Issue 15: Bane - Don't Wait Up

On letting go.

Part I: Goodbye

Not with a bang, but with a whimper. Not the world, but Terror Management.

Yes, this will be self-indulgent. Have a seat.

If you’ve been hanging around here a while, you might’ve noticed new missives have been few and far between. Reasons aplenty: Work. Life. Stress. General sadness. Other creative endeavours (Terror Management zine out now, catch it here).

It’s hard for me to tell if it shows, but I put a lot of effort in these writings. Ideas. Plenty of ideas! But then: Draft. Rewrite. Scrap the whole thing. Start again. And again. The words you see here, are not the ones that initially formed. This is the fun of it. This is the reason of it, for me.

In my professional life, words are fairly crude tools, instruments for some straightforward sort of communication. When writing issues of this newsletter, however, the writing itself is the goal. It is to communicate, of course, but in a less blunt and obvious manner.

But, one has to be wily and careful. Music doesn’t ordinarily let itself be trapped in letters, lest it loses its heart. So the art of writing, then, is to surround the subject surreptitiously with words that lean against the true meaning of what one wants to say, moving in closer and closer in concentric circles so that hopefully this truth is captured and can be relayed.

Regardless, at this moment in time, that is neither here nor there. After issue 13 (Propagandhi – Potemkin City Limits), a feeling developed that maybe the best days of this newsletter are behind it, at least in its current format. It’s what prompted, initially, the creation of the physical Terror Management zine. I felt it would be good to boil down what I felt made this endeavour so special. While I didn’t realise it at the time, I believe now that subconsciously, perhaps I knew I was running out of ideas.

After wrapping up production on the zine, I had a hard time coming up with a new idea that fit the theme of this newsletter. I managed (somewhat) but while writing it, I found I had already touched on the subject matter (music performed live) somewhat earlier. The writing is still sound and I stand by it, but a small part of my brain feels like I betrayed myself.

When one flails around in the realm of grand visions, it’s easy to accidentally cover huge swaths in single gestures.

So I did the zine. I did the new issue. And then I promised both you, dear reader, and myself that I would do another. And then… nothing. I drew a blank. What would be the topic? What record could I pick out of my collection for this one?

While trying to pump this well, another just burst out of the ground, spraying ideas all over the place. This is a fanciful way of saying I have a million ideas for zines I’d want to make and other types of stories I’d want to write. From the obvious to the obscure – I have my work cut out for me.

Then there’s the risk of doing it for the wrong reasons. Not that this publication ever got off the ground in a major way in terms of popularity – I think I’m too averse to the snappy nature of viral content that fits in a few seconds of an attention span to ever make popularity happen for this – but to slightly bend a popular phrase: I’m not immune to validation through social media.

It’s not a big thing, but starting this newsletter, I made a pact with myself: I write about the bands and records that I care about, not what’s currently burning up the niche. But hey, it sure feels good when a bunch of people read your latest post and say nice things about you.

So then, between repetition and the temptation of validation, I have reached the decision to stop. Thankfully, I’m the position to be able to choose to end it in the first place, unshackled as I am by financial obligations. More importantly, it’s mine to choose on how to end this.

Or, as Bane put it on Non-Negotiable, the first track of their final record, Don’t Wait Up:

Stopped keeping score

Like you keep score

It finally does not mean shit to me anymore

I crumple it up

Throw it away

It's just a way to keep track of how well my hands are played

Part II: Get it out

Having clawed its way out of the cursed economic realm, the concept of Sunk Cost Fallacy makes choosing to end a successful creative endeavour in itself a brave decision. It’s something I’ve written about before around Gulch, though in Bane’s case, the output is very much influenced by the decision to stop. With nothing left to lose, better leave it all out there.

"You're gonna say things, you gotta say them now. There's no telling that you're ever gonna have this captive of an audience again," says singer Aaron Bedard in the documentary Bane: Holding These Moments. Knowing the end is coming right after you put out your last creative piece as a group adds pressure to make sure that whatever was kept inside so far, can find a way out in this finale.

The standout element of Don’t Wait Up is that, despite the subject matter at the core, it’s not a sad hardcore record. It’s not burning bridges or having a bitter outlook on the past. It’s not even that angry. Rather, this is a record that celebrates life, friends and music. Even in Wrong Planet, the gloomiest track on the entire album, one that deals with abuse, the focus quickly shifts from the inherent darkness of the subject matter to the aspects of music that have helped Bedard get through this.

There are a fair number of songs about saying goodbye here as well, as of course is to be expected. Most well-known being Calling Hours, the five minute long track with guest vocalists Pat Flynn, Reba Meyers, David Wood and Walter Delgado all giving their own view on what it is to close a chapter, to say goodbye. With so much input from different people, this could’ve been a huge mess, yet the song succeeds in spite of the circumstances of its creation. The music is in service to the message, framing the five viewpoints appropriately and allowing the different vocalists to shine through.

Forget the who, the what, the when, the where, the why

Deep down inside I know I tried

Did you love something with all of your might?

The other notable goodbye song is Final Backward Glance, fittingly the record’s closing track. With a title like that, much more does not need to be said. Well, apart from maybe this song really hits in the context of a band pulling the door closed behind it:

I'm not walking away from here

with a bunch of things i still need to declare

A wasted life is worse than death

It's up to you to figure out the rest

Part III: Don’t wait up

Unbeknownst to myself, I seem to be moving towards picking a goodbye theme from this record. I figured this album would be a good one to close out on, considering what it’s about.

And yet, neither Calling Hours or Final Backward Glance really fits the bill.

The first one is just too much of an epic – five minutes for a hardcore punk song? Come ON. It works, of course, but not for this demise. Terror Management is not that popular, and certainly not Bane-levels of popular. Which is fine, but it would smell like grandeur to say that Calling Hours is a fitting track to go out on.

Final Backward Glance, then, is just too emotional. Not that I don’t care about ending this whole ordeal – I have a lot of emotions about it. Wonder about what it could’ve been, relief that I don’t have to force my words into a limiting frame like this anymore, sadness for leaving something behind. But this was not the journey that befits the words of Don’t Wait Up’s closing track.

So, it’s Non-Negotiable. Not as explicitly a 'goodbye song’ as the ones mentioned earlier, but a sendoff all the same:

What I want I've always found a way to have

Got past "no" a long fucking time ago

The only thing that I can't buy more of is time

How could I believe that the hour glass would ever get this thin?

A song on living life on one’s own terms, pushing past what is expected of them to forge a self-owned path.

Not to makes this a weird bit of chest beating, but I like to think Terror Management – in this incarnation – walked its own path. The more I think back on it, the stranger the pitch actually is: music and death – how are they connected? And I love the specificity of it, and have enjoyed finding new ways to fill in that puzzle every issue.

But there’s a Dutch saying: "de koek is op," roughly translatable to "there’s no more cake." There’s just not much more to be gained from this format, truth be told. And frankly, that’s fine by me. Going on would mean turning it into something else, like a band doing a big style change and expecting people to stick around. Great if it works for you, but I’m not about that.

I'll burn this whole place down

Roll right out of this fucking town

Before I become the things that I despise

So this is it for this part of my life. On to the next.

Speaking of: I will still be writing music related pieces and posting them here, so if you’re interested in what else I have to say, please stay subscribed. I have some ideas. First, though, I’m working on some new zines and this will most likely be an outlet to promote those and post excerpts and other bits in the mean time.

Thank you for reading.

If you’ve made it this far and enjoyed this post, might I recommend Terror Management: the physical zine? Only 5 euro + shipping (to anywhere in the world). Find it here.