Strangle me with power cords.

Brutal last 10 or so days of shows. Don’t ever take for granted anyone that performs a shit ton, whatever it is they are doing. Your sleep is wrecked. Your eating is wrecked. Your energy levels are wrecked. Your pocket-book is wrecked. Your social life is wrecked. The having to be ready to play is constant upkeep, full-time maintenance and full time turning off your head. This is by far one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do and pulling this off at 46 is no fucking easy task. Fuck, eat, drink, shit, die & sleep.

“My only relief is to sleep. When I’m sleeping, I’m not sad, I’m not angry, I’m not lonely, I’m nothing.” -Jillian Medoff, Hunger Point.

Advertisements

Austin Music Awards 2017 // WORM SUICIDE

 

Last year my horoscope read : “In 2017 you will achieve things that you have never attained in your life that were absolutely deserving.”

If I don’t land anything bigger this year than I will go ahead and credit tying for 1st place in the “Best Performing Punk Band 2016-17” category at the Austin Music Awards to being just that. Well deserved. Humbling as it is, indeed – I marvel at the fact that we got to say “fuck” about seven times upon receiving the award in front of 3000 people at the Moody Theatre that houses Austin City Limits Live during SXSW.

I’ve spent 30 years playing music, discarding to the wayside what most take for granted as a “normal personal life”, playing literally hundreds of shows in 18 months at a time, traveling across Texas and beyond crammed into a van that you hope makes it home at 5am so you can get ‘real rest’. To those stormy times when you had to use your last bit of energy to keep your knees from buckling on stage while finishing the last 3 songs when your body was well done and exhausted, well 4 songs ago. You just do it. You fight as much as you can, relentless as you can. You hold on to every one that supports you, to the fans, to your many brother and sister bands, to your merch team / band member wranglers, to the close personal people you love that weather out ‘the missing you’ when you are afar, when inside you know that you wish that you could ‘just be nearer’.

It’s those liner notes that no one gets to read, the names that people skip past and the faces that blur into the crowded dark venues that make you understand the blood and grit first hand at how taxing all this can be. I’ve sat kneeling, breathing heavily, sweating, counting how many times I have to ring myself in the head to just revel that this is what I am wired to do.

And thankful yes. Honored yes. Knowing that I may never see something like this in my life again, yes. When the party is over, and the doors are locked down, something has to matter in your head – and I am glad that occasionally the ‘fire’ of the fight is recognized, because it fucking damn well should be.

Thanks again Austin.

A portrait bruised just like you.

Was a great last set of shows we did across Texas with C.O.F.F.I.N. from Australia in 2016. Lots of miles, lots of booze and lots of drunk chatter. You may wait all of your life to find some of these high speed moments, but I am totally flattered that I get to experience them much more often than others.

It’s a ton of sweat and work to keep doing this as hard as we do but at this place where I am, I would not have it any other way. It’s all I have, and if it destroys me then that’s just what’s in the cards.

Thanks for all the support, the laughs and the good times.

Scott // Worm Suicide & The Devil Club

Wires and wants.

puppet_on_a_string_by_tigerash-d5pb1sc

Pleasantly made it through the weekend with only a few minor uncomfortable encounters. Few days off the radar then pack up to do it again across east Texas. My favorite part, the feeling of not having to live in the monotonous gruel of the every day grime. I just have to push through the week, distract myself with the mundane, gather all the momentum I can and then launch myself as hard as possible through the glass story that is mine. It’s all I have, and it’s all I care to do. With going this far, at this time of life you had better not stop to look at anything, since anything can and will wire you down – if you let it.

Keep as far away as possible from the familiar, from the easy and from the redundancy of the daytime. The more comfortable you get, the more breakable you become.

 

Isn’t it strange, to create something that hates you? – Ava, Ex Machina

 

Kill the words falling.

Maria-Rubinke_web20

I fucking hate this place..

It’s like throwing yourself into a car window at 80. You will come out with a mouth full of glass. And your options are a) swallow that glass, which will in time cut you deep enough to bleed you dead or b) you cough and spit that broken glass up. Which will also really wreck your life. It will leave marks and broken parts all across the floor. You will be able to see that disaster for what it was. I don’t have the time to let things kill me anymore. Maybe you do, but I don’t.

And 20 years later you would think that someone gets you. Finally. I mean I get it with people half my age, I get it. It is what it is, and as a very active musician they are everywhere. And yet you would think being wired for loyalty would attract like minds.

Never let your guard down. It really doesn’t matter. 20 years, 20 days, 20 minutes. 20 Arms flailing at you wrapped in razor wire are much easier to deal with than being forced to digest much worse things. That undeniable change that were rocks hailing against the rattling pane. You fucking knew.

I have dealt with a ton of shit in life. I’ve been thrown the shit stick my share of times. We all have. Life doesn’t owe you anything. And people are bred into their own self-destructive patterns that will spin things out of control into your court. And you choose whether or not to play a role in that part that follows.

Coming off 38 days sick and I’m fucking tired.

You want it. You got it. You fucking wear it.

Disaster Later / Disasterbater

I spent a time, a long long time
To make me think there was something left in me
A waste of time, in my head
Slowly rotting heart is the one that wins the game

We are nothing
There is nothing left inside – disaster later
We are nothing
There is nothing to decide – disasterbater

I won’t look back, to what you said
Doesn’t matter now I can’t see straight anymore
The red bird died, it died today
Rotting vines left inside all torn away

We are nothing
There is nothing left inside – disaster later
We are nothing
There is nothing to decide – disasterbater

I used to think, we had a place
Kill the words falling as they stack upon the floor
I know I’m wrong, I see your face
Gut clenched inside as I hear the closing door
I won’t look back, to what you said
Doesn’t matter now I can’t see straight anymore
The red bird dies, it dies today
Rotting vines left inside all torn away

Scott Free / Worm Suicide 2016

 

110 in 15.

Scott_Free_DaveTV01

Worm Suicide 2016 by Dave Prewitt / DaveTV.org

It’s been a year plus since I’ve sat here, and it reminds me of how an old jar of pennies smells like blood.

I’ve performed at least if not over 110 punk shows in the last 15 months. I’ve learned how to gear up for on and off stage in about 3 minutes. I can juggle standing in leg braces, playing guitar, singing and wrangling a pint glass of beer to my face with 90% success (so far). I’ve ridden hundreds of miles if not thousands, in a tour van next to a 6 x 3 foot window constructed entirely of shattered glass, cardboard and grey duct tape. I’ve vomited several times in my lap after shows, I’ve also vomited out said van door in an uncontrollable bellowing spill of how “this is what punk rock is, about, and should always be”.

I’ve had copious amounts of alcohol thrown at me, on me, and all over my equipment. I’ve played with numerous acts that if told I’d have gotten to share the stage with 15 years ago, I’d say you were bat shit crazy. I’ve been felt on by women after shows that I knew I’d never see again. I’ve falling in an out of lust more times than surgeries I’ve had – and in relation to, directly or indirectly, I have fallen drunk off the curb into the street at 2:30am on a cold New Years eve in South Texas. I’ve drunk more shots of poor whiskey on stage than that were good for me. I have taken photos with fans in places and wondered “why in the hell are they taking a selfie with me, I smell like ass”. I’ve played arenas. I’ve played house parties. I’ve played on a floor of a bar that slung more meth than Walter White. I’ve been offered every illicit substance on the planet in a bathroom complete with a half-inch of standing water, or piss or a mixture of both. I’ve slept in places, on things that 45-year-old bones shouldn’t be sleeping on.

Scott_Free_DaveTv02

Worm Suicide 2016 by Dave Prewitt / DaveTV.org

I’ve been mad at my band mates. I have also known they are the maddest thing for me. I’ve almost collapsed from stage heat, lights, physical exhaustion and a combination of alcohol poisoning. I’ve played sick with the shits, hung over with the shits, with mexican food shits and probably other shits just related to damage to my body over the years. I’ve learned how to find that energy to play one more song when you knew your set was done two songs ago. I’ve gotten to experience the feeling of one person coming up to the stage and saying “man that was great!”, and knowing that even though you weren’t getting paid enough that night, it was well enough now to have gotten to play.

I’m lucky. I’m beat up. I have dreams of kissing old girlfriends at times. I miss a lot of things. I have to scream because it’s all I have. This is probably only half of what I thought to write about. Probably the other half I forgot, or drank, or drowned out, or drowned in.

I think it’s too much for some. And a lot won’t get it. And a lot may get it years after it’s all done. And I guess at that time, then it will be enough.