Zombie and the Voice That Still Echoes

Zombie and the Voice That Still Echoes

There are moments when music becomes more than sound — when it turns into a cry from somewhere deep inside the human condition. For Gen-X, that cry had a name: Dolores O’Riordan.

Her voice was raw and haunting, tender one second and thunderous the next. When Zombie hit MTV in 1994, it wasn’t just another grunge-era anthem — it was a protest wrapped in vulnerability. Dolores sang of violence, war, and the weight of generations growing up in the shadow of conflict. Her voice cut through the noise — not just in tone, but in truth.

She was supposed to record a new version of Zombie with Bad Wolves in 2018. The world knows the rest. Hours before she was set to step back into the studio, her light went out — but her legend only burned brighter. Bad Wolves went on to release their version as a tribute, donating proceeds to her family. The song became both a eulogy and a celebration — proof that the spirit of Dolores can’t be silenced.

For so many of us, The Cranberries were the soundtrack to coming of age. Songs like Linger, Dreams, and Ode to My Family didn’t just define an era — they defined emotion itself. Her lyrics were poetry for the misunderstood, a reminder that pain can be beautiful, and that rebellion doesn’t always need distortion pedals — sometimes, it’s carried by the voice of one brave soul daring to sing anyway.

Dolores didn’t just sing for Ireland. She sang for everyone who ever felt unseen, unheard, or undone by the world around them. And in doing so, she became one of us — one of the true spirits of Gen-X.

Even now, years later, her voice still echoes — through speakers, through memories, through every young artist chasing authenticity in a world that trades it for algorithms. Dolores taught us that art doesn’t have to be perfect — it just has to be real.

Rest easy, Dolores.

The world still hears you.

Crusty Demons of Dirt: When Gen-X Took Flight and Never Looked Back

By Ian Primmer

Before GoPros, before energy-drink deals, before social-media stunts and clickbait “fails,” there were the Crusty Demons of Dirt — a band of maniacs who didn’t just ride; they launched. If you grew up Gen-X, you remember it. Those grainy VHS tapes passed around like underground contraband, covered in dust, duct tape, and fire. Each one was a mixtape of speed, punk rock, blood, and glory. The Crusty Demons weren’t just motocross riders. They were a movement — a cultural combustion engine that redefined what “extreme” meant. They didn’t have sponsors, hashtags, or choreographers. They had balls, dirt, and soundtrack albums loud enough to rattle the gods of safety.

Born from Chaos

The Crusty saga started in the mid-’90s, when Jon Freeman and Dana Nicholson of Freeride Entertainment decided to film what motocross really looked like — not the sanitized, family-friendly ESPN clips, but the wild-eyed desert rides and bone-snapping wipeouts that no one else would touch. They strapped cameras to bikes, hung out of helicopters, and cranked Pennywise and Metallica until the footage felt alive. It wasn’t just a video. It was a sermon for the reckless. Every crash, every burn, every impossible jump became a statement: We’re not here to survive. We’re here to live. The first Crusty Demons of Dirt dropped in 1995 and detonated across skate shops, video stores, and garages everywhere. Within months, it was a cult. Within a year, it was a religion.

The Soundtrack of Adrenaline

You can’t talk about Crusty without talking about the sound. The music was the gasoline. The Offspring. Sublime. Metallica. NOFX. It wasn’t background noise — it was the manifesto. Crusty didn’t just showcase motocross — it fused two worlds that were never supposed to meet: punk-rock attitude and high-octane adrenaline. That combination shaped everything from Freestyle Motocross (FMX) to the look of early action-sports video games. The fast cuts, the soundtracks, the chaos — all of it traces back to Crusty.

The Church of Adrenaline

To the fans, Crusty was proof that we didn’t need permission. We didn’t need perfect hair, million-dollar gear, or safe contracts.
We needed a bike, a buddy, a ramp, and some guts. The Crusty riders — names like Seth Enslow, Carey Hart, and Mike Metzger — were the new rock stars. Covered in dirt, blood, and duct tape, they were the anti-MTV heroes. They weren’t chasing medals. They were chasing moments. Moments where gravity bowed out and instinct took over.

Legacy in the Dust

Nearly thirty years later, Crusty Demons still tour the world with live stunt shows, keeping that renegade DNA alive. You can find them on streaming services now, but nothing compares to holding one of those old tapes in your hands — stickers peeling, label smudged, rewound a hundred times. For a generation raised on DIY rebellion, Crusty Demons was more than dirt and danger — it was philosophy. It said: “We don’t fear the fall, because falling means we flew.” And maybe that’s why it still matters.
Because the world polished the edges off everything else, but Crusty stayed raw.

💥 The CommonX Take

Crusty Demons of Dirt wasn’t a film series — it was a time capsule. A reminder that Gen-X didn’t need filters or validation. We had throttle, distortion, and attitude. They built something from nothing — just like the garage bands, backyard skateboarders, and late-night dreamers that defined our era. And in that sense, Crusty Demons wasn’t just about motocross…
It was about life without training wheels.

Built From the Ground Up: Why Summit Racing Still Defines the Spirit of the Garage

There’s a sound every Gen-Xer remembers — the deep, metallic symphony of wrenches hitting concrete, the slow hum of a shop light flickering to life, and a record spinning somewhere in the background while an engine idles between rebuilds. Before “add to cart” was a thing, there was a catalog. And before algorithms told you what you needed, there was Summit Racing — the original source of horsepower, dreams, and busted knuckles.

In those days, your garage wasn’t a side project. It was your sanctuary. You didn’t wait for motivation. You waited for the weekend.

The Gen-X Blueprint: Build It Yourself, Break It Again, Build It Better

Our generation didn’t grow up in a world of tutorials and influencer builds. We learned by trial, error, and torque. If something broke, you fixed it — because you had to. If the part didn’t fit, you made it fit. And Summit Racing was there for every late-night brainstorm, every half-finished beer, every moment you realized “Hell yeah, this is gonna work.”

For a lot of us, flipping through that thick Summit catalog was like scrolling through the future. Every page felt like an invitation to try something you weren’t supposed to — a bigger carb, a crazier cam, a louder exhaust. It was rebellion printed in glossy color.

🔥 Summit Racing – Gear Up and Build Yours

Still Running Strong

Fast-forward to now, and Summit Racing hasn’t slowed down — it’s evolved right alongside the generation that made it famous. From carbureted Chevelles to turbocharged Teslas, the gearheads of Gen-X never stopped building. We just started building different.

That same garage culture? Still alive. Still loud. Still covered in grease and glory. And while the world’s moved to subscription boxes and disposable everything, Summit Racing remains a haven for people who still believe in fixing over replacing. You can feel it every time you order a part — that mix of anticipation, pride, and a little nostalgia for the smell of motor oil and gasoline.

⚙️ Check out Summit’s latest performance upgrades

The CommonX Parallel

That’s why this story hits home for us at CommonX. We’ve always been about the same thing — building something real with your own hands. Whether it’s a podcast, a brand, or a machine, there’s no shortcut worth taking.

Just like Summit Racing, we came up from garages, basements, and backyards. No investors, no filters, no “growth hacks.” Just heart and hustle. Even now, you can feel the spirit of that culture in everything we do — whether it’s the topics we cover, the people we bring on, or the partners we align with.

Richard Karn and the Home Improvement Generation

When we think of Richard Karn, we think of that same vibe — tools, laughter, life lessons. He represents a generation that didn’t just “have tools,” but knew how to use them. That was the golden age of garage life. Every dad, uncle, and friend had a project car or a busted lawnmower that needed fixing. The garage was our classroom, and Summit Racing was the textbook.

It wasn’t about money or showing off. It was about pride — the pride of hearing something roar back to life because you made it happen.

🔩 Summit Racing: Parts. Pride. Performance.

The Rebellion Never Idles

Today, most people scroll, tap, or stream their way through projects. But the Gen-X mindset? It’s still out there, alive in garages, workshops, and driveways across America. It’s alive in every man or woman who says, “Yeah, I’ll fix it myself.” We don’t wait for someone to show us how — we figure it out.

That’s the Summit Racing way. That’s the CommonX way. And that’s what separates the doers from the dreamers.

Full Circle

So here we are, a few decades later — still chasing that same sound of an engine finding its rhythm. Still turning wrenches to shake off the noise of a world that forgot what real work feels like. Still holding on to something pure — something mechanical, something human. Because for Gen-X, this was never just about cars. It was about building something that runs.

So if you’ve got that itch — the one that hits around sunset when the day slows down — don’t ignore it. Open the garage door. Throw on some music. And let Summit Racing take care of the rest.

🏁 Start Building with Summit Racing Equipment

Because the dream never idles.