Music. For me it’s a necessity. In order to create, to drift off into the back of my mind and find the image I’m going to paint or the words needed to tell my story.
It’s meditation and at this point, I feel it’s necessary for my survival. I don’t know what I’d do with out it. I have things to listen to for every mood. And music has gotten me through all of the rough patches in my life.
What brought this shit up?
I went to a show last night. A new band I unintentionally came across. I love live music and they happened to be playing in the city; so off I went.
I hadn’t been to anything new to me in a while. All the shows I had been to lately, everyone was my age or older and I’d been going to see the band for 10+ years.
This crowd was much younger. All dressed in black, tattooed mildly and pierced. I remember being that age at shows, either high school or early college.
I caught a lot of shit when I was younger; and going to shows made me feel powerful. I was in my element. The jerks who fucked with me couldn’t touch me there, and those preppy kids would be the ones getting the snot beat out of them, had they come.
I was safe, happy and energized.
If I wasn’t at a show, I’d put my headphones on or turn up the song I liked in my friend’s car.
I remember in high school riding around in my friend Lisa’s car blasting “Skulls” by the Misfits. Slamming my Doc Martens into the floorboard, screaming the words at the top of my lungs. I was invincible.
And if we had a bad day, it was “Shitlist” by L7 or “Lunchbox” by Marilyn Manson.
This music kept me from turning into a spineless loser.
I got tormented for wearing all black, turning my eyes into blacked out holes and having a pixie cut. I was a freak, loser, dike, retard, you name it. I got shit thrown at me, shoved around and spit at.
But music kept me going. It kept me strong. At shows I could throw myself into pits and be slammed around, burn off all that evil shit.
Therapy.
I saw these kids doing the same thing. As soon as the music started their faces lit up, they started jumping up and down, standing upright. They weren’t slumped over anymore or nervously looking around. They had been found.
That alone, seeing that; being reminded of how music has saved my ass time and time again was worth it.
Something I needed to see. And the band was pretty fucking fantastic as well, so that was a bonus.
I could go on and on about the playlist of my life and what got me through what, but nobody has time for that shit.
Misfits, L7, Marilyn Manson, Alkaline Trio, AFI, Placebo, Poe and MCR kept me from lopping my fucking head off a million times over. It helped me put one foot in front of the other. Kept me fucking thriving. It kept me from being a wilting daisy.
So moral of the story, don’t censor your kid’s music. It may be what’s keeping them alive.
Check out the blog on it's home site @
www.hihaveyoumetme.com for previous writings and more.
Don’t forget to stalk me further at https://twitter.com/#!/hihaveyoumetme orhttp://www.facebook.com/authorkatemonahan
It’s meditation and at this point, I feel it’s necessary for my survival. I don’t know what I’d do with out it. I have things to listen to for every mood. And music has gotten me through all of the rough patches in my life.
What brought this shit up?
I went to a show last night. A new band I unintentionally came across. I love live music and they happened to be playing in the city; so off I went.
I hadn’t been to anything new to me in a while. All the shows I had been to lately, everyone was my age or older and I’d been going to see the band for 10+ years.
This crowd was much younger. All dressed in black, tattooed mildly and pierced. I remember being that age at shows, either high school or early college.
I caught a lot of shit when I was younger; and going to shows made me feel powerful. I was in my element. The jerks who fucked with me couldn’t touch me there, and those preppy kids would be the ones getting the snot beat out of them, had they come.
I was safe, happy and energized.
If I wasn’t at a show, I’d put my headphones on or turn up the song I liked in my friend’s car.
I remember in high school riding around in my friend Lisa’s car blasting “Skulls” by the Misfits. Slamming my Doc Martens into the floorboard, screaming the words at the top of my lungs. I was invincible.
And if we had a bad day, it was “Shitlist” by L7 or “Lunchbox” by Marilyn Manson.
This music kept me from turning into a spineless loser.
I got tormented for wearing all black, turning my eyes into blacked out holes and having a pixie cut. I was a freak, loser, dike, retard, you name it. I got shit thrown at me, shoved around and spit at.
But music kept me going. It kept me strong. At shows I could throw myself into pits and be slammed around, burn off all that evil shit.
Therapy.
I saw these kids doing the same thing. As soon as the music started their faces lit up, they started jumping up and down, standing upright. They weren’t slumped over anymore or nervously looking around. They had been found.
That alone, seeing that; being reminded of how music has saved my ass time and time again was worth it.
Something I needed to see. And the band was pretty fucking fantastic as well, so that was a bonus.
I could go on and on about the playlist of my life and what got me through what, but nobody has time for that shit.
Misfits, L7, Marilyn Manson, Alkaline Trio, AFI, Placebo, Poe and MCR kept me from lopping my fucking head off a million times over. It helped me put one foot in front of the other. Kept me fucking thriving. It kept me from being a wilting daisy.
So moral of the story, don’t censor your kid’s music. It may be what’s keeping them alive.
Check out the blog on it's home site @
www.hihaveyoumetme.com for previous writings and more.
Don’t forget to stalk me further at https://twitter.com/#!/hihaveyoumetme orhttp://www.facebook.com/authorkatemonahan