Guilty pleasures. We all have them and only sometimes will we publically admit to them. I happen to love really bad B movies like “Rock and Roll Nightmare.” I know it is absolutely terrible but I like it anyway. A few months ago I discovered another guilty pleasure, the metal band, “In This Moment.”
It started when I downloaded their new album “Blood” when it was on super sale on Amazon. Now when I get into something, I really get into it and soon I had purchased several of their earlier albums and burned a mix CD of their music to play in the car. For a week or more I played nothing else and often drove around (when the kids weren’t in the car mind you) blasting their music at full volume. The volume, the anger, the driving- it all took me right back to my adolescence when I would drive around my old hometown of Haddonfield in my 85 black Firebird with the t-tops off blasting Bauhaus or Vengeance Rising and getting a testosterone kick from scaring the neighbors.
Anyway, there I was tooling around feeling pretty badass when I pulled into a gas station to refuel. I believe the song playing at the time was “Daddy’s Falling Angel”. Not wanting to break my metal momentum, I left the windows down. Now I have to admit that the volume was pretty loud and could clearly be heard by everyone else at the station. Of course, in my adolescent throwback frame of mind- this was exactly what I was looking for- using my music to scare the locals. I felt so cool- so full of the power of the music- so bad… that is until I looked across the pump to see the old lady filling her car. At first she winced then, very quickly, glowered at me. For a few moments I tried to maintain my facade of indifference to her displeasure. But it wasn’t long till her glare snapped me back to adulthood and I realized I wasn’t being cool- I was being a jerk. Feeling somewhat sheepish I put the windows up and finished pumping my gas.
Now I still enjoy cranking the music up but this encounter raised the issue of just how much of my feeling cool and pumped up was dependent upon the music and how much it derived from feeling like I was intimidating other people. If the latter was my objective, the old lady at the gas station made it all too clear that I wasn’t very good at it anyway. So I will keep on playing the music loud and proud, but will also try to remember that I’m not 19 anymore and perhaps that’s not such a bad thing.