I never pegged myself as a sucker for reminiscing about some bygone era of youthful indiscretions set to a soundtrack so loud that it did permanent hearing damage. Then again, I never figured that the moment I had a child, my life before that moment would become an abstraction only referential as fragmented memories and out-of-body mental snapshots. I hope that doesn’t sound too wistful because there’s nothing better than being a parent, but on our first “official” family road trip this past week there were a couple of moments when I’d just about gotten my fill of baby-friendly playlists and was ready for a quick mental cleanse of the kind that The Radishes are fond of administering. Y’know, the kind with simple riffs repeated fast and loud, driving bass and drums (provided by the former rhythm section for Ministry!), and acidic vocals that scream alienation, anger, and irony. Alas, when the baby is sleeping in the back seat and your wife has taken the reins of the iPod, you don’t always get that instant aural gratification. But when you’re home early on a Friday morning and the rest of the family is asleep behind closed doors, you can put on the headphones, turn it up all the way and get a good dose of noise, sweet noise.
Sharing the sharing.