There's always been a problem with iconoclasts in our society that reminds me of how people treat a disobedient dog. Take someone like David Lynch. He has done nothing in his career but stay entirely true to his artistic muse. You can say a lot of things about David Lynch, but you can never say he's wavered. A Straight Story is made by the same guy who made Inland Empire, and you can tell. Even misfires like Dune aren't sell outs, they're David Lynch's take on Dune.
Continuing with the example, Twin Peaks always struck me as odd because Lynch, being who he was and ever shall be, created something firmly within his cannon that resonated with people for a short time. He made a mystery and the mystery intrigued people until they realized he had almost no interest in solving it, at which point they abandoned the show. But anyone who knows anything about David Lynch knows that's the way he operates. You can't berate David Lynch for not solving a mystery - he's David Lynch. Mysteries are not what he does. He's more in the scary little person, backward talking decrepit old people department than he is the mystery solving department. You can't kick a dog for eating his own poop, he's a dog. Conversely, you can't criticize an artist for being an artist as long as they're staying true to themselves.
Which brings us to Wednesday night when I saw Henry Rollins for the first time at the Rococo Theater in Lincoln. That boy can talk. For three hours he basically went on about everything from politics to music to his travels, every topic peppered with the same spicy yet endearingly obnoxious cocktail that Rollins throws on everything regardless of circumstance.
Let's back up. I unequivocally love Henry Rollins. "Weight" by Rollins Band is on my top 10 albums of all time and his spoken word shows, of which he's done literally thousands, have always been a staple for me. Truth be told, when I did stand up last year on my 30th birthday, I prepared by watching and listening to a lot of Rollins. I figured if I had his swagger or even a trace of what he captures when he grabs a mic, I wouldn't look totally ridiculous. Of course, I didn't get there, but I digress.
Catching Rollins live, or at least catching Rollins live on Wednesday, March 12, 2008 is basically everything you expect made giant. Henry is bigger when he's not far from you. His screams are louder, his anecdotes more vulgar, his artistic sensibilities more naked and his show longer. A hell of a lot longer. Rollins regaled the audience for more than 3 hours, at the end of which, you could tell, his voice was beginning to go. He talked himself hoarse, no kidding. That's something right there.
But, and it's a big but, in the amplification of an artist, the cracks begin to show. I'm not saying at any point I wanted Rollins to shut up, never never never. But the show felt long. I didn't want him to change who he was or compromise on the way he's chosen to live his life, which includes traveling to dangerous places, participating in riots and bumbling in front of Iggy Pop. But some of what he talked about is so far away from what I understand and so foreign to my sensibilities, I found myself wondering what possesses a man to live like that. At some point, Rollins and his exploits became easier to respect and harder to admire, if that makes any sense.
Of course you can't be disappointed in the show any more than you can be at David Lynch for not gift wrapping Twin Peaks for the audience - Rollins is who he is and I couldn't change that if I wanted to, which I don't. It's good a guy like Henry is out there and I still love his work, just on somewhat of a different level. I guess hero worship or Rollins officially died Wednesday night, and was replaced with the idea of a man true to his craft and muse. I'm not sure it's a higher pantheon, but it's going to hold up longer, I think.
Among the highlights of the show for me:
-Henry reads many of the same political blogs I do like shakespearessister, feministing, and the Crooks and Liars. Kinda cool.
-My favorite story, related to Henry through a woman in Minneapolis, I think, involved a woman who got pregnant in a unique way. Two couples were going at each other, one in the front seat, one in the back. When the front seat guy finished his fornicating, he gave the condom he was wearing to the guy in the backseat. Ew. But the backseat Romeo turned the condom inside out because it would be gay to screw your girlfriend while wearing someone else's already wet raincoat. Backseat girl got pregnant, but not from the guy she was having sex with. Double ew.
-His bit on the Ruts is fantastic.
-Finally, he told a great story about being how traveling is the route to hard core knowledge. When you see something with your own eyes, he reasons, the facts are iron clad in your mind instead of what you read. He went on for about an hour about this, but it's a valid point.
Continuing with the example, Twin Peaks always struck me as odd because Lynch, being who he was and ever shall be, created something firmly within his cannon that resonated with people for a short time. He made a mystery and the mystery intrigued people until they realized he had almost no interest in solving it, at which point they abandoned the show. But anyone who knows anything about David Lynch knows that's the way he operates. You can't berate David Lynch for not solving a mystery - he's David Lynch. Mysteries are not what he does. He's more in the scary little person, backward talking decrepit old people department than he is the mystery solving department. You can't kick a dog for eating his own poop, he's a dog. Conversely, you can't criticize an artist for being an artist as long as they're staying true to themselves.
Which brings us to Wednesday night when I saw Henry Rollins for the first time at the Rococo Theater in Lincoln. That boy can talk. For three hours he basically went on about everything from politics to music to his travels, every topic peppered with the same spicy yet endearingly obnoxious cocktail that Rollins throws on everything regardless of circumstance.
Let's back up. I unequivocally love Henry Rollins. "Weight" by Rollins Band is on my top 10 albums of all time and his spoken word shows, of which he's done literally thousands, have always been a staple for me. Truth be told, when I did stand up last year on my 30th birthday, I prepared by watching and listening to a lot of Rollins. I figured if I had his swagger or even a trace of what he captures when he grabs a mic, I wouldn't look totally ridiculous. Of course, I didn't get there, but I digress.
Catching Rollins live, or at least catching Rollins live on Wednesday, March 12, 2008 is basically everything you expect made giant. Henry is bigger when he's not far from you. His screams are louder, his anecdotes more vulgar, his artistic sensibilities more naked and his show longer. A hell of a lot longer. Rollins regaled the audience for more than 3 hours, at the end of which, you could tell, his voice was beginning to go. He talked himself hoarse, no kidding. That's something right there.
But, and it's a big but, in the amplification of an artist, the cracks begin to show. I'm not saying at any point I wanted Rollins to shut up, never never never. But the show felt long. I didn't want him to change who he was or compromise on the way he's chosen to live his life, which includes traveling to dangerous places, participating in riots and bumbling in front of Iggy Pop. But some of what he talked about is so far away from what I understand and so foreign to my sensibilities, I found myself wondering what possesses a man to live like that. At some point, Rollins and his exploits became easier to respect and harder to admire, if that makes any sense.
Of course you can't be disappointed in the show any more than you can be at David Lynch for not gift wrapping Twin Peaks for the audience - Rollins is who he is and I couldn't change that if I wanted to, which I don't. It's good a guy like Henry is out there and I still love his work, just on somewhat of a different level. I guess hero worship or Rollins officially died Wednesday night, and was replaced with the idea of a man true to his craft and muse. I'm not sure it's a higher pantheon, but it's going to hold up longer, I think.
Among the highlights of the show for me:
-Henry reads many of the same political blogs I do like shakespearessister, feministing, and the Crooks and Liars. Kinda cool.
-My favorite story, related to Henry through a woman in Minneapolis, I think, involved a woman who got pregnant in a unique way. Two couples were going at each other, one in the front seat, one in the back. When the front seat guy finished his fornicating, he gave the condom he was wearing to the guy in the backseat. Ew. But the backseat Romeo turned the condom inside out because it would be gay to screw your girlfriend while wearing someone else's already wet raincoat. Backseat girl got pregnant, but not from the guy she was having sex with. Double ew.
-His bit on the Ruts is fantastic.
-Finally, he told a great story about being how traveling is the route to hard core knowledge. When you see something with your own eyes, he reasons, the facts are iron clad in your mind instead of what you read. He went on for about an hour about this, but it's a valid point.
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