Day 8, April 16 – Toronto, ONT


Was a cold Canadian spring day, entirely off for musicians. Which is to say: If your job is just playing in Ministry, there’ll be nothing required of you, except to heal thyself for the next show tomorrow… But Roadies, Techies, and Bass Monster Paul Barker, all got other jobs, and so, no “free” day. Paul’s biggest non-musical gig being: dealing with the Press.


Unlike the 4 other players in this current incarnation, Paul’s a true partner with Al in Ministry.

Not from the beginning, but from the time they turned from a synth-pop outfit, into the counter-cultural blitzkrieg they’ve been for 5 records over 10 years now.


I’ve known a lot of career rockers, and as I’m listening to Paul field questions… some about the music… and many more about Al’s predictably unpredictable behaviors… Something occurs to me that arguably should have occurred to me many years before. A kind of a revelation.


In my professional life, I’m dealing mostly with infants.


If you never did anything but “live the dream” of rock-stardom, from the time you were 14 years old, you will be poorly socialized for anything else. Just so I’m clear hear, Paul is the exception, that makes the rule.


For about three years (15-18), you will seem more mature than your actual age. But, from that point on you are stunted… At 22 you’ll appear 19. At 27 (should you still be alive), you’ll appear 21. At 35, you’ll behave as a 24 year old. And so on, until you are 55, and as grown up emotionally as someone half your age.


In recovery programs we learn that, from the time we picked up drugs or alcohol, and used them to quash reality, we stopped growing emotionally. And I can tell you that it’s true. If it were not true, I would not be here in this hotel room in Toronto wondering if I’m about to get a call to join an orgy… Not to be participating, but to get a giggle out of watching it (video taping it).


Some lucky 13 year old should be getting/heeding that call… I’m 37 fucking years old.


The revelation: Drug addict = emotional retardation. Unrelenting adolescent rock-star vocational callings = emotional retardation.


The revelation itself: Drug-addict-rock-stars = A protracted grandios and often quite messy public infancy. If you’re not into baby-sitting, stay clear of rock and roll as a career. Al Jourgensen has Depends adult diapers on his tour rider. They must be there before he arrives at each venue… Nuff said.


I’m a bit drunk, so instead of the usual snappy dialogue of the day, I’ll finish off this “day off” with a poem I’ve written about my professional sycophancy:


My tailor wants me dead


To dress my bones, like in his head.

His inseams become spite-full

Adds cuffs to fill with rain.

Thank God the collar button’s gone

And blood’s returning to my brain.


My tailor has one worry.


That I’ll be tucking in his corpse instead.

I’ll stitch him tight in powder blues,

And tuck that into a curtain of awful satin red.


You’d think I’d want a new one.

So many routs arrive at fashion.

But I’ll stick it out in uneven trim.

It’s a crazy few today,

Can match his passion.