This isn’t just a song, it’s a battle cry, a primal scream,
a manifesto carved in blood, bone and concrete. The line, "The world’s a
mess, it’s in my kiss"—it hits you like a sucker punch, a shot to the gut
that doesn’t quite knock the wind out of you but leaves you feeling a little
unsteady on your feet. It’s simple, it’s raw, it’s devastating, and it’s
perfect. Because that’s the truth of it, right? The world’s a mess, sure. But
it’s beautiful in that mess, chaotic and gorgeous in its shattered, half-destroyed
state. And it’s in the kiss; the moment of surrender and defiance and
connection all wrapped into one. And like every mess, it’s impossible to
ignore, impossible to look away from.
But let’s talk about the place this mess comes from—my
beloved city of Los Angeles. The land of eternal sun and smog, where palm trees
grow amidst the wreckage of broken dreams and glittering false promises. It’s a
city built on contradictions: hope and desperation, fame and failure, beauty
and decay – where the ornate and the austere collide as mutually co-existing
dualities. And out of that sprawling, burnt-out landscape, X emerged. They
didn’t just exist, trying to make their name and way in late 70’s L.A.—they
defined it, with every note they played and every word they sang. In a place
that screamed "look at me" from every corner, X turned their back on
that easy grift and dug into something far more real. They carved their sound
out of grit and grime, the DIY ethos that punk wasn’t just a scene, it was a
way of life. They built their own world with their own hands, rejecting the
sterile polish of commercial music and giving the finger to anything that
demanded compromising their vision.
And that’s the thing about X—they didn’t just make music.
They made fire. They made you feel alive in ways you couldn’t quite explain.
Listen to Billy Zoom’s guitar licks in this song—each one feels like it’s shot
from a cannon, as precise as it is untamed. Billy doesn’t just play guitar; he
hurls it at you, every note a spark that sets off a chain reaction. His leads
are sharp and jagged, like shards of glass scattered across the floor, and
every time he picks up the pace, you feel your pulse quicken, like the song’s
about to burst into something even wilder. Zoom’s guitar isn’t about
finesse—it’s about fire, it’s about raw, uncontrolled energy that surges up
from somewhere deep inside, a sound that feels like it was created in the
darkest corners of the universe.
As always, DJ Bonebrake (the nicest man in rock n’ roll)
does what he does best: pounding that beat like it’s the very pulse of the
earth itself. It’s the kind of rhythm that doesn’t just live in the music—it
takes over your body. You don’t hear it; you feel it, deep in your guts, your
throat, your hips. It’s the heartbeat of chaos, the undercurrent of fire,
driving the song forward with an urgency that matches the rawness of everything
else around it. His drums don’t just anchor the sound—they ignite it, making
sure you’re locked into the chaos, forced to ride the wave of passion and sweat
that’s crashing over you.
Then there’s Exene and John. Their voices are fire and
gasoline, but it’s that primal chemistry between them that makes this song
blister with urgency. They’re not just singing to each other—they’re fighting,
they’re connecting, they’re tearing themselves apart and rebuilding it, and
somehow, it makes this chaotic mess of a song feel real. Exene, with that growl
in her voice, tells you to "take it like a man," and you feel it.
It’s not just a line—it’s a challenge. It’s a gut-punch that dares you to own
your own mess, to wear your flaws like a badge, to stop pretending everything’s
okay when it’s clear the world’s on fire. It’s a rawness, a confrontation that
leaves you no room to hide. That’s the kind of honesty X embodies—they are in
the mess of it, not pretending they have it all figured out, but daring you to
stand with them in that ugly, beautiful chaos and bring whatever fire you have
to the table.
And, God, their live shows—if you’ve seen them, you know
what I’m talking about. X didn’t just play punk rock; they embodied it. It
wasn’t just a show, it was an experience. It was chaotic and uncontrollable,
like a storm that just rips through everything in its path. They weren’t just a
band on stage playing a set—they were creating something, brujos (and a bruja),
conjuring something magical, untamed and electrifying. Every show felt like a
battle, a war between the past, the present, and whatever the future would be,
and you were right there in the middle of it, caught in the fire, baptized by
the sound. Punk rock was never supposed to be clean or easy, and X showed you
exactly why that was true. They were the lightning and the thunder all wrapped
into one explosive package—roots music with a punk edge, rock ‘n’ roll at its
core, but something far wilder and more dangerous. They way it was always
supposed to be.
X didn’t just shape punk rock—they transformed it. They
didn’t play the game—they rewrote the rules, and in doing so, they left a
legacy that’s as untouchable as it is indispensable. They didn’t make music for
approval—they made it for survival. They didn’t just sing about the mess of the
world—they became it, with all its contradictions, all its beauty, all its
rage. And in that mess, they kissed it all into something unforgettable. The
world’s a mess. But, hell, it’s damn beautiful. It’s in their kiss. And in that
kiss, it feels like the entire universe is spinning, and for a second,
everything is right.
And all these years later, looking at the legacy they’re
leaving behind as they wrap up a 48 year tenure as a band, one thing is for
sure: X isn’t just a band. They’re a riot. A wildfire of sound, sweat, and
desire. They are punk rock’s untamed Leviathan, roaring through the night and
leaving nothing but fire in their wake. They didn’t just burn bridges—they set
the whole damn world on fire, and they kissed it while it burned. They didn’t
just change the rules—they rewrote them in hot, reckless ink. You feel that
heat, you taste that fire, you surrender to it—and you never want to leave.
There’s no question. X is as important as any band that ever lived, and with
every riff, every line, every guttural scream, they remind you why. It’s in the
mess. It’s in the fire. It’s in my kiss.
