*From beginning of fall.
Summer’s gone here in PA, and with arrival of allergies, I know it’s autumn. Pretty much my entire summer was spent proving myself, I’m not gonna lie. The number one way? I organized a pretty sick, original 2-day music festival called Trebbled Perceptions with my own design/logo for shirts I sold there, collected a shit ton of records, tapes, and CDs to have a music rummage sale, had a Chinese auction, a couple vendors, and I managed to get 15 totally kickass bands from PA, Ohio, and even New York. (If you want some new tunage, here’s the set list: Joose, Shadow Of The Statue, Olive Green, Box Of Lamb, Barlow, Purple Dino Death Squad, Guy And His Guitar, Alex Wilson, Teatime For Three, Coleville, Collipso Columbine, Ashen Frost, Elemantra, Red Light Departure, and my lovely headliner who played in another little festival called, ahem, Warped Tour: Lakota De Kai. Ashen Frost was probably my fav, though, I gotta say: the lead guitarist is partially blind, but he’s just so good, and the entire band is a fantastic black/thrash metal that actually knows what the fuck music is.) It was crazy: I had bassists climbing rafters, drummers breaking sticks and throwing up…and I just met some of the sweetest, coolest musicians who I now chat with on a decently regular basis as friends. The lead guitarist from Ashen Frost? Yeah, he and I are going to write some epic shit together and play in Erie soon. And my brother, the guitarist of Coleville, talked to their head honcho, Ryan…I’m going to be on an album, writing my own parts, playing them, and doing some shows, of course. (Fuck. Yes. Jesus Christ…finally.) For once, and I can’t ever, ever remember being like this, (I have a fantastic memory, too, by the way)… I experienced absolute, genuine happiness, WITHOUT nostalgia. But it came at an initial price.
Literally nearly all the people who promised to come lied and didn’t, then wrote some bullshit excuse on my Facebook page, of course, (amazing how many things “just come up” conveniently…and they expect ME to fucking call their asses when I’m done!); not as many people bought music, drinks, or tickets as I’d have liked, which was okay; the first day’s bands really didn’t talk to me at all, (yeah, I’m a chick, guys: get over it and don’t be a bunch of dicks), and I got some complaints about some of the music from those annoyingly closed-minded old people who just need to learn to shut up and put up because the world doesn’t run just on fucking bluegrass, country, or Christian rock…or Dunkin’s. I’ve called so many people, left so many messages, had only a countable few respond, got promised $200 for the shirts from the Lions Club who only ended up giving me $50 AFTER they told me, (several times!), to go ahead and order them, and been lied to and rejected over and over and over again, especially when I was trying to find just the damn location… to the point where I got into a literal, inaudible, mind/body-numbed depression. I’m serious: I know what deep depression REALLY is now. I handed over, just, SO much sleep. SO many all-nighter pulled, SO much un-fun Facebook had.
The people I generally talked to didn’t care how mature I am, how cordially and professionally I spoke to them, or how much I was desperate…it was all back to the music that I wanted to have. (Here I’m gonna add that it was, LITERALLY, a variety of all kinds of music, so they were being just extremely discriminating…as was sadly predicted because people suck.) There was so much questioning from people who had nothing to do with ANY of what I was doing, so they stole so much precious time with their ignorance, and there was this constant opposition to the two day thing, a good deal of which was from potential people who were going to help me with getting a location, but at the time were working at a two day festival themselves…(Hypocrisy, anyone?) I had NO help from my stupid, fake senior project advisor in doing ANYTHING; not planning, not locating, not designing, getting the shirts, selling my brother’s CDs to get money, (they had them made ESPECIALLY for me to sell for this thing), collecting music, collecting donations, contacting people, getting anywhere, putting up flyers, getting things approved, running my page, answering my emails, figuring out sound/ security arrangements, writing agreement forms, finding bands, figuring out how to pay for things that were promised to me in certainty, setting up, taking down…NOTHING. He didn’t even show up, which is literally his JOB. The most that bastard did was get the parent/teacher letter copied for me so I could distribute it throughout the student body the last day of school last year. I did everything in two weeks, when, after months of trying to find a place, I got one and could start talking to people about details.
But fuck…it was all worth it in the end. I didn’t get a program done like I wanted for it, but that was a teeny-tiny setback after it all. The owner of the golf course I had it at, (yep, a golf course: it had a pavilion), and his son and grandsons all came out throughout the two days, bought stuff, bobbed their heads to the tunage, sold food in the clubhouse so I didn’t have to (and to get money of their own, of course, which was cool)…they just had a great time too. I had a goal to celebrate and support the religion in my life, music, and for once, people adhered and admired such a crazy thing. The music itself wasn’t always for everyone, not necessarily even me, but the people that covered their ears or badmouthed ANY of it were spoken to, (that’s just rude as fuck to do, just FYI: you be respectful and shut up), and people in our 500 population town learned a thing or two about respect and appreciation, which was the main goal. Even my own mom realized that, hey, those “freaks” are mainly genuinely kind, loving people who just have a different-sounding outlet.
Yeah, it hurt tremendously when my dick-bag dad bitched about the few times I needed to make a run just a few minutes away, said I didn’t know what I was doing, tried sabotaging as much as he could, said no one would come, and then only came the second day because my SIBLINGS and his FRIEND were there, (never to see how it was going for ME because I “don’t’ know what I’m doing”), standing outside and criticizing everything the majority of the time to whoever would listen, walking in front of my camera and making hurtful comments about me the whole time…but he shut his mouth when he realized that people were there, having fun, staying out of trouble, telling me they loved what I did and was doing, and when the bands were thanking ME for having THEM, though THEY were the ones who really saved my ass. It made me so mad when my step grandpa came up to me randomly one day afterwards just to tell me, “No one liked your music. It was too loud and they’re not coming next year,” and to hear things through the grapevine that he or she said this or that to whoever because THEY didn’t like ONE thing. You know, instead of telling ME what they thought about certain aspects of it all, they came up to me themselves and lied. You know what? It wasn’t ‘my’ music: it was OUR music, because music is a thing to be shared. Yeah, I may not have been up there physically playing it, (I did do acoustic jams though with a close buddy of mine), but it will forever be an OUR scene.
I had to take $200 to pay back for the shirts, (which I negotiated the price of anyway so it WOULD be lower for the Lions Club), and $100 for the pavilion at the golf course, so I only had $61.50 to give to my chosen organization, (Bethesda Children’s Home), but it was okay. In spite of everything, especially those backstabbing family members and random a-holes, it was all a success. People didn’t take me seriously because I’m a chick and I’m younger, but it feels soooooooo good to be able to shove it in their faces. Just, soooo goood. (Don’t you ever, ever, EVER tell me to just “sell fruit cups at the fair”…THAT, was a huuuuuge fucking slap in the fact!) I accomplished a literal dream of mine, something I could cross off a bucket list. The second, in fact. And I’m righteously damn proud of myself.
And now I’m making it a yearly thing, a once-a-year culture shock for an extremely small area who desperately something like this, especially with music departments in school being so undermined. I’m hoping that this will be MY mark on my stupid little town. So if you happen to be around Guys Mills, Pennsylvania next year around August or maybe July, Trebbled Perceptions Music Festival would love to be graced by a fellow Disturbed 1’s presence…and your money. (Yooouuuu waaaannt a shiiiirrrtt….) You might even see me playing and selling some demos. Friend me on Facebook and we’ll talk sometime.
A delightfully Trebbled person who just simply does not give a flying fuck,
-your Satan Maiden \m/
P.S. Let me know if you want me to hook you up with some links for some new jammage to listen to. My bro’s band, Colville, just placed 3rd out of a couple thousands of bands for their area specifically from the album they had made for me (“Anthology II”) on reverbnation.com, so boo-yah thar! (Check out “Your World”; it’s my favorite.) And if you haven’t already, sweet mother of pearl, go listen to “Hail To The King” –Avenged Sevenfold’s new album, stat! Holy. Shit. It is fantastic.)
Oh, and anything that says “Trebbled Perceptions” or has my logo, (called the Goth Moth), or lettering on it…that’s MY art. Do NOT think you can just use it without asking me. Thank you, and me love you long time.
“Take a requirement, make it an opportunity.” –Maiden Of Malice