Tuesday, June 3, 2014 — For me, it all started with this God-awful noise arising suddenly from Cindie’s mom’s garage — the boom, boom, boom of a kick drum, the insistent, chest-pounding thump of a bass guitar, the rapid dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum coming from the neck pickup of a Fender Stratocaster, the high-pitched wail of a crunchy, distorted Les Paul blaring through a Marshall half stack followed by throat-searing screams that sounded exactly like someone’s bloody murder. Unadulterated teen rock in Susanville, yes.
The walls in Marzene’s den shuddered, books bounced in the bookcase, the windows vibrated, the houseplants tried to hide. You couldn’t talk. You couldn’t yell. You couldn’t even get a thought from one side of your brain to the other without it getting garbled. When the racket finally rang out after the last of several orgiastic, tremolatic surges and the proverbial final symbol crash faded until only the hum and buzz of the amps remained, I asked Marzene what the heck was up.
“Fate,” she said, as a herd of sweaty boys stomped down the hallway on their way to the stash of cold drinks in the fridge.
For the full My Turn and others, read the Tuesday, June 3, 2014 edition of the Lassen County Times.