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[Special Feature] Music As Rebellion In The Youth Feat. Corey Taylor

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Written by Bloody-Disgusting music contributor Sammy Key

Music is kind of like Four Loko. There are a bunch of different flavors and teenagers love it. It also shares the tendency to evoke this sort of statement out of people; “It was better back in the day though, when I first had it,” (you know, before they took out all the caffeine). It’s true, these days it seems like music, or at least popular music, has lost its edge entirely. Gone are the days of sneaking records with “Parental Advisory/Explicit Content” plastered across the cover into your room and the days of mindlessly singing along to the latest saccharine sweet single while your mom drives you home from school are in full swing. Where is all the door slamming? Where are all the secret shows? It used to be that songs on the radio carried some sort of message, but now all I hear are lyrics about whips, b*tches, peacocks and all other sorts of bizarre metaphors for genitalia. And that’s if there are even words at all! Half of that sh*t is all “wobble” these days (whatever that is). Rebellion seems to have fizzled out, and in its place a taste for countless remixes, “womps”, and repetitive, dirty lyrics has grown. But no one bats an eyelash. It just seems like the passion, the demand for excellence has died. It’s like the teen masses have lost their will to act out, at least when it comes to music. These days, we sure as hell aren’t your stepping stone. But we’re not likely to make a hit single out of that sentiment either.

Unfortunately, as a teenager with both impeccable taste (har-har) and a certain affection for breaking the rules, I have begun to doubt that the endless array of sh*t that has crossed my path recently with the moniker “music” attached to it is even art at all. And with album sales dropping every year, record companies promoting musicians that sound like robots, and this bizarre, highly questionable “dubstep renaissance” taking youth culture by storm, sometimes it’s all a girl can do not to vomit. Sort of like the feeling you might get after the last (or even the first) sip of that aforementioned devil liquid. Yet kids still keep listening to it. Just like they keep drinking Four Loko. It’s sh*t, and they gulp it right down. So what’s the deal? What happened to the relationship between teens and (good) music?

I say kids got lazy. Somewhere over the past few years, the idea that music is easy poisoned the well of new artists so to speak, and not only did that spoil a lot of new pop music, but also the group of kids listening to it. Of course, you can always blame “the man”. Big record companies seem to have a penchant for peddling crap, and it’s logical to point the finger at the industry when it comes to the question of why this music has become so popular.

“It’s more of a f*cking factory at this point,” says Corey Taylor of Slipknot and Stone Sour. “They keep cranking out these mediocre f*ck heads , shoving them into the studio for ten seconds and then they basically autocorrect everything.” He adds, “I think this generation that’s growing up really enjoying this pop music is gonna be the same as the people who grew up really liking Rick Astley. It’s passing fancy, as far as music goes.”

Which is hopefully the case. When asked about this generation of teenagers and their music, Taylor speculates on what’s to come. “I think you’re always gonna have half the generation that’s lazy. But I think it makes the other half work that much harder… I think because technology is so badly ruining music, it just breeds a generation that’s going to be completely 180 from that. I think we’re gonna have a lot more home grown rock n roll coming out soon. I’m hoping.”

Those are pretty optimistic words from a guy who describes himself as a “cynical f*ck” in that same interview. But Taylor is a man with many years of making music under his belt, and if anyone knows about music and its effect on teenagers, it’s him.

“When I was growing up in the 80s, a lot of that pop sh*t was just like, “What IS this?”” Taylor laughs. “And then I found my music in the thrash scene, in the hardcore punk scene, so I had that background and that made me want to make the sort of music I make today. So I think that half of the generation is going to come to the surface in the next five years.”

The thing is, he might be right. After I analyzed a survey I conducted amongst teenagers in my area and online, I’m beginning to see the possibility for change. 85% of those surveyed claimed the statement “I love music. I don’t know what I would do if music wasn’t a part of my life.” most accurately describes their relationship with music. In that same survey, 47% of participants said music became a big part of their life in middle school, closely followed by 32% who claim elementary school was the start of their relationship with music. Which is good news! That means that all those little youngsters still eating paste in class might have the potential to be the founding fathers of the next generation’s big, musical “f*ck you!” Additionally, when asked to list what genres of music they listened to most, survey participants used the words “punk” “hardcore” “rock” and “pop” (including in the term “pop punk”) most frequently, with the words “indie” “metal” “alternative” and “rap” receiving a high number of tallies as well.” Admittedly, there were a lot less instances of the word “dubstep” than I originally anticipated. Even more surprising was the number of respondents who claimed to consider music a form of rebellion or as a tool they used to purposely piss off their parents. Although only a meager thirteen participants responded this way, it was about eleven more people than I expected to hear that from. I assumed that sort of teenage moxie had dried up long ago (even I had found other ways to get myself grounded during high school). Until a friend of mine, Annika (18), responded to my state of surprise by saying, “Music aids you toward whatever rebellion you want. When I’m one person, I’m listening to different music than when I am another. It [music] encourages you to fight,”

Hmmm. She drives a pretty strong and poignant point. Even though I’ve never really argued with my parents over what I’m listening to, I couldn’t count on ten hands the number of times I have turned to music to get me pissed off enough to confront someone, to encourage me to do something difficult, or to empower me to say “F*ck it!” and take that first clandestine step out the front door at 2 AM. That’s magic, kids. And it doesn’t matter if you get that feeling from Deez Nuts or Lil Kim. It’s still prompting action. It’s still making kids want to rebel. So maybe it’s not about overt rebellion. Maybe the key to music’s relationship to teens and rebellion is a little more subtle.

“You know, rage can be a positive thing,” states Taylor. “Feeling something like that can really not only empower you, but it can also [help] you let go of sh*t. If it’s too bleak, then what’s the f*cking point?” That’s a good question. And it’s an idea that not only challenges the commonly held vision of rage and rebellion, but also my own vision of what my generation is doing in relationship to music these days. I wanted to write this article because I thought I could feel the rebellion waning amongst my fellow youth. I wanted to know why it disappeared, and where it had gotten off to. What I found was that I may not have had it quite right. Rebellion isn’t going anywhere. Sure, it seems to be hidden between hit singles and bullsh*t Grammy awards (I mean come on, Chris Brown actually WON something). But it’s there. It’s under the fingernails of every kid who uses their laptop to download music illegally; it’s in the headphones of every kid who’s listening to their sh*t so loud that they can’t hear their mother yelling from downstairs. It’s even in my 12-year-old sister’s eyes as she asks facetiously, “Do you mind if I turn this One Direction song up?” Of course I do. But at least she’s pissing someone off.

Banner Photo Credit: GuttaWorld

Follow Sammy Key on Twitter

Managing editor/music guy/social media fella of Bloody-Disgusting

Editorials

What’s Wrong with My Baby!? Larry Cohen’s ‘It’s Alive’ at 50

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Netflix It's Alive

Soon after the New Hollywood generation took over the entertainment industry, they started having children. And more than any filmmakers that came before—they were terrified. Rosemary’s Baby (1968), The Exorcist (1973), The Omen (1976), Eraserhead (1977), The Brood (1979), The Shining (1980), Possession (1981), and many others all deal, at least in part, with the fears of becoming or being a parent. What if my child turns out to be a monster? is corrupted by some evil force? or turns out to be the fucking Antichrist? What if I screw them up somehow, or can’t help them, or even go insane and try to kill them? Horror has always been at its best when exploring relatable fears through extreme circumstances. A prime example of this is Larry Cohen’s 1974 monster-baby movie It’s Alive, which explores the not only the rollercoaster of emotions that any parent experiences when confronted with the difficulties of raising a child, but long-standing questions of who or what is at fault when something goes horribly wrong.

Cohen begins making his underlying points early in the film as Frank Davis (John P. Ryan) discusses the state of the world with a group of expectant fathers in a hospital waiting room. They discuss the “overabundance of lead” in foods and the environment, smog, and pesticides that only serve to produce roaches that are “bigger, stronger, and harder to kill.” Frank comments that this is “quite a world to bring a kid into.” This has long been a discussion point among people when trying to decide whether to have kids or not. I’ve had many conversations with friends who have said they feel it’s irresponsible to bring children into such a violent, broken, and dangerous world, and I certainly don’t begrudge them this. My wife and I did decide to have children but that doesn’t mean that it’s been easy.

Immediately following this scene comes It’s Alive’s most famous sequence in which Frank’s wife Lenore (Sharon Farrell) is the only person left alive in her delivery room, the doctors clawed and bitten to death by her mutant baby, which has escaped. “What does my baby look like!? What’s wrong with my baby!?” she screams as nurses wheel her frantically into a recovery room. The evening that had begun with such joy and excitement at the birth of their second child turned into a nightmare. This is tough for me to write, but on some level, I can relate to this whiplash of emotion. When my second child was born, they came about five weeks early. I’ll use the pronouns “they/them” for privacy reasons when referring to my kids. Our oldest was still very young and went to stay with my parents and we sped off to the hospital where my wife was taken into an operating room for an emergency c-section. I was able to carry our newborn into the NICU (natal intensive care unit) where I was assured that this was routine for all premature births. The nurses assured me there was nothing to worry about and the baby looked big and healthy. I headed to where my wife was taken to recover to grab a few winks assuming that everything was fine. Well, when I awoke, I headed back over to the NICU to find that my child was not where I left them. The nurse found me and told me that the baby’s lungs were underdeveloped, and they had to put them in a special room connected to oxygen tubes and wires to monitor their vitals.

It’s difficult to express the fear that overwhelmed me in those moments. Everything turned out okay, but it took a while and I’m convinced to this day that their anxiety struggles spring from these first weeks of life. As our children grew, we learned that two of the three were on the spectrum and that anxiety, depression, ADHD, and OCD were also playing a part in their lives. Parents, at least speaking for myself, can’t help but blame themselves for the struggles their children face. The “if only” questions creep in and easily overcome the voices that assure us that it really has nothing to do with us. In the film, Lenore says, “maybe it’s all the pills I’ve been taking that brought this on.” Frank muses aloud about how he used to think that Frankenstein was the monster, but when he got older realized he was the one that made the monster. The aptly named Frank is wondering if his baby’s mutation is his fault, if he created the monster that is terrorizing Los Angeles. I have made plenty of “if only” statements about myself over the years. “If only I hadn’t had to work so much, if only I had been around more when they were little.” Mothers may ask themselves, “did I have a drink, too much coffee, or a cigarette before I knew I was pregnant? Was I too stressed out during the pregnancy?” In other words, most parents can’t help but wonder if it’s all their fault.

At one point in the film, Frank goes to the elementary school where his baby has been sighted and is escorted through the halls by police. He overhears someone comment about “screwed up genes,” which brings about age-old questions of nature vs. nurture. Despite the voices around him from doctors and detectives that say, “we know this isn’t your fault,” Frank can’t help but think it is, and that the people who try to tell him it isn’t really think it’s his fault too. There is no doubt that there is a hereditary element to the kinds of mental illness struggles that my children and I deal with. But, and it’s a bit but, good parenting goes a long way in helping children deal with these struggles. Kids need to know they’re not alone, a good parent can provide that, perhaps especially parents that can relate to the same kinds of struggles. The question of nature vs. nurture will likely never be entirely answered but I think there’s more than a good chance that “both/and” is the case. Around the midpoint of the film, Frank agrees to disown the child and sign it over for medical experimentation if caught or killed. Lenore and the older son Chris (Daniel Holzman) seek to nurture and teach the baby, feeling that it is not a monster, but a member of the family.

It’s Alive takes these ideas to an even greater degree in the fact that the Davis Baby really is a monster, a mutant with claws and fangs that murders and eats people. The late ’60s and early ’70s also saw the rise in mass murderers and serial killers which heightened the nature vs. nurture debate. Obviously, these people were not literal monsters but human beings that came from human parents, but something had gone horribly wrong. Often the upbringing of these killers clearly led in part to their antisocial behavior, but this isn’t always the case. It’s Alive asks “what if a ‘monster’ comes from a good home?” In this case is it society, environmental factors, or is it the lead, smog, and pesticides? It is almost impossible to know, but the ending of the film underscores an uncomfortable truth—even monsters have parents.

As the film enters its third act, Frank joins the hunt for his child through the Los Angeles sewers and into the L.A. River. He is armed with a rifle and ready to kill on sight, having divorced himself from any relationship to the child. Then Frank finds his baby crying in the sewers and his fatherly instincts take over. With tears in his eyes, he speaks words of comfort and wraps his son in his coat. He holds him close, pats and rocks him, and whispers that everything is going to be okay. People often wonder how the parents of those who perform heinous acts can sit in court, shed tears, and defend them. I think it’s a complex issue. I’m sure that these parents know that their child has done something evil, but that doesn’t change the fact that they are still their baby. Your child is a piece of yourself formed into a whole new human being. Disowning them would be like cutting off a limb, no matter what they may have done. It doesn’t erase an evil act, far from it, but I can understand the pain of a parent in that situation. I think It’s Alive does an exceptional job placing its audience in that situation.

Despite the serious issues and ideas being examined in the film, It’s Alive is far from a dour affair. At heart, it is still a monster movie and filled with a sense of fun and a great deal of pitch-black humor. In one of its more memorable moments, a milkman is sucked into the rear compartment of his truck as red blood mingles with the white milk from smashed bottles leaking out the back of the truck and streaming down the street. Just after Frank agrees to join the hunt for his baby, the film cuts to the back of an ice cream truck with the words “STOP CHILDREN” emblazoned on it. It’s a movie filled with great kills, a mutant baby—created by make-up effects master Rick Baker early in his career, and plenty of action—and all in a PG rated movie! I’m telling you, the ’70s were wild. It just also happens to have some thoughtful ideas behind it as well.

Which was Larry Cohen’s specialty. Cohen made all kinds of movies, but his most enduring have been his horror films and all of them tackle the social issues and fears of the time they were made. God Told Me To (1976), Q: The Winged Serpent (1982), and The Stuff (1985) are all great examples of his socially aware, low-budget, exploitation filmmaking with a brain and It’s Alive certainly fits right in with that group. Cohen would go on to write and direct two sequels, It Lives Again (aka It’s Alive 2) in 1978 and It’s Alive III: Island of the Alive in 1987 and is credited as a co-writer on the 2008 remake. All these films explore the ideas of parental responsibility in light of the various concerns of the times they were made including abortion rights and AIDS.

Fifty years after It’s Alive was initially released, it has only become more relevant in the ensuing years. Fears surrounding parenthood have been with us since the beginning of time but as the years pass the reasons for these fears only seem to become more and more profound. In today’s world the conversation of the fathers in the waiting room could be expanded to hormones and genetic modifications in food, terrorism, climate change, school and other mass shootings, and other threats that were unknown or at least less of a concern fifty years ago. Perhaps the fearmongering conspiracy theories about chemtrails and vaccines would be mentioned as well, though in a more satirical fashion, as fears some expectant parents encounter while endlessly doomscrolling Facebook or Twitter. Speaking for myself, despite the struggles, the fears, and the sadness that sometimes comes with having children, it’s been worth it. The joys ultimately outweigh all of that, but I understand the terror too. Becoming a parent is no easy choice, nor should it be. But as I look back, I can say that I’m glad we made the choice we did.

I wonder if Frank and Lenore can say the same thing.

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