While everyone's off to Austin to discover new bands I'm stuck neck deep in Portland's dark monsoon of rain-based depression. I figure, what the fuck, let's go all the way. Devolve.
So I've been digging around in my old records and trying to remember what were the tape dubs friends used to make. I've come across Fifteen and been fucking loving it. As a rule I try to use my 14-year-old punk rock self as a guiding light, and damn, that kid sure loved him some Fifteen.
I remember trying to turn my less punk friends on to 'em back then and it never worked. Few could get passed Jeff Ott's raspy growl. Now sure, it's fucking wanky at times, but all the ideas are right and brought forth with the utmost sincerity.
It's been cathartic and liberating, bouncing around the house to this shit in spite of the rain and day after day of the same. Punk simplifies life—fuck work and get creative. No shit, rocking out to Fifteen I painted a five-foot tall giraffe Sunday night. Art therapy at it's finest.
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