort of provincial holiday but in reality it should just be called “It’s always muggy as hell at the start of August and everyone needs a day off”, really though, it’s not even 10am yet and 24C but feels like 32 (or 90F) and cloudy. Either way, the humidity has made it so that I haven’t left my room in like 3 days since it’s where the AC is; it’s also given me a lot of time to think and reflect.
Two major things happened in the last week. First I got switched to a new project at work, as a software tester that’s almost a daily thing, except this new project was a casual
social product rather than just a casual game. I didn’t get it, I still don’t get it, it’s why I call it a product instead of a game, it’s lacking a layer, it’s all frosting and no cake. Yet the most resounding perspective to come out of the situation is that I’m old and out of touch, and to an extent it’s true. I’ve been passed by; I didn’t keep running along with the shiny new ball as it bounced along the shores of the main stream. I always said I’d be fine with it, turns out it’s not that fine, whatever.
The other thing is that Friday was August 3rd. When I first moved to this town after college it was because a friend of mine had asked me to so that we could start a band. We called ourselves Panda Go Panda after some anime movie he and the other guy had enjoyed at some point the past. I’ve still never seen it. My personal issues and my inability to articulate them properly made it so that our band would never amount to anything, then again we were all guilty of weak communication.
I’ve quoted Ernest Hemingway’s assessment of first drafts on this site before; it’s worth noting again, “The first draft of anything is sh!t”. Essentially everything we did as a band was sh!t, I’d say at least 90%. I know that every band out there goes through the motions of picking up the most solid piece and polishing it until it shines and even the Mythbusters proved you can polish a turd until its shiny, but it doesn’t at all change the fact that you’re still left with sh!t on your hands. For me I preferred the idea of practicing to the point where our first offerings were able to appear relatively fully formed as compared to the majority of 3 chord punk rock that permeated ours, and so many other local scenes.
August 3, 2002 was one of those days, and to recognize that it’s been exactly a decade since then is a pretty solid kick in the pants. It was a Saturday, it was cloudy, and it was muggy as hell, sound familiar? Jay came over as he always did in the old Tempo to collect me and my bass shortly after lunch. We got to Jef’s parent’s place outside of town as he was getting over his regular Saturday morning hangover and we holed up in the basement. Normally we would have smoked a pipe or J while setting up, except this day we were all essentially out, so we found some roaches and rolled a half J. Between 3 people it was maybe 2 puffs each, just enough to dull the edge but not nearly enough to go over it.
Then we played. This -
August 3, 2002.rar
From start to finish there’s hardly any point where we felt like we weren’t on top of our music and in control of where we felt like going. We hardly said anything during that hour. It’s not perfect but it’s one of the few days where the quality far outweighed the quantity.
I’ve also realized that I’ve been writing this journal thing for going on 8 months now and I haven’t really said much about actually playing music so much as just blab endlessly about my personal issues. Insecurity and the want for external validation are bitches. As much as so many of us try to be fully self-sufficient we’re still social creatures, we need some sort of connection with each other. Music, especially the instrumental side of things provides a clear and easy way for that interaction to occur without needing to show the inherent weakness in addressing the need for that connection directly.
Back at the end of February I came clean about the fact that I had a very self destructive approach to playing music as an indirect rebellion against my Father. For that I feel like I should apologize to my former bandmates but this is hardly the place for that. But it was definitely one of those things that I recognized deep down that needed to be brought up to the surface and left out in the open so that I could start accepting that personal flaw rather than feeling burdened by its existence. Now that I can look back and see a broken boy looking for his lost Dad, now what? I don’t feel like repeating that and I’m left surrounded by gear with little to no real inclination to do much with it. The more I write words the less I feel a need to express myself through sound.
So I’m at a new crossroads, I still have all my gear but no drive to create, so instead I’m going to try forcing myself to re-create. In the middle of that jam there’s a track called ‘Panbient Tortoise’, not sure why it got named that way, I’ve always called it ‘The August 3rd’, and now I’m going to try covering it. I’m hoping that by publicly stating it and in turn writing about the process that I’m able to keep myself motivated in this endeavor. We’ll find out in two weeks.