Bon Scott Appreciation Day 2015

Ronald Belford "Bon" Scott (9 July 1946 – 19 February 1980)

Rest in Peace Ray Manzarek

Favorite Musicians of the Netherworld: Bon Scott

9 July 1946 – 19 February 1980

I was just 15 years old when Bon Scott died. It devastated me. AC/DC was my favorite band, and let me confess a little something to you. I loved Bon. Yeah, I know how cheesy that sounds, but I did.

Talk about a match that never would have worked out in reality, that would have been it. But I loved him anyway. I had always been a good Catholic girl, but when I hit my teens, I started to go a little wild.

I wasn't wild with boys, contrary to popular rumors that I had eight abortions by the time I was fourteen. No, seriously, that was a rumor spreading around about me. I don't know how it started, because I was incredibly naïve about sex. I thought a blow job was blowing in someone's ear, and I wondered why the hell anyone would find that activity enjoyable.

I knew how babies were made, but I was scared to death of doing the act that made babies. I didn't want a baby, and I had heard that it hurt like hell to have sex the first time. (At this point I still believed that pain with sex for women was because of Eve and the original sin, and I hated the bitch for it. What I didn't admit was that I was also pissed off at God for being such a douchebag as to do this to women because of Eve being an asshole. Believe me, I was very indoctrinated.) Nonetheless, I did daydream about doing said act with Bon Scott, and I figured I was going to hell, but I liked him (and AC/DC's music) so much that I figured my immortal soul was a small price to pay.

When I found out that Bon had died, I walked through the little Peyton Place town that was home to me and my misery, feeling terribly lost. Nobody in that town understood me. My parents didn't understand me either. I felt like I was an alien who had been lost from another planet and ended up in this fucking miserable place. I was very bullied and very lonely, and I felt like I'd just lost the love of my life. Well, I had, though he didn't know he was.

Bon was known as a nice guy, even if he was a bit of a randy sort. I would dream about him sometimes. I like to think that maybe he felt a little sympathy for a silly, unhappy girl who had a huge crush on him. Maybe he wanted to show me that I had a friend after all. Who knows. The older I get, the less I know.

Though Brian Johnson is fabulous and I can't imagine anyone else filling Bon's shoes, there will never be another Bon Scott. He was one of those people that just can't be imitated. I think one reason Brian worked out so well is because he wasn't trying to imitate Bon. He was just trying to do the best damn job he could.

Brian believes that Bon came to him one night in spirit and stayed for about an hour, helping him finish the songs he was struggling to write. He has said that he doesn't like to talk about this much, because people think he's crazy when he tells this tale. I don't. But I am kinda crazy.

So today, if we'll have a moment of silence for...

Nah, that's not the way we do it in the Netherworld!

If we'll turn it up to 666 and drive down the Highway to Hell, that's the way to honor Bon Scott in a fitting way!

Ronald Belford Scott: Never imitated, never forgotten. Rock in peace!

CCR Playlist

Here is a playlist from one of my favorite classic rock bands, Credence Clearwater Revival. Too bad about the infighting, they made classic after classic!

Bluegrass Picks

We hope you enjoyed the Bluegrass History yesterday. Now, here are a few songs for you to enjoy!

The Cult Playlist

Stay warm with a playlist from The Cult on this cold morning. Well, it's cold where I am anyway, and I live in a mobile home that has no working furnace. Space heaters--and The Cult--blasting!

Sadly, Dahlings, for me these days, "blasting" means slightly higher than moderately quiet. I've had to tone it down quite a bit in my middle years!

How I Almost Quit With Just 500 Words to Go

I did it.

But I almost didn't do it.

And I only had 500 words to go.

Why would I fold with that few words left?

Let's just say that I had a bit of a nervous breakdown on the home stretch.

My novel did not start out smoothly. I really had no idea what I wanted to write about.

I decided to write about the lunar aspect of H.P. Lovecraft's dreamlands after being cued by Bon Scott to think about the title to one of my favorite AC/DC songs, "What's Next To the Moon."

Really, I did. I don't care if you believe me or not. I'm telling the tale as it happened. If you choose to believe that this is merely my own perception or delusion, fine. I refuse to debate it. I can't prove that it happened. Conversely, no-one else can prove that it didn't.

Let's move on.

The story seemed very "piecey" at first. It seemed more like a bunch of short stories than a cohesive novel. It didn't start to gel until about halfway through the month. 

It also started to get really personal towards the end. Particularly on the last day. There was a convergence of sorts, and it opened some old wounds.

I had been turned on to the series "The Vampire Diaries" by my writing sister Tempest LeTrope and Mister Sister Adam Everhard. It becomes obvious that uncontrolled vampirism (the "Ripper" mode) is a metaphor for drug abuse. There are parts of the third season that are really hard to watch. Not because of the violence or "horror" aspect, but because certain of the character Stefan's behaviors reminded me of what I went through with my husband.

In the last segment that I watched, Elena (Stefan's girlfriend) says to Damon (Stefan's brother) that they may have to let Stefan go.

That is what I had to do with my husband. 

It isn't just the aspect of watching someone you love destroy themselves. Not every addict is abusive, but with the inhibitions blurred by consciousness-altering substances, anyone has greater potential to become abusive, either verbally or physically.

My husband mostly became verbally abusive. 

In the seven years that we were married, he got physical with me a total of nine times. He never beat me, and I was never particularly afraid of him. His physical abuses tended to take the form of slaps or pushing.

The verbal abuse was another story.

When my husband was doing heroin (he did cocaine as well, but less often) he became a different person. He thought that he was invincible and thought that he had been blessed with special gifts. He was a talented artist, but his real motivation was his next high.

When I met him way back in junior high, he was one of the cool kids. I wasn't terribly popular, but I garnered at least fake acceptance from the "cool" crowd when he brought me into the circle. He was a good-looking guy with dark hair and dark eyes. He always had a mischievous smile. I thought he was cute, but I was already crushing on someone else.

Our friendship turned to romance in our sophomore year in high school. Everyone thought we'd be the couple to beat the odds.

At that point, he was only smoking pot and drinking at weekend parties. So was everyone else, me included. I didn't see any kind of problem.

He joined the Army right after high school. It was the mid 1980's, a peacetime setting, so I wasn't worried. He wanted to learn a skill, to get some money together for college. It made perfect sense. He did his four years and came home, and we got married. 

At first, everything was great. A little over a year after we married, I was pregnant with our daughter. There started to be signs of trouble. He stayed late after work a lot and came home smashed. Initially I suspected that he might be cheating. I guess I could say that he was, but not with a woman at this point. The women would come later.

When I found out about the heroin, I demanded that he give it up. He did for a time, after our daughter was born. She was eight months old when I got pregnant with our son. Once again he started shooting up. He claimed he was only smoking pot, but I knew better. There was yelling, throwing of dishes, lots of crying on my part. He started calling me names, telling me that I was holding him down, being the "bitchy wife."

We had been married three and a half years and had two kids when he started fooling around with other women.

I tried to hold things together, tried to believe that he could kick the drugs, tried to believe that if I just loved him enough, I'd be able to bring him back from the edge.

In the end, I made the decision to walk away.

I told him that he couldn't see the kids until he got clean and stayed clean. He got mad and called me an evil, fat bitch. He said he didn't know how he could ever have been so desperate as to have sex with me. He said it to hurt me, but it did cause me to lapse into bulimic behavior, which I struggled with on and off for the next six years.

He would stay clean for periods of time but always eventually relapse into his old habits. I never let him have the kids overnight. When he was clean, I trusted him to take them to or pick them up from school.

I dated for a little while after my marriage ended, but always managed to pick guys that were far from ideal to bring around my kids. One turned out to be scary enough that I almost considered getting a restraining order. Luckily, he moved out of state.

I stopped dating fifteen years ago and see no reason to resume, even though my kids are adults now. I hate it when people tell me "not to give up" because the "right guy" could be around the next corner.

He's not.

So, to wrap things up...

The little experiment that started as a frustrating hodge-podge turned into a massive emotional bleed-out at the end, and I almost cashed in my chips.

I've decided that I'm actually going to try and organize the story into something cohesive. It does have potential.

I listened to a lot of HIM while I was writing the story. I also listened to AC/DC, of course. I listened to Morcheeba, and Korn, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, Loreena McKennitt, Enigma...

I want to share the HIM album Love Metal. Because yes, I do. It's gotten me through a lot of really tough times.

Thanks for letting me Bogart the Blog, Sisters and Misters. We will return you to your regularly scheduled insanity tomorrow!

Love,

Sister Helena

(Cross-posted to Undead in the Netherworld)

Trans Siberian Orchestra Playlist

A beautiful playlist from the amazing Trans Siberian Orchestra.

Pepper

Remember this one? I really need to hear some nasty, angry music today. Not necessarily loud or raucous, but anti-establishment. Ya know?

It's been a real boner year. Dad died on July 8 at 79 years old. And now Nils' mom passed away on October 4. She was 82. I flew to Norway with him and his brother for the funeral. It's always so beautiful there, but this time the occasion was a somber one. I think his dad will be okay. He's a stoic, resourceful man. I'm really not sure how Nils and his brother ended up being so warm. Their parents were anything but demonstrative with affection.

More of this to come. 

Beck: Guess I'm Doing Fine

 

There's a blue bird at the window
I can't hear the songs he sings
All the jewels in heaven
They don't look the same to me

I just wade the tides that turned
'Till I learn to leave the past behind

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing...
Guess I'm doing fine

All the battlements are empty
And the moon is laying low
Yellow roses in the graveyard
Got no time to watch them grow

Now I bade a friend farewell
I can do whatever pleases me

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing...
Guess I'm doing fine

Press my face up to the window
To see how warm it is inside
See the things that Ive been missing...
Missing all this time

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing...
Guess I'm doing fine

Guess I'm doing fine.

And Now For Something That Rocks (And Plays the Blues): Mark Evans

Last month, I ended up making the disappointing discovery that one of my longtime heroes was not at all worthy of the title. I really don't like slamming people, and I'm still dismayed by what I found out about that person. I much prefer to talk about the times when I can say "this person really is cool." 

That is certainly the case with Mark Evans, who was the bassist on two of AC/DC's early albums. That Mark should not have been included in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction is unconscionable. I like and respect Angus and Malcolm Young, but for them to continue to bear a grudge against Mark after all these years for what amount to misunderstandings and youthful slips of the tongue, while drunk nonetheless, is ridiculous.

Mark is the real deal. He is a genuine, honest person with no huge, puffed-up ego. He's been through hell and back. He lost his eldest daughter in a terrible accident. She was killed by a truck while standing on a street corner in Amsterdam, making a call to her employer to let them know she'd be a little late to work.

Mark has written an autobiography. You can find out more on the Facebook page. Also, check out his site, Mark Evans Blues.

It's a much better feeling to be able to say "see, I knew this person was the real thing!" than to have to say "damn, I really got fooled with that one." Thanks, Mark, for being one of the best. Rock on!

 

Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow: Full Album

An Afternoon of Dire Straits

In case you were wondering where I disappeared to, you can find me Down By the Waterline, looking for some Espresso Love.

Joy Division 1977-1980

More than an hour of tunes for you on this one.

Komakino - Divja Reč (Demo)

Beck: BBC 4 sessions 2003

You know, I really don't like Beck. I hate listening to him and think he's a terrible musician. He's really got nothing on Justin Bieber.

If you weren't aware that I was kidding, you're a Loser.

Enjoy. I know I will.

Stick with Beck and Stay Where It's At

Enjoy this Beck playlist to stay Where It's At!

We Still Know Where Its At

L'Oreal: Good on Recycling, Bad on Animal Cruelty

Fine and good--recycling is always commendable. But it is my understanding that L'Oreal continues to test their products on animals. This is unnecessary cruelty and should cease immediately. I do not use L'Oreal products due to their decision to test on animals. Revlon ceased animal testing in the 1980's. L'Oreal should have followed suit long ago.

Vivisection is evil.

Front 242 - Moldavia (Live @ Gothic Festival 2007 Waregem)

I can't help it. It always comes back to Front 242 for great Euro-Electronica.