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Metal’s Not The Problem. If You’re a Parent…It’s YOU

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I remember that parents were freaking out when Decline of Western Civilization, Part II-The Metal Years was released in 1988, because this was back when metal was blamed for everything in the American media, from suicide to juvenile delinquency.

Lo and behold, a recent study was published that debunked that propaganda:

https://wearechange.org/the-metalhead-kids-are-all-right/

A second article reiterates the point that kids like myself were actually the brightest in the class: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/science/science-news/3352230/Heavy-metal-a-comfort-for-the-bright-child.html

 

Hey, I’ve been listening to heavy metal since 1981 and I’ve been a heavy metal musician since 1984-and I haven’t eaten anyone.

Hence, I just tell these parents to get off their kids’ back whenever they whine about Avenged Sevenfold or Marilyn Manson; that they have no idea what they’re talking about-and then I relate to my own experiences with metal-without which I would not be here today to make the point.  I also tell the parents to get their priorities straight; that their kids wouldn’t have the emotional problems that they do if they (the parents) spent more POSITIVE time with them.

American parents spend the least amount of time with their children in the West and parents blame the media for THEIR LAZINESS.

Hey, it’s called telecommuting, okay?  They should try it sometime.

American conservatives waste so much time attacking music that the Russians could get the nuclear codes out of Donald Trump’s coat pocket and board the plane before any of our wonderful Republican “lawmakers” know what’s going on .

 

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Christians Mock Those Who Struggle

Everyone makes a mistake, and mine was going to church today, because I want my niece to be different than the way I turned out.  The pastor’s sermon was contradictory to my life, as it never worked out the way the Bible claims it will.  However, what was to come, was even worse.

Yes, I take communion, as I know Christ rose.  However, I usually walk out of the sanctuary afterwards and wait for all the other bullshit to end so that we can all get the hell out of there.

Having a degree in psychology, I noticed a purple brochure about depression and I absorbed it, saying: “This is a lot of what early psychologists said back in the 19th Century.  See?  Always trust Science.”

“I’d rather trust the Bible,” an older woman of her early seventies replied in a burnt orange dress.

“The same Bible that tells you not to make friends with an angry man in Proverbs?”

Here is where it all began:­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

“Why are you here?” she asked insultingly.

“Do you realize that people like you nearly caused me to commit suicide and that heavy metal is the reason why I’m still here?  You’re a heartless bitch to say what just said to me.”

The conversation deteriorated to the point at which I was asked to go outside, but I returned and found her.

“Jude 1:22, bitch!  Have mercy to those who doubt!”

The problem with Christianity is that it will not acknowledge the accuracy of Science.  And while some will point out that Science is occasionally rewritten, I remind the critics that more discoveries are made as the technology improves.

“Holy books are full of crap because they do not explain behaviors, but merely condemn them.”

Now, you might ask why someone with a degree in psychology still struggles emotionally.  I have brain damage, you know.  That’s a major factor.  The only problem is that Christians don’t believe in Science.

Perhaps what is most ironic is the fact that listening to Black Sabbath’s final release, The End, took all of the misery away.

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Starting Over

 

Having to start over again as a Master’s candidate is interesting when one has traumatic brain injury.

The classes seem to move a little more quickly, but that might just be my perception, as this is only my first class.

I’m in somewhat of a luxurious position, because this is my only job.  I don’t drive forty-five minutes one way and an hour and a half en route to my abode.  That would be L.A.-and that probably would drive me to commit homicide…even though I do miss Los Angeles, with its culture, its scenes, Topanga Canyon Road, Zuma Beach, The Lighthouse in Hermosa Beach, and so on.

On second thought, the gas prices would drive me crazy, too.

I remember that gas was $5 a gallon before George W. Bush left office-and that was in the San Fernando Valley.

However, I digress.

I realize that more is expected of me at this level, but I know that my brain can handle this.  We’ll get through this two yearlong intestinal tract together.

Armed with a learning disability, I know that I have a lot of information for my fellow classmates on how to help these kids.  The strangest thing is that I never thought I would sign up to teach-I never wanted to.

Why am I pursuing this degree?  Teachers are unionized (unless they are in a private school), and I deserve the extras which come with unionization-especially a pension.
Having to start over again as a Master’s candidate is interesting when one has traumatic brain injury.

The classes seem to move a little more quickly, but that might just be my perception, as this is only my first class.

I’m in somewhat of a luxurious position, because this is my only job.  I don’t drive forty-five minutes one way and an hour and a half en route to my abode.  That would be L.A.-and that probably would drive me to commit homicide…even though I do miss Los Angeles, with its culture, its scenes, Topanga Canyon Road, Zuma Beach, The Lighthouse in Hermosa Beach, and so on.

On second thought, the gas prices would drive me crazy, too.

I remember that gas was $5 a gallon before George W. Bush left office-and that was in the San Fernando Valley.

However, I digress.

I realize that more is expected of me at this level, but I know that my brain can handle this.  We’ll get through this two yearlong intestinal tract together.

Armed with a learning disability, I know that I have a lot of information for my fellow classmates on how to help these kids.  The strangest thing is that I never thought I would sign up to teach-I never wanted to.

Why am I pursuing this degree?  Teachers are unionized (unless they are in a private school), and I deserve the extras which come with unionization-especially a pension.

Pensions are rare now because of the 401K-and a good number of people have to work longer because of that.  Do I feel sorry for them?   No.  Educated people don’t do stupid things, like opting out of guaranteed money for playing the stock market.

That’s why I have opted for this thankless job.  It’s better than being a community trainer and you are rewarded when the time comes-unless a Republican comes and takes it from you first.

That’s why I have opted for this thankless job.  It’s better than being a community trainer and you are rewarded when the time comes-unless a Republican comes and takes it from you first.

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What’s With The Sound?

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Music Recording

People with developmental disabilities are more capable than you believe.

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https://freedomfortheoppressed.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/10/Recording-11.m4a

 

 

Have you ever noticed how the first notes on these recordings are louder than those on the rest of the tune?
Okay, I’m no sound man.  Hell, I’m half-deaf as it is, and it’s not from being a heavy metal musician for 33 years.  After all, Paul Stanley was already half-deaf when Wicked Lester formed in 1970, so that’s not the problem.
Furthermore, there was a period in my life when I worked behind the camera, and that was back in the early 1990s when I worked with Allan Cameron in Santa Clarita, California, so I know a few things about camerawork.  However, back to the damn sound.
It would be easier to understand why these recordings are so goofy if the opening notes were as screwy as the rest.  However, that is not the case.  So, what gives?
Sure, it makes me sound like I haven’t a clue of what the hell I’m doing-and maybe I don’t.  I won’t argue about that idea in the sound realm, because I’m only using a $1200 Hewlett-Packard or (even sillier) an i-Phone (I’m serious!).
Here’s what is probably the least believable.  The recordings from my i-Phone are of higher quality than those which I record straight from the computer.  Hell, I still get better recordings off compact cassette!  Yes, I still use compact cassettes and old-fashioned tape recorders.
If I know me, I probably haven’t set up the microphones correctly.
Do I really do music for the money?  No, I’m 47-years-old now, and I’m pretty much recording this material for any descendants I might have a century or two down the line.  Realistically, about the only way I could ever cut any kind of album is if I made it in this business first-and then, it would have to be after I’m somewhat established.
Uh-huh, yeah.
Although I’m usually the first one to say that those who look at reality may as well give up now, that is the reality of my situation as a musician-especially a metal musician.
The strange thing about this recording is that it’s very much of the 1970’s variety.  I personally hear elements of Kiss and Led Zeppelin from about 1975 in something that I just recorded last night (October 7, 2017) around 10:30 p.m.
While the notes might be a bit heavier, the sound is very much from the days of Watergate and the Arab oil embargo against the West.
I would record two guitars, but I’m not quite sure that I could pull it off with this computer.  I would probably need a second computer; one to play the rhythm and the other with which to record leads.  I don’t know.  I guess I’ll have to ask my original lead guitarist or another friend of mine who has worked with Sheena E. and Chicago.
Come to think of it, I wonder if he’s playing at the Baked Potato tonight.

 

 

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Another Nameless Metal Composition

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Music Recording

People with developmental disabilities are more capable than you believe.

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I realize what a lot of you are thinking.

 

This guy kind of sucks on the axe.  However, you did read some time ago that I never claimed to be Dimebag Darrell Abbott or Randy Rhoads.

 

This composer has a developmental disability and has had two seizures.  Hence, he records the tune while the notes are still in his mind.  There is virtually no short-term memory, and it’s too late by the time some of the melody returns.

 

The worst thing about it is the melody is never the same once some of it returns to my mind.

 

Just be happy that I’m keeping the classical heavy metal era alive through these compositions.  Maybe I’ll have a kid one day who can perfect his or her old man’s works, but these are the best I can do for right now.  Be grateful that this Jack the Ripper is not a dull boy by only displaying one type of material on here.

 

There are different sides to my personality, other than being a cut-throat liberal, and I want to share some of the other sides.  These recordings are only one verse long, as one should figure that the other one or two verses are the same-just like in a hymnal.

 

You probably have no idea that my hands shake as I type.  Well, they do.  I’m lucky that I can do any of this.

 

My hands shake because of what has happened to me over the course of time.  There are times when I should record the compositions in pieces and take short breaks in between.

 

My left hand shakes as I type this, in fact, and this is probably something that I will have to deal with for the next 50 or 60 years.

https://freedomfortheoppressed.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/10/Recording-7.m4a

 

This is just more proof that people with disabilities can do more than what most people expect.

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Brain Damage

 

 

 

 

This is what brain damage sounds like, motherfucker!

I used to go to Guitar Center in Irvine, California a lot, just so I could play the Jackson and B.C. Rich axes.  Besides, I needed to stay awake so that I could go to sleep at a normal time on my nights off.

I fucking hated night shift, but it paid a dollar an hour more than days.  What’s more, I’m not really a customer-oriented person (as if you haven’t guessed), because I don’t put up with crap from people who don’t sign my paychecks.

Like I always say, “I’m a whore, not a slave.  So, fuck off.”

How customer-oriented am I?  Okay, you axed for it:

One time, over twenty years ago, a woman looked for a book which was out of stock.  When she looked over my shoulder as I searched the computer, she said: “The computer says you have ten.”

I immediately turned around and replied, “Ma’am, I’m an Atheist in here, and that means I don’t believe in the existence of anything that I don’t have my hands on.  So, until it’s in my hand, and I give it to you, we ain’t got shit.

You’re not wondering why I never made Employee of the Month, are you?   I mean, it’s pretty fucking obvious.

And you thought this is just a character that I portray in cyberspace.  No, no, no, no, no, no, no!  This is who I am in real life-partially because of the fact that my prefrontal cortex is fucked up (source: Neurosci Bull April 1, 2015, 31(2): 198–206. http://www.neurosci.cn) and partially due to the fact that I simply have no patience for conservatives and other intellectual inferiors who refuse to accept scientific facts.

Meningitis is an inflammation of the lining of the brain  (source: Meningitis. (2015). Nursing Standard (2014+), 30(3), 17. doi:http://dx.doi.org/10.7748/ns.30.3.17.s20).  People who get hit with it suffer brain damage and often lose their sight, lose their hearing, and lose their limbs.

And God supposedly protected three men in a furnace which was heated seven times normal (Daniel 3;19).

As for my axes, I have a Jackson and a Fender acoustic in storage over in Irvine, California, but I had to buy two more guitars and another amplifier.

I have been able to work on my manual dexterity over the course of time, and I’m a hell of a lot better now than I was when I shot that little bit at Guitar Center in Irvine, California in 2011.

I don’t know why God allowed me to get meningitis-and He’d better have a damned good reason for it.  Exodus 4:11 is something that I don’t accept.  And if you have a child with a developmental disability, you shouldn’t either.

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Me and Lita Ford in My Plymouth-At 94 mph

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Remember that ignorance is a hell of a lot more expensive than this article you just read.

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My 2000 Plymouth Breeze at 94 mph.

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Composing Again

I’m not a Bruce Kulick, Eddie Van Halen, Randy Rhoads, or even a Malcolm Young (before tragedy struck him), but I’m pretty damn good for someone with severe brain damage.

I’m composing again, after many years of not.

Why?  I suppose it’s because I need to.  I have to remain busy in one way or another, while I wait for the Master’s program at University of Phoenix to begin, and this little piece actually took roughly twenty minutes for me to get it nearly to how I wanted it to sound-at least from a structural viewpoint.   From an electronic viewpoint, the quality is almost as bad as a Panasonic tape recorder from 1984, but a small computer microphone is what you use when you have to sell used toilet paper on the poor side of town for gas money.

There are two challenges with in regards to composition.  The first is remembering the chord progression, since I have the short-term memory of a funnel, and the second is to remember how I wanted it to sound.

There are some things which go through my mind as I listen to this recording loop on my laptop.  The first is that this seems to have a raw 1970’s AC/DC sound-back when Bon Scott was still alive.  The second is that I’m really  surprised that I recorded this on the first take with almost no mistakes.

I don’t understand why the sound seems to cut out at :11 into the recording, because I didn’t move at all, but I guess I’ll figure it out eventually.

The equipment I used for this recording was a Fender Strat Squire, a Peavey Envoy 110 amplifier, and a DOD Hard Rock Distortion FX57, as my Jackson and my Fender acoustic are currently in storage in Irvine, California, along with my Boss DS-1, which I bought in 1985.

The Fender Strat Squire and Peavey Envoy 110 are what you will always hear until further notice whenever I decide to throw one of these recordings on this page.

You, the reader, are probably wondering why I decided to do this.  C’mon, man.  I can’t do all politics all the time.  Even someone like me has to mix it up a bit.  In addition, this is further proof that someone with a developmental disability can actually do something and be useful in the world.

Right, Crescent Hardy of Nevada?

Ah, let him burn in Hell.  He will soon enough, I’m quite certain.

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Ya Magu Gavarit Pa Ruskie

I originally composed this back around 2001, but I got a Peavey amplifier and a Fender Squire, so I was able to re-record it this year.

I never gave this composition a name, but the rhythm from this actually helped me learn one phrase in Russian: “Ya magu gavarit pa Ruskie.”

“I speak Russian.”

The devushkas (young, unmarried Russian women) would laugh when I finished it with: “Angliski nyet!”

That means, “English, no.”

And that’s technically true.

I used to, anyway.  I was chasing the Russian and Armenian tails in my apartment complex in Van Nuys, California back then.  Nice-looking girls-and with manners!

You don’t see that in Los Angeles-especially in the San Fernando Valley.  The Valley is the Detroit of Porn, you know.  That actually makes sense when you consider the fact that General Motors used to build the Camaro and the Firebird there.

One sleek body design for another sleek body design, I always say.

Keep in mind that I actually have severe brain damage and that I really should not have any ability to do this.  So, shove that up your right-wing ass, Crescent Hardy.

I’m so glad that bastard lost his bid for re-election!  It would just be great if he had a severe stroke or a spine-crushing automobile accident, because either one of those couldn’t happen to a more humane son-of-a-whore.