THE SONIC YOUTH

The summer before, I had read Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye for the first time, and now I stand, like the protagonist, basking in the layers of synchronicity. Upon an open hill, I am standing alone scanning a flat wooded mysterious landscape. A pagoda in the distance glares like a shrine for a demon, but it is still peaceful here despite it's subtle degradation of the aura. I have wandered into this privileged life alone, unknowing, and unprotected. I have a headache. The summer before I was just as psychickally grey. 

When I arrived I walked half a mile through the woods with a giant image of a pink stuffed bunny on my oversized shirt, because when I found myself among the future elite I became an elitist upon myself. An animal who only gnaws at itself. Not a soldier in an army, but a soldier among field hands concealed in his grimy glory. The back of the shirt reads, "Gracias", as if to give thanks to the field hands and landlords who pointed at my back having fully appreciated the pink bunny costume. I have politely arrived in style.  

Now here comes The Sonic Youth like a tribe from a tree line. They all look familiar, but not in a neighborly way. Maybe we are linked through stardust or maybe just old-fashioned psychick powers. They are migrating like post-apocalyptic warriors from their tombs. Let the elite run their course. I am not completely alone! At least not banished to the Demon Pagoda, or this pimple of a hill, fragile and frozen. All hail the pink bunny in celebration, and we'll seal it through ceremony! There are more like me in The Sonic Youth. 

BEGINNING

I suppose any link towards an obsession with silk-screened shirts started at a very early age. I remember vividly at the age of 8 developing a strong bond with a skateboard, which led to delving through magazines like Thrasher and Transworld. I was a music man, even back then, and the ads in these magazines gave me a unique view into the fringes of art and music. Strong graphic images in black and white. This was something more than advertising and marketing. This was fresh stewing counter-culture. Artists like Pushead and Raymond Pettibon. The Black Flag logos, Cramps logos, Metallica and Misfits t-shirts, buttons, patches, and stickers. These would be the first records I would seek out on my own. Some people see something dark, or gothic, browsing such images, but they were more than just that. They were esoteric and exotic.  Like the strong archetypes of our time, and my childhood; Christ on the cross or The Beatles, many were impactful, emotional and challenging. True existential art. Suffering at it's finest. Even the text had fury. This culture exculpated my weakness and brought me great joy. This was before the archetypal image of a skull was plastered all over department stores. Before the days of the internet these images, and bands, presented a sort of mystery to an 8 year old boy. Just like any religion shrouded in mysticism, emotion, rebellion, value, art and culture, these images burned into my mind and made life somehow more meaningful... purposeful. Art was a lifestyle and this was my niche in the modern world.