Tuesday, May 15, 2007

The Catalyst, chaptor one (I deeply appologize for the impossible length)
Well, I’m here. Here, as in Illinois. Illinois as in Chicago. Chicago as in, Jason Wenterz's house. (His kitchen, to be exact.)
And Jason Wenterz as in, none other then the bassist/lyricist/front-man of the infamously incoherent Alternative Rock-Band, Mobile Fallout Shelter.
More affectionately referred to as, The Human Shields.
Less affectionately referred to as, "those emo (OBCENE WORD OF CHOICE HERE)s’ with the bassist I'd like to hang for crimes against fashion."
Unfortunately, they’re more widely-known by the latter "nick-name." Why are they so hated, you ask?

Well, it’s just as I said earlier: they're incoherent. And I'm not just saying that because you can almost never decipher a word Mikey Ralphson, the vocalist, is singing. I’m saying that because even if Mikey did sing distinctly, seldom would the lyrics ever make sense. Why?
Because Jason Wenterz, the "poet" of the band; does not write poetry.
He writes long, contradictory, pre-musical rants that just so happen to rhyme every now and then. And even on the rare occasions Jasons lyrics do make sense, they make the reader/listener sick with disdain and/or disgust.
For example, he once wrote a love-song about his mother. It was called "The Only Good Thing About Divorce Is You Get To Sleep With Your Mom."
And it went like this: “Brace yourself, mother/ I'm picking up where/ dad left off. And, oh/ your skin and lips are just that soft/These slums/are/always/alive with/the smell/of deteorating skin-cells.../" Yeah, ew. My sentiments exactly.(That, and “Well, at least they didn't make a music video for it.”)

But, I'm sure somewhere beneath the "anthem of a mother-(BEEP)er" exterior of this musical rant, lurks the sweetly profound, Techno-style love-song of the decade. Its even got the ever-so-catchy, blithe melody, filled with ingenious hooks, to prove it. (Yeah, Mikey, the composer/vocalist, is a musical genius.) So, yes, despite the insanity, obscurity, and mother-complex semi-satire of Mobile Fallout Shelters' lyrics, I actually like these guys. Besides, when Jason was asked, on “Stevens’ Untitled Rock Show,” about the controversy of the "The Only Good Thing About Divorce..."s lyrics/title, he coolly retorted that the title did not mean "you get to have sex with your mom,” but that you simply get to sleep in the same bed as your mother.(Although it must've been a REALLY comfortable bed if he decided to write a song about this evidently rare privilege.) He also explained that when the narrator commented on the condition of the mother's skin/lips, he simply meant to compliment her on her complexion, not imply some weird, misplaced "mother-complex-esque" sexual tension. And, as for "I'm picking up where dad left off "? Apparently it was just a misunderstood way of saying, according to Jason: “Look, mom; everything's gonna be okay-I'LL take care of you!" Evidently, the song was about the after-math of his parents divorce.(Yeah, but that still doesn't explain the slums always being alive with the smell of deteorating skin-cells.) And, of course, after/while he explained all this, he did not hesitate to make his apparent lyrical superiority known by mercilessly berating/verbally throttling Steven every time he dared ask if (SUGGESTIVE LYRIC OF CHOICE HERE) was a sexual reference.
In fact, at one point, Jasons’ exact words were: “I can’t believe you, Steven! Why does everyone ALWAYS assume that just because it sounds beautiful, it has to be dirty?! Oh, don’t get me wrong, I know I’m a bit confusing, I can understand a few lyrical misinterpretations now and then. But, really, how lecherous can you get.” (Oh, yes, he was quite convincing as the “innocent fatality of social slander.”)
Although if that’s the case, (the whole "lyrical misinterpretation" thing) I have to wonder how "Brace yourself, mother" fits in to that.(It's like, “Well, if its not that kind of relationship, then what’s she bracing herself for?") But for those of you still offended by this example of incoherent poetry and have already lost all taste in Mobile Fallout Shelter, I must insist you have some tolerance. That was only one of their songs. They have lots of other songs. Lots of other chart-topping/dominating, delightfully nonsensical, provocative, original songs.(Plus, most of the cast of main characters in this story is comprised of the bands members, so if you don't like the band, you probably won't like the story.) Besides, if not for these guys, my poems would still be making sense. I mean, coherent poetry and sanity are over-rated, after all.(Happy un-birthday to most of you, by the way.)

So, as you can imagine, me getting invited to the home of Mobile Fallout Shelter's most popular member has made me completely, unbearably ecstatic, right? WRONG! I mean, come on, Jason Wenterz is a notorious satirous, surreptitious, insensitive, inconsiderate, arrogant party-boy punk! He's like the Punk Rock, masculine version of Paris Hilton. But, not only is he a dissolute compulsive liar and a pimp, he’s also a murderer. What proof do I have of this, you ask? Well, its just that the fact that he wrote a song titled “The Hands of Nikki Bhurgam” weeks after the funeral of my murdered friend, Nikki Burgham, is awfully suspicious.[I mean, “Bhurgam” is just an obvious anagram of “Burgham,” after all.] (But, more on that in the 2nd and 3rd chapter.) But let’s get to the point, shall we? The point is, he wouldn't just randomly message me, some lanky "eccentric artist" stereo-type, to compliment me on my poetry, then invite me over to his house and show him more. Plus, if he really wanted to see more, he could have simply asked me to e-mail some to him. So, yeah, of course I suspect something. I mean, come on, this whole thing is screaming ulterior motive. It’s screaming ulterior motive, and yet-I came. And yet-here I am.

And yet, as Jason happily chortles away about something having to do with Mobile Fallout Shelter and their recent tour of Europe, there’s a part of me that can't help thinking "Wow, famous, insensitive ass-holes are so much more charming in person!" Yeah, in case you can't tell, I'm really not that fond of Jason. But with his reputation, who could blame me? Not to mention, his lyrics make my skin crawl! Not to mention, he allegedly shot my class-mate in the stomach 2 years ago. (Well, the evidence of the whole murder scandal verifies it, he just hasn’t admitted to it yet.) And if that’s not enough of a scandal for you, he also had one involving soft-core gay-porn, which I'm not even going to attempt to explain.(Lets just leave it at this- it involved Kyo [from Dir En Gray], and impersonating a fictitious ironical Japanese Romance novelist.[Eiri Yuki from Gravitation])
But, no, this attitude towards him isn't simply because he can't write nice lyrics. It’s because he's a total enigma. Its because I have no idea what to expect. And its because in the past, I've been liable to accidentally say the wrong thing and be hated for it, and in the past, Jasons been liable to psychotically snap at anybody who says the wrong thing.(In other words, total recipe for disaster.)
Such are my thoughts as I smile nervously at Jason's kitchen table, frantically wondering what to say when Jason's done with his story, and it's my turn to contribute to the conversation.(That, and cursing my lover-of-all-things-social mother for leaving the room.)
Suddenly, Jason stops talking,and looks over his shoulder at the clock. "Oh...It’s lunch-time." He says,nonchalantly."And just in time, too. I don't know about you, Yuki, but I'm starving." And he rises from his seat to go over to the fridge, which he peaks into only to glance at me seconds later, with a "What about you, Yuki? You want anything?"
"Uhhhm...No thanks." I decline, in a mono-tone. I'm too sick with paranoia to eat anything. Besides, Jason might put something in my food. And by the way, my names not really “Yuki,” its Belinda something or other. In the Private Message (which is similar to an E-mail), Jason sent me,the first question he asked was what my name was. (I only told him my first name, Belinda.) The second question he asked me was, do I like my real name. And, I don't. At all. So I told him I'd much rather be called something like "Yuki." And, there you have it.

By this time, I figure if I'm left to worry any longer, I'll probably end up making myself sick, so I decide to speak up. "Uhhm...Mr.Wenterz?" I say cautiously.
At this, he gives me an extremely displeased look, and, to my well-hidden hysteria, picks up a butchers-knife…. to cut the lunch-meat, for his sandwich. (For a second there, I thought we were going to have a “Silence of The Lambs” relapse.)Once his lunch is completed-"Stop that! Your making me feel old!" He says, frowning, retaking his place at the table, holding a turkey sandwich."I'm only 29,damn it! Call me 'Jason.'"
"Okay...." I murmur, managing to sound pathetically dazed and confused. "Why'd you ask me to come out here?" For afew seconds he just stares at me seriously, chewing his sandwich, and blinking. Then, he takes a gulp, and says, "Okay. Would you like to hear the truth or something that’s not going to absolutely KILL me to say?"
"The truth, please." I say, without skipping a beat; no concern in the world for the condition of Jasons pride. I figure the humbling will do him good. Him, being an arrogant rock-star Prima Donna, and all.

Of course, he thinks I'm merely another obsessed fan-girl, and expects me to just worship the ground he walks on, which is why he frowns at the lack of hesitance in my reply, before saying: "Well...This may be hard for you to believe, but...-" and I can tell by the look on his face that this is the part he's DREADING having to say;-" my lyrics aren't very popular among the fans..."
"Uh-huh..." I say, wondering what any of this has to do with me.
"And, when I read your poems on Myotaku...-" Myotaku.com is a Myspace rip-off designed specifically for anime fans. And since most celebrities have myspace pages, I suppose they thought they might as well have Myotaku accounts, as well.-"Well...the poems just struck me as more...Uhhh..." Jason stairs at the table, scrunching up his face, looking for a word to describe it.
"Better?" I suggest, hopefully.
"Universal" he says, frowning at me.
"Look, here’s the point," he begins, FINALLY giving me the explanation I've so been longing for. "We're going to be recording a new album soon. Meaning, we need to write new songs. And, since I seem to be having writers block, we’ve got nothing....So-" No, actually THIS is the part that he's been dreading.

"You want me to join the band?" I finish for him. For a few seconds, he just glares at me in the manner a nun would glare at a hopelessly evil, satanic blasphemer. His probable thoughts: "Oh, horrid blaspheming Yuki! How dare she even think she's worthy of such a privilege!" (Actually they were probably more along the lines of: "OF COURSE NOT, YOU UNTALENTED AROGANT B---CH!!" But I digress...)
Then, taking a deep breath to regain composure, and managing to keep his tone casual, he says-
"No. THEY-as in, Mikey, Brent, and Andy-" Brent is Mobile Fallout Shelters drummer, and Andy is the guitarist.-"want you to be the co-lyricist." (Um, come again?) I'm shocked. And I don't know what to be more shocked by- the event of one of America's most notoriously arogant rock-stars admitting his lyrics suck, or the fact that he just asked me,some 15-year-old Myotaku cyber poet, for help. (Well, sure,he didn't exactly beg me,but still...) Jason takes another bite of his sandwich and shrugs off the irritation and embarrassment of his prior explanation/request. It is at this time that I expect him to say something clichéd like "Well, Yuki, the choice is yours." Or "now don't just rush into this ,think about it first and..." But instead, once he's finished with his sandwich, all he says is: “Well, anyway....Now you know." But it was said in a tone that was screaming "consider yourself warned." And he was wearing the matching facial expression.
So, I have to wonder-was that really an offer, or a warning?

Comments (5)