So here we are—the Local Music Issue. I hope this becomes a staple for Generations to come, akin to the Art issue and Fall Fiction (approaching soon—submit your literature now). There's a good amount of local talent in Buffalo that is unknown and underappreciated. Hopefully, some of the articles in here will interest and inform you to take part in the local music scene. We received some diverse input on the state of the Buffalo scene, and I found a lot of the different scenester's viewpoints very interesting and informative.

I love music. I've been involved with Buffalo's local music scene since I was probably about sixteen years old, with the advent of a wonderful band called Beeswax. I played bass, and God, did we suck! It was one of those bands that you form with the only people in your high school that could play instruments and are not involved in marching band. These bands are secretly beautiful in their simplicity and ignorance of musical technique and self-criticism. Just a bunch of friends and acquaintances jamming in basements of the parents who cared the least.

Anyway, after many shows, beers, and hair colors, I ended up in a band that actually had a chance to go on a self-booked tour. We were a sensitive troupe, crooning about serious world issues, and soothing our audience with silvery harmonies. Our name was the O-City Bombers, and some of our better known songs were "Reading Sucks" and "Everything's Okay When You're Dead". After one show in Ithaca, I remember going to another band's house to drink and get rowdy. After general insanity and partying, the guitarist of one of the bands says, "You wanna see something really scary?" Now, I saw the twilight zone when Dan Akroyd said this and I was a little apprehensive, because then Akroyd turned into a monster and killed Al Brooks. So, the guitarist reveals his scary secret as he pulls down his shorts. One of his testicles is the size of a potato—a pretty big one! I mean, I'm Irish; I've seen a lot of potatoes. It was big. The other testicle was normal sized. It was a frightening sight to behold indeed. The band left shortly after the dirty game of show and tell.

Rolling back to the house that we were going to sleep at, our guitarist expressed to the house owner the need for "Girls! Call up some girls and get 'em over here!" A few short hours and many beers later, a few girls showed up. None of them wanted anything to do with the guitarist, who so eagerly desired their company. It was almost four and we had to leave by ten, so I stumbled down to my bed, exhausted from a long day of rock and self-abuse. On the couch that I was designated to sleep upon was a distressed young girl in a Bulls jacket, watching TV. Through amicable conversation I attempted to coerce her to leave the couch so that I could get to fucking sleep. I'm still unsure of how it began, but she launched into her aggregate life story and all the terrible things that had ever happened to her in her entire life—most recently being that she was taken into jail for coke possession, which actually belonged to her boyfriend, strip searched, and detained for two days. In addition, I learned of every other abuse ever incurred upon her. It is now six AM and I am far too nice of a guy to say, "Listen, you fucked up bitch, get that crackwhore ass off of my bed and let me get to sleep!" Also, I kind of sympathize with her because she had a fucked up life. Her ride home was busy doing other things, and I needed to get her off my bed. I politely offered to drive her home, and after she declined my offer, I forcefully offered to drive her home.

"But wait" She whispers. "Aren't we gonna fuck?"

"Oh well now, you see, I..." I stammered. By then, I thought I could not continue my façade of polite bullshitting. "No." I drove her home. She let me know that from time to time, she is in a town close to Buffalo, and that the offer for intercourse was open—a free-fuck coupon, redeemable anytime! I never did capitalize on this.

Incidents like these are strange, abnormal, non-climactic, and without direction. To put it in simple terms: it's some weird shit. Nonetheless, It's exciting, it's unpredictable, and it's the closest thing to adventure in this methodological, routine, and almost reflex life. Not knowing what's coming next—it's ad-hoc life. Through the bands I've preformed in and the shows I've played, I've met so many interesting people and been to some interesting places. If not for some involvement with the local music scene and the services that accompany it, I would feel incomplete. I love music, and I love the Buffalo scene.