The SeanGeek

With the closure after my band's one and only show at the Club St B, and another closure just months ago, I am really starting to worry about the state of music in this fair city. I keep being told it is dying by music legends, and see the preponderances of the removal of all traditional instruments on commercial radio... has rock actually died. I have vehemently denied it's death throes. How can rock die. Rock is honest. Rock is emotional. Rock is memories. There is so much about rock that makes the world go round. As we reach out as a society, we are becoming far more insular in our interactions with each other. The more spread we put in our wings, the smaller we make the world, the less we talk. A rock show is a community event. People from different walks of life, different interests, different backgrounds all congregate together to unify in a way that is almost religious. We raise our fists and shout, we sing along, air guitar or air drums. We whistle, we clap. It

To quote Jack Black: is it, in fact, unfair to criticize a formerly great artist for his latter day sins, is it better to burn out or fade away? Seanorama struggles with the sins of the present as Todd Fastfretfingers convinces him of the validity of the past Van Halen collection despite their current struggles through a re-introduction of Diver Down. That’s right, a trip down the greatness that was Van Halen and how revolutionary those first Van Halen albums were, and how relevant they still should still be. #vanhalen #vanhager #diverdown #womenandchildrenfirst #1984 #davidleeroth #eddieandalex #michaelanthony #hangemhigh #wherehaveallthegoodtimesgone #secrets #topjimmy #dropdeadlegs #illwait #prettywoman #koolandthegang #dancinginthestreets #royorbison #kiss #wolfie #tone #littleguitars http://seanorama.podbean.com/e/season-5-episode-15-%E2%80%93-van-halen-latter-day-sins/

***Stream of consciousness writing.... based on a couple of things I had written as an insertion to the story--- very curious for some input on what people think this is*** And that was how it started. A casual flick of her hair, followed by a tuck of that hair behind her ear, a casual glance away, unwilling to meet my eyes. I tried to regain her eyes, to get them back on me but it was clear what I had said had ruined our moment, all lost in the glaze of the comment she had made. The truth had been revealed and although it had shaken me, I still kept falling back into that pesky trait I had to make sure she was okay. Even though I certainly wasn't. What had she brought upon me, so much so that now I was questioning myself even though she had dropped the bomb on me. She had told me the truth, something I had suspected, perhaps more subconsciously than consciously. But here we were, and I was looking more the fool than she. "So, um, yeah," she said less than eloquently

More than I can ever properly say. Some of us have been moved to tears over the death of this performer or this musician, people that have left a direct impact specifically on you. And I guess Chris Cornell had that same impact on me. Or maybe not. We’ve all raised our fists in anger at a god that would take this person away from us. Shake our fists, commiserate together and then move on some months later. Yes we might go back and remember when that one hit comes on the radio and go, “yeah I remember.” But I don’t feel many of us do. I was nothing but a little guy when John Lennon was murdered. Dad had raised me on the Beatles. It was just one of those bands and I was aware of the music, and sang along as best as I could never fully appreciating the music. Although I was little and my emotions were undeveloped I remember watching the world around me in confusion at what had happened. I didn’t really know what death meant--- at least not yet. I couldn’t tie in these things in m

Paradigm I see you come in waves crashing on the shore Relentless and Endless, the pounding at my door Reckless reminisce the night it fell apart A simple phrase in days a changing of the guard I thought it all could pass like a fading dream Night after night destroyed by your scream And then, there was a center we could never find And are we ever pushing outward long past the great divide And we never got past that paradigm Serenity upon sand watch it crystallize The vastness of our loss seemed to symbolize Archaic catastrophe of our trinity What did shatter the unbreakable symphony I thought it all could pass like a fading dream Night after night destroyed by your scream You thought it was a bullet going for the sun Flying pigs heading for the dark side of the moon

Saturday was the culmination of the long road I had taken a few years ago, based upon a promise I made to a dying man. I had never realized it years before that this man would share the stage with me, because his own skill was shadowed by all the praise that had been heaped on my more famous mother, her brothers, and her family. You see the man was real good, but he had not really set foot on the stage as my mother had, at least not in the same capacity. Musically, as he was portrayed, dad was an afterthought. What I very quickly learned when I first had the opportunity to play in his band was that he was quite good. He was rock solid and he was a showman. And over the years as we had the opportunity to play the stage together, I knew for certain that this guy was meant for the stage. He was it. If I thought I could play drums well, I was wrong and I really needed to step up my game to be able to be the other half to his rhythm section. He pushed me to be better and to fine tune ski