Mark McConville
I can remember the day. The quiet before the breakdown and the heart buckling distress, the overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret. I was downstairs, embracing the silence, sitting on the frayed couch, gazing at the muted TV set, thinking about the future. I was 14 at the time, trying to cope with the passing of my father. He died six months prior, and I still felt the sheer agony of losing a parent at such a young age.
He fought against it but it ravaged his body right through to his weary bones. It spread like a blazing fire, sabotaging him and causing unrelenting pain, sending him into a fever of bad dreams. He barely slept through that period either, as we sat up all night trying to formulate conversations, talking about politics and the creaking foundations of a tired world.
When he left, I became this boy stuck in soggy dreams. I felt lost, cascading as the world went on. My life had altered, my outlook had become bleak, well I thought it was. Nothing would enlighten me; nothing would change my mood. I closed myself away from the windy days, and sat in a dark room, crying for the angels to respond to my pleas.
Then, six months flew past. The quietness turned loud, and the raucous cries reverberated through the cold hall into the kitchen. My mother lay there, blue and lifeless, in an unmade bed, smiling as she felt free. You see, she suffered endlessly from mental health battles since the age of 16. She often said she’d like to die to ease herself from life, to break away from the drunken dirges, the stress, and the modern ways.
When she went, it was like a curtain was closing on me. I was ready to die too, as the pain was relentless. The snapshots of her in my head were fading, and I was losing her face. From then on, I was reclusive, sitting in my room, looking at the TV screen spell out my honest perusal of life.
As I sat in a room of few things, I started to confide in a record, an album that was politically infused, a non-nonsense assessment of a country on its knees. The record was 2004’s masterpiece, American Idiot, which stole the hearts of many, which showed a band could revive their careers with just power chords, energy, and clear foundations.
American Idiot aided me through my pain. It resonated with me, pushing me out of my reclusive state, letting me scream and shout for a small revolution, while the music blasted through the airwaves and my CD player. The opening track was a surge of guitar artistry, giving the fans a song fresh and daring. Green Day were the band that released this colossal statement and record, a punk band that knew they’d railed against the grain.
The title track blew minds. It solidified Green Day’s dominance and had given many people who were disenchanted, lost in their own eventful minds, an outlet to vent, to be in sync with their feelings. ‘Jesus of Suburbia’ got me. It was a track bursting with creativity and riffs, and it lasted over nine minutes. Lead singer/guitarist Billie Joe Armstrong’s rasping vocals fitted in seamlessly.
Track 2 on the album, ‘Jesus of Suburbia’ showcased the band’s versatility and their prowess. It eased me into the album’s prominence and made me feel alive. I had gone from being downtrodden, to being revitalised and even creative. Before my parents died, I never had the itch to write, but after growing more mature, I had become this writer, this designer of words.
‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams’ was a guitar and lyric driven ballad. Many people felt immersed in its process and impact, and I did too. Political masterstroke, ‘Holiday’ had control of the airwaves, with sneers and screams aplenty.
‘Wake Me Up September Ends’ resonated. Its powerful message engulfed my mind, as Armstrong wrote the song about the passing of his father. The simple chord structure and melody also made it a fan favourite.
I owe so much to American Idiot and how it had given me some clarity. It didn’t deter the pain fully, but what it did do was give me a chance to create my own bundles of wonder, through my own writing.
Mark McConville is a freelance music journalist who has written for many online and print publications. He also likes to write fiction and poetry. X: @Writer1990Mark
Featured photo: Green Day’s American Idiot Musical Premiere at Berkeley Rep by Joanne Wan (Flickr)
