Word Up.

I’d like to thank Alec Baldwin in regard to his latest profanity fueled tirade that was directed at some intrusive paparazzi photographer which ended with the word “cocksucker” being deemed anit-gay speech by GLADD.

Allegedly, Baldwin called the guy a “cocksucking faggot” which in turn offended  gays everywhere. Baldwin quickly went into damage control mode and said what he actually called the guy was a “cocksucking fathead, not faggot” which in turn ended up offending people with abnormally large heads everywhere.

My point here is that one of my favorite words has been put on the social etiquette no-fly list and I’m very distraught about it. It’s like losing that favorite shirt of yours that color coordinates with anything and can be worn casually or when you’re out on the town. It’s truly a versatile word that means just about anything other than what the two compounded words actually are. Unless of course you’re starring in a gay porno and you refer to the gentleman performing felatio on you as a hungry little cocksucker then yeah, that shit’s literal. 

More often than not, many of the words we use as insults are never meant in the literal sense. They’re almost always used in a completely different context than their original design was intended.   

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m the staunchest supporter of equality. I would KILL anyone that threatened any of my gay, lesbian or trans-gender friends because of their sexual orientation. I’ll stand up for basically anyone’s rights except a Mormon’s and a Kardashian’s. 

 And because I believe in equality; the right to live in peace, pursue happiness,  love, marry and eventually fuck over in divorce any person of one’s choosing, I feel I should have the equal right to call someone a cocksucker without it being considered an inflammatory remark. Unless that person is of the gay in which case I’ll give insult by way of branding them a Republican or Phelps. Getting the jest of how insults truly work yet?

Plus (and more importantly) can anyone confirm if the guy Baldwin yelled at was even gay? If he was, then calling him a cocksucker isn’t anti-gay, if anything it’s an action of the affirmative.  And we all know how big the U.S. is on affirmative action. Besides, like it or not, that’s what gays do during foreplay. Now no one has ever called me a wetback- muff-diving clam schuckster, but if they did I’d have to agree with them on principal alone because I’m ALL those things. 

And if the guy wasn’t gay, well isn’t that what all straight males do when in a confrontation with one another? Say the most homoerotic shit to prove their manliness?  

 The thing about words like cocksucker is that they’re more so an expression, not an accusation. But if GLADD has their way than am I to assume that only gays can use the word cocksucker just like blacks have exclusive rights to the N word?  

 I honestly can’t tell you how many times I’ve been blatantly called a faggot, and do you know what my first response is? It’s not “No, I’m not  gay” nor is it “I believe you’re incorrect in your assumption of my sexual preferences” No, my first and only response is “Suck my dick you fucking cocksucker.”

Make sense literally? No. But contextually telling someone to suck my dick is a gesture of defiance as any boy over the age of 9 can attest to.

I have a friend that loves to call people dick-for lunch. I have NO idea how he coined it but he uses it every chance he gets, even when it’s not lunch time or even close to it. But I fear that this turn of phrase could easily wind up on GLADD’s don’t ask don’t tell list because of its mere mention of the word “dick”.

In fact, I dare conjecture that sooner or later any word or words derivative of ass, cock & mouth (such as fuck-face, dickhole, dickhead, asshole, cockholster, knobslobber, spit-shiner and world renowned rim jobber) will be deemed inflammatory by GLADD’s code of ethics. It’s quite plausible that even HMO’s could be stricken from our insurance vernacular. Because once these wars on words gets rolling it’s hard to stop and then sooner or later we’re all left without something to say. 

 Is all this ruckus over a silly word stupid? Absolutely. Does it cause pain, suffering and heartache? Sometimes, but that’s the nature of any word. Is all this debate over Baldwin’s choice of words a waste of time? You fucking bet. But this is America and one thing we’re adept at is wasting time on stupid shit.

My suggestion to GLADD and anyone else that suffers from the occasional inflammatory remark is to pop a few ibuprofens and feel better in the morning. They are, after all, anti-inflammatory.

*9 out of 10 people will think I’m a cocksucking asshole for writing this piece.

Flow...

"Hey, Chris, you think we could start writing music that's not so, you know,  pussyish?"

Pussyish.

I'd never heard the word before, yet inexplicably new exactly what it meant.

It was the summer of 1994 (back, way back & well worth the trip). Ben Hammond, Brad Martin, Aaron Lambotte and myself had been in a band together for a couple months and we needed another guitarist. Ben had found that missing link in one Steve Bradley.

We'd played a couple shows with music the rest of us had written prior to Steve's arrival and apparently two shows with that material was two shows too many as far as Steve was concerned.

So now here we all were in my Dad's basement for rehearsal and Steve just nonchalantly inquired if we could write music that had more testosterone, crunch & decimation. Something that didn't just have a sturdy backbone but also pythons for arms, machetes for legs an ugly face and a million razor sharp teeth ready to devour anything in it's path. In short, a fucking monster.

All that proposed from his invented word; Pussyish.

 But that was the thing about Steve, he could say so much by saying so little. His simplicity was genius and far more proficient than someone like myself that has to talk, over analyze, cross- analyze and then self-analyze all during a conversation.Steve was direct and unflinching about things while at the same time being insanely funny.

I looked at the rest of the guys and they looked back at me. I could tell by the expression on their faces that Steve's request had roused something deep inside them as well. They wanted to create something malevolent. It not only seemed like fun, but a good idea.

"Sure, dude, I'm all for writing something with balls instead of lactating tits. In fact, I've got a drum idea I've been toying with that maybe we could build something off of."

I went into four measures of driving tom work and Steve gave me a big smile. He instantaneously came up with a riff that not only fit, but enforced it. The rest of the guys fell into the groove effortlessly. It was raw and heavy yet the chorus Steve wrote was melodic, catchy and above all, memorable. That song would be known to the world as Flow.

For weeks we continued writing music in that vein. Brutal, hostile, unforgiving yet somehow groove oriented and catchy. Steve's writing style and talent inspired our other guitarist Ben and soon those two were ax wielding assassins musically hacking away with mayhem and muscle.

 I was also noticing a difference in my playing ability as well. I was starting to pull off shit I'd never even dreamed of. I was evolving as an artist, all because of the riffs Steve kept conjuring up. We were all transforming into formidable musicians in an attempt to stay on the same level with Steve. And in retrospect, that's what makes a great coach / teacher /mentor. Someone that gets you to become the best you can without even asking, but by doing.

Somewhere along the line we lost Aaron on vocals due to a very amicable difference in musical direction which left our monster without a voice. Once again Steve initiated a change for the better and suggested we enlist his brother Jerry for singing duties.

"He sounds like Max from Sepulveda, only not as lame."

We were on board and by our next rehearsal Jerry was screaming at the top of his lungs, giving our music exactly what it needed; Rage, hope, despair, resentment & retribution. It took no time at all for us to become an unstoppable machine called Device.

As the months went on, show after show and weekend after weekend of us all hanging out, getting drunk, going to concerts and practicing our asses off I got to know both Steve & Jerry on a very personable level. They had a connection to each other that went well beyond blood and as far as I could surmise, had had a way rougher childhood than me.

When you stepped back you could see the stark differences on display in the way each of those two expressed it. Jerry was up in your face, fearless and ready to fight, vocal with any discontent. Steve on the other hand was more introverted, quiet and kept shit under a pressurized lid. His grievances with the world came through his guitar. The two Bradley brothers were the heart, soul, identity and pulse of Device.

We went into the studio and recorded four undeniable songs that were in the words of one music critic "tighter than daddy's wallet." Everyone was on their A-game and initial tracking took a little less than 6 hours. I remember vividly watching Steve do a take for a guitar solo that hadn't been an original part of a song but he felt it needed to be there.

As soon as the playback rolled he came up with a blistering solo full of attitude and anarchy that hit the bulls-eye. All of it on the spur of the moment. All of it perfect. His mind and body preformed like a surgen under the most strenuous of circumstances. The 4 song EP went on to sell out at stores and we became a bonafide force to be reckoned with.

Soon we were building a loyal fan base, getting recognition and with the management savvy of Mr. Jeff Huerter, were getting radio play, national and international praise and earned a spot on at the coveted Milwaukee Metalfest.

We never made it to the show.

As with any group of artists there's always the tension factor not to mention that artists are world renowned for being temperamental, myself more guilty than anyone else. So with our extreme highs came extreme lows. All of which put an enormous strain on our machine. Let's face it, you got 5 men exorcising their demons 3-4 times a week by way of writing angry music, there's gonna be some residual backlash in the air on principal alone.

The night the machine finally stopped was at a show at Rando's in T-town. The place was packed to the walls and we were plowing through our set. Then, Steve broke a string on his guitar during a song. The song stopped and Steve, in true simplistic yet proficient Steve fashion, announced his departure from the band.

"I'm done."

And he threw his guitar on the floor and walked out while the rest of us, band and audience alike, stared in disbelief.

At the time I thought it was one of the most fucked up things someone could do. In hindsight, it was one of the most purest acts of rock-n-roll I'd ever bared witness to. Like all things Steve, it was unflinching, direct and thinking about it now, insanely funny. Not to mention poetic and symbolic.

That guitar string represented just how strained and volatile we'd all become and when it broke, it was time to walk away. Steve knew this long before the rest of us wanted to admit it.

Awhile after that I was sore with him for just leaving us high and dry that night, but truth be told, this monster was his creation when it came down to it. He was the one that asked the rest of us to exceed our potential as musicians and help him build it. All of the angst, disappointment and frustration that he expressed through his amazing musical talent was the driving force of Device. It was his to pull the plug on which he rightfully did.

A couple months later I stopped by his house one night after I'd been drinking, we sat outside and talked about things which ended with a hug and an I love you. It's how family is supposed to work. You yell and scream and stand your ground, but you're never too afraid or too proud to reconcile.

I feel that when you collaborate with other artists, an undeniable bond is forged. Even though Steve is no longer with us, that bond can never be broken. It defies death. I'm sure that I speak for many people when I say that I'm devastated and saddened by his much too early departure, but when I think about the times we had and the art we created, it fills up the emptiness.

I think back to that day in my Father's basement, him asking us to take a chance and be the best we could be. And how the song Flow immediately came from that request. The song about not ever letting anything be taken away from you. To never lie down and always stand in defiance of anything that tries to put you under it's thumb. An anthem to forever carry on. An anthem forever carved into music for the rest of us by Steve Bradley.