Something Often Lost, Life is Process Not Product: A Thing About Life, and a Thing About a Band Called Drug Church

Coffee poured, water refreshed, bladder emptied, I was seconds away from putting on my Drug Church playlist and opening up my laptop to see what came out of me. Business as usual many a solo day off. And then I noticed the birds. And I don’t mean in a “look at those fat ol’ mourning doves!” kind of way, I notice birds all the time, I fucking love birds. To use the parlance of our times, I fw birds hard.

Frfr.

When I say I noticed the birds, what I mean is I noticed the birds, like in a profound way. I was absolutely enraptured by the tweets and twits and coos and chirps. I even started picking out specific conversations between some birds. I can’t understand exactly what they’re saying, of course, but I assure you, they’re all very horny right now.

What I’m saying is that for the first time in a while, I am fully listening to the sounds coming from outside my windows. Also, I can’t remember the last time I wrote without music.

The thing is that most days when I open the house up, I’ve already got music playing, so I don’t notice the sounds from outside as much. And up until recently, I haven’t much felt like getting outside. I like what cold weather does for my allergies, but I don’t care so much for the seasonal depression. I might choose both over summer, though. If I am one thing, I am a sweaty man. I come from a long line of sweaters, and I’ve come to accept it, but I refuse to like it. Going outside during the dog days is a waking nightmare for me.

I digress. For now, I’m sitting and writing, as I often do on my solo day off, and as usual, I’m not sure where this is gonna end up. The possibility of me not finishing it will persist until I’ve finished it. Who knows whether I’ll share it.

As I said, my writing routine was broken because I noticed nature for the first time in a while, which in turn was brought about by me not playing music, which is a rarity for me. I wasn’t playing music because I’d just finished an episode of Corner Gas, which is a very funny Canadian sitcom that you can watch for free with extremely loud commercials on YouTube.

Seriously, I remain anxious throughout every episode, because the commercials are jarringly loud. The show is totally worth it though.

That’s like 7,000 metric.

Anyway, I was opening the windows, and was starting to consider what I might write about. I figured I’d probably watch another episode of Corner Gas before I got down to the actual writing, but then I got a text from a friend, asking if I had time to talk, which meant talking on the phone, which is even more of a rarity for me than not playing music in the house, but…

When a friend asks for help, you help em.

We talked about grief and depression and anger and fear and anxiety, and we laughed, and we cried, I needed it just as much as she did. When we finished talking was just before I started my writing ritual, which you may recall from the beginning of this thing is when I noticed the sexy avian drama going on outside my house, which led to my decision to sit down and write without music for the first time in over 20 years. Because the sounds of nature are the music, man!

Sounds like somebody’s livin for his car!

I don’t know what I’m hoping to accomplish here, but I do know I’ve also heard two light rain showers start and stop since I started writing, and that’s been pretty cool. The light of the overcast day is perfect in my house right now, and even the gigantic roll-off dumpster parked across the cul-de-sac in front of the Trash Neighbors’ yard can’t ruin my day. At least it’s blocking the view of their shitty wooden fence. God I hope this means they’re moving out. I’m meandering all over the place here. Focus!

After the phone call, I sat down with the intention of writing a thing about grief and depression and anger and fear and anxiety (which would hopefully make you laugh, and maybe even cry), and then I was gonna use some kind of as-yet discovered writerly skill to deftly weave that together with a thing I’ve had brewing for awhile about a band called Drug Church, but I’ve clearly let the whole thing get away from me, and I haven’t even started talking about Drug Church yet. I’ve gone off the rails on my crazy train of thought, if you will, and as a result, I plumb forgot every single remotely humorous thing I’ve ever had to say about grief, depression, anger, fear, and anxiety. Whatever it was, I like to think it was profound. I’m certain it would’ve been long-winded as hell.

I guess I’ll talk about Drug Church, then. I’ve mentioned them on this blog before, and I’m not gonna get into the band’s backstory today, because this chair is starting to become uncomfortable, and I’ve already spent a pretty stupid amount of time not saying anything, but here are some facts about Drug Church:

  • They’ve been a band for approximately 15 years now, and they’ve released 5 full-length albums, three EPs, a demo, some singles, and a really fun cover of “Someday I Suppose” by The Mighty Mighty Bosstones.
  • They have a shitload of live performances available on YouTube, and they range from amazing to incredible.
  • Their live set from Louder Than Life 2024 was an all-timer for me. I’ve seen hundreds and hundreds of bands live over the past 30-odd years, and I’ve forgotten way more bands than I remember, but that Drug Church set was one of the very best.

There is plenty of precedent for me becoming completely enamored with a band, album, and/or song to the point of annoyance. A less polite person might call it an obsession. I certainly would. Drug Church has grabbed me and held on like few others before them. The sounds they make are so unique, the lyrics are really excellent, and I simply cannot get enough of it. Every member of the band is doing what they do perfectly.

With most of my prior obsessions, I managed to start balancing my listening out with other bands, albums, and songs after a month or so, but I’ve been listening to Drug Church almost exclusively for like nine or ten months now. I try to listen to other things, and I have succeeded for up to two days in a couple of instances, but those other bands, albums, and songs are just visitors. Drug Church is currently the sole occupant of my musical bandwidth. To quote the t-shirt I wish someone would make for me…

Looks like a Gildan.

I’ve said it before (even somewhere on this blog once, I think), but they’re the very best nineties hardcore/post-hardcore band that never existed in the nineties, and if I am one thing (other than a sweaty man), I am a man who loves nineties hardcore and post-hardcore bands. “Unlicensed Guidance Counselor”, from their superlative 2018 album Cheer, is an excellent example of why Drug Church, to paraphrase a t-shirt that currently exists, is already number one, and why you shouldn’t bother to try harder:

A petty grievance pushed you to violence
Tough break and now you’re facing some charges

If you live long enough
you’ll do something wrong enough
that you feel shame enough
to say enough’s enough

Push your sister’s boyfriend down the stairs
Steal forty dollars from the till
There’s a learning process here

Something often lost: life is process not product
Gotta break some bones to have them set proper
Small money fight so you set a fire
Space was occupied so man dies there

If you live long enough
you’ll do something wrong enough
that you feel shame enough
to say enough’s enough

Push yourself down the stairs
Steal tens of thousands from your band
God he’s indifferent and nobody cares

Here’s your life advice

The shirt makes an excellent point.

Here’s a live performance of the song, so you can get an idea how entertaining their live shows are. Don’t worry, I queued the video up so you don’t have to. You really should just watch the whole thing, though, and you undoubtedly should catch them live in person if you get the chance.

Everybody looks fuckin stupid doin a stupid thing.

I gotta wrap this up. Sheila just pulled in the garage, which made me realize I forgot to take a shower. I’ll write more about Drug Church again soon. I might even share it here. Thanks for reading.

Sometimes I Catch Your Scent in the Breeze, But It’s a Little Bit Salty: A Thing About a Band Called Boxer

NOTE: I started writing this on my old heavy-music-themed blog, Stay Heavy, back in 2018. I abandoned it for reasons unknown, and today I was reminded of its existence. I sat down to tackle Volume 5 of my “Old-Ass Mix Tape” series, but I wasn’t feeling it, so I poked around a few folders marked “Drafts” in search of some “inspiration” when I happened upon this. I copied and pasted it here as I left it, and then I added an ending of sorts, and made a few slight revisions (more specifically, I fixed some links and cleaned up some questionable stylistic choices).

Speaking of questionable stylistic choices.

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Regular readers of this blog may be familiar with a few of the things that, in the words of the late Laura Palmer, really light my F-I-R-E when it comes to heavy music. Those things, in no particular order, are:

  • Riffs – It doesn’t have to be metal to be heavy, but the heavier it is, the more I love it. Fat-bottomed riffs, you my rockin’ world go ’round.
  • Unconventional vocals – This one isn’t as easy to define, but I know it when I hear it. Sean Killian of legendary Bay Area thrash metal band Vio-Lence is perhaps my most often cited example of a completely unique vocalist with a weirdo style that I just can’t goddamn get enough of.
  • Emotion – I’m a sucker for a band (metal or otherwise) that isn’t afraid to wear its collective heart on its figurative sleeve. If showing emotion is metal enough for Ronnie James Dio (RIP), it’s metal enough for me.
[horrifying shrieking intensifies]

Regular readers may also know that I’m a fan of punk rock and hardcore (especially 1990’s hardcore), and very careful readers may even know that I dipped my toes into the emo waters of the mid-to-late 1990’s. I don’t swing in the direction of the latter quite so much anymore, but sometimes nothing will soothe my restless brain or my jangled nerves quite like The Promise Ring.

All of this jibber-jabber leads me to the focus of today’s post: a melodic hardcore-ish/pop-punk-ish/emo-ish band called Boxer. They released a single full-length album 27 years ago and broke up one year later. Practically no one has ever heard of them, but they left an indelible mark on the heart and mind of this guy right here, and I’m here to talk about them.

Available information regarding the band is scant at best (they don’t even have a Wikipedia page), but here are the facts that I was able to cobble together via some internet research:

  • Boxer formed in Boston in October 1995. The original line-up consisted of David Vicini on vocals, William Kerr on bass, Jeremy McDowell on guitar, and Chris Pennie on drums.
  • McDowell and Pennie met while enrolled at the Berklee College of Music, and both of them dropped out of school in order to commit 100% to Boxer.
  • Boxer were the first band signed to then-new punk label Vagrant Records, and their sole recorded output, 1998’s The Hurt Process, was the first full-length album released by Vagrant. According to an interview with Vicini, the band “wanted to sign to a punk label and not a hardcore label, because hardcore kids don’t seem to listen to punk rock, but punk rock kids’ll listen to hardcore.”
  • Pennie soon began playing drums with The Dillinger Escape Plan, and left Boxer after the release of The Hurt Process. He was replaced by Nathan Shay, who previously played with emo legends The Get-Up Kids.
  • The band also added a second guitarist (I was unable to find a name), went on tour, worked on some new songs, and had plans for a second album, but then everything seemingly went to shit for some reason.

I suppose you’re wondering about the album itself. If you’re familiar with the defunct New Jersey melodic hardcore band Lifetime (and you should be), you’re headed in the right direction, especially with regard to Vicini’s vocals. However, Boxer is very much its own animal.

The band is tight as hell, and they sound like they’ve been playing together for a lifetime (no pun intended).  The riffs are big and metallic, at times cascading over each other like there’s just not enough room for all of them in the song, or even in the world. The bass is  bouncy and urgent and will (seemingly) randomly explode above the bedlam like some sort of crazy-ass 1952 jazz trumpet solo. As for the drumming, I’m out of adjectives, but the drumming is fucking outstanding. Musically, this is very much what would happen if a hardcore band played punk rock songs.

But what about the vocals?

I’m gettin to it, settle down. Vicini’s vocals are borderline insane, and insanely inventive. To quote a blog entry I found on a site called Theme Park Experience “the wavering vocals sounded like frontman Dave Vicini was having a panic-fueled freakout”. That’s a pretty perfect way to describe it (although I would put it in the present tense, since they still sound like that).

Example: the song “By the Way…” finishes with Vicini stretching the word “crazy” out into no less than seven goddamn syllables. I’m not saying no one else has ever done that, but if they have, I’ve never heard it. Plus I don’t think anyone else has ever done that.

The lyrics are what got this band labelled as “emo”, back when they were still a band. Vicini’s heart is shamelessly splattered open on his sleeve for everyone to examine, and like many of the band’s contemporaries, that’s what initially drew me to them. Short tales of love both lost and found, sprinkled with some inspirational lines (personal inspiration, not the religious type) and a bit of wistful nostalgia.

My personal favorite song on the album is also the longest song on the album. “Georgia” manages to kind of fit three separate songs into its almost 4 minute runtime.

And there’s been too many nights I’ve talked and tried, so many nights I’ve sat and cried.

I’m a big fan of penultimate track “Do the Math”, as well.

The cracks in the concrete just remind me that no matter how strong you are, you’ll just fall apart anyway.

Album opener “We Don’t Like Them Girls” is a heartfelt, uptempo breakup song that happens to be the perfect song to kick things off.

I’m laughing on the outside, but I’m dying on the inside.

It leads directly into another favorite of mine, “Blame it On the Weather”. Parts of this one still feel like they were written specifically for me (“Sitting in my ditch of self-loathing, and of course my mind is roaming, thinking things are always worse than they appear to be, just because I’m sick of talking doesn’t mean I’m not happy…”).

But tonight I’m really not, tonight nothing has changed.

Album closer “You and Me” finishes things off on an uplifting and defiant note (“I can’t be living my life for them, I’m living my life for me, and you can never see it coming and we won’t stop for anything”), and contains a chorus that’ll live in your head forever after one listen.

It was always just you and me saying “fuck you” to everybody.

If you like loud, agressive music and melodic, agressive hollering, you can’t go wrong with any of the songs on one of the finest post-hardcore albums of the 1990’s, The Hurt Process by Boxer.
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That concludes the original section. Can you believe I waited seven years to give that thing an ending, and that‘s the best I could come up with?

Anyway, I can still clearly remember when I stopped listening to Boxer, circa autumn 2002. I was delivering pizza, cruising down Moffett Lane, and I was blasting my dubbed cassette that had The Hurt Process on one side and FYULABA by Canadian hardcore punk weirdos SNFU on the other. I was halfway through the song “Child Labor Laws”, and for some reason, I just wasn’t feeling it anymore. It was a weird feeling, and I didn’t like it, but I was in no position to argue. I hit eject, popped in Side A of my AVAIL double-feature (Over the James b/w One Wrench), and started hollerin along with “Scuffle Town”. Before the Big Move to Austin, Texas in May 2003, I sold a bunch of CDs and books and whatnot, and The Hurt Process was one of those CDs.

Fast-forward to 2017. I’m sitting in the old townhouse on Adams, reading something or other, and out of nowhere the line “sometimes I catch your scent in the breeze, but it’s a little bit salty” popped in my head. I knew it was from Boxer, but that’s all I could remember. After finally figuring out the proper way to search (“boxer band hurt process”), I was able to discern that the line came from the song “Shorepoints”, which is every bit as perfectly suited for the Side Two, Track One slot as “We Don’t Like Them Girls” is for the Side One, Track One slot. If only the album had been released on vinyl or cassette.

The wind that hits you now hits me a day later.

I went to the local Half Price Books Outlet a few days later, and there was a copy on CD for the low, low price of 2 American dollars. I snatched it up quick, and I haven’t looked back. I picked up right where I left off in 2002, listening to the album several times in a row, and doing that several times a year. Some of the lyrics come off a bit angsty and childish to my 47-year-old ears, but the sincerity of them makes them feel timeless.

That’s all I’ve got for today. You should listen to The Hurt Process. It just might make you feel young again. Thanks for reading.