Thanks Bureaucracy

I have been too low in life to not get excited about the little things. There I was, enjoying some of the spiritual pleasures of Nashville, TN. I was trying to be a good boy at the wrong fucking place, The End, one of the grittier, dives of a bar, providing some of the finest, finger licking good tunes, appreciated by a fella like me.
I will not have you assume the worst, or minimize my dilemmas. I was on the sober train, a long, boring ride for those who have to live under such certain black and white constructs of the mind. Research can really do wonders. I am not smiling.
With that being said, after allowing time for adaptation, I had a basis of expression, outputs, and inputs, as far as being sober goes, compared to a life of haggard, gnarly, indulgent beer belly, needle cap infested hell. I was trying to get out, talking to people. Shaky at first. A little stiff if dancing was about. It took a little more, being sober and all, to let it go. Fuck em. Always let ‘er riiiiipppppp….
I saw some of the local muscle of the beautiful West End, Nashville, TN. Two bands before I could see the big timers, which was a whopping Goner Records band. I could not even catch the name on the sign outside. I was to quickly get their name stuck in my head for life.
Enough bullshit. I had to leave, I had to miss the main event, I had to sacrifice my momentary enlightenment for beaurocrats . I will not explain but somehow I am convinced you understand.
As I walk out, defeated and broken, just to show those boys some love, I bought a cheap, measly cassette tape. EX CULT. The design was a psychedelic, harsh overtones, collage of sorts. There was six or seven tracks on the tape. It was titled; CIGARETTE MACHINE. I loved it. I am a fucking cigarette machine. A cigarette smoking machine. I laughed at my dorky little witty response to the title and walked out of the bar.
Now I had to hold on to this tape for four weeks before having the resources to finally give it a listen. I was eager, avoiding youtube, or any outlet to cheat myself from the consumers experience. The $4 was for the unveiling, not the fucking music. I was wrong.
I myself should be a clinical study. The first track was going somewhere fast. Riding a train that is not making any stops. Those fucking layers….diving into their heaviest end of the spectrum, its not jelly, its not jam; its oil. Machine driving tank oil shit. Good stuff.
The guitars are a big part of this audial intake. But I’m fully prostrating for this bass just holding down the fort. I smile and establish how grateful I am for buying this tape. Its getting trippy, riding down a shallow corridor on a horse just trying to escape, heading for a midnight ocean sail getaway. These guys are menacing. I’m taking the listening almost in awe, but I left fandom years ago. IM LYING.
Anyway, I am sitting there, my little room in Nashnasty. And it hit me. I have not heard a modern band so menacing, yet poppy, enough composition to give it credibility, a tad bit brute-like, but I think I have had a few trips fairly close to the same frequency. I was looking for this sound and guess who gave me a cassette, BUT ONLY BECAUSE OF THE BEAUROCRATS.
Could this mess I have found myself in, ya know….with the BEAUROCRATS, actually given my selfish little desires a pat on the back through some chaos theory? Holy shit. I did not get to dance.
Bid me farewell as I take a step back from this memory and let you know something. I think Ex-Cult is fucking good. You might like them too. Maybe you have heard it before, maybe it is not your trip. But it might be. Do not cheat yourself out of something that could bring life into your life. You see, you are going to die someday. You will never know when until it happens. Live a little, die a little. Do everything. It’s a matter of life and death. Oh yeah, and fuck Nike.