Reconnecting with the 25-year-old response to Lord Bane has been like coming home for me. When people show photographs of their cassette collections – and Lord Bane is still in the plastic wrapper to be kept safe because of a value placed on it – I am moved.
That emotion prompts me to think about value and how it is determined. The different things that can be done to, and on, a person, to make their work either more valuable – or less valuable – is a subject that at some time – for any band – must be considered, and worked hard for.
As most of you who had the “I will play music and die doing it” fever found out, the unobtainable at some point reveals the true value of the music you create. Which leads me to the topic I would like to discuss with you today.
How valuable is your art? How valuable is your spouse? How valuable are you? How valuable are your kids? How valuable is that guitar that may come out of the case less and less? Or, the set of drums getting dustier, and dustier?
Lord Bane worked hard to create value in our work. We were dirt poor, but put a higher value on our art than on our poverty. So, we went without. Went without to – in the words of Leather Wolf’s The Calling – “Hear the call of a distant chant.”
The chants that some longed to hear, “Lord Bane, Lord Bane,” sounded more like the wine and ding of a cash register than crowds cheering. Cheers we never heard. We never heard them. Do you understand what I am telling you?
Not everyone in Lord Bane valued things the same way. For me it has always been the art of it all. The story. The organic push and pull and sway. The give and take of personalities, sweat, testosterone. And sometimes, fist fights and tears.
And to be transparent with you… the absolute orgasmic rush of power through my heart when I heard the long drawn out Octavian (doublings) accompanied by tympani and cellos. I lived for that. So much so… I didn’t care about anything else. And you can’t run a band like that.
For others, it was all that is written above, but the sensible. They had balance in their lives. And, an approach that understood…. Shawn’s head can’t always be in the clouds listening for angles.
Oh, but there is this one. Her name is Muse. She whispers these melodies in my ear. Then she reaches up through my gut and tries to pull my heart out of my chest. I love her. And I am addicted to her.