Hardcore Part 1
Why would a jazz musician like myself be influenced by hardcore music and culture? The older I get, the more I feel like my values are falling in line with some of the most hardcore dudes out there. When you think of ‘hardcore’, I believe most people conjure up images of loud guitars, shattered beer bottles, drunken fist-fights, and drug abuse. And also a certain look; perhaps purple mohawk, studded eyelids and motorcycle jackets or something. I don’t really know, maybe I’m just judging by my own personal bias.
What I’m finding out is that I’m redefining my idea of hardcore because I’ve read a lot recently about musicians and artist that I look up to. For instance, I found a book on the street by Henry Rollins called ‘See A Grown Man Cry/Now Watch Him Die’ that I can only describe as the most hardcore thing I’ve ever read in my life. It’s a collection of poems and essays and other stuff from a 2-year time from 1991-1992 as Henry was on the road almost constantly doing speaking engagements and Rollins Band tour dates. I won’t spoil the book for you, but suffice it to say that you and I are lazy pieces of poop compared to this guy.
I got to thinking about how many thoughts I’ve repressed and ideas I’ve abandoned as stupid over the years. Perhaps I’m afraid of failing. Maybe I’m afraid that exploring these ideas would take a lot of work. What would Henry Rollins say?
“My first inclination was to say you’re a pathetic fucking loser. But I’ll let you in on a little secret: Deep down inside I’m as soft as an 8-week-old kitten and as lazy as a tree sloth. In a perfect world I would sleep 14 hours a day and be a total wastoid. However, I was cursed with being born with the most intense-looking face in the history of mankind. When my parents showed people my baby pictures, they’d tremble in fear. They knew I was destined to be an Army drill sergeant or a homicidal maniac. Or a crazed punk-rock singer. Or a hyper-agitated dude who rants on stages and on your TV screen for hours on end. When you have a perma-scowl like this, you can’t just be a bum. So I forced myself to be productive. I trained my body and mind hard—27 hours a day, 428 days a year. You know when I sleep? From 1 a.m. to 1:15 a.m. You know what I did this morning? I bench-pressed 500 pounds for three hours. Then I came up with a screed about how shitty Nickelback and Harry Potter books are. Then I read a 900-page biography of Ché Guevara. Then I wrote 12 poems. Are they any good? Fuck no. But I did it. And maybe the 12 poems I’ll write tomorrow will be good. Anyway, I did all that before 5 a.m. In the past year I’ve traveled to every country on earth, and when I ran out of countries I invented a few more and traveled to them, too.” (Philadelphia Weekly, March 9, 2010)
Ok then. Let’s all get off our asses and do something.
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