PRISONER EXPRESS

"In music's sweet harmony, I have all the proof I need of God"

Pat Conroy, "Beach Music"

While most of the music I favor could hardly be described as sweet or even harmonious, music has always been a religious experience for me. It started innocently enough in elementary school singing along to the pop hymns of Wham, Depeche Mode, and Quiet Riot. By middle school, hair metal was at its peak, and we styled ourselves accordingly to show our devotion to the faith-mullets for the guys and bangs frozen straight up in the air with enough hairspray to put a stadium-sized hole in the ozone layer for the young ladies. Ridiculous? Absolutely. But it was what the glam gods demanded and we were nothing if not zealous.

It was about this time I had my first opportunity to worship at the true altar of rock n roll- a live concert. Nowadays it's almost embarrassing to admit to attending a Poison show, but not so in the late 80's when they were selling millions of records. In retrospect though, the band on stage that night was probably not as significant as the spectacle of the concert itself; flashing lights, explosions, a gut-rumbling sound system, the energy of the crows- these were the mysteries to which I was initiated, a young neophyte entering the illuminated lodge of Mystical Metal. The grand finale of the rite of passage was, of course, wearing the concert t-shirt to school the next day, just to let the others know you'd been in the presence of gods the previous night and returned to tell the tale.

Much like sex, you never forget your first time, but lovers change as years go by. Nothing could have prepared my 14 yr. old brain for its first dose of Metallica. MTV was taboo at my house but somehow I managed to catch the video for "One". Holy shit! The glam gods seemed suddenly wussified next to these thundering deities of thrash. Over the course of the following year I listened to little else besides Metallic and built a shrine to the band in my closet. That summer my friends and I awaited the release of their next album as if it were the Second Coming. But when that day arrived, rather than being caught up with rapture we instead tasted bitter disappointment. Our slammin saviors had heard the siren call of commercial success and cashed in. This no doubt worked miracles for their bank accounts but left their faithful fans in the state of spiritual crisis.

It was around this time the term "alternative" merged to describe bands such as Janes Addiction, the Pixies, Primus et al. But the ban that renewed my faith in the healing powers of music was, appropriately, Ministry. Their gospel of mechanized chaos was salve for my soul. It was love at first listen, a love that endures to this day. The other lasting influence from this period in my live came from visiting the Retina, a small venue for local and touring punk rock bands. As inspirational as recorded music can be, nothing can match the energy and immediacy of the live experience. And whereas the few big concerts I'd been to had presented untouchable rock godson a gilded stage, the tight confines of the Retina created an intimate atmosphere and a personal connection to the bands.

My relationship with music continued to grow after moving from Amarillo to the San Antonio area. The Retina had instilled the DIY( Do it yourself) ethics of punk rock in my mind, and it wasn't long before my first band, Half-Assed, was born. None of us had a clue what we were doing, least of all me, the singer who couldn't sing. Luckily, punk rock isn't about talent but passion, sincerity and attitude, which we had in abundance. Our first gig was the high school talent show. Somehow we ended up being the last act to go on, the traditional "head-lining" spot, and we took the stage in front of a packed cafetorium of students, parents, and faculty. I was beyond terrified. It's one thing to approach the altar for communion but its quite another to assume the role of high priest. Sometimes you just gotta let your nuts hang though. The curtain opened and we plowed through our first song. I forgot several of the lines, but when I busted out my bullwhip and started cracking it over the crowd it didn't even matter. We did a Ministry cover next, and two mosh pits erupted on opposite sides of the stage. High praise indeed!

Over the next couple of years I ministered to dozens of audiences, mostly while fronting a shock rock group called Smegma(from Texas y'all not that other Smegma from Oregon) It took 6-9 months of playing to develop a sold "chemistry", the interaction between band members and their instruments that stamps a band with its sound and image. By this period we'd begun wearing "corpse paint" similar to Scandinavian black metal groups. Although my lyrical themes of psychedelics and S&M veered far from the boundaries of that genre, the pre-show ritual of face-painting had an unmistakable impact on our performance. Once I'd put on that "mask", it was as though I'd become a different person; or alternatively, that I'd shed my day-to-day "mask" to expose a deeper part of myself. This shadow personality was a pure product of the id, a creature uninhibited by societal norms. When the transformation was complete my mannerisms, speech patterns, and even my walk were so markedly different that a close friend who had never seen the band before did not recognize me on stage. (Granted, she'd had a couple beers, but not enough to not be able to identify someone she'd known for several years!)

Back then, I didn't give much thought to the psychology of our performances. In less than a year we'd gone from playing in front of 5 bored people in Bumfuck, to an audience of hundreds of entranced fans at a top rock club in Austin, and there was no mistaking that this small taste of success was directly linked to my stage persona. After one show the promoter told me what he loved the most was my dialogue between songs. "Is that something you practice?" I had to tell him that not only was it spontaneous, but that I had no clue what I'd said. The down side of surrendering myself to the powers of the unconscious was that I had little or no memory of events on stage. I never understood this until almost a decade later when I read Carl Jung's "Wotan" wherein he discusses the concept of Ergreifen â€""possession or more specifically in the grip of a god" Throughout history the high priest of a cult has always been seen as the embodiment of that deity on earth, whether it be the Egyptian pharaoh as Osiris, the pope as Christ, or ancient pagans enacting the marriage of Sun and Moon. In modern times, music often provides a connection to ancestral gods long thought forgotten.