Attached at the EverythingHe's lived among it and seen it from every angle for over a decade - from the
time that he was a snickers-fed nugget, rolling to Glendale shows on his
skateboard, through his teenage years, when one could spot him in the punk rock
minivan, drinking Old English 40'z on the roof of the McAllester parking
garage in preparation for a Planet Labia performance - unto his mysterious
college years, an introspective period, marked by Bens retreat into the
isolation of the dungeonesque cellar at the '916 Compound'. It was also the
darkest age State College had ever known. Just a few quick years rolled in and
seemed to have washed out the local essence itself, taking more than just the
music scene as they receded.All but a few musicians, music enthusiasts, and friends had parted,
college-degrees in hand, to join the grind of the educated. Two world-class
video arcades closed. Collegiate apparel stores would replace them. Record
Stores were remodeling to serve the perennial wave of homogenized student
consumers. Allen Street, the civic artery, had lined itself with the strange
new corporate facades of Panera, Eddie Bauer and Abercrombie. Randies were
appearing in increasing numbers at every local party or function faceless
leaches who offered nothing, while sucking on our essence of originality,
co-opting our styles, our hang-outs, our apartments, our town.And standing amidst these cascading waves of progress and the droves of
parasitic invaders, those remaining must have only wondered: Where are the
kids on skateboards?...The punks in their leather?...The Freaks...The geeks
lined up to feed quarters to Mortal Combat in Playland? Who's manning the wall?
Where is the next show? 811? The VFW? Wesley Student Center? Paul Robeson
Center? The Fish Bowl? Nowhere.Hang your heads kids. You cant stop the winds of change. Give up. Hold your
memories. Move onAnd thus an age passes out of time...But in the dark, narrow confines of pealing cement walls and the red gloom of
amplifier lights and tobacco smoke from a Parliament, a man sits with the rock
and roll dreams of youth. No longer a boy, hes thick of beard. His skills
have ripened, and his tastes are refined (Even Forties have become Quarties).
He sits on the other side of an inward journey, tempered in solitude, holding
the shards and ashes of our Atlantis. Effortlessly, and without deliberation,
he begins the reconstruction one piece at a time. The sound is a collage.
Pasting strips here and there, something emerges from the compost. It is
recycled, but it is entirely original. It is proof that energy of spirit is
neither created nor destroyed, but rather expressed over and over. It teeters
upon lamenting, but emerges hopeful, even playfully childish. It is the voice
of your Speak & Spell telling you that your life was meant to be. It is the
new hope for a town, championed by the worlds toughest male figure skater. And
now he joins forces with two venerable local talents. State College will
breathe music once again.Oh yeah, he plays the drums too!-Sean Devlin
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