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Buried Treasure 1: 40th Day

Back in 1999 most of my possessions went into storage, and when I left the U.S. in 2002, I decided to keep them there. Through the years I occasionally considered clearing the space out, but for various reasons always chose not to. But my decision to move to Spain (or Portugal) changed that. So last month I emptied the space.

The inexorable march of time had erased all memory of what was stored there. As it turns out, what I uncovered were the artifacts of a life that had been so completely supplanted by newer experiences that going through the old possessions was like snooping in a stranger's attic. Every box I opened was filled with surprises. I realized I had to post some of the items, and tell some of the stories.

The photo at the top of this post is me, back when I was a real live goth. Oh, yes, there are black goths. I've know several. Note the hat. Dig how I'm way too aloof to show my face. Yes, that is a different person. It's my body, alright, but inhabited by a decidedly more ethereal personality, and shaped by experiences that were fantastic in some ways, but were also sorely lacking in breadth and diversity. Even so, it's a cool shot.

I used the image as a poster for my band 40th Day. There were five of us in the group, and we enjoyed a fair amount of regional success. We released two CDs, went on some tours, threw a lot of parties, and two of us ingested mounds of drugs. Back then I was all about drug cocktails—mixing two or more substances to achieve various effects. I was the pied piper of LSD. I was so well-known for carrying it that sometimes at the bars I would be approached by female friends, who would wordlessly open their mouths for me to place a tab directly on their tongues.


I think the posters hold up nicely, considering I had no computer at the time and slapped them together with tape, glue and magic marker. The image for the poster above and left is from a video I made of our bassist Jim Nasi, photographed from a television screen. The one next to it uses a friend's dental x-ray. These are typical goth images, but we weren't a goth band—we rocked harder than that, and were more organic in terms of the sounds we chose. That's probably why we got to open for the Smashing Pumpkins. You see the poster, designed by an artist at the club, below.

The Pumpkins show was magical. With rock luminaries like Perry Farrell, Siouxsie Sioux, and Henry Rollins in attendance, it couldn't help but be. At one point, Jim and I found ourselves sitting at a table with Perry Farrell, Dave Navarro, and Billy Corgan, and I told myself I would never forget that moment. But I did—it had completely fled my memory, along with the rest of that amazing night, until these posters stared up at me from a storage box.

I spent a few days with Jim recently, and we started talking about our paths, and he said that what we both took from the band was the conviction that life should be lived at a certain velocity. I thought that was insightful. Maybe that's why I forgot so much. When the scenery keeps speeding past how can you remember any of it?


Below at right you see one of my favorite 40th Day images, of our lead singer Shawn Strub, shot for the cover of Icon magazine. By this time we were an extremely accomplished group. In fact, I remember one review that began: "These guys know how to play and they want you to know it." It wasn't true, though. Virtuosity was not what drove us. We simply loved to perform, and practiced for hours and hours every week, and eventually became adept at our instruments. But we were never cheesy. Instead, having that kind of ability made us more confident about simplifying our sound. As we did so, people who saw us play live responded more passionately.

The success was both blessing and curse. We came to the attention of bigwigs in the music industry, but the pressure widened the fault lines in the band. Sometimes it seemed like people were deliberately trying to pull us apart. We had no idea at the time, of course, that doubts and fears were normal, and breakups on the cusp of success were the rule rather than the exception. If we'd known, we might have held it together. But no—we split up. One day we were there, and the next we weren't.

In addition to the posters, my storage space also contained a couple of thousand photographs. That really brought it all back. I sat there on a loading dock looking at faces and places long gone, and asked myself, "Did I really know these people? Did we really play CBGB? Did we really play for 7,000 people in Dallas? Did we really cross the Continental Divide during a lightning storm while tripping on acid?"

Another surprise in the storage space was my old folder of lyric sheets. God, but I was filled with angst. I suppose a lot of us are at that age. I wasn't the only one wandering around in all black, that's for sure. No regrets, though. I had way too much fun. And somewhere along the way I learned that life is not an impossible burden, at least not for me. Virtually any type of lyrics can work for rock music, but I tried hard to create a mood of yearning, of being embarked on a lifelong journey for answers. In particular, the last lines of "The End of a Day" still resonate:

Saw the Reivers in the south,
just a pair of eyes,
and an open mouth,
and time pushed out of mind.

Saw a beauty dancing,
down the path of vanished starlets,
heard an old romantic,
singing love but thinking debt.

I like those lines. And I liked those days. But I guess 40th Day was always destined to be just a detour in life, because from the time I was a junior high schooler what I really wanted was to be a writer. Actually, I wanted to be a writer who lived in an exotic land filled with romance and danger, and I'd drink and fight and love like there was no tomorrow. A childish wish, certainly, but I never outgrew it and guess what? It came wildly true.

Labels: 40th Day, Jim Nasi, Smashing Pumpkins

posted by Egan Ehlers @ 6:11 PM