So, I’ve come clean on MySpace. I’d originally set up the page with a few hints Resonance wasn’t real, but without actually saying it. Then, when some kick-ass bands starting asking to be my friend, I felt really bad. Hence, the Brady Guilt.
I’ve always had it. My parents said I even told on myself when I was little. I’d do something wrong, and announce it. Not out of pride, but out of an unbearable feeling of wrongness. I’m a Brady.
But, if you compare our profiles, it’s easy to see Resonance didn’t fall far from the proverbial tree. My love of punk and industrial just happens to be her love, as well. There aren’t many novels out there that explore these worlds. Odds are, I didn’t do them enough justice.
I’m an old punk. Not to say I came from the golden days of punk, but that I came into punk-dom late in life. I didn’t get to spend my crucial teen years enmeshed in the culture. I had to do a little research, and then speculate how it would draw in, and affect an angry girl. Lucky for me, I had a sibling who managed to have a true D.C., alternative young adulthood. While I wore flipped up collars and sweater vests, she wore…God knows what, really. She helped guide me in the correct direction. Anything else – good or bad – I’m solely responsible for.
Still, the love for the music is there. If I butchered the rest, then, at least that will stand out as truth. Which is why I had to come clean to my new band friends – the boys who live the life every single day, playing in dives and screaming their black little hearts out.
God save the mohawk.
Insert Two Cents