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I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.

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Tuesday, October 25   >>

PETER GABRIEL TAUGHT ME HOW TO BE AN ACTIVIST

When I was really young, I used to be into Genesis. No, no, you have no idea how much I was into Genesis. I fucking LOVED Genesis. When I saw that Phil Collins had already gone solo, I went apeshit. It was awesome. I loved Phil Collins (up until he started doing sappy Disney shit) and to this day I hold the soundtrack of Buster close to my musical heart. If you don't dig that soundtrack, then I pity you.

As for Peter Gabriel, I, too, dug his sounds. I didn't dance to Peter Gabriel as much as I did with Phil Collins (mind you, "dancing" at my 4 years of age was limited to literally running circles around the living room coffee table) but I learned a lot, musically, from his tunes. They weren't conventional pop tunes, and I think that's what I found attractive in the music.

Anyway, I'm digressing way too much from the topic.

One time, when I was, like, 4 or 5, I got busted, major colonel big time busted. I, stupid me, didn't water the front yard garden. That was my duty at the time (oh, those simple days). My dad was PISSED. I, fearing hell, cried because I knew that doom awaited me.

So I got this huge lecture from mom and dad. I vividly remember chewing on the corner of the sofa pillows under a puddle of tears. I was wearing the light-up Reebok shoes and I saw that the battery was wearing out, seeing as I did tend to create a vibration just to see, um, lights on my shoes.

They went on and on about how much I needed to learn. They were upset that I didn't fulfill my chore, so they sent me to my room and said not to come out until dinner. They noted that they didn't want to hear anything from me. I was defenseless! I was... oppressed!

So I went to my room (which was occupied by my sister and I) and I put my Peter Gabriel tape in my deck. It was at the end of the album, which meant, yes, BIKO.

There I was, crying like a little fruit, singing BIIIIIIIIIIIKOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO as I was grounded for the rest of the incredibly long night.

Yes, Biko.

I was Biko. I just didn't know it at the time.

The only difference was that I actually had a full meal that wasn't behind bars, and I didn't have South African authorities beating the shit out of me for having a mouth.