In the end, it’s just art. The point is what it celebrates.
This fourth print in Thirty Seconds Out’s combat concert series celebrates the the men who made it happen.
In Sean’s words:
We were/are soldiers, not politicians. We simply want to do what it takes to win. Win what? Fucking win our ground, our lives and the respect of those on our flanks. We get ridiculed and ridicule each other. As it should be, to get continually better. Shield to shield. Once you taste that, nothing really comes close. We were made for it, so we can hardly beat our chests and take credit. It comes natural, like it’s always been there. A motor drive turning inside on a low idle, waiting for a purpose. Music has an important part in all this, whether the artists like it or know it, we don’t give a fuck. We listen and get what we want from the song, burn the rest. The X’s on the hands are put there, in our previous lives, by the door guards when you’re not old enough to drink, but old enough for the mosh pit, old enough to sling lead for real. And we did.