Recommended Listening: Vektor - Terminal Redux
Thanks to Courtney, Rachel, & Oz
I think I'm losing my mind.
This is the opening line of Terminal Redux, an album that had helped me re-center and find my own mind in times of turmoil. This album has been a touchstone, a point of reference, a way to re-center and connect with parts of myself both cryptic and reclusive. This album is a demonstration of the highest reaches of guitar artistry, with 70 minutes of layered musicality that realizes its goal of sci-fi space in my opinion, almost perfectly. This was my top album of 2016, and it is one of my favorite albums of all time. So today, I'm going to talk about how I've navigated the inability to recommend it because of the actions of the artist.
First up, concert story:
I saw Vektor live on a Thursday night at the now-defunct Now That's Class on the west side of Cleveland in 2016. They were on tour promoting their new album, Terminal Redux. The venue was a narrow bar connected by a single door to a narrow stage and crowd area. There were way too many people for the size of the venue, and the concert also just happened to coincide with the final game of the World Series. I found it suffocating, especially when space was cleared for a mosh pit in the cramped stageroom. Multiple times I found myself having to choose between having a decent view of the band and not getting smashed into walls by moshing attendees - I went home that night with some bruises. The lineup was Inoculation, Black Fast, then Vektor. I hadn't heard of Inoculation prior and I haven't really listened to them since. Black Fast was a lot of fun. In between each band there was a great migration to the bar and to watch the baseball game, a true crush of people, during which I slowly migrated closer to the stage.
Vektor played the entirety of Terminal Redux and ended with Tetrastructural Minds off their second album. It was an amazing set, and the exact setlist I had gone in wanting. I think to-date it's been the only set list that perfectly matched what I went in wanting to hear. About three quarters through the set, the drummer broke one of his sticks while playing, and proceeded to fling it out to the crowd where it nailed me in the forehead. I don't think I would've gotten to keep it otherwise, because it's all about reaction time with paraphernalia flung into the crowd, but the guy who nabbed it saw that it beaned me and just handed it over. I got the stick signed by David DiSanto while I was buying merch. He was confused when I asked him to sign it because “you know I don't play the drums right?”. Being an exhausted, socially awkward teen, I didn't really have the wherewithal to coherently explain what happened.
I left the venue around 2 AM. I was in my mid-teens at this time and this was only my third bar concert. I hadn't previously been to this venue nor even this side of town on my own. I did have school the next day, but I was a lot better at ignoring my physical needs back then. What I didn't account for was having trouble finding my car - I hadn't written down the name of the street where I parked (something I've done ever since). Now That's Class was on a main commercial road with offshoots of residential streets, and I knew I parked on one of those, so I went walking down the lightless road trying unsuccessfully to beep my car with my key fob. I walked up and down it for probably 10 minutes trying desperately to remember where my car was, thinking it might've been stolen or something else catastrophic. I was also a pretty insulated kid growing up, and my parents were pretty persistent with stranger danger rhetoric, so I was downright terrified. It didn't help when a stray cat bolted out from one of the latticed porches as I walked by and scared the bejeezus out of me. Past a certain point I resolved to call my parents. They came to pick me up, drove me one street over and immediately found my car. I felt like the absolute biggest fool that night.
I had Terminal Redux on loop after the concert, and I was eager to see what they would put out next. One month later, everyone but David left the band. They said there wasn't a big drama. In 2019 there were domestic abuse allegations against David. And now I had this stellar (haha) album that had stuck with me for years, but I felt guilty enjoying it. I had an incredible, eventful, and chaotic concert experience that I could no longer share. I had a shirt I couldn't wear, and a patch I couldn't stitch. What was I to do?
I've been trying to parse how to navigate this and settle my feelings on the matter for years since. This was the first controversial piece of media that I had a real emotional connection with, and for a long time it felt like there was no clear choice. Do I deprive myself of this music that I enjoy and that means a lot to me? Do I disregard the controversy and uncritically consume it? Do I enjoy it in isolation and not promote and/or support the artist? I think the answer is a bit more nuanced and individual. There are certainly times when the faults of the artists overwhelm any merits of the art. It is often an oversimplification to take the art on its own and out of cultural and authorial context. I think the context is very helpful, and denying that an artist's biases can affect both their art and the message that the art sends is just avoiding the issue, especially the impact that these ideas can have when they are perpetuated in culture.
I think a good example of one side of the spectrum is Harry Potter. JK Rowling, known terrible person, put a lot of herself and her beliefs into the books before ultimately radicalizing and using her wealth to push her beliefs. The racial stereotypes, capitalist society, and uncritical examination of poverty are all pretty baked into the books, and I don't think it's a huge leap to see how she got where she is now. Because of this, I think it is a mistake to engage uncritically with Harry Potter - it contains so much of her. A good contrast to this would be an innocuous painting by someone long dead. Viewing and appreciating the painting typically does not financially benefit them and their controversies can be (not always) irrelevant in the modern day. So where does this sci-fi metal album fit in? Certainly futuristic science fiction is informed by our ideas of the now and our ideals and fears of what the future could be. I think because music is often much more constrained in time, clarity, and directness than a novel, there's often a greater layer of separation from the personal beliefs and actions of an artist.
Ultimately, weighing the realistic real-world impact of my media consumption felt like the best approach. In the case of Vektor, there were three axes to consider for me. I've ruled out direct financial support since 2019 (although Spotify revenue is a complicating factor in this, but it feels personally insignificant. An argument could be made that I'm making an excuse for my convenience). Uncritical promotion is also out, as that could benefit the band and expose unaware people, so no wearing the shirt or patch I acquired at the concert. So the final option to weigh was discussing the album critically while continuing to spin it. Does it cause harm when I tell people about my favorite guitar-go-fast album while informing them not to support the artist? I think that is a choice I am comfortable making. My opinion would certainly change if the album was active propaganda, or if I thought listening to it could influence my actions in the world in a negative way. What I am trying to avoid is a mindset I have fallen into in past, and one that I have seen pervade metal culture - The uncritical consumption of media that says "sure I don't agree with this Nazi on his politics but he makes sick riffs". Often the worst people have power, influence, or unfathomable amounts of money that they can use to maintain their image (see the rehabilitation of George W. Bush). I actually almost fell victim to this rhetoric at the end of high school, and if not for the positive influence and caring guidance of my friends from early college, I might not have gotten out of it. But that's a story for another time.
I'll wrap by talking more about what this album means to me now - songs often trigger sense memories, the right song taking me back to my childhood house, a school trip, a way of feeling. There is a part of me that I can mostly reliably access with this album.
Terminal Redux reminds me of scale. We cannot comprehend the vastness of the universe despite seeing the numbers. We are creatures that measure in feet, live in decades, observing distances of light years, looking billions of years into the past towards the very conception of everything. We are nothing.
And yet, how vast we are to a bacterium. Our bodies contain 10-100 trillion microbial cells, which is ten times the number of human cells we possess. We ourselves are planets.
Most of all, we are conscious. We were formed from the universe, granted the ability to ask of her secrets, learn of her rules, her past and future that is inextricably tied to us. We are at once miniscule, vast, transient, and eternally connected.
This album reminds me that we are, life is, a manifestation of the universe experiencing itself. Make your experience a good one. Have a great day 😄
Corrin recommends - Crash Course Pods: The Universe and Wolf 359.