Friday, May 18, 2007

The Catalyst, chaptor two (Yes, I know it's not as good as the first one but oh well)
Jason Cain Lethium Wenterz II looks fantastic. And I don't just mean fantastic as in "good," or "great." I mean, fantastic,as in "fantasy-like”, as in he looks like a result of C.S. Carrol's pre-Alice In Wonderland drug dosages. Just how much like the hallucination of an intoxicated, delusional, turn-of-the-century auther,you ask? Well,for one thing, he's Albino,so as you can imagine,he doesn't have much of a tan. For another,his hair is bleach blonde with thousands of pale tints of aqua high-lighted into various layers of his oh-so-chicly styled, wispy,silky,choppy hair.And for another,he's got the smoothest skin you've ever seen.(Then there's his unfathomably out-landish fashion sense, which I'm sure I'll get to rambling on about in more detail later...)
Now any other punk-rocker would probably be satisfied with the fabulous hair and lovely, translucent, luminous complexion, right? Not Jason Wenterz. No, he's not happy until he's practically mistaken for a human Mardi Gras decoration. Hence the 2 ruby-red studs pierced into the skin above his eye-brows on either side of his face. Hence the oh-so-'80s silver lip-gloss often decorating his oh-so-masculine mouth. And hence his middle name,(Cain), tattooed vertically down his left arm in big,bold,bloody-looking letters.(He also has various symbols and cartoon characters all over his other arm; and a demonic-looking heart just above his waist.)...But those aspects of his appearance don't really matter.Because those aspects of his appearance don't set him apart at all. Because those aspects of his appearance can be easily,(though somewhat painfully) mimicked.
No,the thing that matters,the thing that no die-hard,Jason Wenterz-impersonating Mobile Fallout Shelter fan could ever imitate, is Jason's eyes.His auburn,magical, naturally black-lashed,slightly mystified,not-so-slightly burning eyes.(Not smoldering,but BURNING.) Now some people might call the surrealism of this enigmatic bassists appearance sexy. I call it creepy. I mean,come on,white skin, light blue hair, and burning brownish red eyes? He looks like Rei Ayanami's punk older brother! (Only,more sinister,and alot more masculine. An actual relative of Rei's would shoot himself in the face if he had a chin like Jason's.) Not that I think Rei (or any of her look-a-likes/"relatives") are ugly,but you've got to admit-those auburn, heavily out-lined orbs with rims of white surrounding the pupils could (and often do) pierce (and/or even puncture) the very fabric of ones soul.
However, in contrast to their "fantastic" band-mate, the rest of Mobile Fallout Shelter,(Mikey Ralphson, Brent Janche, and Andy Warrest) look entirely normal. I mean,sure,the majority of the band are not-so-slightly over-tattooed in some places. And, yes, Andys hair is so spiky, stiff, and long/tall to a point where you have to wonder if its actually his hair and not just some really weird wax-like hat. But, hey, this a rock band; what did you expect?
Such were my thoughts upon first being introduced to said band about 2 years ago,by the musically educated hands of Nikki Burgham, during recess, during middle school. (The setting is a semi-disserted class-room in a somewhat exclusive,secluded Parish Center,right after lunch.)And begin flash-back sequence.......
"Isn't he simply GORGEOUS?" Nikki breathed dreamily,gazing longingly at a picture presenting said pioneer of incoherent poetry,on her desk ."Who, Jason?" Laura,Nikki's sister,asked,standing beside her."Eh, he's okay...But Brent is adorable!" Nikki turned around in her seat and gave her sister a demure, "I-ain't-gonna-humour-you" smile,with a raised eye-brow."Laura,he's got a beard. And,futhermore-he's the drummer!" She said,trying to sound subtle and failing miserably.
But,its true.I really wouldn't classify Brent as "adorable,” or even "cute",for that matter.But,I have to admit,the guy does have style.For one thing, he has hair down to his shoulders, his hair being a subtle,rather flattering shade of light red,with striking tangerine high-lights here and there.For another,his so-called "beard" is actually more like stubble and gives him that "Hippie politician" look.(Which makes sense,considering thats basically what he is.)And,for another,he's more than capable of looking good in his glass's.Plus,he's got the most original tattoo's I've ever seen.I mean,when's the last time you heard of a guy with the words "this ain't a tattoo,its a scar",surrounded by seemingly randomly-placed,incredibly realistic droplets of blood tattooed on his upper back? Um,how about never? (Oh,clever,Brent.Very clever.)
And,Laura obviously had alot of respect for Brent and his many,many original/clever tattoo's,which is why she frowned,and remarked to Nikki: "Why should that matter? Besides,I like his beard." Nikki opened up her mouth to reply/say something offensive,than hesitated,giving her sister the benefit of the doubt.
"Well,he WOULD look weird without the beard,I'l give ya that."Nikki conceded,only to ruin the subtle-ness of her reply again,by later adding-"But,he's SUCH a cynic!" Laura was not pleased. "Hey,I thought we were only talking about their looks." She said,sounding hurt,and making an effort to defend herself,but recovering quickly enough,with a-"But,if thats the case,then your precious Jason is a total perverted psycho!" This was received with what was a mixure of an arogant scoff and an appauled gasp. Not that I was paying attention.In fact,the entier time this was happening,I was safely and thoroughly engrossed in my oh-so-precious copy of "Mara,Daughter of The Nile." Now this is an Eloise J. Mccgraw novel we're talking about,so as you can imagine,I was far too immersed in the plight of the adurable,home-sick Canaanite Princess Inanni,to care what was happening around me.
Anyway,this debate between the 2 sisters went on for about 5 more minutes,then-"What about you,Belinda? What do you think? Who's better-Jason or Brent?" I was asked.At first,I just blinked. (Half because I didn't know who Jason and Brent were,and half because I didn't want to be disturbed from my reading.)"Uhhm,who now?" I asked,setting my book down for the first time since recess had started. "Oh,you know.The Bassest and Drummer of Mobile Fallout Shelter." Nikki explained."Oh,okay.Errrr...Who??" I asked again,obviously clueless. At this appairently ridiculous question,Nikki and Laura exchanged glances, then looked at me as if I had just asked who Jesus Christ was. "You don't know who Mobile Fallout Shelter is...?" Laura half asked, half stated."Ummmm....No,sorry." I confessed, a bit taken aback by the impact that last "who?" had had on the 2 sisters.
"Ohmigawd! You haven't LIVED!" Laura told me,dead serious; while Nikki frantically skimmed through the list of songs on her I-pod,the way a nurse would search for medical equipment,for a paitent with a brain-tomer."Found it!" she said,seconds later,her face a-glow with triumph. Before I could even in-hale another breath,the head-phones to Nikki's I-pod were fashionabley set a-top my head,the speakers perfectly aligned with my ear-drums,and on the other side,hooked-up to Nikki's I-pod. Then,of course,Nikki pressed the "Play/Select" butten. The next thing I heard was an explosion of guitar strings, drums,and,after the instrumental intro was over,the jazzy,Alto-ish,somewhat twangy voice of Mikey Ralphson.Its the kind of voice you'd expect to dance to,and be accompanied by either tuba's,trumpets,and ciallos,or violens,acoustic guitars,and banjo's; rather then electric guitars,bass's,and drums.
Now the first song of theirs I heard was this rythmic, sweetly simple,charmingly up-beat little number appropriately titled "Bang Your Head,Not My Heart." The first few lines of it were-"Hey,hey,hey,hey/if I give you something to bang your head to/ can I give you something to bang your head on as well?/...Keep quiet.Quit kicking./The only reason you know is because you weren't there./Oh, announcements, announcements! Excuses, excuses!./..No,wait.A precautionary warning./ Attention,all Androids and Automatic boys: When in doubt,write something down.When at a loss for words,qoute somone who's famous and no longer around/.When at a loss,/state the obvious.../" (This song was one of the rare ones where Mikey had decided to enunciate ,so I didn't have to search for the lyrics on-line later.) Of course,recess only lasted so long,meaning there was only so much knowladge about everyones favorite musical "human sheilds" Laura and Nikki could cram into my head before we were forced back into the disenchanting world of potential home-work,tests,and quiz's. They realized this,and wasted no time. So,while I was being introdueced to the sound of MFOS(Mobile Fall-Out Shelter),I was also introdueced to their image,as well,via the printed-out and down-loaded merits of the 2 sisters' obsession with said pioneers of incoherent poetry. The volume on Nikki's I-pod was turned down just enough so I could hear both the 2 sisters and MFOS,without getting a head-ache.
Once a group-picture of the band had been supplied,Laura pointed to the first 3 people in it,and said their names:"This is Mikey Ralphson,Brent Jenche,Andy Warrest,and-" Suddenly,before Laura could introduece the last person,or even protest about being cut-off,Nikki came out of nowhere,and slammed down the 2ed picture on top of the first,saying at first dramatically,then infatuatedily:"AND THIS!...is Jason Cain Lethium Wenterz II." Now I don't know weather it was the impact Jason was introduced to me with,or if he just looked that stunning-but the second I saw that picture,I froze.Well,no,perhaps "froze" isn't the right word. It was more like: the thoughts that usually acted as a key to Wonderland and sources of nostalgic/eccentric bliss just automatically shut-down, and all my sense's snapped to attention. But before I had time to ponder this, my train of thought was interrupted by the rising of alleged sickness in my stomach and the unexpected cold,hard,metallic taste in my mouth.This taste could've been anything-fear,discomfort,shock,disdain,indegestion,sickness... But I was too distracted by the intense acheing in my wrist and stomach to identify it accurately,at the time.
Not that it was a disgusting photograph. On the contrary,it was quite beautiful.But it was a viscious,fierce,intimidating,dark beauty.The kind you'd expect from a vampire in its "true form",or the glisteing claws and teeth of some angered exotic carnavor-dangerous enough to keep you at a distance,yet magnificent enough to keep you enchanted. So,yes,I was being very over-dramatic,and no,it wasn't a controversial picture. Oh,sure,the flash of the camera had been so intense that it made Jasons eyes look crimson instead of aubern,and his hair light saphire instead of blue-tinted bleach blonde.But,other then that,it was just your average glamourous result of a successful photo-shoot.Oh,you know- an extreme close-up of his mature face,cocked into his neck ever-so-slightly,to make it appear as if he's being shot at a semi-profile semi-arial view angle, (which you can tell by the posistion of his shoulders and neck that he's not;) with only one eye (and the gleaming bottem of one eye-brow piercing,) being shown looking directly at the camera, the other one obscured beneath the top-hat he's eloquintly tipping with the hand on the side of his body facing the camera,thus showing off the sleave of his exotic,allegedly Italian tuxedo jacket.
The only anti-Super Model quility about that picture was his slightly-OH.SO.SLIGHTLY- open mouth,curved in a perfect semi-snarl as if to say:"Okay,which one of you cynical,inconsiderate slobs was eating powdered jelly doughnuts in my car?!" (Yeah,he pulled off that stuck-up, angry prima-donna facial expression perfectly.) Unfortunately the modeling agency doesn't like the open-mouth concept; although,in this picture,it does do a great job of showing off the faded,almost flesh-colored pink in his lips. Still,Tyra Banks would not approve. But I digress....
But even with the unbelievably stunning quality of the picure, the first time I saw it,my thoughts of this photographical master-piece were more along the lines of :"Hey,I didn't know Jack The Ripper had great, great, great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great grand-children!" And, "Wow,psycho killers sure are photogenic these days." And, my personal favorite: "Now is this guy supposed to be impersonating a thin,blue-haired,red-eyed version of Mr.Penguin or an unanimated,butchier,formal version of Kai Hiwatari?"(I just figured because of the tuxedo and blue hair...) Of course, I didn't dare say any of these opinians out-loud,for fear that the Queen of Jason Adoration standing and swooning over the picture she had slammed down on my desk a mere minute earlier, would visciously rip out both my kidneys and feast upon my liver.So,instead I just did what Nikki's head-phones/M.F.O.S. told me to do-state the obvious. "Huh...He's got red eyes...And blue hair.And,Nikki,you're drooling on my desk." I said, looking reluctantly at the puddle of "love juice" dripping unto the floor,off the corner of a place mere inches away from my home-work containing binder.At first,she just blinked and,to my distaste, drooled some more. But,to my immense relief, eventually she reacted ("Huh?...Oh,sorry;") and put the treasured portrait of her "Jay" back into her "NOTE-BOOK OF SCHMEX!!.... and English."(Unfortunately she wanted her I-pod back too.)
Now fast-forward 3 months. Not long after buying the third M.F.O.S. C.D., "Lets All Slit Our Wrists And Burn Down Something Beautiful," I concluded that Jason was not psychotic-just really obscure and perhaps a little disturbed. It was songs like "A Prism, A Prophecy, A Paradox" that led me to this conclusion.(Excerpt: “Your mind is an open door/ you're eyes are dance-floors./A warning-sign of light and sound, before it all darkens into doubt./According to the shadows to my right, we're loaded bases/ just dying to go full-circle;/ with all the intricacy and/trickery to keep their gazes/ glued to the pages..../")
Um,"you'r EYES are dance-floors"...? I'm sorry, but, in my mind, the concept of using somebody's eyes as a dance-floor just doesn't paint a pretty picture. Then there’s the matter of the talking shadows to Jasons right labeling him and someone else as bases longing to go full circle...Erm...schizophrenic much? In other words, when it comes to the M.F.O.S. lyric book-lets,lets just say its not the "intricacy and trickery" that keeps mine and the majority of the bands fans gazes glued to the pages. No, it’s more likely the always unanswered question: "What the (INSERT NOUN/SWEAR-WORD HERE) is this supposed to mean?!" Or, in my case:"Hmmm....I wonder if lyrics as incoherent as these were used in Wolrd War II to get information out of the Nazi's." Well, that and the pictures of Mikey Ralphson, the ONLY un-tattooed/un-pierced/un-dyed "Human Shield." The only one in the Punk Rock band who’s a rocker and a punk instead of just a punk. You see, I love Mikey. But not simply because he’s an anti-poster boy. No, but because he's an amazing musician/singer and an honest, adorable person. Because the only 2 reasons he's a "rock-star" are, he loves music and is extremely talented.
And it’s because those gray, chocolate brown-dusted eyes, narrow, oval, apricot face, and straight, shiny, a little-less-than-shoulder-length, straw-berry blonde tresses are irresistible. But my printer’s running out of ink. So, suffice it to say that Jason is stylishly scary, Brent is over-ambitiously political, Mikey is sincerely adorable, and Andy "Sir Star-burst Head" Warrest is practically a hermit. For now, that’s all you need to know. So, fast-forward 11 months later. That’s right, past the part where I discover love is just another responsibility/commitment, only with better rewards. Past the part where I experience the true meaning of loneliness. Past the part where I nearly die of a Hot Chocolate over-dosage. Past the part where I learn that no matter how attached to someone you might be, for the first 5 minutes after you've severed the connection with them, you feel nothing but malice and mirth. Past where all that disappears and the heart-break/desolation sinks in. And past all the emptiness and after-shock of the agonizingly long weeks that followed. Yeah, just keep going until you see a 15-year-old girl lying on the floor --eyes mystified, stomach bullet-pierced and bleeding-- in a puddle of her own blood.
In other words: fast-forward to the death of Nikki Burgham

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