Hype - DVD Review
I just got done watching “Hype”. I had never seen it nor heard of it. Man, it takes me back. I listen to the
music, passion, and well... anger. After watching it I want to go home even more.
It’s funny because earlier today I was talking with one of my coworkers. I was trying to describe a new
artist’s sound to him. I was expressing to him that as soon as I heard this guy I felt that he should be in
Seattle. He just sooo sounds Seattle.
My coworker asked, “Why, is he grunge?”
I looked at him like he was goofy because I thought that was sort of a strange question. I replied, with a
funny look, “No, more Indie… maybe even Folkish. Definitely, not grunge.”
I had to explain to him that although the Northwest is known for grunge, the music there is very eclectic.
It is a place anyone can go that doesn’t fit a particular “mold”. It was then and it still is, now.
After taking the movie in and being pulled back home, I realized a lot. We were a group of kids looking
for something to do. We needed a way to vent, express ourselves and get through life while doing
something we loved.
It wasn’t always about a perfect melody or a perfect sound. It was about the ability to let go of all
frustrations. It was a no bullshit form of expression. Perfect or not, it made you feel free and secure.
I can remember breaking down in tears when they held the candlelight vigil for Kurt. I was in Louisiana
when I seen the media coverage and it absolutely broke my heart.
Flannel, funky boots and jeans full of holes came in style because these artists’ dreams were more
important than the pursuit of cash.
I would like to stress that I didn’t remain so earthbound. I went from The Goodwill to K-Mart and back to
The Goodwill. Then, I moved on to Nordstrom’s. You see, when I emerged myself into the rat race I
allowed myself to be sucked into the “wants” of general society. Honestly, I have been there ever since,
until recently. I need food and shelter. I do have to provide for my son. I don’t, however, need 80% of
what we have at this moment and I started “trimming the fat” months ago.
When I listen to Mother Love Bone, Soundgarden, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice In Chains, or 7 Year Bitch I
am in a state of… well, melancholy. Thank you for that word, Machelle.
I grew up in a place where it was okay to be different. It was okay not to fit a mold. It was okay to
express yourself even if you weren’t a “star”. It was cool to do what you loved and not apologize for it.
I saw some of the girls that were hitting the shows. Wow, that was so me. I would sport a black leather
biker jacket full of zippers and black combat looking boots. All purchased proudly from the 72nd Street
Thrift Store.
I grew up in the place and a time where it was okay to say, “Hey, this is who I am. If you don’t like it, kiss
my ass.”
Maybe that is why I have a hard time truly fitting in outside of my home. Maybe that is why I am still a
little, sometimes a lot, rebellious.
Maybe that is why I am looked at crazily when I drop an F bomb. People around me were never preview
to the concept of “You are who you are and not being normal is better than being normal. Man, screw
the molds!” The word fuck didn’t mean anything other than the context in which you were using it…
which was never the dictionary definition. Oh wait… that word is too taboo for a place in the dictionary
yet the word sex is in there. I guess I should start dropping S bombs instead. From now on when I am
mad, stressed, or upset I will scream… “Sex!”
Cheers to Seattle for their incestuous music past. It has ultimately afforded me the same enjoyment
today as then. Well, almost.
Out listening to Mother Love Bone’s “Chloe”.
Andy and Kurt, RIP
~Cindy Callinsky
music, passion, and well... anger. After watching it I want to go home even more.
It’s funny because earlier today I was talking with one of my coworkers. I was trying to describe a new
artist’s sound to him. I was expressing to him that as soon as I heard this guy I felt that he should be in
Seattle. He just sooo sounds Seattle.
My coworker asked, “Why, is he grunge?”
I looked at him like he was goofy because I thought that was sort of a strange question. I replied, with a
funny look, “No, more Indie… maybe even Folkish. Definitely, not grunge.”
I had to explain to him that although the Northwest is known for grunge, the music there is very eclectic.
It is a place anyone can go that doesn’t fit a particular “mold”. It was then and it still is, now.
After taking the movie in and being pulled back home, I realized a lot. We were a group of kids looking
for something to do. We needed a way to vent, express ourselves and get through life while doing
something we loved.
It wasn’t always about a perfect melody or a perfect sound. It was about the ability to let go of all
frustrations. It was a no bullshit form of expression. Perfect or not, it made you feel free and secure.
I can remember breaking down in tears when they held the candlelight vigil for Kurt. I was in Louisiana
when I seen the media coverage and it absolutely broke my heart.
Flannel, funky boots and jeans full of holes came in style because these artists’ dreams were more
important than the pursuit of cash.
I would like to stress that I didn’t remain so earthbound. I went from The Goodwill to K-Mart and back to
The Goodwill. Then, I moved on to Nordstrom’s. You see, when I emerged myself into the rat race I
allowed myself to be sucked into the “wants” of general society. Honestly, I have been there ever since,
until recently. I need food and shelter. I do have to provide for my son. I don’t, however, need 80% of
what we have at this moment and I started “trimming the fat” months ago.
When I listen to Mother Love Bone, Soundgarden, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice In Chains, or 7 Year Bitch I
am in a state of… well, melancholy. Thank you for that word, Machelle.
I grew up in a place where it was okay to be different. It was okay not to fit a mold. It was okay to
express yourself even if you weren’t a “star”. It was cool to do what you loved and not apologize for it.
I saw some of the girls that were hitting the shows. Wow, that was so me. I would sport a black leather
biker jacket full of zippers and black combat looking boots. All purchased proudly from the 72nd Street
Thrift Store.
I grew up in the place and a time where it was okay to say, “Hey, this is who I am. If you don’t like it, kiss
my ass.”
Maybe that is why I have a hard time truly fitting in outside of my home. Maybe that is why I am still a
little, sometimes a lot, rebellious.
Maybe that is why I am looked at crazily when I drop an F bomb. People around me were never preview
to the concept of “You are who you are and not being normal is better than being normal. Man, screw
the molds!” The word fuck didn’t mean anything other than the context in which you were using it…
which was never the dictionary definition. Oh wait… that word is too taboo for a place in the dictionary
yet the word sex is in there. I guess I should start dropping S bombs instead. From now on when I am
mad, stressed, or upset I will scream… “Sex!”
Cheers to Seattle for their incestuous music past. It has ultimately afforded me the same enjoyment
today as then. Well, almost.
Out listening to Mother Love Bone’s “Chloe”.
Andy and Kurt, RIP
~Cindy Callinsky
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