I'll never forget my first screening of The Who's, The Kids Are All Right. It was at a friend's pool party in middle school. All of the sodden partygoers stared in awe as Pete Townsend smashed his guitar, and Keith Moon detonated a overly generous explosive charge. I grew up thinking that smashing your gear was the pinnacle of cool, and I watched as this act was repeated over and over, Jerry Lee Lewis, Hendrix, Cobain.

As I began to play music and acquired guitars of my own (I've owned the same two guitars for 20 years), I realized how paradoxical the act of destroying your instrument was, how decadent and foolish. If I ever smashed a guitar how could I make music? I certainly couldn't afford a steady supply of instruments. When I began this project, I learned that Kurt Cobain had people supplying him with vintage Fender Jaguars from all over the world so that during performances he could spontaneously, in a fit of a mock religious ecstasy, smash his guitar over and over again.

The Resurrectionists started as an investigation into this paradox as a metaphor for the art world, and more specifically the death of painting. During the late eighties and nineties, painting, the white cube, and the white male misogyny of the artist as individual, was smashed. As someone who considers himself an acolyte of the black arts of painting, I struggled with my love of realism in an art world where a thousand-year tradition discouraged virtuosity and an academic approach to painting because it "all been done before" (and done extremely well).

As I researched Resurrectionism (which included watching the excellent The Flesh and the Fiends starring Peter Cushing who also starred in the holiest of holy Star Wars), the project began to evolve. The Victorian search for the soul reminded me of my adolescent search for divinity.

Tumultuous events in my life during 1986 annihilated my faith in religion, family, and the complacent vegetable bliss of suburban life. Music, the D.C. scene, embraced me for the freak I thought I had become. No one cared if I had a normal family life. In fact, amongst the crowd of shaved heads, mohawks, and tattoos, abnormality was celebrated. In an existential awakening, punk, taught me that divinity was within myself. And that it was my personal responsibility to find my own spiritual path, ontological D.I.Y..

And so may the ink 45's become paper prayers, and may the resurrected instruments gleam with ecclesiastical light. This music is our elegy for our lost youth and our search for soul.

I would like to especially thank my dear friends Bill Fallon, Ethan Minsker, and Arturo Vega. Never once did you hesitate when I presented you with my crazy scheme. I pledge that I will follow you anywhere our lives may take us. "The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth them."

- Ted Riederer