The past is reaching. And touching. An album I first heard when deeply Christian came up on shuffle. I’ve bought it three times and threw it away twice from the exhortations of my church going peers. I ripped it, deleted the rip, and found I had the rip backed up in several spaces. While I eventually went on to enjoy the band’s later works, this first album always remained on the knife edge of discomforting curiosity.
I listened to the entire album for the first time since 2003.
What I heard did not match what I remembered.
I heard precursors of the band’s later brilliance and mastery. I heard submelodies that contrasted with what a superficial listening would lie to you. I heard music phrases intentionally meant to evoke a physical reaction from the listener, one that would call for the album’s destruction from my elders and “betters”.
I enjoyed what I heard.
The year is no longer MCMXC A.D. but the album is still a powerful one.
I remember scenes around that album and the arguments I had with my church brethren about it. “Unclean! Unclean!” “It will fill your head with demonic thoughts!” “It is an audio recording of the worship of demons!” “The chants are a perversion of Scripture.”
I dunno why I kept it. It felt vital I always have a copy of it even if I couldn’t listen to more than five minutes without feeling crushed by guilt. I hoarded the CD like a precious grimoire written in an unintelligible language.
That I can sit through the entire album now does not surprise me. Nor does my hearing nuances and details for the first time.
I am surprised by the timing of the album’s return to my attention. Originally obtained during the same lost years as the memory of the stone ring, I feel the past reaching forward.
I forgot the good so I wouldn’t remember the bad.
…
Fuck.