When I was 12, I used to draw comics in the attic of an old comic book shop.
The place was run down, nestled into some rainy trees beside an old road in Dracut, Massachusetts, next to an abandoned drive-in and the Merrimack River. I was joined by about 10 other comic book guys, all of whom were in their 20s and all of whom wanted to draw for a living.
It’s one of my fondest memories, even though none of them liked me much. I was the one always working, always quiet and a little nervous, usually keeping my head down and listening to them argue about books, movies and heavy metal. This one guy, Jeremy, would sometimes sit down and prod me about stuff, which at the time, I new nothing about: Pantera, Frank Miller, and The Crow. He’d stick in tape after tape of his mixes to see my reaction to his tastes in speed metal. And one day he changed my life forever by introducing me to that artistic/punk rock/anti-establishment/hate-everything-that’s-popular mentality that I’d be dealing with for the rest of my life.
He pulled out Pearl Jam’s album, Ten, and gave me an uncertain look.
“Now, everyone these days is into Pearl Jam,” he said, “which is cool, because they’re a good band and deserve to get played.” He popped it in and paused, looking at me once again, his finger lingering on the “play” button. His eyes were looking through me, into my very being. “Normally I don’t like radio friendly music, but I was into these guys before they got popular.” I sat there and waited for the tape to play, but he continued standing there and staring at me with that serious look.
I didn’t know it but I was being introduced to the artistic mentality.
Before they got popular will forever echo in my memory. When he said it, I didn’t understand what he was talking about, so I filed it away for a while. Was Jeremy suggesting that it was wrong to like something that was popular? That didn’t make any sense at all. I thought it was okay to like “top 40 music” and anything that MTV played. And my only defense for being so wrong was that I was just a stupid kid.
For those of you who may not realize, what Jeremy said to me is the essence of what the artistic spirit is made of: an unwavering, insensitive, nonsensical, white-hot hatred for things that take away one’s aura of individuality.
Now of course, it doesn’t make any sense to hate music that’s popular. Despising Thomas Kinkade paintings will only keep you up at night. Wishing that Bob Ross fans were burned alive inside a giant Michael’s craft outlet is conducive to nothing. It’s pointless to smash your TV whenever you see an ad for a Disney vacation. Walking around in a swarm of hatred with your chin touching your chest and your gaze aimed through your eyebrows with 4 heavy metal records playing inside your head simultaneously is while walking through a rainstorm is, admittedly, pointless. So why do it? Why do these artist types do it?
Because someone has to. Someone has point out that Disney is treating masses of people like they’re the same happy moron who wants to travel to Florida. Someone has to acknowledge that Bob Ross was a 30-minute hack and that, regardless of the freedom of opinion, it is wrong to like him. It’s wrong to like Thomas Kinkade, too, along with Boston, Journey, Kansas, and anything that MTV tells you to like. The laws are made by “the man” trying to keep us all down, people who go to church are dangerous, and mohawks aren’t supposed to look cool and that’s their function.
Being a demographic is an insult. And being any kind of demographic is what the artist is against. So don’t roll your eyes at our unfounded, senseless rage for the things that you like. And don’t awkwardly cross the street when you see one of us traveling toward you with our head shaved, boots stomping and our laces undone. Thank us and our righteous, self-imposed burden because we wear it for you.
It’s been a long time but I still remember the name of the guy who first gave me a wiff of the artistic things to come. “Before they got popular,” he repeated. “In fact, a lot of the bands that you hear on the radio, I liked them before they were being played; before other people knew about them.” Then he pressed play and we hung out and listened to Pearl Jam. And that’s why I remember that his name was Jeremy.