All The Good Musicians Are Fucking Dead

While practicing with my latest music project the other day, we had some friends over who also practice at the same storage facility. One of them remarked that our sound reminded him a lot of a band called Brainiac. I told him I had never heard of them, but I'd check them out. The next day I embarked on the legally dubious task of finding their music through file-sharing, which is pretty much the only way to get ahold of it. This is because all of Brainiac's albums are out of print, which makes sense. They're a forgotten indie band from the 90's who broke up while working on their major-label debut. Also, their lead singer/songwriter/guitarist is fucking dead.

The gentleman at the keyboard is Tim Thomas, and he was way ahead of his time. While everyone was trying to sound like Nirvana, he was creating absolutely fucking chaotic rock and roll that sounded like robots having sex with smart punk rock bands. Like I said, way ahead of his time. You see, Brainiac is an example of what I like to call a Rosetta Stone band. Once you discover one of these bands, you can decipher where a lot of other bands got their inspiration and method from. Here are some bands who owe some definite tribute to Brainiac: At The Drive-In, Blood Brothers, The Locust, The Faint, Liars, and pretty much all the mid-to-late 2000s dance punk bands.

Let's take a quick trip back to 1994. Kurt Cobain died in 1994. Well, he shot himself in the face with a shotgun. At the time, everyone wondered what that meant for rock music, or scrambled to solidify Nirvana and Cobain's place in the pantheon of rock and roll. I did neither of these, since I was only 14. I mostly watched MTV non-stop while they played Nirvana's Unplugged on a 24-hour loop, broken up by periodic MTV News updates from the vigil/media circus that ensued in Seattle.

Brainiac released their second album "Bonsai Superstar" in 1994. It is amazing. I listened to it for the first time 3 days ago and could NOT BELIEVE this came out a year after "In Utero." The guitar playing is absolutely incredible and spastic, the rhythm section heaves and sways like it's about to puke, the vocals on almost every song have some kind of weird effect on them (or multiple ones), and the last track is just fucking synth noises and feedback turned into a haunting dirge (way before everybody would praise Radiohead for doing this kind of thing on "Kid A"). For all the controversy raised about how un-commercial and noisy Nirvana's "In Utero" was, "Bonsai Superstar" makes it sound like a New Kids on the Block record.

Fast forward three years to 1997: Kurt Cobain is in the ground, and the whole alternative revolution is not far behind. Spice Girls mania has gripped the country. Ska is popular for some reason. Creed's "My Own Prison" comes out of nowhere to usurp the allegiance of the lost, stupid, dangerous hordes of rock fans that Nirvana's rise and subsequent demise created. Commercial radio has not stopped shitting out Spice Girl clones and Nirvana-lite since 1997. Go listen to your local rock and/or pop station and tell me I'm wrong. There's no way Cobain could have envisioned the trajectory from Nirvana to Nickelback, just as Thomas could never have predicted that his music would inspire the artists in the exact opposite spectrum of indie rock music, but it's an interesting development.

Let's get back to how 1997 was going for Tim Thomas and Brainiac. They had just released an amazing EP called "Electro-Shock for President" that ditched guitars and live instrumentation for a completely synth-driven environment. They got signed to Interscope Records and started pre-production on their 4th studio album. And then, on May 23, 1997, Tim Thomas was killed in a car accident. Nobody questioned what this meant for rock music, or rushed to solidify Brainiac or Thomas' place in the pantheon of rock and roll.

I'd be remiss if I didn't remark on Cobain's suicide vis a vis Thomas' death, because I immediately thought about the connection when I first learned about the fate of Tim Thomas. I will say this, though. In hindsight, it did seem like Nirvana didn't have much gas left in the tank and had reached a ceiling with "In Utero." Cobain's death was unfortunate, but also cemented his legacy by not ruining it with what probably would have been two or three subpar Nirvana albums. By contrast, when you look at the artistic progression Brainiac achieved in 3 years, Tim Thomas's death is an absolute fucking TRAGEDY. Who knows what that fourth album would have sounded like.

I discovered Nirvana at the perfect time in my life, when things like rock bands or movies can seriously influence the type of person you want to become and emulate. Kurt Cobain wrote the music that made me want to pick up a guitar and start making music in the first place. I suppose I'm discovering Brainiac at an equally important juncture in my life as an adult. Tim Thomas is the kind of forgotten genius who inspires me to push my music into the dark, weird places I want to explore, without apology or hesitation. I mean, we're all going to die, so fuck it. I'd rather leave behind the body of work that leaves people wondering what the hell I would have done next.

“it’s weird when you find out people you went to high school with are fucking”

Computers are either the greatest thing ever invented or the worst. I haven’t decided yet. The ability to have instant access to certain people from thousands of miles away (or years ago) can be downright heartbreaking.

All of a sudden I’m staring at the screen and trying to figure out why we can’t hear each other. It’s the perfect allegory for how we met and how the whole thing unfolded. The phone lines got crossed. Timing was off. I don’t want to get into it here.

And when we talk it’s so easy. I remember these things like they happened yesterday, I swear. Or like they haven’t even happened yet and they’re going to happen and I can’t wait for them to happen even though I’m not going to like most of it, but I know you at least understand that I meant to write this sentence exactly the way it turned out.

Now I’m thinking HOLY SHIT THAT WAS SO LONG AGO, and wondering what I have to show for my life since then. Mental pictures of cities and faces, the smells (sorry) and sounds of Not Here. There is a line in a Miniature Tigers song that hit me like a freight train the first time I heard it, and it says:

“My body was an empty shell / with only tour stories to tell.”

But not as hard as when you told me:

“I think the whole time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you happy.”

The same sentiment, in different words.

Well, how about this. I was happy tonight. I was happy in the parking garage. I’m extremely happy for you, and I realize it’s my turn to start living in the not here.