No. 053 - Sum 41’s “The Hell Song” changed my life
No. 053 - Sum 41’s “The Hell Song” changed my life
Record shops, album art, and the song that cracked Nick D'Agostino open
This Song Changed My Life is an independent music publication featuring essays from people all around the world about the songs that mean the most to them. Created by Grace Lilly, supported by readers.
• 4 min read •
If we ever lost track of my dad during a family outing, our best bet would be to check the closest record shop.
I kid you not, this guy could sniff out a rack of CDs in a grocery store.
For as long as I remember, I’ve followed my dad through aisles of records, trying my best to rifle through the heavy stacks of CDs and alphabetized plastic dividers alongside him. Only, I barely had any connection to the music and even less of an idea who any of the artists were. I’d watch my dad become ecstatic as he found various albums, brought them home, and listened to them on a loop — clearly getting something I wasn’t.
In an attempt to make any connection, I started identifying with the music another way: visually.
The shit a 7-year-old could see in one hour in an FYE (the go-to music store in Connecticut malls) is incredible.
I couldn’t look away as I grew nauseous from the graphic illustrations of Cannibal Corpse’s album artwork. I’d catch brief (but somewhat frequent) glimpses of the Pixies’ Surfer Rosa, be in constant awe of the fantastic landscapes that adorned YES’s discography, endlessly amused by the poor rendering of Creed’s Human Clay, and puzzled by the uncanny expression on the face of Radiohead’s The Bends.
By the time I was old enough for my dad to let me pick out my first album, it was no surprise that I ended up in the checkout line clutching Fuel’s Something Like Human. Mind you, I had never listened to a Fuel song ever in my life. But that smooth, metallic man baby with a shoddy eyebrow piercing spoke to me. I took it home and proceeded to listen to it ad nauseam (just like dad).
I became Fuel, Fuel became me. To the point where it literally gave me headaches.
Eventually, I found myself in my room passionately shouting the lyrics to “Hemorrhage” (in my hands) to the heavens, realizing I wasn’t actually enjoying it.
I began to think that maybe music just wasn't for me.
I continued purchasing albums based on their artwork, despite the low success rate. Before long, I ended up with Sum 41’s Does This Look Infected? in my hands. Bright green artwork with pops of orange and a ghoulish looking man adorned with a gnarly gash on his head. It perfectly toed the line of looking badass enough to align with my prepubescent need to be cool, while not gruesome enough to flare up my deep anxieties about dying.
I went home and tossed it into my green CD player boombox.
The leading guitar riff of the opening track, “The Hell Song,” gave me a rush of energy. It was refreshingly rowdier than the music spilling out of my older sister’s room — the Fray, John Mayer. And this band didn’t seem to take themselves very seriously compared to all of the classic rock “legends” my Dad was always introducing me to.
This music finally resonated.
I wanted to crank up the volume and listen on repeat.
Hearing “The Hell Song” for the first time hit some vein of untapped angst and cracked open a part of myself I didn’t even realize was there. Caught in between the pressure to understand who I was and decide on who I wanted to be, I was left with an innate desire to not do either. These goofy Canadian punks gave me the permission I didn’t know I needed to have more fun and embrace the things I enjoyed.
It was around this time that I started ragdolling my body around the skatepark and mainlining box sets of The Simpsons. I even asked my parents for a B.C. Rich Warlock guitar to complete the transformation.
I’ve always struggled to remain connected to my feelings and myself. Looking back many years later, I can see that I relied heavily on music to help process my most formative experiences — even well before I knew I was doing so.
A bunch of songs have changed my life. But without this first one, who knows if I would have turned to music at all?
Thank you, Sum 41, for cracking me open.
I’m grateful for all of the music that has punctuated my life and shaped me since, and for all of the songs that will continue to alter the course of my life as I continue to stumble through it. ◆
About Nick
Nick D'Agostino is a video director, producer, and editor with a deep love of all things music, comedy, and horror. Chicago-born, Connecticut-raised, and New York based!
Instagram @dickynags
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