Bye Chi; Like Tai Chi, But Tragic and Depressing

Damn...  Two posts in a week about metal bassists dying.  Sorry if this has been a pretty bummer week, dudes and dudettes, but this is something I feel I need to post about.  Hell, I wish I'd posted about it the day it happened.

Five years ago, Chi Cheng, Deftones' bassist, was in a car accident that left him in a coma.  Just last year, he'd woken up, on the Fourth of July.  I thought that was it.  I thought, "I've heard of people recovering from worse.  He seems like a strong dude, has a lot of support.  Few years, and I can see the original Deftones and it'll be the best damned thing that ever happened to me."  Maybe it was naive, maybe it was uninformed, but goddamn it did I hope.  Just a few short days ago, he passed away due to related complications.

When I'd first seen Deftones, it had already been three years since the accident.  I was familiar with their music, though I wasn't nearly as big a fan as I am these days.  Until that day, I hadn't immersed myself in it, explored every crevasse, spent hours just listening to it, tried like hell to emulate it.

Just as I tried to honor Peter Steele with humor to complement the black tidings, something he was good at, I don't feel like I should mourn Chi's passing the same way.  He was a deeply spiritual man, a thoughtful man, a poet.  That's something I'd like to emulate, if just for a bit.

Again, in the extraordinarily unlikely event that any of the members of Deftones should read this (Chino Moreno, Stephen Carpenter, Abe Cunningham, Frank Delgado, Sergio Vega): I sincerely hope I did justice to the passing of your friend and brother.  You have no idea what your music has done for me.

So much more I want to say, and I'm afraid of not saying it well enough.  I know you shouldn't let your fear rule you, but for once, I'm going to take a step back from myself.  Chi was a greater wordsmith than I can strive to be.  So to close this off, here's one of his poems from his spoken word album, "The Bamboo Parachute".  It's called Braces, and... I don't know why, but I feel it's strangely appropriate.

It's cooler to be in your shade, easier to predict the future of plastic than to be the mess that is you.  It doesn't mean you don't shine, it's just... time isn't taking care of your wounds.  Faithfully with you, a plain pocket caught in turbulence.  Nobody knows what they mean to you.  I have no right to wonder, but I'd miss all my beautiful friends.  Pre-Christ lives, imitating, living.

Sunlight, Flashing on your Steele

Let us take this day to remember one of the unsung heroes of metal, one of the last torchbearers of the days of classic metal, a brilliant songwriter, a flame that burnt out and burnt bright rather than faded away.

Peter Steele.

I was going to write "Peter "Fucking" Steele" on that single-line epitaph up there, but if just for a moment, I want to find in myself some solemnity, the capacity to be serious.

Not saying this post is gonna be all white slavery and anesthesia.  I mean, look at this guy:

Or don't.  Either way, he's looking at you.

He was a goofball.  A towering, scary-looking, talented-as-fuck goofball.  So he'd want some humor in a post like this.  So Pete, if I think of anything good, I'll throw it in.

Imposing as he was, Peter Steele was, by all accounts (well... that I've read anyway), a wonderful man: a joy in the studio, on stage, at home, at the bar, in the workplace.  Speaking of the workplace, did I mention he worked for the NYC Parks Department?  Imagine a Peter Steele cameo in Parks and Rec.  Seriously.

Also, since there's weirdly no pictures of him actually working in a park, above is a picture of Peter Steele being sexy in a field.  Which is close enough to a park.

And that's not even touching on how this motherfucker could write a song.  Steele had a way of songwriting that captured intense emotion without being a "look at my problems" kinda songwriter.

Looking at you, bro.

He shared his world with us rather than dragging us down inside it.  More impressively, he accomplished this while filtering his life through the world of horror, using all things gothic and macabre as analogy.  Even more impressively, it's presented in a way that still makes you want to fucking move, that's still fucking metal and catchy as shit.  Even MORE impressively (ya see where I'm going with this?), he (well, they, because this is obviously more up to his band) managed to make this beautiful shit without a lot of studio fanciness.  Do I like studio fanciness?  No; I love it.  Do I think the minimalization of such tricks sort of held Type O Negative back in terms of not putting out stuff that the radio would devour, something they could have been done without sacrificing any sort of integrity?  For sure. But the music's great as is.  When all the paint's been stripped away and you still have a house you want to live in, that's when you know you have something truly special.

I know, Ten Guy.  I know.

So there you go, folks.  Peter Fucking Steele of Type O Negative.  Hope there's Halloween in Heaven, Pete.  Say hi to Dimebag for me.  Not that I knew him, but, you know, that'd be cool.  And like, all the other dead musicians.

No.

And to the rest of the guys from Type O Negative - Kenny Hickey, Josh Silver, Johnny Kelly - should you somehow read this blog (yeah fucking right), thank you so much for some twenty years of amazing music.  If there's any way I didn't do justice to you or the dearly departed, I'm truly sorry.

Also, this.  Fucking this.  Credit goes to VoodooHammer on deviantART.  If you run into this bro, real sorry I didn't actually get permission.  Hope you'll appreciate the usage though.

Plus a funny meme.

Monument (Part 3 of 3)

WOOHOO!

Scene Three:

[Lights up.  Slap is sitting on the amp, looking anxious.  Screech is slumped on the couch.]

Screech: So then she said “Only the first time,” so I was [hand gesture] outta there. [pause] Came straight here.

Slap: [trying to be sincere] I’m sorry about that, man.

[Silence.  Slap is about to continue when Screech starts again.]

Screech: Three fucking years, man.  Three years. [looks Slap dead in the eye] I gave that cunt three years of my life.

Slap: Come on man, you’re young.

Screech: [yelling] Exactly! [pause] I’m…  Sorry.  But you… [huffs, ruffles his hair agitatedly] That’s just one little piece of what’s fucking me up so much.  We get a few years to be morons and I spent mine in a committed relationship.  I wasted my free pass, dude.

[Brief silence.]

Slap: You really think that?

Screech: Sure I do.  If I knew I’d get fucked this bad for trying to be grown up, I would’ve put it off four more years.

Slap: Like everyone else?

Screech: [shrugs] Why not. [pause] I wanted to be a kid. [pause] She was more important.

[Long silence.]

Slap: Well, I know you’re not looking for advice, but at times like these, I find it prudent to share some words of wisdom passed on by one great sage and forefather.  [stands up, takes theatrical stance] Bitches… ain’t shit… but hoes and tricks.

[Screech starts laughing]

Slap: Lick on these nuts!  And suck the dick.

[Bang pops in from stage right, clears his throat.]

Slap: Get the fuck out after you’re done, and I hop in my ride-

Bang: [barges in, clapping, talking fast] Hey yeah, great!  Hey Screech, you seem to be having a bad day, why don’t you grab a beer?  Like now?

Screech: Uh…  I don’t really-

Bang: Don’t be ridiculous!  My casa’s your casa, now go on, don’t be shy! [claps Screech on the back, pointing stage left]

[Screech gets up and walks off stage left, confused.  Bang watches him go, waiting until he’s out of sight.]

Slap: Dude, what the hell!  We were having a moment!

Bang: A moment?!  Don’t be ridiculous!  You hate the man, you said it yourself!  Just what are you trying to pull here, Erikson?

Slap: Look, he’s really-

[Slap stops to squint at Bang, scrutinizing him.]

Bang: Well?

Slap: Did you just call me ‘Erikson’?

Bang: Yes.

Slap: Why?

Bang: Seriously man?

Slap: What – yes I’m serious!  You’re being confusing again!

Bang: [gesturing] 1984! [pause] 1984?

Slap: Look – no.  I’m stopping you right there.  Before you eat my brain anymore, I’m picking up this conversation at its sanest point.

Bang: Party-pooper.

Slap: I don’t think I can do it, okay?  I wasn’t-

Screech: [calling from offstage] I can’t find it.  Can I come back now?

Bang: Keep looking, it’s a deep basement.  A lot of corners.

Slap: You hid the beer, didn’t you?

Bang: Maybe.

Slap: Just to set up this diversion.

Bang: Man’s gotta have a code.

Slap: [sighs] The one quote you ever get right and it’s not even in good context.  Are you proud of yourself?

Bang: Man, why you always picking on me?

Slap: Because you touch yourself at night.

Bang: Good point.

Slap: So how about you?  How’re things going up there?

Bang: [shrugs] They’re going.  Just talking. [beat] Why do you ask?

Slap: I thought you were… [gestures] You know.

[pause]

Bang: I don’t follow.

Slap: Like… [repeats gesture]

Bang: Dear god, what kind of man do you take me for?!

[Screech re-enters.]

Screech: Really, I checked everywhere.  It’s-

Bang: [points stage-left without taking his eyes off Slap] YOU WILL CHECK AGAIN.

[Silence.]

Slap: [turns to Screech] I don’t know either, man.

Screech: …Yeah, I’ll leave you two alone. [exits stage right]

Bang: [glares at Slap] You sicken me.

Slap: Bang.

Bang: Present.

Slap: Have you brought it up at all?

[Bang bites his lip, staring at Slap.  He then sits down on the couch with a sigh.]

Bang: No.

[Silence.  Slap sits down on the amp.]

Bang: Every time I think ‘yeah, I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna do it; now’s your chance’, I…

[beat]

Slap: You what?

Bang: I think about how unrealistic it is.  I tell myself it’s not gonna happen, so then it doesn’t.

[Brief silence.]

Slap: Why do you think it’s unrealistic?

Bang: [shrugs] She’s younger.

Slap: So?  She’s legal.

[Bang looks at Slap humorlessly.]

Slap: Sorry.  I’m just saying, so what?

Bang: It’s four years, man.

Slap: Still abides by The Rule.

Bang: …Enlighten me.

Slap: Half your age plus seven.

[Pause as Bang “calculates” on his fingers.]

Bang: By Jove, you’ve done it.

Slap: See?  Given, she’s the lowest you can-

Bang: All right, that doesn’t really change anything though.  She’ll still think I’m creepy, I’m probably friend-zoned by now anyway, and what if it doesn’t work out?

Slap: Then-

Bang: Then the band’s fucked for sure.

Slap: Dude, so what?

[Bang stares down Slap, furious; Slap slowly realizes what he’s done.]

Slap: …Please don’t kill me.

Bang: It is taking every fiber in my being not to.

Slap: Let me-

Bang: ONLY… because you told me about The Rule. [pause] That is why you are still alive.

Slap: May I explain?  Please?

Bang: [inhales deeply] I shall consider it. [considers it] I shall allow it.

Slap: Okay… hear me out. [pause] There’s a good chance the band, in its current incarnation, ends tonight.

Bang: Maybe if you fired Screech like you said you would.

Slap: Look-

Bang: Which you still haven’t explained.

Slap: I know!  I know, dammit.  I chickened out, I get it.  He was feeling shitty, so I chickened out.

Bang: So you don’t hate him.

Slap: It was a lapse dammit!  I forgot to suppress my sense of humanity for a minute!  Won’t happen again.  Anyway.  We self-destruct the band.

[Silence]

Screech: [offstage] Hey, we kinda drank all the beer.

Bang: Fire him.

Slap: You got it.

[Slap walks off stage-right.  Bang remains sitting for a while, appearing to just be thinking to himself.  Eventually, he gets up and walks off stage-left.  He comes back a few seconds later, beer in hand.]

Bang: Heh.  Drank all the beer indeed.

[Bang starts chugging the beer.  Shred walks in from stage right.  She watches Bang for a second.]

Shred: Bang?

[Bang, surprised, spits out beer before looking at Shred.]

Bang: Yes please.

Shred: What?

Bang: I mean yes?

Shred: Uh…  Slap said you needed to talk to me about something?

[Long silence.  Bang drops the beer on the ground.  More silence.  Bang steps forward and looks out at the audience.]

Bang: I can’t believe this is really happening.  I guess it’s time to make a decision: Shred or the band.  Music’s the most important thing in my life, and the past three years I’ve done nothing but work towards my dream of being a rock star.  But for the first time in my life, I’ve found something that might not be worth losing.  If by-

Shred: Bang!

Bang: What?

Shred: Do you want me to call an ambulance?

Bang: No, why?

Shred: You were talking to a wall.

Bang: [narrows his eyes] Are you sure of what you saw?

Shred: Bang.

Bang: Yes.

Shred: Do you remember what you said?

[brief silence]

Bang: Maybe.

Shred: Bang.

Bang: Yes.

[Long silence.]

Shred: And you meant it?

[Bang nods.  Another long silence.]

Bang: Well…  I’ll be in the storage room.  Drinking the rest of the beer.  In the dark.  Don’t tell Screech.

[Bang turns toward stage left and starts to walk away.]

Shred: Bang.

Bang: [swallows] Yes?

[Long silence.]

Shred: I don’t know.

Bang: [looks back at Shred] Wanna join me?

Shred: In the storage room.

Bang: Yep.

Shred: Drinking beer.

[Bang nods.]

Shred: In the dark?

Bang: If you want.

[One last long silence.]

Shred: Couldn’t hurt.

[Bang and Shred walk off stage left together.  Lights out.]

FIN.

Monument Part 2

So to make up at least a teeny tiny bit for that random garbage post about the Spin Doctors (and no, it is NOT the Spin Doctors that made it garbage, do not blaspheme; it's my total inability to budget time and other life-thingies), here's the second scene of that play from earlier.  At least one more post tonight.  Seriously, I'm going to stab myself with a pencil periodically to keep myself awake so I can do this.  Are there far more effective means of keeping oneself awake?  Surely.  Is this one the most fun?  You betcha.

Scene Two:

[Lights up.  Bang is once again sitting behind his drum set, looking agitated.  Slap is leaning against the wall between the drum set and the couch.  Shred is sitting on the couch.]

Shred: I just… [shrugs] I don’t wanna do it.

Slap: You just said-

Shred: No, I’ll do it, I just don’t want to be the one to do it.

Slap: Look, if I do it, it’ll be an even bigger mess.  He’ll be all ‘I always knew you hated me’ and I’ll have to be all-

Bang: Let it go, Slap.

[Slap and Shred turn to look at Bang.]

Bang: I’ll… I’ll fucking do it.  Just stop badgering her just cuz you’re too lazy.

[brief pause]

Slap: [taken aback] …Dude, what the hell?

[Bang gets up and hurries out of the room (stage right) past Slap.  Slap stares after him for a few seconds, angry.  He sits down on the amp in a huff.]

Shred: So um…  I smell like elephant.

[Slap looks at Shred like she’s insane.]

Shred: Oh fuck!  No, I mean, I smell an elephant.  Smell one.  Like… [points to her nose]

Slap: [laughs a little] You say it too?

Shred: Yeah. [beat] Too?

Slap: Yeah, Bang taught me that like right before you got here. [brief silence] You want a beer?

Shred: Oh, I really shouldn’t.

Slap: [shrugs] Suit yourself.

[Slap gets up and walks off stage left.]

Shred: [calling offstage] Slap!

Slap: Changed your mind?

Shred: No! [beat] Yeah!  But shouldn’t you ask Bang?

Slap: Milady, please. [sounds of beer-getting from offstage] When have I not been the master freeloader?  And when-oh-when… [walks back in, tossing Shred a beer, which she catches] have I respected Bang’s property? [sits back down on the amp and opens his beer]

Shred: Well, it’s not his house.

Slap: So why should he care? [takes a sip]

[Shred looks at the beer, setting it on the ground between her feet after a few seconds.  She looks back at Slap as he keeps sipping his beer.]

Slap: What?

Shred: Aren’t you two friends?

Slap: [huffs] Yes.  It was just a jab, okay?  I’d never do anything to fuck the guy.

Shred: [holds up her hands apologetically] Sorry; just asking.

[Slap goes back to drinking the beer, Shred goes back to staring.]

Slap: I’ll fire Screech.  I brought it up, I’ll do it.

Shred: That’s… surprisingly noble of you.

[Slap looks at Shred.  Shred smiles.]

Shred: He’ll appreciate it.

[Slap looks back at his beer, smiles, and takes a sip.  Brief silence.]

Slap: How well do you really know Bang?

Shred: You don’t think he will?

Slap: No, doesn’t have anything to do with that.  I’m just asking.

Shred: [shrugs] I dunno.  About as well as Screech by now.

Slap: So…  Like, enough to know that you like Bang more than Screech?

Shred: [gives Slap a very questioning look] That’s weird.

Slap: Never mind, never mind.  Forget it.  Forget I said absolutely anything.

Shred: Well, now you have to tell me.

Slap: No!  No I absolutely don’t!

[sounds of Bang coming down the stairs]

Shred: I swear to Christ if you say ‘absolutely’ one more time-

Slap: What the hell is it with you people and your trigger words?!

Shred: Just tell me dammit!

[Bang enters stage-right.  Slap and Shred look up at him quickly.]

Bang: …I smell an elephant.

[Shred starts giggling uncontrollably.]

Slap: How come I don’t get a catchphrase?

Bang: Because you touch yourself at night. [crosses over the stage by the drum set]

Slap: So?

Bang: SO?! [kicks Slap off the amp]

[Slap lays wedged between the wall and the amp, wheezing; Shred looks up at Bang, wide-eyed.]

Shred: Dude.

Bang: Oops.

Slap: [out of breath] You fucker.

[Bang and Shred start forward to help Slap; Bang gets there first, extending a hand in front of Slap.]

Bang: Sorry man.

Slap: I think I’m going into V-Tach.

Bang: Hey man, I can’t hold this forever.

Slap: Once it stops… you’re dead.  And I’m gonna kill you.

Shred: You two are insane, you know that?

[Bang helps up Slap; Slap straightens up and glares at him; brief silence.]

Bang: You said ‘so’. [Slap slaps him upside the head] It had to be done.

[Slap slaps him again; Bang starts laughing; Slap gives him a small shove before sitting down; Bang steps forward; he checks to make sure Slap won’t hit him before going around the drum set to sit down; brief silence]

Shred: What the fuck is wrong with you two?

[Bang and Slap look at her like she’s crazy.]

Slap: What are you talking about?

Shred: You just-

[Slap looks back at Bang; Bang twirls his finger by his head and makes cuckoo noises; Slap shakes his head and clucks his tongue disappointedly]

Shred: I hate boys. [picks up her beer and starts chugging]

Bang: [urgently] Why do you hate boys?

[Slap facepalms; Shred finishes her beer and tosses the can aside.]

Shred: What?

Bang: You um…  You said you hate boys, I uh… that seems like… something to see a therapist… for. [pause] Just asking.  Why you hate boys.

[Very long silence.]

Shred: You… think I’m a lesbian?

Bang: I don’t know.  Are you?

Slap: [under his breath] Dude, just stop talking.

Shred: …No?

Bang: I mean, I’m not calling you a lesbian; you just said that you hated-

[Knocking is heard off-stage.  Everyone freezes and looks to stage-right (towards the door) in surprise/fear.  There is a long silence where no one moves.  More knocking is heard, this time a bit louder.  Slap turns to Bang.]

Slap: I have always loved you.