Regression therapy & Frank Zappa’s Apostrophe (‘)

México City, late nineties, any given Saturday. On the rare occasion when I convinced my brother to go second hand music shopping and swapping to a cultural bazaar by the name of Tianguis del Chopo, we would swim amidst the ocean of black t-shirts, bad hairdos, smudgy tattoos, horrible speaker systems, stolen goods, emos (I swear to you they were called goth back then), punks, and emo-punks, and…