Halloween is the closest thing i have to a religious holiday.
It’s all the Olson Twins’ fault. I wound up listening to Sebadoh’s Bakesale yesterday afternoon. It’s an album that i cannot write anything about in terms of music, because it’s more of mnemonic device of a certain time, which happened to be around cool, cloudless autumn days like these… pain pills and nausea included. I’m not really in that Sebadoh vibe right now, and doubt if i ever will be again, but it’s little creepy on how important an album it was for me. While i believe thast i had GbV Bee Thousand on vinyl first, it was a borrowed tape of Bakesale that i often listened to in the truck. I still enjoy the quirkiness of Bee Thousand, but Bakesale encapsulates that extremely delayed adolescent angst that cropped up in my twenties. Lou Barlow, you whining shithead… yeah, i’m a little delerious…
No, those are not pleasant memories. Let’s skip this….
It was exciting for all of five seconds to read the headline that the Strokes already have a tribute band, and i was hoping it would be fronted by Mary-Kate and Ashley, but instead it’s some lame Casio keyboard instrumentals.
I meant to addyesterday before the Neptunes and Timbaland could not rescue the Olsens that they get Ryan Adams to cowrite a song with them, and then duet with Elton John, but i accidentally deleted that part.
I listened to Brain Donor’s Love, Peace, & Fuck again, after bringing it up on ILM in reference to random fandom, and i just cannot get into endless (well, twenty minute) jams that deliberately ape the worst excesses of ’70s metal. I don’t know why the Krautrock instrumentals on Jehovahkill seemed fanstastic (and still do) and when i hear Neu! do that, am even more thrilled. It seems like a different chemical, and i don’t like the aftertaste.
I love this ILM thread, as i feel like a rebel for loving the Beatles.
I was going to make some stupid comment about how i actually prefer The Great Escape to Parklife on that contrary thread, but the truth was that i actually used to hate the song “Girls & Boys” just because it had that dancey, clubby synth vibe, and in the past year, i’ve been cured of that. I think conventional wisdom is that this is supposed to be Blur’s best album, and i’ve resisted that opinion for years. The spoken word of the title track still bugs me, as it’s not what bears my repeatedly listening, and the carnival keys of “Far Out” might work for Tom Waits, but with Blur remains merely annoying, and the vaguely exotica of the strings on “To the End” still doesn’t sit well. Nah, this is not working…
I gotta jump forward and then back up. The first Blur album that i bought is actually Blur, after the decline of Britpop, a genre that i knew nothing about. NME and Melody Maker were not sold anywhere here, and the only exposure that i had to either Blur or Oasis was through the first alt-rock station of the area, 106.1, which seemed to have a degree of freedom in its playlists for the time, with a DJ or two saying their names as if they were magic words, but the song would come on, and they made no impression on me whatsoever…”Aha, the new Ned’s Atomic Dustbin.” (a band that i remembered hyped for having two basses, which seemed pathetically pedestrian after i saw Primus in ’91. No, i never did get out much.) I wasn’t going to waste a second on that nonsense if i could get back to listening to my tapes of Tom Waits, Nick Cave, Pavement, and Julian Cope.
It’s actually Julian Cope’s fault that i got into Britpop at all, even if i was years late. Sort of. It just as much Pavement’s fault. I bought Blur because they had been hanging out with Pavement, and at the time, i was buying warped 45s to offshoots like the Silver Jews. It was okay, although i had friends who said that i ought to get their early stuff, as they had songs that sounded like Barrett Pink Floyd. I didn’t really believe that, as i had a dim memory of “She’s So High” and baggy left me cold. However, i’m a spendthrift and bought The Great Escape and What’s the Story Morning Glory? anyway. Instead of reflecting knowingly on Lad Culture or wondering about the great tabloid war, i thought, “Hey! This sounds an awful lot like 20 Mothers! They obviously dig Julian Cope.”
Ignorance and innocence can get you in such trouble. Anyway, i’ve stuck with Blur, and became annoyed with Oasis’ brash arrogance without a shred of proof to back up their boasts, which stopped being funny after only a few short weeks after i realized that i could read the NME online. (I don’t recall much coverage on Addicted to Noise, perhaps because i ignored it in favor of my fixation with lo-fi at the time.) The other stumbling block was that i preferred relative latecomers like Supergrass, Super Furry Animals, and Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci anyway, and given the choice, i’d listen to their albums nearly every time, letting the Fallen Britpop Giants gather dust where they lay.
The other thing that i’m listening to while searching for jobs online is the Magnetic Fields 69 Love Songs, trying to figure out why ILM seems to hate it now. My memory is foggy, but i swear that i read something with Freaky Trigger that helped convert me to it in the first place. No deep insight. I like the fact that i cannnot listen to the whole thing at any one time, but can let it play at random to have a different favorite song every time. I can understand the accusations of insincerity of Blur better than the Magnetic Fields, and even that never detracted me from Blur. If 69 Love Songs was distilled to a single album of the best songs, i’d probably be utterly indifferent to it, because the sensation of wandering through museum of stiff robots singing songs is amusing. Stephin Merritt and Ryan Adams ought to get together for a steel cage match.
Damn it. I took that Punk Test, and wound up, Punk Like Hank at 52%. He qualifiesd as a “smart punk?” I’m fucked.
Out of the original batch of pain pills and too cheap to go get the strong stuff prescribed Monday. Enough for today. I hate this, as i’m getting more hits (readers) than usual, and my consciousness feels crippled at the moment, leaving me to offer writing more muddled than usual.