Treading the Missed Monday: PENNE RIGATA IS THE ONLY ACCEPTABLE FOOD NAME FOR A STRIPPER. OR, CANDY

A CHAMPAGNE SAMHAIN, MON PETIT CAMPAGNE!

Tomorrow bringeth the rising of the pumpkin moon. Ghouls set to wander the topsoil in search of sugary sacrifices and the promise of anonymity in any depraved and explicit acts that they may engage in, and the eternal flow of “SEXY-FIED” versions of things that shouldn’t be “sexy-fied”. I’m not saying that perhaps we have lost some of the actual joy that is Hallow’s Eve, but with the recent emergence of shows like “Stranger Things”, “Kung Fury”, and the entire sub-genre of “New-Retro”, but it’s like no one even cast spells anymore. I loooong for the days of arcades, technicolour paint, and the complete and total lack social media enabling those who knew how to do more than stalk a Facebook profile and tailor themselves to venture forth into the night like wolves with specific sheep in mind. Albeit far beyond my ability to stop anyone from being another creepy perv on the most intrinsically magical day of the year, but if there is anything I COULD do, it would be to make Halloween spoopy again. People would leave their phones at home, costumes would be made instead of bought, and in 99% of cases “sexy” wouldn’t be an acceptable prefix to a costume. “Sexy nerd/schoolgirl/clown” those are classics, but I swear to god if I see a “Sexy Meme” this year I will actually forgo the holiday forever.

So let’s make this a very physical October 31st, be sure we treat this one like we aren’t all constantly bombarded by news of failure, famine, and “facts”. If you expected me to bust out something other than a THIC playlist of songs that almost only appeared in horror movie end credits and one-off bargain bin films, YOU ARE SADLY MISTAKEN, BUD.

Everything from Municipal Waste’s near exact re-telling of John Carpenter’s “The Thing”, to Alice Cooper’s fantastic cameo in “Monster Dog”, horror as a genre is rich with draw for musicians as they feed on the fiction of how fear can drive a narrative. Writing music is not terribly different from writing film. It takes creating draft after draft, composing your lines, knowing what seperates eaily-consumable pieces of art (R. L. Stine and Bob Ross) from those which have a little more, how do I say. . . Essense. Perhaps, Francisco Goya or Abominable Putridity may not be the most paletteable to some individuals, but I still think of it like not trying flavours of ice cream. Some flavours, foods, and frozen confections may not be for everybody, but I like pretty much every kind of ice cream. Mint, chocolate, raspberry, you name it, ice cream is generally a party.
If anyone gives you Halloween ice cream, probably don’t eat it though.

– Bear

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