R.E.M. - Automatic For The People

R.E.M. – Automatic For The People

Ana and I sit in the back seat of the limousine, on our way to drop off our cousin Sara. Ana is dressed in black, as usual, but her customary cheerful mood has been clouded over by a shroud of depression. I know I should try to cheer her up, but I lack the strength to give it a good shot. I’m sad too, but I am reluctant to express it. I’m supposed to be the strong, happy one in the family and I don’t want to let Ana down. So, I try to make some small talk.

“Hey, Have you heard the new R.E.M. album yet?”

She looks at me with a chilling sideways glance. “What?”

I scoot nearer to her, even though we are alone in the limo. Our parents are riding with Sara’s parents in another limo ahead of us. I reach out and grab my sister’s pale, white hand and pull her closer to me. I put my arm around her, in what I hope is a comforting gesture.

“I said: Have you heard R.E.M.’s new album Automatic For The People?”

She rolls her eyes back in her usual, annoying manner and turns to face me.

“David I am not in the mood for one of your dumb reviews. Besides, Chris just got the tape and he says it sucks. So leave me alone.”

I resist the urge to throttle her for calling my reviews “dumb” and instead decide to continue the topic: “ Really? Chris didn’t like it? Why not? What did he say?”

She turns away and stares once more off into the distant views her window offers and mutters: “He said it sucks and it’s boring.”

“Whoa! I thought Chris had better taste than that,” I poke. Then I add: “Then again, he is dating you.”

She elbows me in the ribs, quite hard.

“Just kidding,” I laugh. “No, really. He didn’t like it? I’m sorry to hear that.” I pause. Then, “Wait a minute. Didn’t Chris like the Out Of Time album? Wasn’t ‘Shiny Happy People’ his favorite song?”

“Yeah. And…?”

“Well, that explains it! He has no taste! C’mon, ‘Shiny Happy People’? That has to be the worst made-for-cash song in history. You know that’s true as well as I do. Chris is one of those R.E.M. fans that think Green was their first album.”

This makes her smile. “Yeah,” she giggles. “He is a trendy bastard. But he is cute, though.”

It is my turn to laugh. It’s working! I got her to smile. She hasn’t smiled much lately. I need to see her like this. So I continue.

“Anyway, the reason he doesn’t like it is probably because it is not like the commercial crap they’ve dished out on the last three albums. This record is brilliant and it is so depressing.”

At the mention of the word ‘depressing’ her eyes light up. I know right there that I have her full attention. My sister is weird. She is what my friends call a “Goth Chick.” Even though she is basically a happy kid, she thrives on the poetic image of depression, and expresses those feelings through her drab mode of dress.

“Really?” she asks.

“Yeah. It’s full of slow, sad songs.”

“Like Fables Of The Reconstruction?”

“Even more so. At least Fables had ‘Can’t Get There From Here’ to break the angst of the album. Automatic For The People doesn’t even have that. There are no upbeat poppy songs on this one. The entire disc has an underlying theme of death and despair to it. Even the one faster song ‘The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight’ is a bit sad. I tell you this is a total change in the stupid direction towards which R.E.M. had been heading. I don’t really expect many people to like this recording, even though Rolling Stone gave it five stars. And that’s good. I think R.E.M. were getting a bit too comfortable with their popularity. This record is a risk. But one that I believe is well worth taking.”

Ana looks at me for a moment, gathering her thoughts, and then she says: “What if R.E.M. did this record just to get back on the good side of all their original fans that they abandoned when they went Top 40? What if they are just sucking up to the old fans, to get us to like them again? I don’t trust them.”

I look out the window and see that we are approaching our destination. Sara’s private car is pulling in through the gates. I turn back to Ana.

“Yes, that might be the case. But, at least they put out a great album. Songs like ‘Everybody Hurts’ and ‘Night swimming’ tug at your heart. They even do a bittersweet tribute to Andy Kauffman from Taxi in their song ‘Man On The Moon.’ It’s great. I really think that Sara would love Automatic For The People.”

“Yeah Sara loves depressing music. She is just like me.”

“Was,” I correct her. Bad move.

Ana bursts into tears. “Why did she do it? Why did she cut out on me? That’s not fair. I never let her down before.” She wipes tears from her eyes and faces me. “You know what we used to always say to each other? ‘It’s you and me against the world.’ What a joke.”

I’m not very good at emotional scenes, so I don’t even try to offer false comfort that I don’t even feel. I was close to Sara too. Not only was she my cousin, but she was also my very first crush. And the first girl I’ve ever kissed. I thought that we were close and that she could confide in me. I guess I was wrong. I mean, I knew she was a depressed person, but I thought that it was all an act, like the kind that my sister puts on. I never really thought she would put a shotgun to her chest.

I look on as my sister cries. I want to say something. But, what can I say? My sister admired Sara. She was Ana’s idol. I wonder how much my sister’s preoccupation with death is truly just an act. That scares the hell out of me.

The limousine comes to a halt and I help Ana out of it. We approach the gravesite and stand besides our grieving family. We watch as the priest performs the funerary rites and slowly I realize the irony of it all. Sara was never religious. As a matter of fact, she was an atheist. And this religion holds the tenet that all suicides go to hell. So why are we sitting here performing a ritual that in their beliefs is useless over the body of a non-believer. I smile a grim, unseen smile.

As they lower the casket into the ground, I suddenly get a strange urge. I slowly back away and run back to the limousine. I reach into my backpack and search for the new R.E.M. tape. I find it, and slip it into my suit jacket.

When I return to the grave plot, I see that everyone is approaching it and tossing in flowers. I stand behind my sister and touch her arm. She turns around and her tear-streaked face gains a quizzical quality when she sees my smiling face.

“Sara hated flowers. Let’s give her something she’d really enjoy. I have a feeling that wherever Sara is going, she’ll somehow manage to have access to a tape deck. Sara is like that.”

“Was,” my sister shoots back at me. “You’re sick. Let’s do it!”

We approach the gaping hole in which rests Sara’s casket surrounded by a mantle of flowers. My sister reaches out to hold my hand. I wink at her and I toss the tape into the opening.

“I hope she likes it,” my sister whispers.

“I hope so too. I’d hate for her to come back and return it.”

We walk away from the gravesite arm in arm. I lead my sister to the limo and I watch as she gets in. I am overcome by a profound sense of sadness and concern for her. I once more wonder how much of her depression is an act and how much is a warning. What saddens me more is the knowledge that there is no way for me to stop her from hurting herself. I just have to be not only a brother to her, but also a friend. I have to be there if she needs me, but that is such a responsibility. I have to be there for her; But who will be there for me?

From within the limo, Ana calls to me. She wants to know if I’m OK.

I smile to myself as I enter the limousine.

Sinead O'Connor - Am I Not Your Girl?

Sinead O’Connor-

Am I Not Your Girl?

I Take Her On…One-On-One

Stepping off the plane, I can smell the clean, crisp scent of Dublin. Just like Irish Spring soap, I think. Talk about truth in advertising! The Irish morning sun warms my face and I am momentarily blinded as I begin my descent from the airplane steps. I stop at the bottom and look around, as my fellow passengers push past. It is a beautiful Sunday morning and the sky is nearly cloudless. The temperature is remarkably warm, considering the season. I glance at my watch and see it is already 9:00 am. Whoa! Must run if I want to make my 10:15 basketball game with Sinead O’Connor! I gather my meager belongings and rush off towards the terminal.

After the usual baggage return hell, I run outside and look for a cab. I see a large golden one coming toward me and I signal to it. It screeches to a halt in front me and the back, side door opens. I hesitate a moment, expecting someone to get out. But no one does. From within, a shrill voice calls: “Top o’ the morning to ye! Need a cab?”

I look inside the cab and see no one. I walk over to the passenger window and peer in. On the driver’s seat is a tiny old man, dressed in lime green tights and a tunic. He is wearing a wide-brimmed green velvet hat and is sitting atop a small stack of books. Strapped to his feet are what appear to be two small stilts, one of which is holding down the brake pedal. He Turns to me and gives me a warm smile. I can’t help but notice the glint in his eyes as he says: “Get in, Lad!”

I smile back and approach the open door. The sign on the cab door reads Pot O’ Gold Cab Co. I smile at the effort this guy has put into the leprechaun thing. Inside, the man leans back and, with a little wink, he asks: “So, going to see a lass, eh?”

“I guess you can say that. Take me to the Arden Hotel, please”

“Ah, the Arden. You will be there in a flash.” He revs the engine and moves his stilted foot onto the gas. It lands a bit heavily and we lurch forward. As soon as we move into the flow of traffic, the cab takes off like a bat out of hell. The little guy cackles crazily as he works the steering wheel. While he’s whizzing me to my destination, he asks about my mission.

Since I am stuck fast to my seat, I decide to play along and tell him the story. “I work for the Kean College Independent newspaper back in the States. I usually do music reviews. Well, not really reviews, actually. It’s more like stories. Anyway, I heard the new album by Sinead O’Connor and I liked it. So, I asked to interview her. With all the Pope controversy and stuff, it was close to impossible. But I did manage to convince her manager to let me play a one-on-one game of basketball with her. I mean, I am the first person on earth to challenge her to a game of B-Ball. The manager thought it would be good publicity, so they paid for this one-day trip to Ireland so I could play with her. The only problem is that I am not allowed to ask her any questions. So, basically I am going to play her and hope that I can weasel some information out of her. What do you think, little guy?”

The leprechaun is silent as he drives.

“I said- what do you think?” I repeat.

The leprechaun jumps a bit and turns back to me: “I’m sorry what did you say? I didn’t catch that.”

“Never mind,” I mutter.

Once I arrive at the Arden, it takes me nearly a half-hour to get past the belligerent doorman. He keeps asking me who I am and what I want, and something about sour cream that I can’t really understand. I answer his questions, but he is still unbelieving. He mutters something about the potato famine and tries to take a swing at me. I duck and take a couple of steps back just as Sinead’s manager runs out and puts and end to the madness. He escorts me past the hulking brute, who continues to glare at me with bloodshot eyes.

“I’m sorry about him, Mr. Zayas,” the manager says as he escorts me into the lobby. “He’s had quite a horrible weekend, so far. Ok, so let’s go over the rules once again. When you meet Ms. O’Connor you must not ask her any questions, especially about the whole Saturday Night Live pope business. Is that understood?”

I nod. I notice that this man is really nervous. His brow is lined with sweat and he is continually wiping it as he speaks.

“You are to play one-one-one with her until one of you makes ten successful shots. During this time, you are not to address her as Ms. O’Connor. Just call her Sinead. Got that?”

“Yessir!” I respond enthusiastically. Then, I notice two large men approaching us. The guys get on either side of me and begin frisking me.

“A mere formality,” the manager explains.

After the brief frisk, I am led to the hotel gym and shown to the locker room. There, I change into a pair of purple shorts and a pink t-shirt (it was the only clean shirt I had on such short notice!). I glance down and see that someone left a pair of new looking sneakers under the bench. I look around to make sure I am unseen and put them into my bag. Finders keepers! I try to justify to myself. I get up and head out to the court.

I approach the court and see that four figures await me there. I recognize Sinead O’Connor’s manager, and judging by the camera equipment, one of the figures is a photographer. And then there is Sinead herself. Even though she is dressed in a baggy grey sweat suit and pink headband, she looks beautiful. She holds the basketball under one arm, and is in a conversation with the fourth, unknown figure. She notices my approach and turns to me with her free hand extended in a handshake gesture.

“Hello David,” she says with a friendly smile. “Nice meeting you.” She looks down at my feet and asks: “What happened? Didn’t you like the new sneakers I left in the changing room for you? Were they the wrong size?”

I think very quickly. “Oh, I loved them. But these are my lucky sneakers. I figured I needed these today. Hi. Wow, I can’t believe I’m here talking to you. I love your music. I mean, I…”

“Yes. Thank you,” she cuts me off. “But we’re not really here to talk, are we?” She smiles a pleasant smile again, but this time it looks a bit more strained. She turns to the fourth figure and introduces him to me as Digger. No last name; Just Digger.

We take a couple of publicity photos and soon the game begins. Her manager throws the ball up in the air and Sinead gets it. Now keep in mind that I don’t know anything about basketball. I only challenged her to a game of basketball because it was the first thing to pop into my mind. So, she basically gets off the first shot while I’m still trying to figure out which end of the court is mine. She slam-dunks it and the crowd of three roars. “Good shot!” I call out to her.

She smiles and tosses me the ball. I take it and start my feeble attempt at dribbling. She comes out of nowhere and snatches the ball away from me. She runs down to her end and dunks it again. I hear that guy Digger in the sidelines laughing, and it begins to piss me off. I need some sort of tactic here, I scheme silently. I get an idea and immediately put it into effect.

“You know, Ms. O’Connor, I really like your new album Am I Not Your Girl?” I begin as she tosses me the ball again. “It is very interesting to hear you remake all those old songs that influenced you into becoming a singer.”

“Are you going to talk or play?” she asks, a bit irritated.

“Oh, I am sorry.” I begin to dribble. Just as I sense her about to creep up and steal the ball, I stop and clutch the ball close to my chest. “It’s just that I want to tell you how much that album means to me.”

She has no answer as she flies past me and lands on the floor, arms outstretched.

I reach down and try to help her up, but she pushes my hand away.

“Why didn’t you try to score? Go ahead! I don’t need your help! Play!”

I pull my hand back and dribble down the court to my side and take a shot. It’s not even close. The ball sails awkwardly through the air and lands on the photographer’s camera, causing it to smash on the floor.

“Sorry,” I offer. “I guess there won’t be any pictures, eh?”

The photographer throws his hands up in disgust and walks away furious. The manager shoots me a disapproving look and I turn away and back to Sinead. She isn’t smiling anymore. I toss her the ball.

She takes off across the court while I follow, trying to get the ball away from her. She is too quick, but not quicker than my tongue: “My favorite songs are Success Has Made A Failure Of Our Home, I Want To Be Loved By You, and Don’t Cry For Me Argentina. To me, you ARE Evita!”

She shoots and scores.

I continue: “The album is so mellow, though. I mean, your younger audience doesn’t know most of the songs you have remade. The people who do know theses songs are the older audience you pissed off in the States. Don’t get me wrong. I agree with your point of view against organized religion. I just don’t think that will help out your album, financially speaking. This record sort of alienates your younger fans and your antics alienate your older, more conservative fans. A lot of small-minded people who can’t separate your beautiful music from your opinions no longer like your music. They think you are a liar, full of anger and hate. How do you respond to that?”

All the while that I spoke, Sinead just stood there glaring at me, ball in hand. From across the court, the manager screams: “I said no questions!”

Digger gets up from the bleachers and cracks his knuckles, seemingly ready for action.

Sinead stares me in the eye and screams back to her manager: “Wait! I got something to say to this hack!”

“Hack? Moi?” I say, offended.

“I am not a liar,” she begins. “And I am not full of hatred. But I hate lies. And so the liars hate me. The same who can’t stand the sight of a starving baby. Can you really say you’re not in pain, like me? Or any of us not living painfully? Pain is what their lies have kept us in.

“But the war has started now and truth will win. Many of us are going to lose our lives. That’s okay, because to live we have to die. The enemies of God will say that it is chaos. Just remember what Jesus did in the temple. And be patient.

“Exactly why do you think he was assassinated? Who was it that did the dirty deed? Who didn’t like the answers they received. Look at the one wearing the collar. Then or now, there’s only ever been one liar and it’s the Holy Roman Empire. And this is exactly what they did: They told us lies to take us away from God. So, yeah I am angry. But, I am not full of hate. I’m full of love. God said: I bring not peace, I bring a sword.”

With these final words, she raises the ball, throws it full-force at my head and walks away.

As I get up from the floor, only one thought fills my aching head: Wow! I think I’m in love with her!

My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult - Sexplosion!

Sexplosion!

My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult

My heart races and my knuckles are bone white from gripping the steering wheel as I pull up my Mistress’ domicile. I nervously turn off the car, debating whether or not I will go through with this. I glance over at the crumpled newspaper ad on the passenger seat that promises “Instant Action! Deep Satisfaction! An experience you’ll always remember” and a shiver runs up my spine. Do I know what I am getting into?

Biting my lower lip, I open the Chevy’s door and step out into the cool night. I look up at my Mistress’ brownstone and see a single light on at the upstairs window. Gathering my trench coat around me, I walk up the short stairs that lead to her door. I grasp the goblin-shaped brass knocker and knock three times. From within, I sense movement and a moment later the door begins to move. It is opened by a very tall, muscular black man. He is shirtless and appears to be sweating profusely.

A second later I realize that it is not sweat he’s covered in, but baby oil. Trying to ignore the overpowering sickly-sweet smell, I greet him and begin to introduce myself. He only raises a finger to his lips to silence me and beckons me forward into the gloomy darkness of the foyer. Before my eyes completely adjust to the darkness, the dark man removes my trench coat and hat. He hisses: “wait” as he disappears into another room.

I stand alone at the threshold, feeling very vulnerable and excited. I know that tonight I will experience something I have only ever fantasized about. Tonight I will be debased. Tonight I will be put in my rightful place. Tonight I will serve.

My nostrils flare again as I become aware of the oiled man’s presence. He reaches out his hand and growls: “Pay up front!” I pay the prescribed amount and he leads me into the room beyond a set of red velvet curtains.

The adjacent room is lit only by candlelight. The room’s dimensions are made unclear by the black lace curtains, which cover its walls. Against the left curtains there is a large wooden structure in the shape of an “X”. On the four points of the “X” structure there are leather restraints. Against the right curtains, there is a large wooden table covered in bondage paraphernalia: a dog collar with chain, a riding crop, a leather corset, a leather hooded mask, handcuffs with no apparent keyhole, pixie stix, an enema bag with syringe, Ben-Wa balls, a spiked belt, a ping-pong paddle, several dildos, and a large CD/Stereo system. The huge speakers were on the floor on either side of the table. In the middle of the room, hanging from the ceiling is a Vietnamese Man Trap. I get goose bumps looking at such a magnificent piece of erotic art.

My Dominatrix steps out from behind the black lace curtains across from me. She stands there in all her dark, powerful glory. Her shiny stiletto boots commanding to be licked. Her leather-clad ebony body demanding to be obeyed. Towering over 6 feet in her boots, with an added 6 inches from her Afro hairstyle, she is a statuesque giant of a woman. I look upon her cold face and her icy glare chills my soul while it warms my loins. In her left hand she holds a leather whip with a stainless steel handle. And in her right hand she holds what appears to be a CD case.

She notices my stare and screams at me: “You worthless dog! Did I give you permission to look at me? Cast your eyes downward, you bastard! Good. That’s better, you pig. Now, strip out of those clothes! You are not good enough to wear them. Yes, that’s right. Out on that leather corset and the dog collar. Look at you, you little Sissy. While you are doing that, I’m going to put on some music to help your conversion. It’s My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult’s new album Sexplosion and you better like it, slave!”

As I place the collar around my neck, the first song “The International Sin Set” blares from the speakers. The first thing I notice is how danceable it is. Buzz McCoy’s funky beats are peppered with samples about being tied up. My head starts to bob up and down a bit, as I become one of the “sin set” myself. It is a really catchy tune and it set the tone for some down and dirty fun.

As I am lacing up the corset, I hear the opening baselines of “Leathersex” and I have an immediate physical reaction. The song builds into a total disco stomper complete with oohs and ahhs. Groovie Man’s slinky vocals about being bathed in leather and stripping before and altar go perfectly with my current situation. I even begin to dance a little bit, until my Mistress catches me and gives me a short, smart slap across my bare buttocks.

I straighten up and continue to dress myself, donning a pair of leather boots that were just brought to me by Mr. Baby-Oil. “A Martini Built For 2” subtly grooves up into my ears. I notice it is mellower that the earlier songs. It seems to be a parody of the single’s bar dating scene. I begin to get the feeling that this whole album may be a concept album celebrating the open sexuality of the 70’s disco scene.

My Dominatrix forces the leather hood over my head and I can no longer see my surroundings, but I can hear the next track, “Dream Baby.” This is a very pleasant song, with a laid back electronic beat that totally embraces and cements Thrill Kill Kult’s new direction. It is unlike any other song I have ever heard from them. It would appear to me that they have totally shed the Satanist image they have worked so hard to cultivate in their prior releases.

By the time “Mood No. 6” comes on, the chain has already been attached to my dog collar and she has been leading me on all fours around the room. This atmospheric piece of music is the closest this album has come to the older Thrill Kill Kult sound. It chills me and I know that if we were listening to and LP or Tape, this would be the end of Side A. They usually do a short atmospheric piece like this to close out the first halves of their albums and I recognize it as such.

The album perks up again as the current single and title track “Sexplosion” comes on. I have arrived at what I blindly recognize as the “X” structure. My Dominatrix removes my hood and chain and makes me lay back against the structure with my arms outstretched. My head shakes a bit to the beat as she begins to strap me down. I am amazed at how “Sexplosion” kind of incorporates a rap style vocal approach to its electronic funky flourishes. And the sample “Sex is perverted and sick” really makes me smile. It is truly the icing on the cake.

Seeing my smile, my Dominatrix slaps me and tells me to behave or there will be hell to pay. She walks over to the table and grabs the riding crop. She walks back slapping the riding crop against her hip to the beat of the opening strains of “Princess Of Queens.” I am in total shock at the sound of the song. This is the total opposite of what Thrill Kill Kult should sound like! It is an over the top disco song that sounds like early to mid 80’s Latin Freestyle club music mixed with Donna Summer type vocals. What shocks me more is the fact that I kind of like it. I feel guilty for feeling this way, but that what I came here for: to feel guilty.

She begins to beat me with the riding crop. The feeling is not as painful as I expected. It actually felt kind of good. It was more like a tingly sensation than actual pain. My mind is focused more on the music that I am hearing. I even smile a bit when I hear Groovy Man’s guest vocals doing a little rap in the middle of the song.

She senses my lack of reaction; she blindfolds me and switches to using the whip. My dominating angel starts to run the leather whip across my bare chest. I am in subservient ecstasy when I hear the first single off the album (and major crossover success) “Sex On Wheelz.” This is more conventional Thrill Kill Kult fare, relaying heavily on the ripping guitar groove and reptilian vocals. I laugh in recognition and my Dominatrix takes this as a sign of disrespect. She let’s the whip and verbal abuse fly!

For a few minutes I am in agony, but the pure fun of the song allows me to get lost somewhere inside where pain is meaningless and only pleasure reigns supreme. I can only hear the crunchy guitar over and over and even begin to shake my body in time with the beat.

The Dominatrix switches over to using the paddle, but I am no longer paying attention to the pain. I am lost in the catchy rhythm of “Continental Touch.” It has an accessible hook that is sure to satisfy dance maniacs while continuing to alienate older fans who love TKK’s older, darker sound. Even though I am one such fan, I admire them for doing something so unpredictable and tongue-in-cheek as this album satirizing the whole 70’s discotheque sound. And if I can readily embrace it, I am sure other TKK fans will also approve.

My Dominatrix hits me harder and plunges foreign objects into my body, but it is to no avail. I have found something that turns me on more than her abuse. The slinky music of “Mystery Babylon” closes out the CD, sounding like an advertisement for prostitution. The Bomb Gag Girlz croon: “We got instant action, deep satisfaction, an experience you’ll always remember…” and that is enough to send me over the edge. My body begins to convulse and I strain against the leather bonds, letting the sweet feeling of release sweep through my body.

As I come down from the mountain of ecstasy, my mistress removes my blindfold and gives me an evil leer. She thinks she is the cause of my satisfaction, but in reality my pleasure was found in Sexplosion by My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult.

When she unties me, she tells me that I am a good little slave and pats me on the head. All I can say is: “Yeah, whatever. Say, you got a cigarette, Babe?”

In the Nursey - Duality

In The Nursery- Duality

David Gets Naked

The fall leaves drifted lazily around us as Doug and I walked deeper into the woods. The red and orange carpet of former tree dwellers spread out before us along the path that would take us to our desired location. All was silent save the crunching sound of the leaves as we trod upon them.

The chill autumn wind tore through my jacket in short, blustery attacks making me dread the bare task I had ahead of me. Pausing a moment, I gathered my jacket closer to keep me warm for the last few minutes I was to wear it. I knew I needed a cigarette.

“Let me get a cigarette, man” I asked him.

Doug looked over at me, smiling. He stopped, dramatically put down the apparently heavy film equipment, and fished around his coat pocket for his pack of Marlboro Lights.

Handing me a cigarette, he said: “Are you ready for this shot, Dave?”

“It’s cold,” was my answer.

“Hey man, ‘Anything For Film’, right?” He lit one too.

“Yeah. But couldn’t you have chosen summer for these naked outdoor scenes?”

Doug smiled, picked up the film equipment and began to walk again. “Because then we couldn’t get the beautiful fall colors against your skin,” he chided over his shoulder.

“But…but it’s black and white film!” I called after him. It fell on deaf ears. He was further down the path. “Damn!” I cursed to myself and followed my director.

We reached the site we had previously scouted out and began setting up the camera equipment. While he was busy, I looked around the dew-drenched woods. It was early morning and all was still. I spotted a large, dark gray deer frozen and staring at me. In that moment, when I locked eyes with the buck, a cold bitter fear swept through my body. I still don’t know why that deer caused such a deep sense of panic within me, but the reaction I had was unlike anything I have ever experienced. The entire frightful moment was dispelled by Doug’s shouting of my name. The deer shook and suddenly bolted away to its right. The thick and thorny underbrush instantly engulfed its massive, dusky body. I turned and half-trotted to where Doug stood.

“Dude, I’m set. Take it off!” Doug commanded.

“Let’s do this quick. I’m going to freeze,” I said as I began to strip. When I was completely naked, I looked up at Doug and quipped: “Ready for my close-up, Mr. Demille.”

We both chuckled and Doug began to film my naked body. My task was to stand completely still and look off into the distance, as Doug went around me several times. It was cold, and I am sure certain parts of me where shrinking up into my body, but I held on. The only thing keeping me from freezing to death was the knowledge that the next scene we would shoot on Monday would involve another nude scene in a warm studio between Nicole and me. Just the thought of finally seeing her naked kept me warm. “All for art’s sake, of course” I smiled to myself.

The film shoot was over relatively quick, but not before I had frostbite on extremities of my body I didn’t even know I had. For the first ten minutes, Nicole’s image kept me warm; but every second after that, I got colder and colder. Eventually Nicole’s nude body morphed into a large, warm, fuzzy winter coat. When it was over, I ran and dove back into my clothes. My underwear wound up backwards, but I didn’t really care.

Walking back to the car, I brought up the fact that most professional actors get paid a large sum of money for the performance I had just put on. Doug ignored me, and just smoked his cigarette.

“You know what I would really like, Doug?”

“What? Top billing?”

“No. How about a new tape?” I began as I reached into his coat pocket for a cigarette. “Let’s stop by the mall and you buy me something. After all, I just risked pneumonia for you.”

Doug stopped to give me better access to his pack of smokes. “How about I buy you a pack of cigarettes, so you can stop bumming mine, ya grub?”

“I resent that! Give me a light?”

Doug rolled his eyes as he complied. “Your life is worth the price of a tape?”

“Right now it is,” I inhaled deeply and smiled the most pleasant smile I could muster.

Doug shrugged his shoulders and turned back towards the car.

At the Livingston Mall, we stopped by Sam Goody’s and Doug picked up the new Ministry and Front 242 Cds. I already had those (on tape) and was kind of dumbfounded at the poor selection this record store had to offer. I was about to settle for either the new Public Enemy or some Belgian techno compilation, when my eyes came upon a tape that made my heart skip a beat. It was the new In The Nursery tape Duality. I dropped the other two tapes and grabbed the only copy of it in stock.

I ran back to Doug, who was pretending not to browse through the Show tunes section, and screamed: “I found what I want. Let’s go!”

The extremely attractive cashier Michelle took care of us (I have a thing for record store cashiers- they are usually hot, and if you play your cards right, you can get a discount) and we left. On the way to the car, I explained to Doug who In The Nursery is.

“These guys are great! They’re a British band that plays some of the most beautiful music I have ever heard. The group is made up of twin brothers Klive and Nigel Humberstone, with sporadic vocals supplied by Dolores Marguerite C and snare drums provided by Q. I have a their last album L’Esprit and it is amazing. They do a haunting song called “To The Faithful” that would put Beethoven to shame!”

“Uhm Hmm,” Doug sighed because he knew I was exaggerating. “What do they sound like?”

“It’s kind of like modern classical music with an edge. Sort of like Enya, but if she was in the military.”

“Gee, a militant Enya. That’s different,” he said as he got into the car. From inside: “Let’s listen to it.”

We drove back through South Mountain Reservation as the music drifted from the speakers. In The Nursery’s music can only be described as majestic. Listening to them can be a humbling experience. The sound of classical music mixed with the military snare drums and bugles sprinkled with ethereal French vocals make Duality a unique recording. The eleven songs on this tape are interwoven with each other to create a vast mural of sound that envelops your consciousness and allows you to drift away to distant shores in mythical lands. But one track in particular stood out from the dream-like wall of sound and made my feet want to move.

The track “Always” is different from of the other songs because on this track In The Nursery combine their trademark sound with an accessible dance beat. The hybrid created by these musical alchemists works because it is not an overt “club-style” beat, but an inconspicuous groove that kind of builds into a foot shaker. One minute, we were listening to beautiful poetry read over neo-classical music, and the next we are both bopping our heads and playing the beat of the dashboard and steering wheel respectively. I would not be surprised if “Always” was the single of the album.

The overall feeling one gets from listening to Duality is one of hope, optimism, beauty, and peace. Lyrics like “Keep peace with your soul, it is still beautiful, the universe is unfolding as it grows” strike a chord within me. Most of the songs consist of poems both in English and in French being read over beautiful music. In my particular case, this tape helps me deal with the constant confusion that the duality of my life brings. Maybe I am interpreting the music in a way too personal basis, but isn’t that what music is about? It’s all about your own interpretation and the way it makes you feel. Positive lyrics with original music are definitely what makes Duality by In The Nursery such a rare and precious find. I give it the highest recommendation.

When we arrived at my house Doug handed me a blank tape. I looked at him and asked him the purpose of the tape. He told me that he wanted me to make a copy of Duality.

“So, I take it that you liked it,” I grinned.

“Are you kidding me?” He lit another cigarette for both of us. “I love it! Besides, I’m thinking of using it as the soundtrack for what we filmed today. So make yourself a copy and give me the original tomorrow.”

“But, Doug! You bought that tape for me!”

“Hey, man. Anything for film.”

Skinny Puppy - Last Rights

Skinny Puppy

Last Rights

One man’s breakdown is another man’s pleasure. That’s what I always say. I love to see other people’s suffering. I love to hear their painful cries. And when there isn’t enough suffering, I go out and cause some more. But I can’t anymore. That’s what got me in here as a permanent resident of The Anchora Institute For The Criminally Insane. “An anchor on reality,” the good doctor says. Fuck him.

Now I have to content myself with Fangoria magazines, the Star-Ledger, and whatever tapes my buddy Ron can bring to me. He knows not to bring any Paula Abdul or that Clapton crap. He just supplies me with the best audio journals of pain and misery.

Yesterday he got me the new Skinny puppy release Last Rights. He knows I love Skinny Puppy. They have always written great songs of torment like “Chainsaw,” “Testure,” and “Smothered Hope,” so I expected no less from this new one. I was ecstatic to hear that this is their most agonizing album yet.

Whereas on their previous albums the pain that they have conveyed has been that of others, on this tape the pain is personal. The music delves into Ogre’s decaying mind and we are witness to his total nervous collapse. Every song is a gasping confession from the depths of his tortured soul. Ah, the sweet ecstasy of his agony!

The themes that Last Rights deals with are the many facets of a deteriorating human mind. Songs such as “Inquisition” and “Knowhere?” deal with paranoia and persecution. “Lust Chance” and “Love In Vein” screech about the delusions we all suffer from that can often lead to violence. I am terribly acquainted with those delusions.

Musically, Last Rights is Skinny Puppy’s least accessible recording in the nine years of their existence. And for a group known for their harsh sound, that is truly saying something. This recording is fraught with dissonant beats and buzzing wails, tweaked and faded in and out randomly. Buried beneath the cacophony are samples of distant whispering voices chanting cryptic messages. This tape takes to the extreme the sound they began with VIVISECT VI and cultivated in last year’s Too Dark Park.

There are some standout tracks on this tape. “Inquisition,” the first single, is destined for the dance floor with its catchy dance beat. “Killing Game” is actually a pretty ballad- or at least sounds like one, until you listen to its lyrics’ overtones of sadism and torture. And “Riverz End,” a continuation to the song “Rivers” from 1989’s Rabies, is a beat-driven atmospheric instrumental that for some reason makes part of my anatomy tingle with delight.

Last Rights has an air of finality to it. The title, a play on the Last Rites of burial, also references the fact that this is their last contractual album under Canadian label Nettwerk records, which has nurtured them since their (snicker) puppyhood. Listening to it, you get the feeling of a group coming to terms with its past, both thematically and sonically. But not in a way that signifies forward movement. More like a way of closing up a wonderful can of worms before they have a chance to dry up in the sun.

Perhaps this is why I am getting a paranoid feeling that they are breaking up. But I really shouldn’t worry about it too much. They won’t break up. And if they do, I’ll find a way out of this hole and wring their scrawny, little necks. After all, who else could provide the sweet sonic misery they do? So, they will continue to appease my hunger for pain, even if it’s with their dying breath.

Nine Inch Nails - Happiness In Slavery

Happiness In Slavery-Nine Inch Nails

The Video

The darkness within The Pipeline increased as my woman and I entered within its confines. We walked past the front bar where the various vampires drank their crimson drinks, and approached closer to the pulsating dance floor. I gripped my partner’s warm hand, leading her through the ghoulish crowd that contorted itself in synch with the pounding Industrial beat. All around us, the beautiful dark figures twisted and turned to allow us safe passage through their midst.

Reaching the other side of the human mass, we came upon my small circle of friendly associates gathered as usual by the left side of the glowing stage. The first welcoming face to reach out for me was that of the woman who introduced me to the subculture of The Pipeline, Denise. She approached me, as she always does, with extended arms and I eased into her tight embrace. It felt good to see her again. I have been away for far too long.

Breaking the embrace, I turned toward my beautiful lady and commenced the introductions. “Robyn,” I began, “this is friend Denise. Denise, this is my girlfriend Robyn. She’s up here from Philly for Thanksgiving.” And so, with similar words I introduced to all of my compatriots: Amanda, Ileana, Joseph, Mark, and Joe.

It was Robyn’s first time at The Pipeline on a Saturday night and I was very happy and proud to finally get to introduce her to some of my friends. I have been involved with her since June, when our paths crossed by the grace of some divine being or another, but I hadn’t yet had a chance to introduce her to every one of my friends. I believed it was important to our relationship if we began to share with one another the many worlds that we are a part of. I have seen a portion of her twisted world and now she saw was seeing a portion of mine. I hoped that what she saw would bring us closer and not drive us further apart.

We passed beyond our friends, and mounted the far recesses of the stage. We sat down with our backs to the large video screen and held hands as we watched the dancing shapes. I lit a cigarette for her and watched as she looked out toward the dance floor. I was filled with wonder as my eyes once again explored her. Her golden hair fell in cascades, framing the radiance of her lovely face. The graceful curves of her cheekbones appeared to be made by the brushstrokes from the hands of an inspired artist. Her perfect nose appeared to have been added as a final special touch to augment her already immaculate visage.

My eyes traveled further down, taking in breathlessly the rest of her body’s impressive features. Either she was truly one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, or I was caught up in one of the strongest crushes any man has ever known. At that moment, I felt a hunger begin inside of me that I knew would only grow stronger and stronger as the hours wore on. I found myself reaching out and touching the delicate skin on her arm. When she looked over at me and smiled, my insides melted and I felt my face flush. I smiled back a helpless smile, hoping that my eyes had not revealed the full extent of my desire for her.

A troubled look crossed her face and she asked: “Are you ok, David?”

“Robyn, I…” I swallowed hard, and continued: “I, mean… This weekend was fantastic. I was so happy to be able to eat Thanksgiving supper with your family and to have you meet mine. I really missed you. It is so great having you here with me. I just wish it could be like this all the time. It sucks that it’s almost Sunday already.”

Her eyes suddenly looked wet and shiny. She grabbed my hand, holding it within both of her own. “I know. I don’t want to go back to Philly. I want to be here. With you.”

I leaned slowly toward her and our lips met with soft tenderness that soon drifted towards hot passion. Our chemistry was unbelievable. I loved kissing her. I loved the taste of her mouth and the feel of her cheeks against mine. The music stopped and we held each other a bit longer as our kiss dissipated and was replaced by our mutual smiles.

“Listen up,” D.J. Bobby’s voice boomed over the P.A. system. “Coming up now is the new video by Nine Inch Nails. I don’t like the song much, but the video is great. Check it out, folks, cause you won’t see this one on MTV.”

My heart fluttered. A new video by Nine Inch Nails! Robyn and I moved away from the screen and turned to watch the black and white images. What we saw both repulsed us and held us in rapt fascination. It was the video for “Happiness In Slavery” off their EP Broken.

The video began with Trent Reznor chained inside a metal cage screaming at the top of is lungs. The scene then cut to a middle-aged businessman entering some sanctuary that looked like a dentist’s office inside an old dusty warehouse. The man stood before a mirror and began to undress, neatly folding his clothes and placing them in a pile at the foot of a large mechanical chair. When he was fully naked, we could see that his pubic area was shaven. He walked towards the chair and sat upon it. Immediately, the chair came to life, and in unison with the beat, shackles appeared and restrained the man. A myriad of mechanical arms rose up from the sides of the chair and began to ravage the businessman’s body. Metal nails plunged into his body, while he maintained a calm facial expression. Eventually, the chair began to mutilate him, disemboweling him and skinning his penis. The man’s happy demeanor never changed as his own blood rained down upon him. The camera moved panned slowly down towards the bottom of the chair and we can see that the chair is actually a meat grinder and the man was slowly being turned into ground beef that fell down into a puddle of viscera and worms. From this mess, the form of a man took form and began to rise. It was Trent Reznor. He got up from the puddle, dressed in the man’s clothes, and stared at himself momentarily in the video. He smiled at his new body and walked out. The entire video was reminiscent of the Japanese cult movie Tetsuo.

When the video ended, I turned to Robyn to get her reaction. When our eyes met, I was happy to see that her feeling was the same as mine. She understood it! She wasn’t repulsed by it, like other people would have been. I loved her! We both smiled and said: “Brilliant!”

The rest of the night we spent dancing to the aggressive rhythm of the dark music. Our bodies moved in perfect harmony to each other, our limbs rising and falling to the beat. Her gaze held mine, capturing me and holding me as a willing hostage to her beauty. I was a slave to her charms and I found certain happiness in that slavery. The pain of her departure would make me a new and better man.

We sat again on the stage that was our world and held each other as the music played on. Again, I turned to her and whispered: “I wish this night could be our entire life.”

She leaned her head against my chest and cried: “I don’t want to go back.”

I took a chance and suggested: “Then don’t. Stay here with me and we’ll become two Punks living in the Lower East Side of New York City. We’ll wander the nights together and fight off the dawn.”

She smiled and held me tighter. “I can’t,” she said.

“I know,” I replied. “But we can always dream, can’t we?”

The music faded as our embrace grew stronger.

Shakespear's Sister - Hormonally Yours

Shakespear’s Sister – Hormonally Yours

Last night I came across a picture of her, so I called her. The phone rang four times before I realized how late it was. It was almost 2:35 am. I should have hung up, and I was about to when a groggy voice answered from the other side: “Hello?”

“Uh…Hello,” I said. It was a man’s voice. Was she married or something? I hoped not. I didn’t want to get her in trouble or something so I was very careful. “Sorry to be calling this late, sir. My name is Anthony Ferriola and I am the vicar of St. Andrew’s Church in Vancouver. Does someone by the name of Siobhan Fahey still live there?” Perhaps a bit too careful now that I think about it.

“Siobhan? Yeah. She’s sleeping though. What would you want with her at 2:30 am, father?” He chuckled and added: “Is her soul in danger?”

“Actually, son, it just might be. About four years ago she made a promise to our church that in four years from then she would return and do a week of missionary work. She was supposed to be here tonight and she never showed. Now, son, do you know how serious it is to break a promise to God?”

“I, uh… I guess I better wake her then. Hold on.”

“Bless you, son.” I had to struggle hard not to giggle.

After an undecipherable whispered conversation on the end, she finally came to the phone.
“Who is this?” she asked, obviously annoyed.

“Hi! It’s me. Play along, please.”

“Oh, that Father Anthony! How have you been? I’m very sorry. You see, I’m married now and I had forgotten about my ‘missionary’ work.”

“Funny. Listen I need to see you. We gotta talk.”

There was a momentary silence on the line and then she said: “Well, Father, Vancouver is very far away. I’m sure God will forgive me for not going if you pray for me, right?”

“I really need to see you. There are a couple of things I forgot to tell you before we broke up. I could meet you in Jersey somewhere?”

“Oh, you have a branch of your church in Jersey! Where? Hoboken! That’s great. What do you say I stop by tomorrow at about 1:00 pm?”

I sighed. I haven’t been to Hoboken in years. “Good. I’ll be at Pier Platters. Where we first met.”

“Oh, father. The past is the past. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I hung up the phone and smiled to myself. I pressed play on my tape player and listened to her band’s current hit “Stay.”

Wow! I couldn’t believe that her little side project actually took off. When I first met her, she was fresh out of Bananarama and she and her friend Marcella had been struggling to get some success with their new group. Their first CD tanked. But they kept it up and now they had a Top 40 hit and their photograph in Rolling Stone. Amazing!

I lay in bed all night listening to their new album Hormonally Yours, and though: My ex-girlfriend is in Shakespear’s Sister. Cool!

So, here I am now at Pier Platters waiting for her to show up. I casually look around the store and see her new album. I pick it up and see once more that she is wearing the “SEX” sweater that I gave her years ago. That’s one of the reasons I had for calling her. It made me nostalgic to see it again. That, combined with the lyrics to “Stay,” drove me to call her. I had to know once and for all if…

“A new fan?” a voice behind me asks.

I turn around and there she is, She is stunningly beautiful in her own funny way. My stomach does a flip as I look into her cool eyes. I am instantly reminded of how she looked in the video for “Stay” as the evil entity that comes to claim the dying man.

I muster a nervous “Hi” and quickly follow it with a “You look really good. How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” she smiles. “So, you going to buy that on record or CD?”

“I… I already have it. On tape.” I put the album back in its place. “Sorry about calling you so late last night.”

“It’s okay, ‘Father Ferriola.’ Anything for the clergy,” she laughs. “So, what’s up, you nut? Why did you want to see me so bad for?”

I love her British accent. Even the way she pronounced ‘nut’ was delicious. “I’ll tell you in a bit. Let’s get some coffee.”

We walk down the street, headed to the coffee shop. On the way, we exchange pleasantries and eventually she asks me what I think of her album Hormonally Yours.

“I really like it. The sound that you have developed in this tape is a blessed marriage between ‘alternative’ rock and dance music. It has many catchy hooks and beats that I predict will make it to most progressive dance clubs.”

“What do you think are the strongest tracks,” she asks.

“I really love ‘I Don’t Care,’ ‘My 16^th Apology,’ ‘Black Sky,’ and ‘The Trouble with Andre.’ But of course, my favorite track is…”

“I bet it’s ‘Stay’ isn’t it?”

“You got it. It’s fantastic! Marcella sounds just like Kate Bush. From hearing the single, one would assume that she is the lead singer. But you actually do most of the singing on the record and she just backs you up and plays guitar. As a single, ‘Stay’ was a wise choice for commercial success. But as representation of the album, it is quite misleading. The album itself, however, has a lot of potential. It wouldn’t surprise me if it topped some charts.”

“I’m glad you like it. I’m really pleased with it myself. Like the band name?”

I laugh. “Yeah, Shakespear’s Sister. I always knew you were a Smiths fan, but to name your band after one of their songs? It’s great! Plus, I like the double reference to the person that supposedly wrote all of William Shakespeare’s works: A woman. Clever. Oh, here we are.”

We arrive at the café, and ordered two cappuccinos. We sit by the roadside in silence. Suddenly, she looks at me in her gorgeously weird way. I can feel her stare, but I do not acknowledge it with a stare of my own. Instead, I look at the passing cars. I know that I will not find peace until I ask her my burning question, but I don’t know how to approach the topic.

“So,” she breaks the silence. “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, or what?”

“Not much,” I lie. “I just wanted to discuss the album with you. Maybe get an interview for The Independent, or something…”

“You called me at 2:30 am for a fucking interview? I don’t believe this! Here I am, thinking that you have a problem and need a friend to talk to, and all you want is to use me for your damn newspaper! You are an opportunistic bastard. You haven’t changed a bit. I’m leaving!”

She gets up from the chair and my heart sinks. I must stop her. So, I give it a shot.

“Wait! The reason I asked you here is… I really need to know. Is ‘Stay’ about me?”

She freezes in her tracks. She slowly sits back down as a smile spreads across her face. It is a very amused, yet chilling smile. The way that only a woman, in her infinite complexity, can smile.

I smile back at her. “Is it?”

“You are so conceited. What makes you think that I would write a song about you?”

“Because you still love me, perhaps?”

She throws her head back and laughs.

“You pompous ass! That’s very funny, but quite untrue. I don’t love you anymore. It’s been four years since we broke up. I moved on. You really treated me like shit and I fell for it. You never took me, or my band seriously. It was always you first. You newspaper. You. It’s always about you. Why can’t you just drop it? I don’t love you anymore. It’s over. I am my own person now. I depend on no one but my music and myself. Besides, if I remember correctly, it was you who dumped me.”

“An honest mistake, I assure you.” I smile a smug smile and look down at her hands. “Besides, it’s not too late, is it?”

“What do you mean?” She looks nervous. “Of course it’s too late. I’m married.”

“No you’re not! You’re not wearing a wedding ring. Nor and engagement ring. Listen, I don’t care who that guy was that answered the phone last night. I forgive you. I know you still love me, so what do you say? Let’s give it another try.”

“You are fucking crazy! Listen and get it through your thick skull: I DON’T LOVE YOU! I’m married to Dave Stewart from the Eurythmics. You remember: Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This? That’s my husband; you prick! I’m out of here!” She gets up and starts to walk away.

“What about the interview?” I scream after her.

“Screw your interview!”

This is my last shot. I think fast.

“You better hope and pray/You make it safe back to your own world,” I sing out to her. “Remember? You used to always say that to me before I left your apartment! And now it’s one of your song lyrics! It can’t be a coincidence! ‘Stay’ is about me, isn’t it?”

From halfway down the block she screams: “That was a long time ago! I was young and stupid. You meant something to me. But it’s over! Over! You are nobody to me now. Lose my fucking number!” She turns the corner and disappears.

I knew the song was about me! Ha! She still loves me!

I lean back in my chair and sip my cappuccino, amidst the bewildered looks of the other coffee patrons.

“She’ll be back,” I inform everyone around me.

She’ll be back.

Nine Inch Nails - Broken

Nine Inch Nails – broken

Neil drove along the Parkway, headed toward Vintage Vinyl in Fords. I sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the trees that sped by, leaving a ghostly trail of green in their wake. Neil and I have been traveling for nearly a half an hour without speaking a word to each other. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though. It was more of an understood arrangement by which we would both just enjoy the sound of the wind that rushed past our open windows.

I turned to watch him. He looked content as he weaved his way through the cars before us. My heart began to ache with the dull pain of longing for him. Today was our last day together, before he had to go back to college in Massachusetts. I knew I was going to miss him, but I struggled hard not to think about it until the moment was upon us.

Sensing my gaze, he turned to me and smiled. My frown instantly turned upside down and became an open, wide smile. He took a momentary glance at the road ahead and turned to face me again. He broke the silence: “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just thinking about tonight.”

He once more stared at the road. His jaw tensed up a bit, the way it always did when he was in emotional pain. “I know. Let’s not think about it. We still have a couple of hours left to hang out.”

Changing the conversation, I asked him for a cigarette. He gave me the pack and I lit one for each of us. I gave him one and I smoked the other one. Looking out the window again, I managed to see a flock of geese taking off from the ground and flying away into space.

We arrived at Vintage Vinyl and parked the car in their extensive parking facilities. We entered the record store and I immediately saw Donna behind the register. I turned to Neil and I whispered: “That’s my friend Donna. She goes to school with me.”

Neil’s jaw dropped. He whispered back to me: “She’s beautiful. She’s really cool. I love her hair.”

“Yeah, she’s really nice too,” I replied.

We walked past the register and waved at her. She smiled and waved back at us. Neil and I split up and began browsing through the store. I headed over to the Industrial/Techno section, while Neil checked out the New Releases.

I was flipping through the CDs and I came across a CD that made me freeze in my movements. It was the new Nine Inch Nails album! I slowly pulled it out to get a better look at it. It was titled broken. My heart began to beat faster. I had to have it! I’ve waited so long to hear new material from Trent Reznor’s Nine Inch Nails. I couldn’t believe he finally put something out.

I spun to find Neil, but he was already approaching me with the same CD in hand. I smiled as he came up to me and said: “It’s about time! I was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to do another record.”

“I know, man” I began. “It’s been three years since Pretty Hate Machine came out. Then Trent Reznor began hanging out with the Ministry crowd. You know, Pigface, 1000 Homo DJs, and The Revolting Cocks. Anyway, I though he was giving up on the Nine Inch Nails thing, but it seems he didn’t let us down. I wonder what it sounds like. It’s probably hard like Ministry. I just hope those guys don’t overtly influence him. He had a pretty original musical style. I sure hope he didn’t fuck it up.”

“C’mon I’ll buy it for you,” Neil offered.

My heart elevated. “Really? You don’t have to…”

“I want to.”

“I don’t even have a CD player, though.”

“Then we’ll get it on tape, Stooge”

Discarding the extra CD in the Bruce Springsteen section, we walked over to the counter behind which Donna stood. She smiled at us. Then she looked over at me and her face became a bit more serious,

“How’s your leg doing, Dave?”

“Much better. I’m off the crutches. Now it only hurts when it rains. How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” she said as her hand flicked away at a stray lock of her fiery hair. I was instantly reminded of the haiku that one child wrote to another in Stephen King’s IT: Your hair is winter fire/ January embers/ my heart burns there too. I must have been silent and staring a moment too long, because she then looked a bit embarrassed and asked: “So, what can I get you?”

“Uh…Yeah! Do you have broken by Nine Inch Nails on tape?”

Before I had even finished, she had reached over and fished out a copy from a large, prominently displayed stand on the counter, two inches to my right.

“Gee,” Neil said sarcastically, handing Donna a twenty. “Don’t know how you managed to overlook that.”

My face was on fire as Donna rang up our purchases.

On the way back up the Parkway from Fords to Montclair, Neil popped in the tape and we waited for the music to begin, our pulses quickening. While we waited, I glanced down at the track listing. It listed only six songs: 1) “pinion” 2) “wish” 3) “last” 4) “help me i am in hell” 5) “happiness in slavery” and 6) “gave up.” Pretty short album, I thought. After we listened to the entire tape, we were surprised to discover that it was even shorter than we expected.

It turns out that “pinion” was just a short musical intro to “wish.” And “help me i am in hell” is a very short and atmospheric guitar chord progression that serves as an intro to “happiness in slavery.” So, what we were left with were only four songs crammed into one side of the tape, leaving side two completely blank. I thought it was a waste of tape, but Neil thought it was pretty cool.

Basically, broken is really and E.P. and musically, it’s very good and satisfying. But, Ministry’s influence on Trent Reznor is quite blatant. “wish” and “last” are very heavy, guitar-oriented tracks. “last” even borrows the same guitar riff from “The Power Of Lard” by the Ministry and Dead Kennedys side project Lard. “wish” is also reminiscent of the Black Sabbath’s “Supernaut” as performed by the other Ministry side project 1000 Homo DJs, on which Trent Reznor supplied the vocals.

“happiness in slavery,” “last” and “gave up” sound a bit more like material from Nine Inch Nails last album Pretty Hate Machine. I remember that NIN performed “happiness in slavery” on their last tour, so I was already familiar with that track. “gave up” is the best track on the tape, though. It is hard enough to feel powerful, yet it retains the dance-oriented sound that marked past NIN classics like “Head Like A Hole” and “Get Down Make Love.”

Lyrically, the songs are slightly different than those on the last album. On Pretty Hate Machine, the hate and anger that Trent Reznor vented was aimed at outside targets, such as God and other particular people in his life that screwed him over. On broken, the anger and hate are directed inward. The entire tape is filled with self-hatred and doubt. This makes for dramatic songs that tear at your own self-confidence. His unflinching examination of his shortcomings makes you question your own morality and self-esteem.

Don’t get me wrong; this isn’t whiny, depressing music. This is true, aggressive angst that pummels your ears, as it drives wedges into your psyche. It made for great music to listen to while I was trying hard to ignore the fact that my best friend was going away. In fact, Trent’s pain and hopelessness made me feel a bit better about my situation in life. Hey, at least I liked myself.

The rest of the way home, Neil and I discussed the theme of the album and the new direction NIN’s sound had taken. What we didn’t discuss was the fact that he was leaving in less than a half-an-hour.

We arrived in front of my house as the sun was setting. He pulled over neatly to the curb and cut off the engine. We sat in the car in silence again, fearing that the time had come to say goodbye.

I tried to delay it. “Do you want to come in? My Mom’s home, but it’s cool. We can have a soda or something.”

He smiled a smile that I knew concealed a massive amount of pain. We both knew that it hurt to let go, yet we both tried so hard to conceal it in the stupid hope that it would make things easier. It didn’t help at all.

“Nah. I can’t. I can’t really stay at all. I got a long ride ahead of me. Nearly six hours of dark roads and Dunkin Donuts.” He was silent for a moment, and then added: “Thanks for everything, man,”

“Thank you. Thanks for driving down to see me. Thanks for the great times we had. Thanks for getting me the tape. Thanks for being such a great friend and letting me be a part of your life.”

A tear curled up at the edge of his eye as he whispered: “David, you are my life.”

I reached for him and pulled him closer. “And you are mine. I love you.”

My eyes closed as our lips met.

Confessions Of A Video Store Clerk

Confessions Of A Video Clerk:

“Let the truth be known”

The year is almost over. Christmas is nearly upon us like a hungry vulture with its blood-red eyes set on our wallets. Pretty soon, mounds of disgusting snow will cover the ground at our feet. Our cars won’t start. We’ll get frostbite. We’ll get colds. I hate winter! I hate winter! I hate winter! I can’t stand it. It depresses me. I mean, where did the year go? It’s almost 1993. Where did 1992 go? I was just beginning to enjoy myself… and now, this.

This is my last issue as Arts & Entertainment Editor. After this issue, I’ll have the stupid contributing staff by-line beneath my name. How degrading! Hey, but at least I’ll be able to get some sleep on Sunday nights again. I’ll be honest with you, though. I’m really going to miss being here. The computer room alone holds some fascinating memories for me. But, what can you do, eh? You have to move on to smaller and “better” things. Life goes on with or without you.

I have to leave this coveted position because I have recently been re-hired at the video store where I had worked at since high school. I am the only person in that store’s history to ever get re-hired after being fired. I was fired for slugging a co-worker after she threw a whole bunch of Roadhouse videotapes at me and slapping me across the face with a Jane Fonda Workout tape. It was bad enough getting hit by one of Patrick Swayze’s cheesiest movies, but Jane Fonda? Uh-uh. I had to defend myself, so I lightly tapped her jaw and sent her flying though a CD rack. We both got fired, but I alone was re-hired.

So, anyway, I’ve been working at the video store again for nearly two months now and it is seriously taking up a lot of my time. Too much time, in fact, for me to want to be responsible for this newspapery mess. No, by the time I get done dealing with the freaks down at the video store, I want nothing more than to go home and take a hot shower and wash away the creepiness of the customers. As a matter of fact, let me take this moment here to tell you a thing or two about us video store employees. This ought to help us both out.

First of all, don’t ask us what’s good. Do you know how many times I hear those dreaded words: “What’s in that’s good?” It makes my skin crawl! My perception of good is probably quite different than yours. Who am I to dictate what is good? That puts so much pressure on me to find a movie that I think you may like. Half the time I don’t even know who you are. What happens if you hate it? I get blamed. And if you love it, then you’ll always come to me for recommendations. I don’t want that. Think for yourselves. Why don’t you make up your own mind and find something that appeals to you. Or maybe, grow some balls and take a chance on a film you know nothing about. You may be pleasantly surprised to discover a gem. Or a turkey!

Second, we don’t watch all the videos we have. C’mon, I have a life! I have better things to do than sit around on my spare time and watch freakin’ videos. Just because you have enough time on your hands to watch 6 or 7 videos a night, doesn’t mean that I do. Sure, we get to put on video tapes while we work, but we can’t really just sit there and watch them, because we have to take care of every moron that wanders in while waiting for the bus. And anyway, we are forced to put on the same “hot” rentals all the time, over and over. I tell ya, if I have to watch Sister Act or Basic Instinct one more time…!

Third, please do not refer to our Adult Titles as “Fuck Flicks.” Just today some guy comes into the store limping and smelling suspiciously like witch hazel, and he says (quite loudly): “Hey, do ya’ll got any nice fuck flicks?” I was speechless. I stuttered something and turned to my manager for assistance. Thank God he took over.

Another pet peeve regarding adult titles is the attitude that some people have that they are dirty and shameful to look at. These are the people who come into the video store and give dirty looks to the people who are looking at our adult title catalog. C’mon, these people aren’t doing anything wrong. They are indulging in harmless visual stimulation in the privacy of their own home. They are not rapists or pervert. Don’t make our other customers feel ashamed because of your own religious dogma. You should watch one yourself someday and see what it’s like. On second though, you probably do already but won’t admit it.

There are some advantages to working in a video store, though. For one, I can get all the free movies I want. And I can get free movies for my family and friends (But only the ones I can trust to return them). I can see advanced screening copies of movies in the twilight time between their bow at the theatre and their home video release. I get tons of free promotional merchandise like t-shirts, hats, and posters. But best of all, I can see what people are really like by the movies they rent. It is always a treat to see some mild mannered business guy rent a bondage video tape, or some macho neighborhood stud rent the superior drag queen documentary “Paris is Burning.” I get a secret pleasure from that. I don’t know why.

Actually, some of these people do worry me. There’s this one lady who looks very manly. I mean she has a bit of a beard and a heavy voice. She is a bit overweight and seems to be constantly sweating. She always rents transsexual movies. There’s nothing wrong with that, it just makes me wonder…

Well, for all the times I have been asked for a video recommendation, I have decided to name a few titles of flicks that I have seen this past week and enjoyed. This should give you a slight idea of my taste in movies; at least of the ones I’ve seen recently at the video store. Some have called my taste in movies horrible, while others have agreed wholeheartedly. Now keep in mind, I don’t go for the artful content or the film making quality of the movie. I am solely interested in its entertainment value.

*Brenda Starr- I think I am the only person on this earth that found this movie to be not that bad at all. This movie was rumored to be so bad that it was shelved for nearly four years. It stars Brooke Shields in the role of the eponymous comic strip reporter and Timothy Dalton as Basil (the guy with the eye patch). I never read the Brenda Starr in the newspaper, so I was unfamiliar with the concept. But the movie was very entertaining and at times, downright hysterical. The humor is very tongue-in-cheek and the acting is intentionally over the top. It is meant to satirize all those serious comic strips that we all skip over in the Funnies. Let’s put it this way, this flick was ten times better than other cartoon/reality films like the atrocious Cool World or the odious Dick Tracy. Next on my cartoon/reality list to watch is Boris & Natasha about the quintessential enemies of Rocky & Bullwinkle. I hope it’s as much fun as Brenda Starr was. P.S. Did I mention that Brenda Starr was filmed almost entirely in my native Puerto Rico? It was.

* K2- There was only one disappointment for me in this film. The previews prominently featured the song “Moldavia” by Front 242, so I thought it would be used in the movie. Sadly, it wasn’t. The soundtrack was completely dull. But the movie, based on a play, was mesmerizing. I never thought I would enjoy a movie about mountain climbing, but this blew my mind. It has stunning cinematography, but the best aspect about it is the performance between the two central characters that give up everything in their lives to pursue their macho dream of climbing this treacherous mountain. K2 is definitely worth watching.

*Deep Cover- Gritty and shocking, but at the same time poetic, Deep Cover is both a satisfying action movie and psychological drama. Larry Fishbourne, fresh from his triumph in Boyz N The Hood, delivers another fine performance as a good cop who must go undercover as a gangster and finds the allure of evil to be quite attractive. This movie is graphic and unsettling, but it is wonderful to behold. Jeff Goldblum is also great in his supporting role.

*At Play In The Fields Of The Lord- Possibly the best movie I’ve seen this year. It is nearly three and a half hours long, but it is by no means boring. The cast is a virtual who’s who of my favorite stars: Tom Berenger, Kathy Bates, Aidan Quinn, Daryl Hannah, John Lithgow, and Tom Waits. The epic story questions the moral ethicality of the conversion of South American natives to Christianity by American Missionaries. The story and the questions raised are very thought provoking and moving. The entire film has an air of realism, which helps drive its point home. Another great aspect of this movie is that Tom Berenger has a full frontal nude scene. Then again, so does Kathy Bates. Oh, well!

I also want to mention a couple of Adult Titles that we just got in. I think they are hysterical and you should check them out for a few good naughty laughs. Moo Goo Gai Poon, Attack Of The One Name Girls, Single White Nympho, Lawnmower Woman, Boomerwang, In Loving Color, Murphy’s Brown, and Boomeranal. Have a night of funny pleasure for you and your partner.

Before I go, I want to inform you of a few other things. Sweet Convulsions has just premiered their new video for their cover of “I Will Survive.” It is amazing. Through the video, they have added a new dimension to the song: AIDS awareness. The video deals with the lead singer’s coping with his lover’s death at the hands of the horrible disease. It is very powerful. Catch Sweet Convulsions live on New Year’s Eve as part of the Dark Festival at QXT’s in Newark.

Speaking of AIDS awareness: Congratulations to the Kean College Gay, Lesbian, and Bisexual Network and to all the Kean students for raising over $300.00 during AIDS awareness week. All proceeds went to A.M.F.A.R. I would also like to thank Mike Peterson for his Heidi comic last week dealing with AIDS awareness. Good going guys!

My girlfriend called to let me know that she saw a piece in the Philadelphia news about marijuana being researched as a possible AIDS treatment. If anyone knows anything about this please let me know. I’d be happy to know I’ve been supporting the right thing all along.

Well, this year has been fantastic, but too damn short. I can honestly say that this summer was the best one of my entire life. I just hope that next year proves to be as rewarding as this year. Even though I won’t be A&E Editor anymore, I’ll still be contributing. I look forward to reviewing the new album by Einsterzende Neubauten and other great bits,

I’d like to extend a final farewell to outgoing Editor In Chief Todd Brugmans. Good luck and keep those moose slippers alive! To everyone else, have a Happy Christmas and see ya’ll next semester at The Factory.