HARDCORE KID CAN‘T REMEMBER NAME OF BAND HE’S SUPPOSED TO LIKE THIS YEAR. SETTLES ON TALKING SHIT ABOUT BALANCE AND COMPOSURE.

August 25, 2016 by Ely Pierce

“I Just think its bullshit…”

He said as he made another flustered left turn in his beat up Toyota Corolla, ironically the only thing about his life that was UN-ironically 90’s. From his fishing cap to his vintage space jam t-shirt, “Like… who doesn’t use real drums?” he scoffed, scratching the inseam on his cuffed, boot cut jeans. The morning sun already beating in on us. the anxiety of another scorcher settling into my awareness. Rubbing my scalp and letting out a hushed sigh I tempt fate and double down, “What do you mean? Bands have been using synth drums for decades. Its more of a question of contextual utilization, I.e. is it useful? does it add texture to the piece? or does it distract from the context of the song?”

“…Well, yeah… I just mean, like…”

suddenly a moment of clarity shines thru as a burst of frustration bubbles to the surface, “They’re just trying new things and that upsets me!”

Made all too uncomfortable by the newfound presence of honesty and vulnerability in the conversation I attempt to pull back and change the subject by daring what I thought would be a softball question, “Who is this we’re listening to?”

relief washing over him “Ah dude, you don’t know?” a smug smirk creeping across his face as he turns up the analog volume tuner on his treble high shit racket of a sound system. A pronounced track of growling heavy groove made slightly more audible.

“Its uh… culture… knocker… teeth… fist. Wait…”

“Sorry, what?”

Shaking loose his confusion, “Dude they’re so sick! I saw them last month open for, uh… I almost died! It was amazing! They’re from the east coast! and don’t worry they’re totally vegan”

“Yeah, I wasn’t worried… what the fuck is the name of the band dude?” I insist out of morbid curiosity.

a long painful pause is followed by another frustrated, Freudian slip.

“Fuckin… WHO FUCKIN USES FAKE DRUMS?! AM I RIGHT!? VEGAN FEMINISM!”

“Yeah man…” my eyes widening. suddenly realizing how out of my depth I really am. I sink further into my seat and lean as far away from him as his tiny teal and sun bleached microfibered cab will allow and surrender the last of my consideration, counting the minutes till he drops me off, “Fuckin… Obituary rules.”