In lieu of a lack of time and creativity at this exact moment, let me use an overused sports cliché to summarize my latest entry in this blogosphere. I dropped the ball. This is “New Music Monday” but unfortunately, and strangely uncharacteristically, we didn’t acquire any new music albums to our catalog. Over the month, I’ve spent an inordinate amount creative energy on the scripting of the entertainment for Son #2’s upcoming birthday. That project left me in a lurch for time. I searched out new music, even added to my spreadsheet. At the end of the day, I just didn’t buy anything new.

However, I thought back on a group which has seen a lot of play time in my car, MP3 player, and laptop. On occasion, I have used their tunes on this blog to help set the mood and audibly tell the story of my feelings. This album isn’t new nor is it innovative or epic, but it does have listenability and is moderately entertaining.

The band is The Becoming and their debut album is “Vol. 1” released in 2008. I suppose it’s a little presumptuous to call your debut album “Vol. 1.” It almost begs for failure resulting in no chance for a “Vol. 2.” I suppose in a fickle and bureaucratically driven industry like music, you have to be a little confident in your abilities and continually sell yourself as better than the last version of you.

Two words. Christian. Gothic. Now, you wouldn’t expect to use either of those in the same context unless you were a member of one of the groups and were complaining about the intolerance or deprecation of the other. I’ll use them both together here. I estimate that The Becoming is a Christian Gothic heavy metal act. I remember when I saw photos of the band. I was hesitant to buy the album based on their look even though I had heard one single. One thing I’ve lived by in my years is not judging a book by its cover. With enough eyeliner to fill a makeup counter, more body art than an ambitious tattoo artist can do in a week, and an array of perfectly crafted emo hair styles, The Becoming can certainly stand out. But the music is good.

What makes them Gothic? The Becoming borrows everything that is typical and predictive in gothic music. Over-orchestration of strings. Heavy guitar work. Processed ethereal synthesizers and melancholy piano work. Dark and brooding choral sections. A daring and lingering lead voice. Stock in Maybelline.

What makes them Christian? The Becoming has a religious-themed message. This doesn’t necessarily constitute this labeling nor have the band claimed this genre. Typical gothic music is about funerals, blood letting, death, vampire-like ideals, graves; you know, the bright stuff. None of that exists here, just lyrics about heartache, self deficiency, letting go of it, and embracing something pure.

It’s almost paradoxical being a gothic band entrenched in philosophical messaging. Confusing, yet strangely intriguing. The album does have its imperfections and the music is formulaic. Verse/Chorus/Verse/Chorus/Break/Chorus. In this instance, it’s acceptable. It’s not one of those albums that you need to listen to 20 times to have it grow on you. The melodies used on here are enough to hook you after one listen. But the thing I noticed that had me coming back are the vocals. The lead singer’s abilities and tone are the perfect accompaniment to the music; Dark and heavy, but linger with every word sung. It’s very ‘Johnny Cash’ in how it’s sung/spoke.

For review, let’s take three distinctly different songs in terms of topic, arrangement, and energy to give a cross section of the album.

Dressed in Black – The opening track starts with a punch to set the tone. There is heavy use of distorted swelling guitar filled in with a synth track very Depeche Mode meets NIN. It’s somewhat of a sonic explosion within the different sections; use of samples, synth-created choir voices, strings, and piano accompaniment. Overcoming the darkness of grief we all experience from loss is the message here in the lyrics.

Your Love – There’s no question that this song could easily classify The Becoming as a Christian band. While close to being denominational, the lyrics touch on the concept of ‘is there more out there?’ Something we all grapple with. Musically, it reminds me of older glam rock with the crunchy distortion and the grinding of the guitars during the verses. To accompany the driven guitar and drums, there is ample synth work to fill out the sound.

Somebody Didn’t Come Home Last Night – This is the most solemn song on the album. It is a melancholy song about regret accompanied by only a piano and a minor amount of strings toward the end. This song shows that the over-processed gothic feel of the other songs can easily share the message with songs of minimalism and elegance.


(enjoy the low-budget, 1980's-feel video)

Depending on your perspective, you may find The Becoming offensive and a disappointment, or creative and genre-bending. The hardcore gothic followers will approve of the appearance but will detest the sappy ‘hope’ lyricism. The Christian music followers may disapprove of the excessive iconography and makeup but will relate to the essence of the message behind the music. The professional music reviewer may point out the predictability and the lack of anything musically innovative on the album. It’s not memorable or epic.

I’m none of these and agnostic when it comes to my musical interests. I listen to music that I can find a message in, music that shares the identical feelings as me at that moment, something that lingers with me after the music ends. “Vol. 1” may lack the energy or the fabric to make it a truly memorable album in the mainstream. But, the reason for listening to music is not because ‘everyone else likes it, so I should’ or because of a band’s stock in Maybelline, but to connect and resonate at a personal emotional level.

On an unrelated note. It's been a quick year of blogging and have a large backlog of entries to post. That, combined with a busy December, suggests that this last month of the year will be blowin' up the family blog. Watch out for some new family stuff coming soon!

One thing my wife and I have talked about over the years is the need for a person to exist in a ‘comfortable’ place. And when I say place, I don’t mean physical surroundings. I’m referring to the metaphysical place of existence for spiritual beings. Comfort in your skin, if you will. For example, we all grow up change clothing styles, change our hair, try to be preppy, try to be a jock, try to be Goth, whatever. We changes friends, change cities, and change our thinking along this path of discovery of self identity. We’ve watched this in both ourselves and our friends. Self identification is a funny thing. Most people don’t like who they are so they stay in constant motion to try and become ‘who they are supposed top be.’ I’m not being judgmental here. I’m no different.

Over the last five years I’ve been inarguably returning to my inner teen. If you are following on the calendar, this directly coincides with the knowledge of the impregnation of my wife with our first born son. Now, my wife would have you know that I’ve always been grounded in a little immaturity, both in appearance and in behavior far earlier than that. In fact, we stopped at a bar in our old neighborhood of Belmont Shore a few years back. The bouncer imperatively asked, “ID?” My wife was flattered until the happenstance of this event actually registered with her that it was me, and not her, that was being requested of said ID. In her defense, our ages are not significantly different. Yet, my board shorts, Fox tee shirt, and backwards cap may have had something to do with the inquisition.

All appearances aside, I typically gravitate toward more youthful interests. It’s just my thing. But I think this characteristic is a function of what I’m speculating at here. It’s that we all gravitate toward the comfortable points in our lives. We’re always trying to find who we are, and along the way, the light clicks on and its beams are shed on that period where you felt the most comfortable in your skin. Strangely enough for me, it was when I was an angst ridden and confused adolescent skateboarder.

As my interests and behavior come full circle and settle back into my early teen years, I find old memories resurfacing and a need to resuscitate some of the old me. It’s not that I had it all figured out then (or now for that matter). It just felt good to be alive. Now in this phase of my life where I’m a father figure, I’m channeling the old spirits of me to validate this new existence. Not to misconstrue my feelings on my current life, what makes it great is that the past spirits are actively involved in this new existence. I’ve settled back in to the punk rock skater that defined me as a youth.

As you re-embrace old interest/habits/vices, it’s important to have a supporting cast. My wife has been hugely supportive in my excavation of the early teen me. She advocated my purchase of a new skateboard five years ago, smiled as I skated off to work and laughed under breath, and she snapped pictures of our boys standing on my board as they grew. More importantly, she patiently listened as I blasted kids these days trying to skateboard, not understanding the history and the sacrifices, and using it as an image.

In that early teen stage, skateboarding was my basis of existence. Everything revolved around the next hand rail, launch ramp, or shred session. School, homework, girls, family, and even eating were behind skating. I have so many great memories from that era of my life. As cliché as it is, these memories are a coming of age story where I was learning about how the world viewed me. In the mid 1980’s, skateboarding was not fashionable. We were outcasts and defiant youth. That got us in to trouble but it also strengthened our resolve. We didn’t need to be ‘accepted.’ I learned early on that peoples’ dismissive thoughts were nothing more than their perception and not my reality. As long as I was honest and committed to myself, the world would begin to comprehend the true identity of my existence. Skateboarding gave me an outlet and irrefutable evidence that I can define my own identity and not have to exist in a predetermined rule set categorized by detractors.

So my new thing, while rediscovering my comfortable self, is trying to obtain the old skate decks I rode over the years. However, this is no small order as both the industry and the world have changed. I’ve been casually looking around and have come up pretty empty handed. There are two big challenges here: One, I can’t remember all of the decks I’ve ridden. And two, how can I find decks that are from an era long since past? Is this really a value-added activity in my home? Probably not, but it is yet another reason to create an elaborate spreadsheet to capture research information, availability, and pricing.


While my excavator efforts in reclaiming the depths of my action sports history may have no relevance on your life, I caution you in prematurely writing off my madness. Take a step back and consider what I am suggesting here. We, as adults, have settled in a ‘stage’ that is reminiscent of a life in our past. This postulate may not be entirely true for everyone. Some people just grow old and become curmudgeons who wear Birkenstocks and socks and whine about the youth of today and their parents. Those folks just try to avoid being happy anyway. But most of us, the free thinkers, the livers, and the vibrant souls, have grown up but not old. We have found something at our core that brings us peace and we treasure that. It’s a small thread of a great woven fabric that makes up our existence. It’s why there are cougars. It’s why grown men wear professional sports jerseys. It’s why adult women read teenage vampire stories. It’s why 35 year old boys skateboard. There is a piece of purity and immaturity in all of us from years back that we embrace.

BEFORE WE GET STARTED, THERE SEEMS TO BE TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES WHICH ARE CAUSING MULTIPLE EMAIL UPDATES. MY APOLOGIES ON THIS MATTER.

In honor of the most recent Hallmark holiday which has so effortlessly sucked time, energy, and finances from our home while delivering intrigue, entertainment, and creativity to all, I’ll modestly opine about our latest seasonal extravaganza. All Hallow’s Eve has just passed through our home like a cold autumn wind.

I would strongly assess that this holiday is my lovely life-partner’s favorite. All though, I could easily be incorrect on this based on the volumetric inventory ownership of other holiday décor. Our garage is full of polymeric containment bins full of her seasonal adornments. Christmas probably has the highest inventoried level of accouterments based on my objective assessments. But her pride in procurement and precision in the execution of Halloween ornamentation conclusively suggests that it reigns supreme on our household Hallmark holiday objectification.

I typically detest and avoid most imperatively acknowledged holidays prescribed on the calendar. Halloween in particular, I’ve been quite aloof in the observation of its existence. Don’t get me wrong, I support my wife in her bliss in preparation for said holidays, but I do not share the same, or any, enthusiasm. Moreover, when it comes to donning a guise in some sort of grandeur, I usually participate on a timeline 1/7 that of Halley’s Comet. Uncharacteristically, I chose to unleash a new course of behavior for this holiday to accompany the spirit of the season (and to make my wife happy).

COSTUMES (YOUTH):
The standard of excellence was set this year when my wife and her consortium crafted the Hollywood-equivalent wardrobe plan for the costumes of the children. In total, there are seven disruptive boys in our circle. The ‘board of directors’ for costume design voted and it was unanimously decided that the boys would be the seven dwarfs. And conveniently, my niece would be Snow White. With a quick addition, the son of my brother-in-law’s female partner would replace Son #2 as a dwarf. Son #2 thus became the more appropriate bad apple from the literature.

All of the costumes for the dwarfs were crafted in homemade fashion by my mother, including the apple for Son #2. Needless to say this was a large scope of work and kept everyone busy up until the day before the festivities. My wife burned the midnight oil to stitch on patches and adjust belts. And with the last stitch and poke of a finger, all of the dwarf costumes were fitted, complete, and ready for exhibition on Halloween.


PUMPKINS:
One can’t celebrate or observe Halloween without the acquisition of pumpkins. On a trip to a local market, I discovered the existence of white variety. Without any concepts, I claimed we would ONLY carve white pumpkins this year. Needless to say, the best laid plans never seem to work out as we ended up with orange ones. I had hoped to take the boys to a local pumpkin patch to burn off some of the seasonal exuberance. The local farm had all of the fixings one would want for the season; a corn maze to lose your children in, hay rides for the allergy-challenged, activities for the un-budget-minded consumer, and fields of billions of multicolored Cucurbita Moschata for your picking pleasure.

Needless to say, we never made it to this epicenter of seasonal love due to the affliction of disease in our domicile and the oh-so-often working demands of ‘The Man.’ With two days left before Halloween; we sucked it up and visited the church where Son #1 attends pre-school. This religious facility had its own makeshift patch of pumpkins. We were left with the scrapings and leftovers but were able to narrow our selection to two orange orbs of carving goodness.


COSTUMES (ADULT):
The gauntlet had been thrown down with the execution of the dwarf costumes. My wife informed me that she and her consortium were going to dress as she-devils. Is this different than every day? She concluded with saying that she’d entertain wearing a costume that could be partnered with me, meaning I would need a costume. Knowing my abhorrence for a certain vampire movie based in Forks, Washington, my loving wife suggested that she and I could masquerade as the main adolescent couple of the film. No.

To conform to the predetermined and partially assembled dwarf theme, she and I agreed to follow the Disney lead. However, with a twist and a reincarnation of character, I decided to add my own tinge to our selection. The choice was Alice and the Mad Hatter. But instead of the colorful cartoonlike adornments created by the mouse-eared conglomerate, I chose to take my character along a darker path while my wife morphed her costume into a version consistent with the most popular perused electronic content on the internet. The understatement of the year: she looked ‘very’ good. The Mad Hatter took a turn a la Johnny Depp with my creation of the character in honor of the upcoming Tim Burton release. Goodwill, JoAnn Fabrics, and a moderate amount of construction led to an astonishing product that impressed others, scared kids, and won a costume contest on the Seattle Times.


PARTY:
Our annual observation of All Hallow’s Eve concludes with our hosting of family and friends at our home with dinner, trick-or-treating, and adult beverages. This year was no different except for the number in attendance may have doubled from prior year. At one point during the evening, there were approximately 10 children under the age of seven in costume. Now, multiply that by the accompanying adults and you have a small village. The masses were fed this year with a cornucopia of festive edible selections. Everything from chicken, to ghost cookies, to mummy dogs, to pumpkin seeds were served for consumption. There was no shortage of youth and adult type beverages for drinkability. I too partook in the jovial consumption with a tea cup continually filled with carefully crafted home-brew ales.

We paraded the dwarfs and accompanying children through the neighborhood to pillage families for confectionary sweets and treats. In character, the dwarfs sauntered up and down the walkways of the neighborhood singing the Hi-Ho tune at the top of their lungs. Back at our abode, the dwarfs inspected and consumed their pirate booty. And as for the rest of us, we drank and ate then drank more. It’s always interesting to observe how party patrons disband through out the night leaving the core hard core celebrators left. This is a role I, and others, embellish. So much so that Alice’s blond wig made the rounds for proper photogenic opportunities.


Another successfully executed holiday. Hallmark holiday or not, I admit I had a great time in costume. I will be renting it out next year. You know, it is an award winning concept. All that being said, the stakes will be much higher for next Halloween, both in party execution and costume design.