Seven Things: Rain

Today it is raining. Heavily, endlessly. This is why I live where I do, this rain. It resonates in my bones and my heart. When I forget, and I often do, rain remains me of who I am. The dimensions of my life are housed under skies that shift from grey to black, but never find their way to blue.

This edition of Seven Things features seven things that are tied to the rain in my mind. These seven things I’ve lived with for a large portion of my life. Some of them are only ghosts now…but ghosts that live deep in the heart. Each item below is nearly impossible for me to write about. Each item below has kept me alive.

Screaming Trees—Sweet Oblivion

This album came out in 1992. Even though I was dead broke, I found a way to get a copy. It immediately became my favorite album. That has never changed. If you want to understand what the Pacific Northwest really feels like—the rain, the forests, the long drives—this album will tell you.

Mark Lanegan—The Winding Sheet

Mark Lanegan was the singer for the Screaming Trees. In 1990 he put out this, his first solo record. When I heard it for the first time, I’d never heard anything that spoke to me so truly. This was no adolescent power fantasy nor chronicle of adolescent confusion. This was the beautiful sound of the rain that never stops. This was the sound of every myth this dark backwater holds. This was the sound of the people I knew. It was the first album I refused to play for other people, because it was too sacred and I knew I could not explain. I still can’t. [His second solo album, Whiskey for the Holy Ghost, is possibly even better and just as important to me. I can’t do justice to it either.]

Raymond Carver

The reaction I had to The Winding Sheet would be repeated the first time I read a Raymond Carver story one year later. The story was “Cathedral” and the class was the first college-level English class my rural high school had ever been able to offer. I was so moved by this story I went to the teacher after the class to tell her how much it spoke to me. The teacher, a strongly religious lady, wrinkled her face in disgust and said: “I hate that story, but I had to teach it. Here, I have a copy of the collection it’s from and I don’t want it. But I think you need it.” She never knew what a gift she gave me in that copy of Cathedral, and when she was murdered a few years later, my heart hurt. Raymond Carver’s work is one of the core foundations of my artistic life, and his stories have been my constant companion. For me, there is still no better short story writer. He is falling out of fashion, his work belonging to a different time—but in an overstimulated world, I will always need his ability to say everything with a stoic few words.

Cigarettes

I quit smoking in 1995, shortly after I got married. Prior to that, I smoked a lot. I miss it. A lot. It was comforting to me, making the world a place I could reflect on or just be still in. It is a terrible habit and I would never claim otherwise. But I still mentally smoke a pack a day, and it’s a ghost I do not wish to leave. Should I ever be given a diagnosis that I have a limited time of life left, the first thing I will do is buy a carton of cigarettes.

Whiskey

I don’t think I need to explain this one. Just leave some for the Holy Ghost.

Moonstone Beach Motel at Moclips, WA

This is where I discovered the ocean, at the end of the world. There are no words for the experience. I seldom get there these days—the last trip some five years ago—but it is no stretch to say I think of it every day. It figures prominently in my writing, though rarely named. And yet: still no words. I have never been up there alone, but I’ve come to recognize it doesn’t hold that power to others I’ve shared experiences there with. If I could just stop the noise long enough, I’d go up there for a week alone. And hope that it rains, and rains, and rains.

Twin Peaks

Speak to me not of the recent revival; good or bad, it will always be a different thing. The original two seasons, the best two seasons of TV ever produced, captured the darkness and beauty of a Pacific Northwest now largely gone. First on VHS, later on DVD, I’ve never been without the complete show and I can still shut down everything and disappear into it, especially when it’s raining outside. 

Seven Things, July 7th Edition

It’s been a while. Here are seven things that make my world a better place and cut through the drone of the mundane…

American Tabloid, by James Ellroy

The ultimate example of eliminating unnecessary words, James Ellroy’s prose is hardboiled, bleak and powerful. When he is really on—as he is for the entirety of this amazing novel—I’m convinced he’s the best American writer alive. What would come across as gratuitous and convoluted conspiracy theories in another’s hand sings in his. This book not only swept me away, it had me spending evenings researching the Mob, the Kennedys, the CIA, and the Bay of Pigs. Normally I’m not a fan of fiction that uses real life figures, but this is the exception to the rule and I found myself thinking long and hard about the very idea of America. I can’t praise a work of fiction higher than that. And it’s only the first in a trilogy…I plan on reading the other two this summer.

All the Colors of the Dark

I love my giallo, and I love Edwige Fenech, and yet I didn’t get around to seeing this until last week. Any movie that suggests the best way to deal with the grief of a miscarriage is to join a satanic cult is good by me. Also: Edwige.

So Deadly, So Perverse volumes 1 and 2, by Troy Howarth

Speaking of giallo, the two volume So Deadly, So Perverse set is the most comprehensive guide to the genre I’ve yet read. What I particularly like is that, rather than a thousand essays discussing the genre, it simply presents very well-informed reviews of every Italian giallo film. Obscure, impossible-to-find films are given as much attention as the famous works by Argento, Fulci, Martino, etc., meaning you’ll find something to spark the interest whether you’re a casual fan or a hardcore obsessive. (Bonus points if you’ve figured out where I fall on the spectrum.) Pull out a bottle of J&B, slip into something comfortable and don’t answer the door.

Barbecuing

There’s no better way to survive the summer.

The Celtic Frost vinyl reissues

Celtic Frost was one of the first metal bands that could truly be called extreme, and they forged a completely unique sound and vision so far ahead of its time that it took decades for the metal world to catch up. These gorgeous reissues feature full artwork, a 36-page booklet, and a remastered sound by Thomas Fischer (aka Tom G. Warrior) that brings out the power of the sound without cleaning away the dank doominess. The only knock is the liner notes are lame, due to a last-minute disagreement between Tom and the record company. Not surprising, as Tom has never compromised, but there isn’t likely to be a better reissue of these records in his lifetime so get them now. Random trivia: Tom was one of H.R. Giger’s assistants and a close friend. Giger approved all use of his work on Tom’s projects (unlike Danzig.)

The Ocean at the End of the Lane, by Neil Gaiman

I have the utmost admiration and respect for Gaiman, and I love the Sandman/Death comics like few works of art ever, but in general Neil’s novels haven’t worked for me. I liked American Gods ok, couldn’t finish Anansi Boys, thought Neverwhere was boring and Good Omens was just alright. So I slept on this one, but a used copy fell into my laps a few weeks ago so I thought I would give it a shot…and I absolutely loved it. This is everything I ever wanted in a novel from Gaiman, personable, accessible, beautiful, dark but not despairing…a modern-day fairy tale in the best sense. I was moved and once I started, I couldn’t put the book down, finishing it in less than 24 hours. I’m now convincing my youngest daughter (who loved Coraline, as did I—his one book prior to this that really did work for me) to read it. Neil can and should be enjoyed by all ages. As Stephen King once said, we are lucky to have him in any medium.

Iron Maiden socks

‘Nuff said.  

Seven Things That Did Not Suck in 2016

Today is the last day of 2016, a year that most of us are more than glad to see close. I’m seeing a lot of memes and a lot of stray comments in social media involving erasing the year altogether or joking about how to explain it to our grandchildren. This is completely understandable and I share the sentiment—I’m thinking about lighting a fire in my fire pit and sending a few things related to this year up in flames.

Yet I don’t want to end this year on a note of anger. There’s been so much of it already and there will be plenty more of it in 2017. Nor do I want to erase it from existence (a dangerous concept, even in jest.) Maybe it’s just because I’m writing this on only a few hours of sleep—a rare kid-free night with your wife will do that—and the coffee has only just started to pry my bleary eyes open. Regardless, this edition of Seven Things will focus on things that did not suck in 2016.

1. A Great Year for Horror Movies

The revitalization of the genre continued this year. There was of course The Witch, most certainly the best the genre had to offer, but there were a number of offerings that range from solid to flawed but interesting. In particular I’d like to call out Don’t Breathe, the most suspenseful film I’ve seen in some time, a tightly wound exercise pure adrenaline. There’s nothing supernatural about it, and it finds those tender spots where the fear lives and pushes unapologetically. Catch it now before they ruin it with the rumored sequel.

2. Migration Fest

In August the inaugural (and perhaps only) edition of Migration Fest was held at the Capitol Theater in Olympia, Washington over three days. I saw many friends, had many late night interesting conversations over beer, and was reminded on how much of a community this corner of metaldom is. And that’s to say nothing of seeing so many bands in a small, cozy theater where it was easy to sit or stand and you could come and go as you pleased. Here’s what you missed.

3. Musicians Making Powerful Works Confronting Death Honestly Before Crossing Over

We lost both David Bowie and Leonard Cohen this year, but we got one last album from each that confronts death openly and beautifully. In a career of artistic transformations, Bowies’ Blackstar is arguably the most transformative work of them all; I still can’t even put into words the power of this record. Cohen made a career out of merging the sacred and profane (with a gift of language more beautiful than many of the greatest poets) but on You Want It Darker he accepts the end with grace and inevitability. Related, Nick Cave’s The Skeleton Tree nakedly confronts the unimaginable grief of losing a child; it’s a bleak record that still allows the tiniest sliver of light to crack through. These three records are not something you casually throw on the background but each are a testament to the power of human creativity. We are amazing creatures, you know.

4. I Read A Lot of Amazing Books

Here’s 5k+ words about them.

5. There Was A New Metallica Album, and It’s Great

To say I’m a hardcore Metallica fan is to put it mildly; the band has been arguably the most important in my life. But I’m not immune that some of their 90s—00s work is not always up to par. So it means the world to me that Hardwired…to Self-Destruct is probably their best album since the monumental Black album back in 1991. As 2016 completely crumbled in these last few months, I needed an anthem to get through…and they delivered:

6. Despite Challenging Circumstances, I Wrote A Great Deal

My confidence in my work has not been the best this year, but I did a hell of a lot of writing this year. It’s a journey, I’ve no idea where it is leading, and that’s ok.

7. I Am Alive and Surrounded by Beautiful People

My wife, my daughters, my handful of close friends and certain members of my extended family—I am a lucky, lucky man. I believe in quality, not quantity, and I’m grateful to share this life in all its beauty and challenges with these beautiful souls. If the measure of a person is the people they surround themselves with, I’m the richest man in the world.