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Everything That Rises

from Blood Meridian by damezumari

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It is a lamentable and unavoidable fact that the punk, hardcore, and ‘emo’ scene(s) have been, to a certain degree, co-opted over the past several years. This should come as no surprise though. The twentieth century and after have been marked by a series of youth-driven and style-driven movements that simultaneously criticized and rejected society. Their outward manifestations tended to take stylistically distinctive forms and, since consumer capitalism loves nothing better than a new style as a mode of distinction to commodify and sell, these movements and their visual and verbal signs of community lose their novelty to a certain degree. Their unwitting and unwilling association with those mainstream variants that are mere parasites but that are none the less avoidable for being so causes them (the originals) to loose a certain sense of originality, freshness, etc, for many that will eventually lament the passing of ‘punk’, or whatever, often without ever having been there in the first place. The funniest of such mourners discount their own potential and real experiences simply because they found this lovely and living thing after the fact (or so they tell themselves). When the countless adolescents walk into their local purveyor of youth-authenticity in the form of the accoutrements of the movement, they encounter this culture in a form that is processed, mass produced, and most importantly divorced from both the tight-knit community and the progressive and radical politics that accompanied the introductions of earlier novitiates. OF course, none of this is new. It happened to the hippie movement, the beat movement, etc etc. And it will happen again. Half of this song is a description of and reaction to this process. The other half of it acknowledges the irony that style should be so important to these movements in the first place. We may reject that proposition as much as we want, but the reality is that when you tour, every house or venue is filled with a bunch of kids that dress the same, talk about the same stuff, and except for the postmodern-self-aware variant, tend to think of these things as authentic and unique. Personally, I think authenticity is highly highly overrated, at least in the form that it is usually discussed in these contexts. What matters is a genuine experience of and belief in the community of self-expression that punk and things like it provide for the groups of friends that create and revive it anew. When we get distracted by the aesthetics of it, we pay that spirit a disservice. And yet, that happens all too often. The dependence of the people involved on various forms of sensory stimulation – whether in the form of drugs or alcohol or tight jeans and other meaningless visual markers – indicate, to me at least, a little too much abandon to embodied and all-too-easy communities of physical and exaggerated separation from mainstream status quo, and too little self-reflective and self-aware dedication to the spirit of self-creation and discovery that (I believe) provides the ultimate value and meaning that has kept this particular cycle going over the years, despite the new forms it continues to take.

lyrics

This intervention has the feel of déjà vu the record’s spinning forever locked in its groove a way of life reduced to a form stylized routinized to a shallow and shiny norm from revolution to cliché

just superficial stimulation

but what’s different? appearances change but there’s no progress in this apocalypse

everything that rises must converge all the meaningful surprises grow from within and stretch the threads of molded costumes copied, sinned, and said

rags cover neglect and decay veil desire’s all-compelling force generations lived through their eyes dissatisfied with any compromise

the searing balm of burning screens faith in sense impression for ironic equivocation it’s (just) culture, neither right nor wrong a place to hide, from considering

from revolution, to cliché, we lose our way faith in sense impression, ironic simulation so responsible in their noble stimulation

coming down to unchanged reality everything that meets must diverge patchwork king of limited domain stitched and sewn and overblown

credits

from Blood Meridian, released October 1, 2009

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damezumari Tulsa, Oklahoma

the band - started march 2003, from tulsa,OK. and san diego, ca
in its last recorded form:
craig maricle - drums
chris skillern - bass, voice
stephen paul - guitar, voice
eric titterud - guitar, voice
the band has previously included:
doug johnston (drums) and daniel sutliff (bass), who both played on the first three demos,
blake foster (drums), and aaron thornhill (bass) and mike laughlin (drums)
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