Anger Is An Energy: The Unique History of PiL's Generic "Album"

John Lydon of Public Image, Ltd.

Recently, John Lydon, aka Johnny Rotten, founder of the post-punk outfit, Public Image Ltd., and former frontman of punk pioneers, Sex Pistols, made some statements that were perceived as pro-Trump, and the punk set reacted with shock, horror, and revulsion.  And there I was laughing.  Lydon got precisely  the reaction that he was hoping for.  Has no one paid attention to who this man is?  He wants to be adored by no one.  He wants to be reviled and to be the one person who will provoke you into a strong reaction, always keeping you off-kilter and unbalanced.  He doesn't really like Trump.  But he knows that he will piss off a few "snowflakes" by saying that he does.  That is the nature of true punk.

The Sex Pistols in essence was a boy band put together by music industry as a response to the burgeoning punk movement.  They put out one seminal album with a handful of decent if overrated songs before they imploded.  One might question how Sex Pistols contributed to the lexicon of great music.  I would argue that their contribution was their image.  They represented the punk image and attitude.  Not just in looks, but their very existence represented contempt for authority and a huge middle finger at the music establishment.

So, it's no surprise that John Lydon's very next project was Public Image Ltd. (often stylized as PiL).  I remember in my early teens, at the height of my infatuation with punk, sitting down and listening to PiL's "Paris Au Printemps" for the first time.  I was blown away - not in terms of "Oh wow, this is great!"  But more like, "WTF is this?"  It was sheer avant garde.  Free form. Totally ignoring conventions of how music should be put together.  It was like Stravinsky.  But Lydon and PiL represent the heart of post-punk.

John Lydon in 2017

I have often argued that perhaps the greatest time period for artistic music was arguably between 1978 and 1982, after the punk movement crashed and burned in the UK.  Those who had been a part of that scene were free to experiment and push the boundaries of music as an art form.  Some of the most creative acts came out of this time period - Wire, Television, The Cure, Killing Joke, Joy Division, Bauhaus, and many, many others.  At the heart of this dissociative movement was Lydon, the former poster boy for the punk scene, and his experimental band.

In 1986, PiL released their fifth studio record, and, if you bought it on vinyl, it was generically entitled "Album".  If you bought the tape, it was marked "Cassette", or you could buy "Compact Disc".  Lydon promoted this record by posing with a variety of generic brand products.  It was a brilliant commentary on the state of music in the '80s, and, even though Lydon labeled this collection of songs as generic, it was anything but.

During the summer of 1986, I listed to "Album" quite a bit.  I was sixteen and had a job working on the grounds crew at Central Arizona College.  I spent my time during the blistering triple digit days mowing lawns, smoking weed, and listening to PiL.  This record will always remind me of those days.  It was well received by my set of friends as well.  "Rise" (marketed as "Single") was getting heavy airtime on the local alternative radio station as well.

I recently purchased the record to add it to my collection once again.  In researching, I was very surprised to find the interesting story behind its creation.  The album had some generic packaging, but it deliberately omitted the name of some very famous session musicians that made this project possible.  This was intentional.  Producer Bill Laswell said that they knew that if they published on the liner notes which musicians had worked on the album that the critics would focus in on that instead of the music.  So everyone participated without credit.  And they were okay with it.  It was a big joke.

Lydon had written and thrown together the songs in rough demo form, but he was reluctant to record the album with his touring band.  He knew it would sound too sloppy, so he went into the studio and threw down the tracks with guest musicians.  On drums, there was legendary jazz drummer, Tony Williams, and Ginger Baker of Cream, who was brought out of retirement in Italy to play drums for Lydon.  On keyboards, he used Japanese composer Ryuichi Sakamoto - this one really surprised me.  And on guitars was famed heavy metal legend, Steve Vai.  Vai has gone on to say that the work that he is most proud of is his stint with PiL.

The result is a very tight album, almost cinematic in its scope, something that is absent in all of PiL's previous efforts.  Pounding, pummeling drum beats driving the songs forward with Vai's monster guitar hooks and scintillating licks flitting like butterflies through all the songs.  The neatness of the music is contrasted by Lydon's wavering voice as he sneers and spits the lyrics like venom.  Lydon says that Miles Davis came to the studio to see them record, due to Tony William's association on the record, and Miles commented that Lydon sang like he, Miles, played the trumpet.  Lydon said that it was the best compliment ever paid to him.  There was a half-joke that Lydon should take this lineup and make a full-time band, a supergroup of sorts.  But they only ever talked about it, and it never happened.  Lydon assembled his touring band and went out in support of "Album".

My favorites are the aggressive "FFF" (stands for "Farewell, my fair weather friend") and vomitous shrieking on "Fishing".  "Rise" is, of course, the standard that I never get sick of.  There a driving force behind "Bags", and "Ease" actually has Lydon almost really singing.  This record is truly Lydon's swan song.  I don't know if he will ever match this masterpiece, but I am sure he will find ways to piss us off.  It's what he does.

Hey, Hey, The Monkees Still Got It: Reviewing Their Killer 12th Release

The Monkees now

It's undeniable that the music of the late '60s had a huge influence on the music I love from the '80s, and, hence, the music of today.  I spent many hours of my teen years watching "The Monkees" TV show on Nickelodeon.  Dismissed in their day as a boy band, a contrived fabrication of the music industry, The Monkees were possibly loved more in my generation than they were in their own.

In recent years, the true story has come out - one of talented, young musicians trying to wrest creative control from authoritarian TV producers.  That's a struggle that any Gen Xer can admire.  It's quite "punk rock", if the term applies.  And I think it does.  The Monkees have always been beloved by punks, many of whom first cut their teeth on rock music through the music of The Monkees.  And why not?  The music was stripped down and simple.  The show was schlocky, psychedelic, and ironically anti-establishment whenever it could get away with it.  It poked fun at hippie culture.  Many of the songs were antiwar.  As a result, punks love The Monkees.  Their music has been covered by Sex Pistols, Minor Threat, and The Dickies.  The punk band I was briefly in during the '80s even did a sloppy cover of "Stepping Stone" back in the day.  Other admirers have included John Lennon, Kurt Cobain, U2, and Michael Stipe.  Last week, I listened to the new Jesus & Mary Chain album (which I will review soon), and I was surprised to hear that it sounded just like a Monkees record.

So, it was little surprise that Rhino commissioned Adam Schlesinger of new wave outfit Fountains of Wayne to produce The Monkees' 12th studio album, "Good Times!" in celebration of the band's 50th anniversary.  Schlesinger recruits a plethora of modern artists to assist in the songwriting and as session musicians, but mainly uses the surviving members of the band, Michael Nesmith, Micky Dolenz, and Peter Tork.  (Davy Jones sadly passed away in 2012.)  The result is a captivating experiment.  As you discover which artists contributed to the record, you can see the influence of The Monkees in their music, and, at the same time, their contributions fit very well on this collection.  Remember - the original members of the band often went into the studio individually to record their own music, and this resulted in records with a very eclectic sound - from Nesmith's country rock contributions, to Dolenz's pop songs, and Davy Jones's piano ballads.  Monkees' albums had a very diverse sound, and that's what you will find on this collection.

The Monkees then

But make no mistake - this is no fluffy nostalgia piece.  This is amazingly a legitimate pop rock album in its own right.

The first song, the title track, "Good Times", is a hip-swinging number, a duet with Dolenz and the late, iconic songwriter, Harry Nilsson, who collaborated with the band several times.  Nilsson passed away in 1994, so this number is a good way to resurrect him.  The next is a toe-tapping song called "You Bring the Summer" written by Andy Partridge of XTC, one of my favorites on this record.  It is amazing that it sounds like an XTC song, but it also sounds like a Monkees song!  "She Makes Me Laugh" is a fizzy piece written by Rivers Cuomo of Weezer.  It was funny to read that Dolenz changed some of the lyrics, because he didn't feel that they were age appropriate.  Schlesinger takes a stab at a couple of songs - "Our Own World" and "I was There (And I'm Told I Had A Good Time)" - the latter co-written with Dolenz, and the younger musician shows that he is not bad at mimicry.  There are a couple of songs from the old days that were never released and were remastered for this project, sometimes the vocals re-recorded for the tracks.  These songs are "Gotta Give It Time", "Whatever's Right", and "Love to Love", a ballad penned by Neil Diamond and vocals added posthumously by Davy Jones.  It's like summoning a ghost.  "Me & Magdalena" is a haunting melody provided by Ben Gibbard of Death Cab For Cutie.  Peter Tork provides a couple of songs - a newer one called "Little Girl" and an older one called "Wasn't Born To Follow".  And Nesmith provides a couple - a ballad played with Schlesinger called "I Know What I Know", and "Birth of An Accidental Hipster" - written with Noel Gallagher of Oasis and Paul Weller of The Jam and Style Council.  The song is a Beatles-esque venture into progressive psychedelia, with almost schizophrenic changes, very enjoyable.

This album is worth having.  It is a good welcome home for old fans as well as a good introduction to a younger audience, featuring the contributions of more recent acts, conjoining one generation with another.  If this is the way The Monkees are going out, then what a way to go out.  Even though Nesmith contributed to the album, with the exception of a few shows, he did not tour with the rest of the band.  It is questionable whether they will continue.  This was a good farewell.

Smart Pop: Ingrid Michaelson's Latest Releases

Ingrid Michaelson

Oh, Ingrid.  If I ever gave you a tepid review, would it ruin my chances of having you as my next plural wife?  Not to worry - our relationship is secure.  Your seventh album, "It Doesn't Have To Make Sense" is okay!

I've been a fan of Ingrid Michaelson since her MySpace days and have all of her albums.  In fact, this is my third review of her material.  In 2012, I reviewed "Human Again" - still my favorite of her records.  And exactly two years and one day ago, I reviewed her last album, "Lights Out".

On her seventh effort, she continues her tradition of piano ballads, reminiscent of Tori Amos or Regina Spektor, snappy pop tunes, and smart lyrics.  Like on the last release, Ingrid relinquishes some of her creative control and brings on other songwriters to assist her, but her presence in both production and songwriting remains prevalent.

The album starts out with ""Light Me Up", a dreamy pop tune dominated with Ingrid's signature piano and plaintive voice.  "Whole Lot of Heart" is probably one of my favorites here, subdued and yet insistent.  I see smoke-filled cafe in the early dawn when I hear this.  "Miss America" , with its danceable electronica is probably the most commercially accessible song on here, addictive and effervescent.  Ingrid shows her vocal range with shivering trills on "Another Life".  On "I Remember Her", she does what she does best with just a piano and her voice.  The somber "Drink You Gone", with its orchestral accompaniment, she shows her lyrical prowess and tells an alcoholic story.  "Hell No" has an impeccable bounce and comes in as the album's first single.  "Still the One" and "Celebrate" hone her pop sensibilities, and the album finishes out with a whisper on another ballad with the wistful "Old Days" - just a piano and a faint accordion.

If having this album wasn't gift enough for diehard fans like me - tomorrow, on May 12th, Ingrid is releasing a new EP called "Alter Egos" that features refreshing versions of the songs on "It Doesn't Have To Make Sense" which includes a remake of "Whole Lot of Heart" with Tegan & Sara, "I Remember Her" with Lucius, "Drink You Gone" with John Paul White, an acoustic version of "Miss America with Sara Bareilles, who has performed with Ingrid before, and an amped up version of "Celebrate" with AJR.  If you are a fan, be sure to download this tomorrow.

Hopefully, Ingrid will keep making sweet music, and maybe one day she will accept my imaginary proposal without saying, "Hell no!"

Finding Peace: Blue October's Latest Album

Blue October

For a long time, I have been part of an online community that practically worships the work of Blue October - and with reason.  This band is genius.  However, I know many fans that were taken aback by their eighth studio album, "Home".  Why?  It's too happy!

It's no secret that singer-songwriter Justin Furstenfeld has a history of mental illness.  This struggle has oozed into the music, and the lyrics have often been tortured and angst-driven, the words often bit off and spat out with virulence, broaching a panorama of subjects like torture and murder fantasies.  Justin has often put so much of himself in his lyrics that his fans are often familiar with his personal struggles.  This culminated in "Any Man in America", an angry diatribe against his wife and custody case.  It was a little to much for the fans.  That album was followed by 2013's "Sway" which loosened its proverbial collar and veered into the direction of dance rock, but still had some of Justin's trademark weirdness.

So what's the deal with the new album?  One friend pointed out the primary single and radio hit - the title track "Home".  "I don't want to hear Justin singing about 'Daddy loves Momma' and 'dancing in the kitchen'!" said my friend.  "It's just not the Blue October that I'm used to.  What the hell has happened to Justin??"

Well, he got happy, apparently.  Give the guy a break!  Hasn't he suffered enough?  Obviously, he's in love again, and the songs are pleasantly sappy.  It's refreshing to see him happy.

That said, maybe there is method to the madness.  Although the songs are well-crafted and polished and palatable, none of them grab me as hard as anything on "Foiled".  The ferocity, the tenacity, the gritted-teeth passion that made me love Blue October is missing.

The opener, "Coal Makes Diamonds", is probably one of my favorite tracks with its piano intro and Justin's plaintive howls.  "Driver" could be a remake of "Sway", but they are both catchy songs, so it is forgivable.  "Heart Go Bang" is one of those sappy songs that I was mentioning.  It is incomparably hopeful, although the song is not that bad.  The dreamy background vocals at the end give it an added dimension.  "I Want It", the other single, is a fist-pumping anthem that could easily play at a self-help seminar.

The redeeming quality of this record is that the band veers off into dream pop for several songs, focusing on atmospherics and an ethereal quality that, of course, to me, is quite pleasing - songs like "We Know Where You Go" with its catchy bridge, "Break Ground", the sprawling "Time Changes Everything", and the shoegazey "The Still".  There are even some residues of aggression on songs in "The Lucky One" and the dissonant "Houston Heights".  Throw a couple of remixes, and you have a pretty good album.

These guys are all good musicians and songwriters.  They're not going to make a bad album.  However, this is probably one of my least favorite in their catalog.  The edge, the raw power of human emotion that was always prevalent in their music is gone.  But if it means peace for Justin - may they never recapture that.

From Punk To Polygamy, Part 4: Conclusion

The Baron and me, Sedona, AZ, 1994 - cracking up at the g's sticking out of my shirt

As I mentioned in my previous post, when I joined the AUB, a large Mormon polygamous congregation in Utah, I went all ascetic and gave up the music I loved, thinking that it made me holier-than-thou.  This was in the early '90s.  As a result, I missed the whole grunge thing.  Which is really ironic.  Here I was on the crest of the whole alternative movement in the '80s, and I practically missed the whole Lollapalooza explosion of the scene in the '90s.  All because I was trying to be a good Mormon fundie young man.  I was trying to improve myself.

Then, I found myself out of favor in the AUB.  It's a whole other story that I won't go into now, maybe some other time.  I did talk about it a bit in my Year of Polygamy podcast interview.  It got me questioning things and re-evaluating my membership in the AUB.  But, thankfully, it got me to be a bit of my old self.  For instance, this post from my journal in May, 1994 (names omitted):

"____ wanted us to work on one of his jobs in Herriman, so we went out there. We ran into ______, and he was asking us if we were going to tomorrow's work project. I said no, so he gave us this nauseating parable about people who couldn't feed themselves, but they could feed each other. ______  is such a hypocrite.

"I'm sorry to say (or am I?) that I've found again my old friend – cynicism. I lost it when I first came into the Group, but I've found it again.

"After work, Sean and I went to the MLA building to help ________ move things to the new archives by the endowment house. _____ and _____ were there. Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. Not necessarily respectively. Nor respectfully. _____  asked us if we brought the food, and I responded, 'No, I fed it to Sean, and he fed it to me.'

"They're building another building behind the RCA building.

"I told Sean, 'Watch me touch a nerve.'

"Then I asked _____ and ______, 'Which one of you brethren is going to get credit for doing the construction on the new building?'

"______ spoke up quickly, 'I am!'

"They're so predictable! They want to do good works to increase their good names. I'm so disgusted by them."

I was starting to get that punk attitude again.  And I gradually started to get into music again.  I guess you could say that The Cranberries saved my life.  They were the first new band that I had gotten into for a long, long time.  I had heard their song "Linger" on the radio and didn't think much of it.  But then I saw the play live on late night TV, and I was hooked.  Martha and I were newlyweds, sharing a house with a couple of other married couples, and we spent our time in our basement apartment, jamming to the Cranberries with our baby daughter, Sophie.

The Cranberries

Then, I got the news of a lifetime.  My all-time favorite band, Cocteau Twins, was playing a live show at Saltair, a venue on the shores of the Great Salt Lake.  This was literally a dream come true to me.  I had loved them all through the '80s when they were obscure and no one really knew who they were.  And I was going to see them live!  I bought two tickets - one for me and one for my brother.  On a chilly winter night, we drove to Saltair and ran into one of our friends from the AUB there who had actually met the band earlier that day.  We hung out for the show with this guy.  The shoegaze band, Luna, opened up for them, and then I had the delicious experience of seeing my favorite band play live, something that I will never forget.  It was my first concert in years, and Cocteau Twins would break up three years later.

On the way from the show, my old '77 Dodge threw a rod at midnight just outside of Saltair on I-80.  My brother and I started hitchhiking.  No one picked us up.  I imagine Cocteau Twins themselves passed us, but no such luck. It was the day before cell phones, so we walked the entire seven miles to Salt Lake Airport where we called for a ride from the lobby of a hotel.  I was wearing dress shoes that night, and my feet were covered with blisters the next morning.

Cocteau Twins

It wasn't long until I was excommunicated from the AUB, and my wife and I packed up our little Mercury Topaz with our baby and all of the belongings we could fit into the car and drove through the night to Mesa, Arizona.  (We saw a UFO that night, but that's another story.)  I was back by my old-stomping grounds, although my wilder days were over as I now had a family.  But I rekindled my old friendships, like with the Baron, who played in a post-grunge band with other guys I knew in high school.  I went to their shows in local venues several times.  Now that I was out of the AUB, music was no longer forbidden to me, and I started to listen to rock again.  I didn't realize how out of touch I was with music until I went to a wedding reception in the Verde Valley, and a friend of a friend asked me, "I hear you're into music.  Can you suggest any good new bands for me?"

I went hot in the face.  "It's been a long time since I have been into any new music," I told him with shame.

Gradually, I started discovering new artists like Sky Cries Mary, early emo band, Sunny Day Real Estate, Live (still a guilty pleasure), and the revival of punk bands like Bad Religion.  My older brother from Utah gave me several used CDs that included Catherine Wheel and Sarah McLachlan.  One night in '94, I went with the Baron to Mill Avenue in Tempe.  We were eating spaghetti at a patio restaurant, watching people walk by like we always did.  All of a sudden, the Baron started choking on his noodles.  Right past our table walked Chris and Curt Kirkwood of the Meat Puppets, Mike Watt, Eddie Veder, and Dave Grohl.  The Foo Fighters - still without an album - played one of their first live shows, opening for Mike Watt, just feet away from where we were scarfing spaghetti.

And yet, it was strange for me coming back to Arizona, after having spent all of that time with the polygamists.  I never really felt like I fit in with the polygamists.  And yet, back in Arizona, I did not feel like I really fit in with the music crowd.  I had changed.

Me in 2007 - I had Kody Brown hair before Kody did

Shortly after coming back to Arizona, I went on another self-imposed exile.  My family all went in on a 40-acre ranchette near Concho, a small town in eastern Arizona.  It was an undeveloped piece of land down five miles of bumpy dirt road.  I moved out in December, 1995 into a rickety singlewide trailer.  The intention was to live United Order, a form of Mormon collectivism, which we did for several years.  We had no running water, no plumbing (we pooped in buckets and then buried it), no electricity, no TV, no music.

We gradually made improvements,  A well and tank, a septic system for toilets.  But I want to talk about the no TV thing for a minute.  A council member in the AUB that my dad respected very much once offhandedly told my dad that TV had ruined more United Orders than anything else.  My dad then told him, "Well, I like the documentaries."  And the council member said, "Well, I do, too."

Well, my dad was well-intentioned, but this story grew in the telling.  And after the passing of my dad, people kept telling this story, and it kept growing bigger and bigger.  This apostle prophesied with quivering rage that is we ever brought TV to the property, it would be the end of our United Order.  LOL.  People forget - I was there for this all.  I saw how the story "grew".

Me on the banks of the Congaree, South Carolina, 2009

Nevertheless, my dad drafted an agreement that we wouldn't bring TV onto our property, and I signed it.  I didn't want to, I didn't agree with it, but I signed it anyway.  Mostly because I wanted to please my dad.  Years later, other people tried to include computers in this agreement, and, by then, I had grown a pair and put my foot down.  The way I look at it now - I will never agree again to have any MAN control what I can or what I cannot have in my house.  Years later, after the United Order had dissolved, I bought a 7" DVD player.  It was like bringing fire to the natives.  My kids huddled around that thing like it might disappear.  Then a few years after that, I broke the agreement and bought a TV.  I guess I have always been a rebel at heart.  When I feel oppressed, I always have a tendency to do things out of the norm - like growing my hair long.  Maybe that's why I have this bushy beard right now.

Back in the early days of the United Order, all I had was a boombox.  Without TV, we listened to a lot of books-on-tape, radio broadcasts, and I listened to my music - at least as long as the D batteries lasted.  There was no internet, so it was hard to keep up with new music.  My older brother would send me mix tapes from Utah - Toad the Wet Sprocket, Heather Nova.  Once, on a trip to Phoenix, I got a free sampler from a CD shop.  I took that home and started listening to it over and over again.  I would up eventually buying everything on that sampler - The Badlees, Blue Rodeo, Jan Arden.

Me and my daughter Sara at the Puscifer store, Jerome, AZ

Around this time, I started practicing plural marriage, my attempt lasting thirteen years.  For years, as a punk, I was used to endure people looking at me oddly.  That was part of being a punk.  As a polygamist, I got a lot of strange looks as well.  Perhaps I have thrived on this.

During my time as a Mormon fundamentalist, even now, I have a lot of people telling me that I shouldn't listen to rock music, to "music of the world", or that I shouldn't go to movies.  I think that is ridiculous.  These people should adhere to the Mormon motto which is: "Mind your own business."  They should not concern themselves what I watch or what I listen to.  I have come to terms with my own spirituality and who I am.  I have learned to embrace the part of myself that loves punk music.  It's part of who I am.  And I would not be a Mormon fundamentalist if I had not first embraced punk.  My "splurge" is that I allow myself to download four albums a month.  It is mostly stuff that is obscure and that you have not likely heard of.  But that's who I am.  To keep discipline in really listening to the stuff I download, I started a music blog called Moroni's Music where I review my downloads.  I love keeping current with music and new artists.  Check my blog out if you can.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, my kids follow after me and love obscure music as much as I do.  My kids are always getting me into new music.  But make no mistake - I get them into new music just as much as they do.  It's great to have that kind of relationship with my kids.

When I am an old man, I will likely still be rocking out, much to the chagrin of the polygamous communities!  Ha!

2016: The Year of Suck

David Bowie

2016 was the year of suck.  We all know it - many icons in music and acting seemed to drop like proverbial flies.  I already wrote about Caroline Crawley and Leonard Cohen.  I meant to write about David Bowie and Prince, but never got around to it until now.

When David Bowie died a little over a year ago, I cried.  Usually, celebrity deaths don't affect me, but this one did.  Bowie was almost old enough to be my father, and yet he felt more like a spokesman for my generation.   I was a little too young to really remember all of his incarnations in the '70s like Ziggy Stardust, although I do remember hearing songs like "Suffragette City" and "Rebel Rebel" as a kid.  It wasn't until I was a teen that I became aware of his music and the seminal influence that it had on the music I listened to.  So, it was like, "Hey, you know that Bauhaus song?  'Ziggy Stardust'?  Did you know that was a Bowie song?"  I knew him better as The Thin White Duke.  The guy in "Labyrinth".  The cool af guy in the gothic thriller, "The Hunger".  The guy with the perfect coif and cream-colored suit from "Modern Love", "Let's Dance", and who wrote "China Girl" with Iggy Pop.  This was the incarnation of Bowie from my days.

Of course, this led to exploring his older music - like "Space Oddity", "Changes", "Heroes", and "Young Americans".  There has never been a time since I have been alive that Bowie has not been cool and influenced many of the bands that I liked.  In later years, I even listened to Tin Machine, his experiment with more aggressive music.  Over the years, I have owned many Bowie albums. But at his death, I realized that I owned none.  What is it about artists dying that make us want to own their music?  I straightaway bought a greatest hits album - not the first I have owned.  As the days and months have passed, I find that I still miss Bowie.

Prince

Whereas I listened to Bowie a lot in my younger years, I did not listen much to Prince.  Of course, I was completely aware of him.  It was the '80s, and he was one of the best known artists of the decade.  I think that I felt that it wasn't really my type of music.  I didn't like soul or R&B at that age.  I was into metal and punk.  It hasn't been until I have reached adulthood that I have come to understand and appreciate the artistry of his music.  Prince was a performer in every sense of the word.

I had always intended on downloading his music, but, upon learning of his death, I downloaded a collection called "The Very Best of Prince".  This was a mistake.  This collection seems to be radio hits, all of the songs chopped shorter than the album versions.  If you are going to download any songs, go with the album originals.  Beyond that, the record very aptly spans his career, from his '70s hit, "I Wanna Be Your Lover" to his MTV breakthrough, "1999", his songs from the "Purple Rain" soundtrack, songs when he was an unpronounceable symbol, to my favorite - and my kids' favorite - "Kiss",  This song is so offbeat that it could have been Modest Mouse.  An enjoyable trip down memory lane.

Hopefully, 2017 will be kinder to our aging artists.  Listen to their music now while they are still kicking, before they shuffle off this mortal coil.

Note:  Here is a Bowie video below, but it looks like all Prince videos were taken off YouTube.  That's too bad.

From Punk To Polygamy, Part 3: Moving To Utah

Me in 1997

On a chilly September morning in 1990, at age 20, we loaded my parents' cramped car and headed to Utah, my parents taking me and my younger brother to Utah to start college and move in with my polygamist relative, Uncle Jim.  It was my turn to drive that night, and a fog poured over the rolling highway in rural Utah, my first time in my birth state in many years.  We arrived at my Uncle Jim's house in Salt Lake City, and we were met with open arms.  That afternoon, a group of polygamist men stood around a large tree in the sunlight of the afternoon sun and talked gospel.  Even though I was a novice, I joined in.  Later, one of the women told me that she admired me for having the nerve to discuss with older men who knew more than me.  I didn't know that I had committed some faux pas.

The next day, my parents dropped me off at the campus of the local community college for registration, and then they drove off to Arizona, leaving me alone.  Apart from my summer in Belgium, this was my first time being away from home.  I puked in the bathroom, I was so nervous.  It didn't take long for me to make friends, mainly with the international students.  I joined their organization and was involved in organizing their social events.  For one Halloween party, I was asked to deejay.  Of course, I spun house music, and then someone requested Aerosmith.  Some French girl approached me and sneered, "Now, this is real music!"

Me in Sedona, 1990, with my personal go-go dancer

I found that Salt Lake City, at the time, was roughly yet consistently about three years behind the times.  Stuff I had listened to three years earlier, like The Smiths or The Cure, were popular on their popular alternative radio station.  I auditioned as a deejay at a local modern club, DV8 and played house music.  I was told firmly that this was not the kind of music their patrons listened to.  A year later, I saw a live show - British acid house outfit, 808 State, and, before the show, the deejay was spinning house.  I just shook my head.  I applied a year too early.  That is not to say that there was not a good music scene.  Fans were enthusiastic about the live shows.  While I lived there, Throwing Muses did a free show on the lawn at University of Utah, and Frank Black (of Pixies fame) did an acoustic set in a record store while on a road trip across the States.

However, I really missed Arizona, even if I did like living in Utah.  Thirty years ago, there was not as much of a latino presence in Utah as there is now.  I missed my people. I missed my food in a place where sweet salsa and Taco Time were people's idea of Mexican food.  I started listening to Mexican music, Cuban music, Puerto Rican music - anything with a latin beat.  One night, I went to an open mic poetry night at Bandaloops, and I was pining about how much I missed Arizona.  Some hipster girl rolled her eyes at me and told me that Arizona wasn't exactly "the cultural mecca of the Southwest".  Later, that girl asked me if I wanted to go to a party with her.  I think she was baffled why I coldly turned her down.  I found friendship and companionship with many of the single kids from the polygamist families my age and started attending the dances put on by Joe Darger's family in Murray Park.  Following the tastes among the polygamists, I started, for the first time in my young adult life. to listen to country music - something that shocked some of my siblings.  To this day, I still listen to it, although I can get sick of it pretty quickly.  I also reunited with Chad, a friend from high school, who lived in Salt Lake City at the time.  Since we didn't really have many other friends, we used to hang out and go to movies.  There was an art house downtown - I don't remember the name - that used to show obscure art films, and it was so cold they used to serve hot cider to help warm you up.

Me in 1990

At the end of 1991, I, along with all of my family, joined the AUB, which is one of the largest polygamous churches in Utah.  The AUB are not as physically distinguishable as the FLDS.  Most do not wear the prairie dresses (although some of the old-timers do).  Being in the AUB was like being in the LDS Church, except they practice plural marriage.  When I joined, I ran into a couple of women that had attended college with, although I had no idea at the time that they were plural wives.  One of them told me, "I wondered if you were a fundamentalist because if your last name, but when you walked into class, you were wearing a bandanna on your head, a biker jacket, cutoff shorts, and combat boots.  I had no clue that you were a Mormon fundamentalist!  You looked pretty wild!"

In the AUB, I quickly learned that I was the odd man out when it came to my musical tastes.  Rock music, in general, was eschewed as evil and generally avoided.  One evening, I was invited with other young people to BYU to attend a concert of Mormon fluff rock act, Afterglow.  There are no words to describe how much I hated this music.  It was wimpy, effeminate, and passionless, all in the attempt to engender an uplifting, spiritual version of Mormon easy listening music.  With a sour taste in my mouth, I left the concert, and Martha - who would become my wife one day - was on a date with another young man.  They were gushing about how good the concert was, and I felt nauseous.  (Okay, I was a little jealous.)  I had to tell them how much I didn't like it.

AUB leader, the late Owen Allred and me, 1994

As Martha and I started to court, I tried to share some of the music I liked with her, and I was shocked that she didn't like any of it.  I placed her Dead Can Dance.  She shook her head and said that it was too dark.  I played her the most innocent, innocuous record I could think of - "In My Tribe" by 10,000 Maniacs,  "You have to ask yourself - is this uplifting?" she asked me.

I have since come to the conclusion - why does art always have to be uplifting?  Is life always uplifting?  Can life not be dark sometimes?  Or is it always sugar and fluff?  Art should reflect life, which is sometime uplifting, yet sometimes heavy and burdensome.  It's easy for me to say that now, but I did something to myself that was unconscionable.  I tried to rewrite myself in order to fit in with the AUB.  No one forced me.  No one made me do it.  I did it on my own.  I wanted to fit in.  I wore the button-up shirts that polygamist men wear.  I ceased being controversial and was completely mild-mannered.  But mostly, I stopped listening to the music I loved, because I viewed it as evil and not conducive to an uplifting spirit.  Shortly before I got married, I took a trip to Arizona to hang out with the Baron and Matt.  I took my crate of records and cassettes and sold ALL of them at Zia Record Exchange in Tempe.  Those that I could not sell, I gave away to my friends.  I purged that out of my life.

When I come back with Part 4, I will tell you how music saved me.

Bubbles and Black Lace: Tamaryn's Shimmering Third Record

Tamaryn

I first came across Kiwi shoegaze artist, Tamaryn, in 2012.  I downloaded a free promotional single, "Heavenly Bodies" off of her second album, "Tender New Signs".  I loved it immediately with its swirling guitars and soft vocals.  It was evident that this was a Cocteau Twins rip-off, but I did not begrudge this.  I think it is fantastic when artists today pay homage to my favorite group of all time.  The song was good enough that I always intended on checking out the whole album, but I never got around to it.

It was a pleasant surprise when Tamaryn released a third album called "Cranekiss" to good reviews.  Last year, she embarked on a tour with pioneer shoegaze band, Lush - their first in twenty years.  Over the last year, I have had the pleasure of listening to the album.  Tamaryn has shown that she can successfully transcend the shoegaze genre and make a resplendent and satisfying pop album.

Tamaryn with members of Lush

"Cranekiss", the principal single, has the same Cocteau Twins flare that "Heavenly Bodies" had - scintillating guitars with heavy reverb, a strong Will Heggie-style bass line, and Tamaryn doing vocal acrobatics.  But "Hands All Over Me" takes a markedly different turn, a mouth-watering synthpop tune in the vein of Chvrches or Phantogram.  "Last" is another delectable poptart, faintly reminiscent of Kitten, in other words, not very goth or shoegaze at all, but very dream pop with some Tears For Fears hooks and Tamaryn doing some gravity-defying vocal scales.  "Collection" continues the effervescent new wave swell, sounding kind of like Altered Images.  "Keep Calling" takes a shift for the melancholy, reminding us that this band is from a genre on the darker side of the melancholy spectrum - a beautiful ballad but with a strong, New Order-style bass.  The song shimmers with moodiness.  "Softcore" is still my favorite selection off this record, going full goth - a spooky bass line, scracthy guitars, and yet it is oddly danceable.

Cranekiss

"Fade Away Slow" goes all shoegaze with the vocals nothing but a hoarse whisper fed through reverb.  The music is a dull hiss, dragging along like an echo of the lyrics, but carried forward with a down-tempo synth beat.  "I Won't Be Found" continues with the ethereal - impressionistic guitars with voices like wish crashing on a mountainside, the music just a whisper of leaves blown off the peat moss.   "Sugar Fix" is by far one of my favorites as well, and probably one of the most Cocteau of the songs on here with its candy guitars and pummeling bass and dance beat offset by Tamaryn's sweet and diaphanous voice.  "Intruder (Waking You Up)" starts with an insistent thrum set over watery guitars, flashes of light shining on the water.

Tamaryn really isn't covering new territory, for those who know the genre, but she is bringing it to a new and younger audience.  God bless her for it.  It is a pleasant rehash of things that have faded under the unkind glare of time.  Lately, I have listening to newer and harsher versions of shoegaze like A Place To Bury Strangers, a band that takes the gentleness and buries it under distortion.  Tamaryn is an earlier recollection of shoegaze, chaff blowing on the summer wind.  But in times of winter, this is the stuff you dream about.  I like how she has almost given two tones to this album.  The first half is light and effervescent, and the second is darker and moodier.  Kind of like life.

From Punk To Polygamy, Part 2: The Rave Years

Me in the Domes, 1988

The summer after high school graduation, in 1988, I went on a school-sponsored summer exchange program to Belgium.  Previously, I had taken four years of high school French.  When I got to Belgium, I realized that I really didn't speak French.  After a summer over there, I came back almost fluent, speaking French almost better than my high school teacher.  My time in Belgium changed my life.

First of all, it gave me a world view, breaking out of my colloquial bubble, experiencing culture, language, and food from an entirely new perspective.  I found that everyone knew I was Mormon because of my unique name, and everyone would offer me wine.  For the first half of the trip, I set a good example, being a good Mormon boy, and politely declined any offer of alcohol.  By the end of my stay, I was doing as in Rome and trying to see how many mugs of Jupiler it took before my ability to speak French was impaired.  Many raised their eyebrows when they found out that I came from a large family.  I was depressed my first week there.  Everyone was condescending and mildly sarcastic towards me.  After a week, I started throwing the sarcasm back at them, and everyone warmed up.  Some were impressed by familiar with Marx.  One guy had blown smoke in my face when I first got there and said, "You know, I really hate your country."  A week later, he was telling me, "You are the first nice American I have ever met!"

Me in Belgium, wearing a Meat Puppets shirt, 1988

Pierre, the father of the host family I stayed with took me aside one evening.  He told me in mixed French and broken English to be more proud of who I was when people asked me.  He pointed at himself, "I, Freemason."  He pointed at me, "You, Mormon."  Then the finger darted between us.  "Freemason respect Mormon."  Of course, I was 18 and dumb.  I had no clue what the significance was in that.  But to this day, I deeply respect Freemasons, thanks to Pierre.

While there, I would attend dance clubs.  The music at these clubs was dominated by pounding electronic beats as the acid house craze was sweeping through Europe.  The Belgians had their own version of this music called New Beat.  I fell in love with this music from Belgium, much as my dad had fallen in love with Mexican music and took some home with me - Front 242, Euroshima, Lords of Acid, Jade 4U, 101, S-Express, Bomb the Bass.  Once home, I bought a lot of this music, although, in the days before internet, it was tough, involving heavy catalogs at the record stores, special orders, and a lot of patience.  And everything was on vinyl!  I ordered a lot of Chicago house, Detroit techno, and everything in between with a hard beat.  I made everyone mix tapes and got pretty good at dubbing with the equipment I had.  I deejayed parties, much to the chagrin of my friends who didn't care for house music.  I remember going to an old cotton warehouse with some of my deejay friends, setting up equipment in the empty building, and spinning music as loud as we could, although I was sad that we left the recording levels down.  No one really listened to this music or knew what it was.

Me & James in Yuma, 1989 - making the duck face before it was "cool"

By 1989, all of the clubs were playing acid house - all of them.  If you went to an alternative club, "She Sells Sanctuary" by The Cult or "Blue Monday" by New Order were no longer the longtime fixtures they once were - it was all house music, which I always described as tripped-out disco.  The clubs were mostly playing Belgian New Beat - which was a shock to all of my friends who came to visit Belgium in the summer of '89.  There were about six of them.  Imagine their surprise walking into Six Feet Under in Tempe -  which made the summer edition of Rolling Stone magazine that year - and the deejay was playing nothing but Belgian music that year.  Not only did we attend clubs, but we attended raves, or what we called back then simply "warehouse parties" - illegal deejay parties that sprung up in empty warehouses or buildings in downtown Phoenix, infamous for serving alcohol to minors and being busted by cops.

At the end of 1989, me and my good friend, The Baron, made a trip to Austin, Texas to see my friend Matt.  The first mishap - we were running late getting to the airport.  After checking our luggage, we were literally running through the airport to get to our plane.  Now, this is in the days before TSA, but we still had to go through the metal detector.  I had so many metal bracelets on both wrists that they kept setting the detectors off.  I was trying to take them off one by one to be able to get through the detectors, but it wasn't happening.  The plane was going to take off.  I pulled off all the bracelets off all together in one tug.  Skin came with the bracelets, and there was blood.  But we made the plane on time.  On the plane, I spent my entire ride staring at these business people - a man and a woman - engaged in conversation.  I really remember staring at them, realizing that I would never be like them.

Me in 1988

Once in Austin, we went to the famed 6th Street by the university with its bars and clubs.  We found this dance club.  The interior was pretty cool - three stories with a movie projector playing "The Blob" on the top story.  The club played acid house and Belgian New Beat, but the club's patrons were not sure what to do with it.  They were snobby, trendy kids with blond hair, expensive black clothes, and shiny,black shoes.  They stood on the dance floor and shuffled aimlessly to the music, not really into dancing, but there for some sort of fashion show.  Then there was the Baron and me - right out of the Phoenix rave scene, and we looked the part.  Smiley face t-shirts and buttons, leather biker jackets, the numerous bracelets were back on my wrist, hair hanging in our faces, getting into the music and really dancing.  The patrons stared at us in bewilderment, not knowing what to make of us.  It was, back then, one of the proudest moments of my life.  The evening finished out when a punk I knew by the name of John took me to party in the back of the club in an alleyway with some other punks, and I wound up on the hood of an Austin Police cruiser.  Frisked and let off with a warning.

Ghost Division, a punk band I sang for briefly

I guess I should say that, for a short time, I started experimenting with drugs.  It was part of rave culture.  I'm not really proud of it, but neither am I ashamed of it.  It was just something that happened and a learning experience.  I'm going to neither discuss it further nor glorify it.  But at this point, I was kind of in trouble spiritually.  At this time, my dad's long career in the LDS Church was coming to an end.  He was facing excommunication for belief in plural marriage.  I was the age to to go off on my mission, and I think my dad knew that I was struggling.  He started to push me in a direction to embrace my religion.  I already had had a few spiritual experiences, but nothing that I felt really defined me spiritually.  Not until one night when I was watching Martin Scorcese's "The Last Temptation of Christ", which was being boycotted by religious groups at the time because it depicted scenes where Jesus (Willem Dafoe) was married.  I had no problem with that.  As a Mormon, I already believed that Jesus was married - probably polygamously.  During the movie, the devil in the guise of an angel, portrayed by a child, tempts Jesus to come off of the cross and live his life the way he wants.  So he does and marries Mary Magdalene.  Decades later, on his death bed, his apostles come and scold him.  They gave their lives for him, and, in return, he was supposed to die for them.  He regrets his choice and wishes that he was back on the cross, and he wakes up, still nailed to the cross.  It was all a fantasy, a temptation.

Me after a rave, 1990

I drove home and thought about this movie.  Some at church had suggested that Jesus had no agency to act for himself, that he had to fulfill his calling.  God had declared the beginning to the end and had prophesied that Jesus would succeed.  So it was impossible for Jesus to fail.  He had no choice.  He had no free agency.  This made no sense to me.  How could he not have a choice?  The fact that he made a decision to go to his death made his sacrifice all that more meaningful.  So,after midnight, sitting in my car, I prayed for the first time ever, asking God to now if the sacrifice of Jesus was real, and the Spirit poured on me like sweet honey, tears flooding my eyes.  The punk, the raver knew for the first time that there was a God in heaven, and that his son was Jesus Christ.  From that moment on, I started studying every book on Mormonism that I could find.  Specifically, books on Mormon fundamentalism since that was the direction that my family was moving.

Around this time, the Baron called me up and drove me to downtown Casa Grande to look at an abandoned warehouse.  It was an old car parts warehouse, long out of use.  The Baron wanted to show it to me as an idea for opening a club in Casa Grande, which had none, yet was possibly big enough to have one.  There were catwalks all over the facility, including a cage that would be perfect for a deejay booth.  We started talking logistics about opening the club.  We were very excited over the prospect.

Me, a friend, and The Baron, Cornville, 1989

The the same time, I was approached by my parents who were very concerned about my spirituality.  They offered to pay for my schooling if I moved to Utah with my polygamist uncle and lived among the polygamists.  So, I had a choice - open a dance club, or move to Utah and become a Mormon fundamentalist.  Of course, I picked the latter.

The week before I was supposed to leave, I was mowing the lawn.  Fall was approaching in Arizona, but it was still hot.  With my younger brother, we drove to the LDS chapel for an appointment.  The building was empty except for the bishop.  He let us in and took us to his office for a very brief interview.  The first question he asked was, "Do you believe that plural marriage should be practiced in this day and age?"

My answer was, "Yes."

Next question:  "Do you believe that Ezra Taft Benson is a prophet, seer, and revelator, and the only man on the earth that holds the keys?"

My answer:  "No."

That was it, I was dismissed.

A few days later, we were loading up the car to go to Utah.  In the back of the car was a crate with all of my vinyl and cassettes.  In the hallway, as we prepared to leave, my dad stopped me.  He put both his hands on my shoulder, looked me in the eye and smiled.

"I don't think Utah is ready for you, son," he said.

A couple of weeks later, in Utah, I got two letters from the LDS Church.  One was an invitation to my priesthood court, saying that I had been excommunicated for apostasy.  The second was the result of my trial - excommunication.  So, it was official.  I was cut off from the LDS Church for BELIEF in plural marriage.  I was officially a Mormon fundamentalist.

In the next part, I will discuss being a Mormon fundamentalist, how music affected me, and what it is like being a former punk in this culture.

From Punk To Polygamy, Part 1

Me in 1988

In my recent interview on the "Year of Polygamy" podcast, Lindsay Hansen Park asked me briefly my history as a teen in the punk movement, as she thought it was an interesting aside about me.  She asked me if I thought that this interest in counter-culture movements might have contributed in any way to my embracing such an unconventional lifestyle like Mormon fundamentalism.  I mentioned that it indeed has.  There was a time when I tried to re-write myself, but, the older I get, the more I realize that punk - and other movements - helped to shape me and have made me who I am today.  I am grateful for that and have learned to embrace that part of me.  She has asked me to give a presentation at the Arizona Sunstone Symposium this March called "From Punk To Polygamy: The Story of a Mormon Fundamentalist".  I am sure that she will want me to focus more on the "Mormon fundamentalist" part than the "punk", but I thought I would write a little about that part of my life.

I grew up in Southern Utah in the late '70s.  Back then, the only thing that they played on the radio was country music.  In the home, my dad had a huge record collection he had amassed on his mission in Mexico, so we listened to rancheras and mariachi music.  Around 1979, at the age of 9, I started listening every Sunday to Casey Kasem's "American Top 40" on a portable radio.  It changed my world.  The first time I heard "Back in Black" by AC/DC, I sat transfixed, staring at the radio,  I had never heard anything like it.  It seemed almost forbidden.  From then on, I was listening to everything I could from that era - The Police, Blondie, Rod Stewart, Styx.  This was the stuff that I listened to.

In 1982, our family moved from Utah to Casa Grande, Arizona, a small town on the outskirts of Phoenix.  For a kid from rural Utah, this was a huge change.  It was '82, and I was the only kid in school still wearing bell bottoms.  I had older brothers in high school, and they made friends in the local LDS ward.  I remember, after Mutual, going to my parents' shop after hours with my older brothers and their friends to listen to heavy metal music on a record player - Rush, Ozzy, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest.  And so I became a metalhead.

Me in the center with friends from Texas, 1986

My older brother, like my dad, had a huge record collection.  His tastes became diverse, and he ranged from the conventional into more obscure bands - Motorhead, Testament, Voivod, Venom, Slayer, and Metallica.  We were listening to "Kill 'Em All" before anyone really even knew who Metallica was.  I remember some conflict between my dad and brother over the record collection and my dad throwing out some of the records that he perceived to be satanic.

And because these bands were influenced by hardcore punk, we started exploring that music - or rather, my brother started exploring, and I listened to whatever he listened to - Black Flag, Dead Kennedys, JFA, Junior Acheivment, Reagan Youth, Fear, Crass.  My brother moved on with metal, but I stuck to punk.  I was in junior high at the time, and the only other kid in the school who listened to punk was a kid named Matt who had just moved from Chicago.  I started going to his house, and we developed a love for horror films and art, fantasy fiction like H.P. Lovecraft, obscure metal and punk.  He introduced me to music like 45 Grave, Christian Death, The Effigies, and SNFU - pretty heavy stuff for some junior high kids.

The summer before I started high school, my oldest brother came home from college with a bag full of cassettes that I raided when he wasn't around.  That bag of cassettes - filled with what was then called "college music" also changed my life - XTC, INXS, R.E.M., The Cure, Depeche Mode, and New Order.  I started adding this music to my repertoire.

The Baron, me, & Matt in Round Rock, Texas, 1986

Once I got to high school, I learned that the people who listened to this kind of music were a minority.  Yes, we were close to metropolitan Phoenix, but this was still Arizona.  We were in a town dominated by cowboys and ranchers.  Anything underground was foreign and weird to them.  They made fun of us and our music.  In reaction, we changed our appearance and looked more garish - shaved our heads, used lots of hairspray, wore lipstick and eyeliner, tore our jeans, wore tees that reflected our musical tastes, wore combat boots, wore black.  One of the things that marked my generation that still persists today - we hate anything mainstream, and we embrace anything artistic, obscure, or indie.  We couldn't even drink Bud or smoke Marlboros like our cowboy counterparts - it had to be foreign beers and clove cigarettes.  Not only was our taste in music off the mainstream, but our choice in movies - "Eraserhead", "Blue Velvet", "A Clockwork Orange". This clique in Casa Grande, Arizona became very close and tight knit.  The cowboys called us "mods", albeit incorrectly.  Many of us to this day still maintain close contact through social media.  We have that shared experience of living in a small cow town, but bonding over our love of underground music.

Me & Melissa before a rave, 1990

For instance, there was Melisa, someone who made a great impact on me.  She was so cosmopolitan and "with it" that she was ahead of the times before anyone else.  For instance, she liked Madonna before anyone had even heard of her.  My youngest brother nicknamed her the "Black Widow" because of her affinity for wearing black.  We met because, at the beginning of my sophomore year, I was wearing a DIY, homemade Exploited shirt, and it drew her attention.  We started talking about music, and her knowledge was considerable.  She turned me on to Arizona's first alternative radio program coming out of Tucson on Sunday nights in 1985.  She introduced me to the music of The Smiths, The Jam, Style Council, and Siouxsie & the Banshees.  My friend from junior high, Matt, had moved outside of Austin, Texas, and continued to be instrumental in introducing new music to me, mostly gothic stuff, like Cocteau Twins, who remains to this day my all-time favorite band, as well as Dead Can Dance, This Mortal Coil, Bauhaus, and Clan of Xymox, stuff that I am still very much into.

The Domes

So, what did we do for fun?  These usually included forays into Phoenix were there was a readily available nightlife.  My older brother played in thrash metal band called Pedifile that was fairly well known locally.  While attending his shows, I got to see and meet members of the underground metal scene like members of Metallica, King Diamond, Fates Warning, and Sacred Reich, as well as honing my skills in the mosh pit (chipped my tooth).  There were a few alternative clubs that we would attend in Phoenix and Tempe - Prisms, Out of Water, Six Feet Under.  But mostly, we hung around town, throwing parties at homes or in the desert, blasting our music into the desert sky,  One of our favorite locations were a set of abandoned domes in the middle of the desert.  We simply called them "The Domes", and they were an eerie set of buildings with concrete floors, our laughter echoing off the walls.  They are heavily tagged now, but I was one of the first people to spray-paint graffiti on the walls - poetry about vampires.  The Domes are still in the desert and occasionally make online lists about haunted places in the U.S., although one has collapsed in recent weeks.

By the end of the '80s, people like us had banded into a cohesive movement.  120 Minutes was the show we all watched on MTV every Sunday night to watch videos from Husker Du or Peter Murphy to keep up on the latest music.  Arizona had its own alternative station with its smooth-voiced host, Jonathan L, who organized Q-Fest, the first alternative festival in the nation, before Lollapalooza.  (I attended the second Q-Fest). I feel lucky to have been part of this scene before it got big.

Me & my Valentine, Andi in 1987

So how did  my parents view all of this?  With remarkable tolerance.  My parents always knew that I marched to the beat of my own proverbial drum, and they did little to suppress my creative side.  The most "oppression" that I got was my dad making me cut my hair a couple of times.  Remember: all of this time, I was an active LDS kid, passing sacrament every Sunday.  In fact, some of the kids in my ward were in my "clique".  I was very careful about not too out of hand.  I was good at wiping off the eyeliner or lipstick or eyeliner before I got home from school, or taming my hair.  I was kind of a wild kid, and I am lucky I didn't get thrown into jail.  I remember being called a "punk kid" by a Chandler police officer and thrown down onto the hood of a car, being threatened with arrest.  The officer didn't arrest me, but let me go, and I went home shaken, my parents not even aware of the details.  By all accounts, I should either be in jail, rehab, or dead by now.  I can't account for having turned out okay.

So, why did I do it?  I moved from Southern Utah to a town with a lot of money, a lot of rich ranchers.  My family was never well-off.  We wore clothes from K-Mart.  We didn't have name brands - Polo, Reebok, Izod.  Everything in the '80s was about the brand.  If you couldn't afford to wear the brand, if you wore the imitation, you were made fun of.  I tried really hard to fit in my freshman year.  They never accepted me, and so I rebelled.  I started wearing combat boots and ripped jeans.  I would save my lunch money and buy the ugliest shirts from the '60s that I could find  from the thrift stores.  Then something surprising happened - in purposefully trying not to fit in, I became somewhat popular.  People knew me for having a unique style, and I guess it resonated with some.

I also started learning to think for myself at this time.  I became very interested in Marxist philosophy and read "The Communist Manifesto".  I became interested in the punk DIY ethic and anarchy.  I read underground, political 'zines, and even published one issue for our school, which was a lot of work before word processors.  I spoke like a revolutionary.  My girlfriend Andi and I got nominated for king and queen of the Christmas Ball.  I refused to participate, because I rejected popularity contests only to find Andi kind of mad at me.  I didn't take into account what she wanted.

So, all of this prepared me for life as a Mormon polygamist.  During this time, my dad was making an active effort to teach us more about the old Mormon doctrines of plural marriage and United Order.  I will continue the story tomorrow about my journey into Mormon fundamentalism and how music was a part of this.