Purgatory in Iowa

March 30, 2012

There are several things that need to be said up front: First and foremost, I am not a journalist or a writer.  This “photo essay’ or whatever it is was done purely for my own entertainment purposes.  Next, I have a Louisiana education, so my grammar and vernacular is self taught meaning, there will be grammatical errors in this writing.  If this bothers you, please accept my internet apology for whatever it is.  Living online for so long, I am well aware the nazi firing squad will send their assassins to find me. Next up, I currently live in a well populated area in the Southern half of the US. Imagine an interstellar city with no restroom.  Lastly, the purpose of this trip was purely executed to get away from my day job and I needed an emergency mental decompression.

If anything, I may have a passion for good literature.

So here we go...

Over this past weekend I visited Fort Dodge, Iowa.  Where is Fort Dodge, Iowa?  I still don’t know.  It was night when I arrived. It was night when I left.  The only parts of this 25K person town I saw was a pleasant drive with my tour guide who we will call ‘Sheep’ for this writing. Again my objective was get away from my schedule/ ‘life’; visiting my friend was priority but who isn’t selfish and doesn’t want to get away from their daily routine? 

We did a morning tour of the ‘downtown/ courthouse’ area doing the usual breakfast routine; caffeinate and attempt to find something to eat.  

It’s usually the architecture that I notice first. The date of buildings. The eras of industrialism that determined the use of the building and have now since been handed over into ‘office‘ buildings.  ‘Downtown’ is quiet for a Thursday and I can count the cars that go by.  If you’ve traveled anywhere in the world, you’ve been to a place like this. The tour was short as we don’t think there is much to roam to. Plus I hate doing touristy shit.  However, after sleeping with a food critic for a while, I love to sample locals dishes no matter where I end up.  Sheep says she has the perfect place and so off we went.

So here is a food plug: If one is ever in/ near Fort Dodge and requires eats, visit Ja-Mar’s.  Typical small town delicacies; excellent burger and onion rings. You can tell a lot about a place by their fries and onion rings.

Sheep decided that I should see Iowa.  Parks are nice and since there are plenty, we traveled.  Duncombe was our first stop; 450+ person town/village in, well, nowhere.  It was so small that the US postal service cannot afford to support it; small enough you could consider it a park where people permanently live. It was pleasant.  The kinda place where you go to disappear; permanently. Next was short visits to the surrounding parks that hinted at how beautiful the scenery will be when winter comes around again.  And lastly a turbine farm giving way at how technology is present outside of this place.

So what is all this?

The simple life I suppose.  ‘Normal’ life, or as some ‘news’ outlet puts it, the American dream. Better yet, the real America.  Sheep hit the nail on the head blurting out ‘Purgatory’ when I asked for the hundredth time, ‘Where are we?’  This is true.  In the context of leaving a major city with an economic pulse, leading a fast paced life, and then ending up here; this is Purgatory.

Sheep explained that the area is mostly ‘Red’ and that all Republican candidates have visited the area.

And then it dawns on me.

Shit. This is voting America.  Please read the previous sentence again.  Read it perhaps a third time.  If anything, I hope that first sentence resonates in your head on the ‘back burner’ with the other shit you are suppose to do [reminder: pick up bananas when you land].  I want that sentence to scare you, to wake you up in a sweat and realize the traditional elderly and bible thumping populous are the people that hold the cards.  They vote.  They believe what the television feeds them and they do something about it. Some of us ‘rebellious’ types (read: not all) that think the system is flawed and meaningless who either do vote out of tradition or refuse to out of blissful ignorance. 

Which then should be said: If you don’t like how to things are politically, do something about it. Perhaps play the game; perhaps work the system.  One asset that the suits haven’t stripped from us is the luxury that if you do not like where you are living you can move.  You can move around freely. You don’t need a passport to visit Purgatory.  Don’t like where you are living?  You can move. Yes it will be expensive.  Just think of it as buying your way out of where you are. 

It’s best to stop here to avoid a political soap box rant which honestly, I do not know enough about to rant about.

So reader, it would seem very unfair to leave you thinking this was a negative love-letter to the country/ freak-show I entertain myself with.

What I did find in this adventure in Purgatory was heart.  Real fucking heart.  Not that shit your preacher slides into your mouth every Sunday.  Not the shit that you pay to watch and think what ‘heart’ is supposed to be.  Not heart in the sense that someone is disturbed and writes a sad song about it.  Heart in the sense that someone is disturbed and they have to write a song about it.  It’s as if your heart commands it and you better fucking do something about it. Remind yourself of your friends that mean well, do well, and have been battle harden by life. Them; that kinda heart.

On this particular adventure, and after soaking in more of Fort Dodge, music found me.  And of course it finds you in the most stereotypical way; in a dark basement hiding out waiting to be birthed like a teenage pregnancy.

Our outing with Music:

Now I have to stop here and make this sidenote:  What I’m about to write may read like a internet attempt to plug a band.  

It is.

It is a plug in the sense that what I saw and heard doesn’t belong in Fort Dodge.  

Coming from a small town and now living in a 2.1million person city, I’ve seen small bands make it big locally, draw a following, and disappear on the road; it’s a fun ride.

Sheep and I attended a showing of the Bedspins.  Here is the setup:  Dark basement under a 4 story appliance repair brick building. Smells like dust and old and we’re in what I would guess is more of the ‘downtown’ area. It’s a Thursday night so not much of a crowd.

The music is fucking loud; how it should be.  It’s dark and the band doesn’t delay in drilling out what sounds like the end of a second or third pass of a rehearsal.  Syncopation is tight.  Now the vocals almost being drowned out by the bass; the engineer side of the brain kicks in and I could hear compression balancing this out.  Guitars are present and rhythmically get replaced with the snare. It’s gritty and raw and untouched by commercial pop-slop.  It does not fall into a genre.  I say this because I hate labeling music and more particularly I hate genre whores.  Plus it’s original.  I would put them on par with a younger Less than Jake and a ‘in the beginning’ Fugazi; hope that satisfies your sense of reference.

Since we live a modern age, here is some video I shot:

_______

The music sounds raw and the lyrics are well written.

Who really give a fuck about the midwest punks?

  (something something) where nobody’s from.

I'm single father at 22

  I'm doing just fine

I'd like to give the world a piece of my mind.

But I'll probably work until the day that I die

  I'll probably never live the life.

Honestly, I could see them in a place like Tipitina’s or Rudyards if you’ve ever heard of these places.

Afterwards, Sheep and I were given the honor to spend some time with the Bedspins in the usual way; shots of Patron and sampling local beers.  The three members appear more professional than some of the “acts” I’ve encountered and hold themselves with the confidence of a regular touring band.  Down to Earth and full of fucking Heart but more importantly, open to criticism and critique.

They don’t belong here.  They don’t belong in Purgatory. They belong in a club or some dirty venue populated by a crowd pounding their feet into the floor.

But I have to ask, is this where the next wave of music comes from? Is this how a period of music is birthed?  Will I see this band in the underground and then center stage in the coming years? Are all bands trapped in places like this, this good and this real?

Food for thought or unrealistic delusions of grandeur I suppose. 

Gotta head home

Maybe that is the culture in outer American cities has become; nothing more than good people waiting in a stagnant environment surrounding themselves in their like minded kin

I mean the like minded flock will gather and will entertain themselves by their own devices.  Be it the trash can punch they cook up in their lab or with the agriculture they tend to.  We will entertain ourselves how we want to be entertained.

This is honestly the most I’ve ever written or typed.  My school reports have never been this interesting therefore have never been given this amount of attention.  Perhaps this writing is part of my emergency getaway/ therapy/ fuck society trip. It has been fun.

So is this a piece on why you should vote?

Is this a piece on welcoming back American music?

Is this a caffeinated rant after a trip to Purgatory

So what then should you, the reader, take from this writing?  I don’t know, figure that shit out on your own.