Crate Diving: Episode 1 | Tom Morello - The Atlas Underground

When I first started following musical acts for real around the year 2000, my fandom came in waves. Obviously, there was the Nu-Metal explosion of the New Millennium of which I was gleefully on-board. My mother introduced me to the hits of the 80s, birthing a love for pop music that endures to this day. My grandfather spun countless vinyl records of the two-step anthems from the 60s and 70s. The recurring theme here is outside influence. Whether it be my friends or my family, there was always a guiding hand to help me discover new music. When the time came for me to mark my own fandom, I happened across a group with all the righteous fury of Public Enemy’s guerilla rap and the most slamming chords of any band in the world.

Rage Against The Machine was the band. If you are reading this and don’t quite remember the group in their active years, the name is all you need to know. Selling out arenas is great. Playing to 100,000 at a festival is awesome. Yet still: not one note was played in anything other than utter furious disobedience. Zack De La Rocha, former frontman of the band, has continued this by writing music in vocal features in the years since RATM last played together. Now, guitarist Tom Morello has produced his own solo project – his first in many years.

When I read up about the making of this record, I kept thinking of another one: Common’s Universal Mind Control from 2008. Musically, they aren’t all that similar. In conception, they are almost the same. Common was inspired to make his album after a lengthy vacation in France helped introduce him to the House Music and EDM (Electronic Dance Music) scene. UMC was billed as the future of hip-hop and for my money (literally, having bought it) this is all true. Its warbled and industrial sound preempted a wave of mood-rap ventures: Yeezus from Kanye West; Camp from Childish Gambino; the early work of Travis Scott.

It’s 2018 and EDM is far more than the niche genre it was a decade ago. It has injected every facsimile of pop music; not even the most basic of Top 40 tunes can go without a beat drop or synth cord progression. For The Atlas Underground, we see Morello align himself with these EDM sensibilities and combine them with his own talent for writing, and playing, his own screechy, metallic riffs. Disclaimer time: no, this isn’t a case of ‘Hello, fellow kids’ by the veteran musician to get people to buy his album. If anything, this project – with the boom-bap truther anthem “We Don’t Need You” – will be a repellant.

From the first three songs you will be able to discern if The Atlas Underground is your speed. “Rabbit’s Revenge” for sure is not a soft listen. Two icons of the Dirty South rap scene – Big Boi and Killer Mike – team up on this Bassnectar-produced track and throw down two furious verses on the cultural divide and mistrust of the Black Community toward the police force writ large. Big Boi begins:

There’s always a punk motherfucker/poppin’ that weak shit

Thug thumb, Internet gangsters/not on no street shit

Where we come from/we don’t fuck with no polices

We pay their salary/and they pay us back with mistreatment

Killer Mike follows this up with commentary on how minorities are disproportionately targeted by patrols. He references Trayvon Martin of Florida and Mike Brown of Missouri. Not nearly the only two young Black men killed via extra-legal force; no doubt the most famous. Two of many victims (including Sandra Bland, referenced in verse one) of a system designed to decimate an entire people and break their spirit. This song is a call to arms above all. Wouldn’t you know? “It ain’t no fun when the rabbit’s got the gun.” Right, Wabbit?

The hip-hop presence on this record was expected from Morello and didn’t disappoint. He recruited a solid line-up of MCs that brought a righteous fire to the booth. Chicago native Vic Mensa nicely complimented Morello’s signature style on “We Don’t Need You.”

Ooh, I can stand my ground to this shit

Tom Morello and Vic Mensa/we on time with this shit

Militant mindset/nine-millimeter complex

Two middle fingers/to the killers in the Congress

Start off with a reference to the gun law that got Trayvon Martin legally murdered and end with a dig at the Legislative Branch of US Government which is timely at almost any point in history, but especially now in the midst of the longest government shutdown in US history. An angry damn song this is, but that doesn’t stop it from being a head-bopper. The oscillation of the industrial beat will have you moving in time, reminiscent of the RATM turns of old.

There are two female features on this LP. The first is K. Flay – one of the more acclaimed indie artists of the past ten years. She’s a self-produced, multi-instrumentalist from Cook County, Illinois who can rap and sing and pretty much every other thing a musician would need to do. “Lucky One,” the track she features on is a jaunty cut with a bouncy alt-rock vibe that sounds like it was produced just for her. Maybe it was, because even the subject matter should be familiar to anyone that’s visited her discography.

Oh, I’m a piece of dirt

Caught in a spiral, dead on arrival/make it hurt

Oh, I’m a tragic man

Love is a card game, head full of heartache/it’s all a part of the plan

“Are you a sucker or a lucky one?” she asks. When you consider her path to success – from leaving a toxic relationship and skirting homelessness to having her music featured in major motion pictures – it would be generous to call K. Flay anything but. Lucky only to be seen. There’s nothing accidental about how good she is. The very same should be said about the second female MC featured. An enigma she is.

She hails from Brooklyn and performs as ‘Leikeli47.’ Always with her face covered. She hasn’t disclosed her name or age but has still released plenty of music. Not much else is known about her other than the fact that she’s pretty good. In “Roadrunner,” she crafts a yarn, Slick Rick style, of a migrant’s journey to these United States.

I be damn I gave my last

To a coyote

To get me ‘cross the border

Far too many women and children and in between fall victim to trafficking schemes in exchange for the possibility of a better life in America. If one was willing to take this issue on a case-by-case basis it would be clear immediately who those people are. Some of them are dangerous, but some of them are victims.

One hour out of Guadalajara

No pit stops even though/the engine gettin’ hotter

Surviving off my own sweat/I drink it out of bottles

I see a lot of y’all parched/and that’s the fucking problem

Nothing on this album shook me more than those bars right there. This is the point I’ve brought up anytime I’ve heard even a mention of a “crisis” at the Mexico border. Most people don’t know, but how would they if they don’t care? I watched a full documentary special of a small crew following a troupe of migrants. This was years and years before the mass exodus from Central America that occurred in late 2018.

This may not come as much of a shock, but the path taken to even make it to the border is so fucking dangerous. Before anyone can even reach the “wall” they have to dodge numerous hazards including the so-called coyotes. People are run down, pursued, kidnapped, and yes, killed all in the course of the thousands of miles they travel. All so they can seek entry and asylum to a country they have been told will take them in with open arms if they are earnest about being productive. And they always are.

This piece makes it out like the album is wholly political and that isn’t the case. It’s where most of the substance is, just not nearly the end. As noted, Morello collaborated on production of this album with some main stays in the EDM scene. The legendary Bassnectar; Australian Dubstep duo Knife Party; and world-famous DJ Steve Aoki who lends his skills for “How Long.”

And how long/can we dance around

The hungry mouths, the burning streets?

And how long/can we drown them out

With lights and sound, while bombs fall at our feet?

This tune is performed by Tim McIlrath, vocalist from the band Rise Against. Casual music streamers might not discern this easily; for the rest, a peek at the production notes reveals a who’s-who of the modern music scene. No surprise, as Tom Morello is a Triple OG and his rock roots run so impossibly deep. He, Damon Alburn, and a few select others have the clout to scroll through the rolodex, choose three numbers at random and say, “Help me make an album, dude!” only for an album to appear from the ether months later.

“How Long” has a protracted build-up driven by that classic crunch of Morello’s guitar pedals. Couple this with the beat drop and pulsating rhythm of Aoki’s production, you can only assume Morello won’t be done playing massive festival crowds anytime soon. The song is fun yet is not without its questions.

In America, we are in the middle of the longest government shutdown in history. The Coast Guard is unfunded. The Department of Homeland Security is unfunded. Airports are understaffed leading to hours of delays and terminated flights. Air traffic controllers are working without pay, even as the industry prepares for a massive turnover. Both the Pilot and Flight Attendant Unions have released a joint statement with the NATCA detailing the increased danger of flying without proper funding. With no end in sight to the impasse, the day may come when the system simply breaks. Even after the shutdown ends, the aviation industry may well be crippled for years to come.

What of the individuals working through this? Grown adults who can’t feed themselves. Parents that can’t feed their children. The recipients of SNAP benefits who will no longer be able to once that program runs out of funds soon. How long can we dance around the hungry mouths? How many missed meals does it take? What is critical mass for innocent people seeing their family suffer before they take matters into their own hands? What happens when the system breaks?

Feels Like Frío

The story here is that my left arm is likely done following orders for a bit. Also that I’m no longer stranded. Which is good news, because after a full 30 or so hours of letting things pile up (inside and outside) I was so very ready to make tracks.

First, some undesignated story time. I took one of two college credited courses in high school. One in Math and one in English. Back then, I favored Algebra the most but found the homework egregiously boring which led me to skip half the worksheets yet ace the tests. Honors English II was almost inverse. Not that I didn’t ace the class – the assignments were appropriately challenging and engaging. Algebra homework was mechanical, and I had PS3 to play. The other class was little more than an excuse to do what I do best: write long pieces of thoughtful contemplation for a captive audience!

The assignment I’m thinking of specifically is one that had us take a trip and recall the details, events and how it made us feel. Apparently, I missed the class memo of trips to the store being eligible. You see, I took the prompt literally, recounting a three-day weekend I took some weeks prior to my grandparents’ house in rural Northeast Missouri, where they live to this day. As usual with these papers there was no limit, just a minimum, so I could really let it breathe and turn this school essay into a story. I know there’s a copy lying around somewhere; who knows how many pages I ended up with.

To summarize oh-so-briefly: one day in the Spring I drove out to stay with my folks for a long weekend and rode my bike from one end of town to the other. Growing up there, I can tell you, Missouri is some BS on many fronts. However, as a Natural State, its beauty is on the shortlist. As noted, my grandparents live in a part of the state ripe with unconquered land. Boy, if you ever need a spot to sit and not see any person for miles and miles you will find no shortage. As busy as I was in high school, I often think that these moments of rest and silence and separation from my routine were a big reason I didn’t totally break down (which happened later anyway but after I graduated lol).

Here we are now. It’s a little under a decade later from that point as I write this. I’m pulling this exercise from my school days into young adulthood. Why? The most embarrassing thing a creative can admit is feeling futile. Not that I have a lack of ideas. Quite the opposite! I have so many thoughts whirling around up there, I don’t know where to start. This inevitably leads to thoughts of whether or not I should start. I wasn’t gaining any ground personally. I’ve been working on the same story off-and-on (but mostly off) for half-a-year now when I set a deadline for myself to end it before the holidays.

I don’t know if posting this will help or if it should. I’ve meant to keep more hand-written journal entries for my own use for ages now. This won’t be that. Just a Stream of Conscious following a very broad outline of my day. I don’t expect anyone to find that interesting or even attempt to read but, I’m hoping for myself that if I can at least write and post this, the floodgates will open, and I can dump some of the other stuff taking up real estate in my Right Lobe.

I’ll start with my views of Good Snow vs Bad Snow. There was a huge storm that made its way across the continental US this past weekend. I joined much of my friends on the East Coast and elsewhere watching as snow the snow fell…and fell…and fell. Eventually I dug myself out, but not immediately, oh no. What few errands I had left by Friday were taken care of before noon, affording me ample time to return home and perch at my bedroom window to watch the cavalcade of ice crystals float by.

Last year was a Bad Snow. The winter was long and bitter with constant sub-freezing temperatures. The winter storm started as a thunderstorm, which of course became freezing rain which then turned into sleet a short time later and iced over every road. Only after all this did the near 12 inches of snow come through to make a double dare of danger. This may shock you but…it sucked!

Seasons are nice but wear can out their welcome, etc.

This year was a Good Snow! (Even if it wasn’t, I may have been more forgiving just because I didn’t have anywhere to go for two days.) It was a peaceful storybook snowfall with no wind or garbage precipitation. With only an hour or so of sleet, there was no ice whatsoever. We only had to sit and wait – from Friday afternoon to early Sunday morning – as the snow fell uninterrupted. I took a single step outside my door to observe more closely. The flakes were big and chunky, gathering in light, fluffy heaps upon landing. It’s the kind of snow that calendar-makers dream of. No trace of wet-nasty slush anywhere. I almost ventured out…until I remembered, as I do every Winter, that I had a PlayStation waiting and shut the door.

A full day and change later, I’m ready to go. I don’t get stir crazy easily and I knew it wasn’t that. It was far more serious. My last depressive episode was sometime in early 2018. I overslept and was late to my morning dental check-up. So late in fact that the desk clerk kindly let me reschedule for later that month. Maybe she saw something I didn’t, because the next thing I did was walk straight to my car, pull up the memo app in my phone, type out I think I’m still depressed, delete that same memo, and sob quietly alone in the still sparse parking lot.

It scared me, frankly. It came out of nowhere and to this day I don’t know what triggered it. I don’t get too upset about being late to appointments other than me, in general, not keen of being late to anything. Whatever it was just happened to catch me lacking. Up to that moment, I haven’t felt so alone and useless since I left school and I was emotionally underwater for three years.

The notion of going back to that terrified me enough that I called my best friend later that day and told him what happened. He told me that whenever he feels an episode like this might occur, he forces himself to engage in constructive social ventures. Maybe he goes ice skating or takes a drive with his partner, a chance to do something he likes with like-minded people – or at least near like-minded people. Shamefully I admit that I haven’t been nearly as diligent about this as I should have. And it is a shame because the advice was timely and sincere from a man I love like a brother. Yet still, I remembered what he said and grabbed a shovel. I wouldn’t let the pretty snow be my excuse for not making it to the function I was invited to that night.

Excavating the car

The first picture is from my first wave of shoveling after ninety minutes of the heave-ho. I looked at the edge of the driveway, piled high with plowed snow, and retreated to breakfast, which I should have started with. Half-an-hour later, I make my way back outside and hear a fluttering from behind me. Four small birds have parked themselves in the garage. Small, brown, roundish birds that have been showing up everywhere in the area recently. (There were a half dozen hiding under my snow-covered car.) I’ve got no beef with birds; I gently shooed them out into the yard, all of them taking the same route circling the back of the garage out. Except for one that stayed perched on the rear shelf. It was very pretty with pale feathers. So grey they were almost blue. “Come on, girl,” I said. “This way.” And she was off to catch up with the crew while I closed the garage. No more loitering today.

Not long after receiving some blessed help from a neighbor I pushed off to my old job site to visit. Fun fact about radio: even when the world is snowed in, the stations still play. And if you’re responsible for several of them, someone (or several) has to show up and make things go. A visit of solidarity, but mostly I just needed to kill time.

I was the last one to arrive at the function, which was indeed video game related. This blog has its own segments dedicated to gaming talk, so I’ll save the details for that. All you really need to know is that we played Super Smash Bros. 64 a.k.a. the version I’ve played the least since I started playing Melee [checks notes] in 2003. Apparently, I’m good with Yoshi, the most difficult character in the game. I hope to get more chances to play the game and experiment and just hang out.

The roads were clear the whole way back home. Maybe just a little bit soggy. Driving has become a good cleanser for me. It’s hard for your mind to go to any untoward places when you have to focus on Not Dying. I never realized how crazy dangerous driving is until I started commuting regularly. All those years up and down the freeway. It’s by the grace that I wasn’t creamed by some truck or drunken driver.

When it’s a late night and I’m one of two or three people passing through – or, better still, I have the road to myself – I ease out of cruising speed and apply the SpongeBob-branded Big Toe to the gas pedal and watch the night creep by. There was overcast on this night, so I couldn’t see the sky. When I can, I’m guided home by the celestial bodies, illuminating my path even when there are no lamp posts within miles. My favorite is riding on a warm night with the window down and seeing clearly one or several shooting stars arching across the sky. It's a vibe.

I notice it even before I pull up to my house past midnight. A deathly, almost unnatural silence. When the weather is even partially mild, you can sense the activity. You could never hope to see the insects or amphibians or woodland fuzzies lurking about, but you knew they were out there. Somewhere. They likely still are. When it snows, though, everything…stops. Nature is smarter than us. We brave the elements to work and eat and play Smash. When Nature takes a day off, you notice. There was a minute-long pause by me as I locked my car. I swear if someone was talking fifty-yards away I might have heard it.

You know that strange colored glow you get when there’s a heavy cloud cover over a well-lit town? A scene out of Dmitry Levin’s dreams. If I had a proper camera, I’d have taken a stroll around the neighborhood to get some street level shots of the newly-frosted landscape. I used to take photos all the time, especially while in school. It’s been years since I’ve invested in myself. I think that will be the next order of business.

After ducking inside I got back to work on this entry. Thought about staying up to finish it, decided on getting a proper night of rest. As noted at the top, my arm was protesting the rest of my body. I did him a solid and turned in, finished the rest before heading in to work.

Not sure how to finish this one. I’ll say thanks for playing, as I always do. I appreciate the eyeballs however they come. There are lots of friends that stop by the blog and lots of strangers, too. I’m thankful for all of you. I don’t ordinarily write stuff…like this? Something was off and needed to change. At this moment, the one thing I can change is my head space. Dumping every last one of these words seems like the best course. With hope, I can get back to making actual “Content!” like you’re used to.

It was good to get out. Good to meet new folks. Good to see old faces. Good to be breathing. Blessings Be.