There are a few simple rules in life that everyone needs to keep in mind at all times. One of those rules is to never ask "What else could go wrong?" Life views that as a challenge, and to inquire of the powers that be what else they might have in store for you is to invite stress. Stress, heartache and an endless appetite for whatever money you may have set aside for that honeymoon you haven't taken since getting married back in 2006. Jasmine's road to recovery has been full of turns and close calls. She seems to be headed towards a more stable and predictable path now, almost ten weeks after I snapped her leg in two ( my boots are fine, by the way ) but for a while there Monica and I were afraid things might not be fine at all.
Breaking your own dog's leg may seem funny on the surface but trust me, unless you're the kind of person who thinks of torturing animals as the "gateway drug" to tapping into your inner serial killer, it ain't all that cool and it costs quite a bit of money. Jasmine was doing pretty well for about a month after the accident. The vets where we take all of our little critters ( I even took my pet scorpion, Tyson, to a vet once several years ago! ) know us and our pets by name, and they always ask how they are whenever we have to bring one of them in for a check up. Jasmine had a pin inserted into her right shoulder that went all the way down to her elbow. She hobbled around well enough in a way that was cute, kind of funny looking, sad and pitiful all at the same time. She was doing okay for awhile, but then we noticed that her leg started to really swell up over the course of a couple days, and that was when things became scarier than they were the night I tripped over her.
Earlier this week Brian Shoaf, rhythm guitarist and founding member of Confessor, decided to step aside and let the remaining members of the band determine our fate as we begin to settle into the writing process for our third album. Brian put in twenty seven years as the anchor guitarist for one of the world's most curious metal bands, well over half of his life, and felt as though it was time he moved on to enjoy other projects, and some of the things in life that pass you by when so much of your spare time is taken up by being part of an active band. We will miss his contributions and his presence throughout the rest of Confessor's ride, but we all understand exactly where his heart is and wish him well. Confessor is the kind of band that counts on the different influences each member brings to the writing process, and Brian's touch will be missed ( only Brian can "Shoaf" a riff! ) but I am someone who can find a silver lining in everything. Confessor's dynamic is changed now, which means there are new doors to open that we may never have considered before.
Over the years I have had many conversations with people who wanted to know who I had been inspired by as a musician while seeking a path to my own voice. I have also had many conversations with people who were sure they already knew my influences. I'm not sure that those in the second group have ever been close except for once or twice. I came along early enough in underground metal that there were not very many "superstars" to look up to as inspirational figures. Metal was pretty clumsy at first, and its sheer aggression was still exciting enough that bands didn't have to find so many ways to set themselves apart. The term "underground" was synonymous with "not so slick" which meant that only the guitarists had really developed ideas at that point in metal's evolution. Rhythm sections had not caught up yet, though they would in a very big way years later.
I would like to run through some of the drummers who really made an impression with me as I have tried to refine different aspects of my own style. Not all of these guys have had the same kind of impact on me, but they have all made me think about different things I might be able to try in the bands I have played with. Some will be well known to other drummers while others, even if they are famous in their own right, may not be so well respected or often considered when dude talk leads to drummers. I like different drummers for different things, which is the same way I process music. I don't listen to a handful of bands with really similar sounds. Instead, I like to find the one band that paints a picture the way I like and then I look for something different . It's easier for me to hear the subtle differences in drummers than it is to hear noteworthy differences in similar bands. Most drummers are at least good enough at what they do that they can pull their weight, and plenty are far better than that. The ones that stand out to me have more than just subtle finesse and solid chops. Those drummers are a dime a dozen. The ones that raise my eyebrow apply something familiar in new ways. They seem much more creative to me than everyone else, or they find ways to be busy without jumping out as the star of the band. You may not agree. Agreeing with me is essential to the success of this blog, so I suggest you rethink your positions if you find yourself at odds with my own.
I would like to thank everyone who has asked about Jasmine and wished her well. She has been a real trooper through all of this, and is actually hobbling around a little better every day. She is just the sweetest dog ever, and it breaks our hearts to see her limping around the house. She is obviously feeling better than she was at first, and has even bounded up the stairs to our front door a few times. She has also flopped onto her chin a couple of times out in the yard, but she is getting the hang of things. The Cone of Shame is a little awkward for her, and because it sticks out so far it really exaggerates her clumsiness, but she doesn't seem to care when she gets her treats. Yes there is a little guilt there. As Early Cuyler asked once on Squidbillies, "Why do we always hurt the ones we hurt the most?" Indeed cartoon, land dwelling, redneck squid... indeed. Jasmine is absolutely playing up the pity angle these days, but why have dogs if you aren't going to spoil them.
Ouch! How to Feel Like the World's Biggest Jerk in Two Quick Steps...
Wow! Last night sure did turn on a dime for the Shelton household. I was only about ten steps away from chowing down on some sauteed peppers and onions and faux sausage sandwiches while we started a horror movie when I discovered something. Brittle old dog bones break pretty damned easily! If you ever want to feel like a complete a-hole, I found a way do it in the amount of time it takes to blink. All you need is the sweetest dog you have ever known and some steel toe boots.
Some Things Never Change...
Being in a truly unique band has always made for interesting reviews. Not all of them have been positive, and sometimes you wonder why the reviewer ever thought they would like what you do. Check this one out...
Confessor were nothing more than five guys having a blast writing and exploring music together. We were completely into what we were doing and everything we did blew open a new door for us in the House that Metal Built. We all came from the high school smoking court world of metal, but instead of following bands that spent most of their money on hair products and mascara we turned the other way and saddled up to the much more wide open world of underground metal. The ugly side that preferred to swallow whole and crap out the likes of Poison and Whitesnake while burning out their bewildered, poo covered eyes with King Diamond riffs and Slayer's mean precision. We definitely didn't care what anyone thought about our music because we wrote for ourselves. We always said that we wrote the music we wanted to hear because no one else was writing it. We never could have guessed that anyone would find our music polarizing. I have always been flattered that people either love us or hate us. To me, that means that we made a real impact with people. Apparently we hit one reviewer so hard he held onto his contempt for what we do for twenty years. Ya' gotta love that!
Happy Mother's Day!
Wow! Somehow my mother had her forty seventh Mother's Day today! That means that I must be in my late twenties, right? Well, maybe not but who's counting. My mom insists that the adorable little tyke in this photo is me, but I have seen all of the pictures of myself as a baby, a kid and an adult, and I know there has never been a day in my life when I was even close to being as cute as this guy. I won't question her about this obvious impostor on her special day, but I will grill her about it later!
My mother had me when she was nineteen years old. Hell, she was still a kid! Circumstances changed pretty quickly after that and she had to raise me on her own for a bit, with help from grandparents and even some great grandparents. I never remember thinking that she was having a bad day throughout my entire childhood. That means that she did a wonderful job of making sure I never knew how tough things must have been for her as a single mother at the age of twenty, and of making sure that I was happy which could not have been easy all the time. For that I am forever grateful.
Here is a great big hug to all mothers, and a thank you for all that they do and all that they sacrifice for their snot nosed, whining, temper tantrum throwing little brats. For all of the times we catch things on fire, send our little brothers and sisters into the emergency room, dump the entire contents of their purses into the wishing wells at malls, and all of the times the police call in the middle of the night to let them know that their son is okay but the motorcycle may be totalled... Thanks! Whether we show it or not, we all love you and we never would have made it out of diapers alive without you! Some of us may actually still be in diapers were it not for you so remember, it could be worse. If you think your six year old making a scene in a department store is embarrassing, try making a forty six year old sit in the middle of the men's shoe department until he cries himself out! I love you, mom! Thanks for everything!
