Bloggle It Up, Yeah, To Keep It Warm

'I was almost over
My world was almost gone
In a sudden rush
I could almost touch the
Things that I'd done wrong
My jungle's made of concrete
Through silence I could feel
My aim is true I will walk on through
These mountains made of steel.'

~~ Rancid, "The 11th Hour"

My mind is drugless, this is madness.

I am dissolving into the music.

Dammit Matt Freeman is a bastard. Who can play an instrument that way?

Only a man who sold his soul to the devil. And Freeman did just that. Sold his soul.

And good for him. This world needs its villains. Especially those who play bass with such vile instinct. Mean bass.

Listen to it, goddammit. Listen. Fast. Faster than a human being’s neurons can travel. At least, one that isn’t possessed. So fast the strings should be melting from that bass. You can’t even see his fingers move. Even when you can’t see him you can’t even see his fingers move.

There is chaotic blur and music sings oh so sweetly.

Who plays like that?

Matt Freeman is possessed.

But possession, like love, comes in many varieties. Freeman is not possessed by demons. He is possessed by passion. The passion to create, passion overpowering impulse, thought, feeling, physics. Furious passion.

Passion like that can only come from one place: a soul.

Matt Freeman beat the devil. He beat the drugs, he beat the devil.

The world is a lovely place.

Peace and love,

Sketch E.