/sony; 1995/


Life on the road, man, and nothing else. I’ve been messing around this country for a long time and I haven’t found a place yet to stop the engine of my Cadillac for good and settle down with wife and children. I’ve seen so many places, I’ve seen so many faces. I am a representative for John Walter Motors, a nationwide company that sells combined harvester mostly and some badly manufactured standardized machinery all across the country. I drive more than 43.000 miles every year into the heart of America, where the farmers are still looking inquisitively at strangers as if they had met David Vincent; a guy who should not be there, if you prefer.

Some years ago, somewhere between Las Vegas and Salt Lake City, I proposed a lift to a 17 years old lost girl who had her middle finger up in the middle of the desert. She was obviously running away from home, heading west, and she would probably end up in LA, like so many others, doing lap dance in some Baywatch Club by the beach. Anyway, I usually never allow hitchhikers in my car but I stopped for her, probably hoping for a fast drive and a blowjob. She thanked me several times, insulting all those bastards who had not stopped, talking bullshit about the weather, her family, her boyfriend’s friend’s dick, her problems at school with metaphysics and scholastic and eventually shut her mouth. She was a real teenage bore, I thought. A short dress that would not protect her pussy against cold breezes, a worn out Motley Crue shirt that hardly covered her enormous breast, bitch-blue lipstick, blonde hair messing down to the very edge of her ass. I suppose you got the point; she had nothing to do with Emma Peel in The Avengers. 

    _ Can I play a tape, dad?   

    _ Dad? I am no Oedipus wreck you know. Call me sir, man, dude or Stan but not dad, will you?

    _ Ok, Bobby. Can I play a tape?

    _ What is it? Don’t tell me it is one of those local country bands mix tape. I hate that shit.

    _ No, it’s an Australian band. Silverchair. My stepfather is Australian, you know. He brought back their debut album for me at Christmas. For my birthday, he fucked my mother in the ass. I got cool pictures for the spring photograph exposition at high school.

The first song was called “Israel son” and certainly pretended to transmit some kind of universal message of peace. The soft opening bass line intrigued me at first so I turned up the volume and got my hear bleeding when the guitar heavily came in. The riff was heady and heavy, sticky and dirty. Half hard rock, half stoner, something primitive that urged you to bob your head. April – her name was sewed on her bra – got to the back seats to change clothes and then my nose met her ass for a second. What a smell, she must have been a virgin still. The song ended in a classical live performance way, I am I am Israel son, Israel son I am, put your hands in the air, put your hands in the air, but my attention was stucked on the rear-view mirror. When the peep show was over, I turned my eyes back to the road ahead where an enormous truck blocked the way. I tortured the handbrake, zigzagged among bushes and got back to the road at last, avoiding a huge sign by the road that said : Your church is red with the blood of Jesus, join his army to fight Satan. “Tomorrow”’s arpeggio had already begun when April got back on the front seat at last, wearing a tight jean and a tight shirt. This one sounded like a hymn for her generation, catchy and easy on the ear.

    _ I really love this one. Ok, yeah. Listen to this line: you say the money isn’t everything, but I’d like to see you live without it. You know what, these guys are only 17, just like me, and they are already rock stars known around the world.

    _ You are pretty naïve for a girl who dresses like that. There are some rules in this world for 17-year-old people like you and them. First rule : whatever you say about adult matters, you are ridiculous, so don’t say it. Second rule : you know nothing when you have not been fucked in this ass. Ask your mum. Third rule : there is time for everything, so don’t fuck and suck.

She got her hand on my zipper in a second and squeezed my lemon.

    _ This one is called “Faultline”, I think it was written for bastards like you who constantly cross it.

I loved her for her courage but soon, one hand was not enough to repress my rising maturity. “Faultline’ developed into a heavier tune, with a well brought-up riff. Nothing original but it pretty much worked. I looked at the track list on the case of the cassette. “Pure Massacre” did not please me so much, it was weaker than the rest, especially when “Shade” started. This one was a ballad, well built, catchy and what a voice, man!

    _ If you ever decide to lose grip, I will tell you how much I like this song.

She took off her hand.

    _ I may be an old creep but I kind of like your Silverchair a little. This album seems to be a real good post grunge thing. It’s easy to identify the bands they have been listening to, but it’s kinda fresh. He is really a good singer, your guy. He has nothing original but he does it well. Do you know a guy named Kurt Cobain?

    _ Yeah, the one who used to eat guns for dinner. Daniel Johns may have a more melodious voice. Listen to “Suicidal Dream” and then you will want to lick my breast with your cock.

She pressed the fast forward button and reached the song. 

_ That’s real great, I agree with you. This one must be an hymn for your generation of morbid angels. I fantasize about my death, I kill myself from holding my breath. Voices telling me what to do, I am sure you will get yours too. I might object on the naïve thing but you’ll know what I mean in ten years.

    _ They have started in a garage and now listen to that sound. What were you doing when you were 17?

    _ I was a vulgar piece of shit. You see, I have not changed.

    _ I liked your style, old man.

    _ I like your style, pussycat.

While nervy dropped D “Madman” unfolded, I stopped the car and we made love on the roof. An army truck stopped to watch the show. It was filled with 18-year-old black and white skinheads who were certainly unaware that someone had painted in red letters an inscription on the side of the truck that said “Kentucky Soldiers for sale”. They left when April and I tried to reach their smiles with our pee. I did not really hear the rest of the album but I would in the next years.

After love, we lit cigarettes and I blew smoke up her ass so as to prove her that it would not come out her mouth. We got back inside the car and talked about the future for hours. When we stopped in El Paso for the night, I asked her a key question and I knew her answer would comment upon the wide division between us.

    _ Do you know anything about baseball?

    _ Yeah, it’s the mercato till the end of the month, isn’t it? I hope Lagrange will join the Mets. They need a good receiver.

We married in a blue neon Elvis 24 hours chapel 20 minutes later.

-Review by Angus Anderson who really likes Silverchair’s Frogstomp but found it hard to talk about it in simple words. Excuse me for the ugly words, I am French.

/sept 15th 2003/