Bad Religion that is. The band I share a birthyear with. The band who alongside the Dead Kennedys popped my little brain with how intelligent aggressive music could be. They were one of those ‘Pandora’s box’ experiences for me, and to this day I still listen to those records for comfort and solace in times of distress. The day I broke and booked off work I came home and listened to Suffer while I smoked a joint. That was obviously the first thing to do while life had its way. So here I am again, Bad Religion records on the decks, seeking the solace of wisdom and intelligence. Today’s wall sit was accompanied by the a-side of Suffer, after some pacing and cerebral discourse to How Can Hell Be Any Worse. From a music genre notorious for marketing and selling anarchy to stupid indignants who think you can purchase philosophy and laurels these guys won me over fast.

When I turned 13 my parents bought me my first stereo. The first few months were pretty stupid, spent trying to convince myself I liked techno because that was all I had been exposed to. Music began when I saw the cool kids from the middle school walking around smoking in their Pantera and Slayer shirts. My sister had a Metallica tape. Shortly thereafter I discovered the city had two weekly radio shows on college channels that I listened to, Mods & Rockers (89.5) and Aggressive Rock (88.1, now ironically a corporate “indie” channel after actually being a non-profit college until the license was lost to a CRTC decision regarding discussing sex on a sex show. See? People are just generally stupid and intolerant to anything that challenges that). The former was playing music from the budding “So-Cal” and “Skate Punk” scenes. Recipe For Hate had come out and Generator had spread. I heard stuff from Ignition. Operation Ivy. NOFX. I could go on and on. The show’s intro song was Op Ivy’s Bankshot. Aggressive rock was a little more subversive. The show was dominated by hardcore but anything went. Spazz. Hellnation. Agathocles. Infest. Napalm Death. Carcass. Chokehold (who’s ‘Content With Dying’ was my first vinyl, purchased from the Record Peddler downtown to prove to my parents that my desperation for a turntable was becoming an emergency in 1995. What 14 year old wants a Turntable in a ’94 boxing day sale? I was doomed.

In late ’94 the real musical left turn was taken. One of the 88.1 DJs started carting in his growing black metal collection and playing a “satanic appeasement set” that occurred every third week. Emperor. Enslaved. Satyricon. Mayhem. Marduk. Opeth. Darkthrone. Immortal. Sigh. Burzum. The thing about black metal was the obscurity. A scene comprised of a few dozen teens from Norway rejecting and challenging the burgeoning death metal scene. A few dozen teens who wrote some of the most passionate, complex and aggressive music I had ever heard. A few dozen teens who decided to revere rather than reject their regional history after a significant period of cultural distance. Ihsahn wasn’t even old enough to legally drink when In The Nightside Eclipse was written. A few dozen teens who injected fear back into metal with misguided but still severe criminality (that they were ultimately held accountable for and outgrew) and extreme imagery. Sigh were from Japan. What the fuck was that even about? I digress, black metal is religion but that’s for another time.

Bad Religion.

Return to work is becoming official. The process is beginning for me to try. Restrictions, conditions, assessments, reports, meetings. Feelings. I met a gentleman who is a TRE provider-in-training on a Zoom call yesterday, connected with through my own TRE provider. Wonderful man. Had a great chat. The title of his work-in-progress was fantastic and it got me thinking about how I use language and my writing as one would use any tool. In arrogance I said what I always do about my creativity and that is that once my own selfish purpose is served it’s done. I do it for me. Based entirely on a near-complete disinterest in the opinions of others. This blog, resisted for months while my psychologist nagged until I relented, is a completely out-to-lunch type thing for me. We all know where introversion got me so the wisdom seems to be to reconsider and share.

Metal Paramedic has taken on a host of meanings to me. Originally derived from the obvious and to be a form of dead-giveaway anonymity it has also come to be relevant to the concepts of armour, protection and strength. Metal is strength. The imagery is my armour against the world. My spirit is protected by knowing other lost souls see too. Taught to deny my nature I literally made myself sick living up to that ideal. I have spent most of my private life having people look at me and shake their heads based on what they see but I have to ask, who’s the real evil? Who’s being judged? Who’s being dishonest? Who’s misrepresenting themselves? Who showed whom the real evil as a way to deny their humanity? Putting on a uniform was a great way to see how two-faced we all really are.

Bad Religion. Just to be clear I don’t ever want to meet my “idols”. I don’t care who these people are day-to-day any more than most care about who’s in the uniform. I only care about their art and persona, same way you call 911 for an ambulance and my skills, not me. The solace is in the disconnect. I don’t need to know how someone arrived at their conclusions. I just appreciate them being made. I guess that contests my current answers and views on my writing and creativity. I’ll keep dipping my artistic toes in the human pool but the water still feels really fucking cold.

Yes, Into The Unknown is missing. As it should be. Fuck that album. Far too high a price for an inside joke no one was in on.