miserable days don't exist, but comedic observations do
Since my knowledge of music is so limited, but music has played such a pivotal role in my life, I've been thinking about it again. This is a fairly common refrain, a silly little cultural discussion that always fills my minds. If I were to update that history --the musical history of my life -- then, as mentioned recently, there are 3 contenders for influential musicians of 2012 at this point (I know, shouldn't year end stuff wait until December, or even January of the following year or...later?), the 3 artists are Talking Heads, of Montreal, and Lou Reed. I'm not sure how much these artists overlap, but there do seem to be some similiarities, at least to me.
Though I can still correctly say that I've yet to hear an of Montreal song that didn't wow my socks off, their presence isn't as felt. This may explain the chronological issues going on here. Thanks to the internet, of course, I have heard more of Montreal. There are other newer artists I dabble in from time to time, but because of my own laziness, my own limitations, fiscal irresponsibility, I don't readily have access to them. Yes, I have a smart phone, but it has a miserable battery life and I try not to listen to much music on it anyways, because it would be watching youtube videos. I'm still not entirely a youtube user. Most of the videos I watch online arn't educational, or even television; most videos are adult content.
During my teen years, when I made a conscious effort to reach out culturally, to find and create idioms and patterns that I could look back on and reflect upon nostalgically, Talking Heads and Lou Reed played a small part of that. By small part, I mean that I own 2 Velvet Underground cds as well as Reed's Transformers. Though I have proof of being aware of Talking Heads otherwise, I only own Talking Heads: 77 based on "Psycho Killer" alone. To further add how much this has been the year of Talking Heads, I could not only give them band of the year, but "Psycho Killer" as song of the year. As karaoke is a vital part of my life, and the likelihood of of Montreal being on any karaoke lists, especially in Modesto, makes them even more of an unlikely band. But I love them nonetheless.
I'm not sure why I never purchased another Talking Heads album. The song "Road to Nowhere" was probably one of my favourites of theirs; though it's not my favourite, "Burning Down the House" is another song I apparently liked well enough to put on the same mixed cd as "Road to Nowhere." It's a cd I made in 2003, for my own personal musings (not for anyone else), and I can't find the cd --but I found a copy of the playlist. In a weird technological backwardness, I converted (most) of the CD to a cassette --because my first car had a cassette player, not a CD player. I had quite the collection of cassettes, some of which I inherited from my sister. I know I had the Hedwig Soundtrack, and some other really good mixed stuff, containing Radiohead, Hole, Dandy Warhols, you know, 90s stuff because my sister was a 90s kind of kid.
Lou Reed also has some special significance. I had forgotten that he had led me to Ornette Coleman. Apparently, even though Transformers talks about a lot of it, I had no real idea who he was. In fact, the 2005 movie The Squid and the Whale features his song "Street Hassle" and it wasn't until I heard it 2 days ago that my brain made the connection --Lou Reed and Squid and the Whale! WHOA. Also, though most people know and think of "Walk on the Wild Side" (which is why I bought Transformers), the song that really haunts me is "Perfect Day." A friend near and dear to me, one of really only 2 people I've slept with and kept any sort of meaningful post-coital relationship (i.e. we're friends and still talk together) had a moment (or two) where we listened to this song and felt its power. Interestingly enough, this same friend HATES Talking Heads. He disagrees with Talking Heads being labeled as funky, is not impressed by their style, and can't stand David Byrne's voice. The fact that the friend is a he also plays well into the Lou Reed and non-heterosexuality. Briefly, it is a peculiar observation that gay men make me want to talk about vaginas; straight men make me want to talk about penises; and women make me shy and awkward, because I hate my body. I just don't find fulfillment or contentment from any of it.
I did come to Lou Reed through Velvet Underground. I bought the famous first album probably as a junior or senior, but I honestly liked Loaded more at the time. I thought I had lost my copy of Loaded, but found it. There were many cds over the years I've misplaced only to find again. On another tangent, one I cannot find my copy of but which I have on vinyl is Bark by Jefferson Airplane.
There is more that can be said about all of this, but I still haven't even gotten to the comedic observation this entry alluded to in the title:
I have valued many musicians, individually, over the years. They include, of course, John Lennon, Roger Waters, Roy Orbison, Neil Young (gag, and the gag merits another entry), Bob Dylan, etc. But none of these really got under my skin, except, looking back, Mr. Lennon.
None of those, of course, are the big ones. Those whose sonic awesomeness changed my life. Most interestingly, one of them doesn't even play an instrument, so the bit about sonic awesomeness really is poetic awesomeness. The big 3 (which shouldn't shock): Morrissey; Carrie Brownstein; David Byrne.
Morrissey was such a central figure in helping in a difficult time. I took his songs too literally, too seriously. Retrospectively, there is such humour that though I knew it at that time, I didn't feel it. Fittingly enough, the first song of The Smiths I ever consciously heard was "I Know It's Over" on (yes, I know the date) on 30 March 2003. On an eeire note, I just realised that 30 March (2011) was the day I went to my first AA meeting. I've been obsessing with the calendar lately. There's another entry that can be written on that!
Morrissey's repressed sexuality, the vegetarianism, the sheer Britishness and literary pretensions have all filtered their way through me at some point.
Carrie Brownstein. I don't really remember the first time I thought of her, when I thought of Sleater-Kinney. For the longest time, Sleater-Kinney, to me, meant Corin Tucker --mostly because their first song I remember hearing was "Dig Me Out" on the album of the same name. Those shrieks are pure Corin. Other important songs were "I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone" and "All Hands on the Bad One" both which feature Carrie, with the second song being more Carrie, I would say. I recall the hype of One Beat (2002), but I didn't plunk down any money for it until 2005, in the wake of The Woods and their concert --the concert that rocked my socks off. I had purchased the album between its release date and the concert, but hadn't really made the songs mine yet. It seemed an odd record, sonically orgasmic but...so much more Carrie. And I wanted more of that. Of the 3 times I've seen Carrie perform, twice I was lucky enough to be right there, beneath her. Both times it was like "do I be the weirdo that tries to grope a celebrity he is obsessed with and get thrown out of the concert?" Their break-up in 2006 devastated me (and changed my musical paths).
Sleater-Kinney was definitely my band of the year for 2005. They are forever part of that time, that moment of change and flux. I had finished my first year in college; gotten my first jobs; had a serious relationship; had a falling out with the guy that was my best friend, and the relationship has never even been normal since; reconnected with the John Muir gang. In 2006, with Sleater-Kinney's break-up, and trio influences, Neil Young slipped in. I appreciate my knowledge of him, but he never felt right. As music tends to, there are strong associations with Neil. He sort of dominated things from 06-09, which truly was a dark and blistering time. He definitely was artist of the year for 2009, with the album being Rust Never Sleeps. I wanted to burn out, fade away, do anything but live, and isn't it fitting that Kurt Cobain had alluded similiar thoughts in his suicide note?
But life, real life, positive life, the "Romance" of life, if you will, came back in 2011. I don't think 2010 had any dominant sounds, in any way. Maybe Edward Sharpe and the Magentic Zeroes, which if that was the case would make "Home" the song of that year. But Lady Gaga was also big, at least in my social circles. I was trying to branch out, and I know MGMT was thrown in the mix, too.
2011 was a year of monumental change, and Wild Flag embodies that so much. I've been such an obsessive fanboy about it. I want another album. Badly. I want to know if it was a fleeting one album moment, if they will endure, if Sleater-Kinney will rise again, or if Carrie would go solo.
And, of course, David Byrne and Talking Heads in 2012. The Smiths were certainly artist of the year in 2003, and Morrissey was artist of the year in 2004 (beating out Sun Ra and Olivia Tremor Control, amongst others).
If you read this far, you'll get what the "comedic observation" was, or really, what all this backstory was building up to:
if you combine Morrissey, Carrie Brownstein, and David Byrne, what do you get?
A sexually repressed bisexual vegeterian feminist who is enthusiastic about bicycling, live music, hating Margaret Thatcher, who is lyrically brilliant, and rather humorous?
Because if that is what you get, I'm almost all of that. All I'm missing is the bicycling. Where and how do I learn how to ride a bicycle? Who can help me?
Though I can still correctly say that I've yet to hear an of Montreal song that didn't wow my socks off, their presence isn't as felt. This may explain the chronological issues going on here. Thanks to the internet, of course, I have heard more of Montreal. There are other newer artists I dabble in from time to time, but because of my own laziness, my own limitations, fiscal irresponsibility, I don't readily have access to them. Yes, I have a smart phone, but it has a miserable battery life and I try not to listen to much music on it anyways, because it would be watching youtube videos. I'm still not entirely a youtube user. Most of the videos I watch online arn't educational, or even television; most videos are adult content.
During my teen years, when I made a conscious effort to reach out culturally, to find and create idioms and patterns that I could look back on and reflect upon nostalgically, Talking Heads and Lou Reed played a small part of that. By small part, I mean that I own 2 Velvet Underground cds as well as Reed's Transformers. Though I have proof of being aware of Talking Heads otherwise, I only own Talking Heads: 77 based on "Psycho Killer" alone. To further add how much this has been the year of Talking Heads, I could not only give them band of the year, but "Psycho Killer" as song of the year. As karaoke is a vital part of my life, and the likelihood of of Montreal being on any karaoke lists, especially in Modesto, makes them even more of an unlikely band. But I love them nonetheless.
I'm not sure why I never purchased another Talking Heads album. The song "Road to Nowhere" was probably one of my favourites of theirs; though it's not my favourite, "Burning Down the House" is another song I apparently liked well enough to put on the same mixed cd as "Road to Nowhere." It's a cd I made in 2003, for my own personal musings (not for anyone else), and I can't find the cd --but I found a copy of the playlist. In a weird technological backwardness, I converted (most) of the CD to a cassette --because my first car had a cassette player, not a CD player. I had quite the collection of cassettes, some of which I inherited from my sister. I know I had the Hedwig Soundtrack, and some other really good mixed stuff, containing Radiohead, Hole, Dandy Warhols, you know, 90s stuff because my sister was a 90s kind of kid.
Lou Reed also has some special significance. I had forgotten that he had led me to Ornette Coleman. Apparently, even though Transformers talks about a lot of it, I had no real idea who he was. In fact, the 2005 movie The Squid and the Whale features his song "Street Hassle" and it wasn't until I heard it 2 days ago that my brain made the connection --Lou Reed and Squid and the Whale! WHOA. Also, though most people know and think of "Walk on the Wild Side" (which is why I bought Transformers), the song that really haunts me is "Perfect Day." A friend near and dear to me, one of really only 2 people I've slept with and kept any sort of meaningful post-coital relationship (i.e. we're friends and still talk together) had a moment (or two) where we listened to this song and felt its power. Interestingly enough, this same friend HATES Talking Heads. He disagrees with Talking Heads being labeled as funky, is not impressed by their style, and can't stand David Byrne's voice. The fact that the friend is a he also plays well into the Lou Reed and non-heterosexuality. Briefly, it is a peculiar observation that gay men make me want to talk about vaginas; straight men make me want to talk about penises; and women make me shy and awkward, because I hate my body. I just don't find fulfillment or contentment from any of it.
I did come to Lou Reed through Velvet Underground. I bought the famous first album probably as a junior or senior, but I honestly liked Loaded more at the time. I thought I had lost my copy of Loaded, but found it. There were many cds over the years I've misplaced only to find again. On another tangent, one I cannot find my copy of but which I have on vinyl is Bark by Jefferson Airplane.
There is more that can be said about all of this, but I still haven't even gotten to the comedic observation this entry alluded to in the title:
I have valued many musicians, individually, over the years. They include, of course, John Lennon, Roger Waters, Roy Orbison, Neil Young (gag, and the gag merits another entry), Bob Dylan, etc. But none of these really got under my skin, except, looking back, Mr. Lennon.
None of those, of course, are the big ones. Those whose sonic awesomeness changed my life. Most interestingly, one of them doesn't even play an instrument, so the bit about sonic awesomeness really is poetic awesomeness. The big 3 (which shouldn't shock): Morrissey; Carrie Brownstein; David Byrne.
Morrissey was such a central figure in helping in a difficult time. I took his songs too literally, too seriously. Retrospectively, there is such humour that though I knew it at that time, I didn't feel it. Fittingly enough, the first song of The Smiths I ever consciously heard was "I Know It's Over" on (yes, I know the date) on 30 March 2003. On an eeire note, I just realised that 30 March (2011) was the day I went to my first AA meeting. I've been obsessing with the calendar lately. There's another entry that can be written on that!
Morrissey's repressed sexuality, the vegetarianism, the sheer Britishness and literary pretensions have all filtered their way through me at some point.
Carrie Brownstein. I don't really remember the first time I thought of her, when I thought of Sleater-Kinney. For the longest time, Sleater-Kinney, to me, meant Corin Tucker --mostly because their first song I remember hearing was "Dig Me Out" on the album of the same name. Those shrieks are pure Corin. Other important songs were "I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone" and "All Hands on the Bad One" both which feature Carrie, with the second song being more Carrie, I would say. I recall the hype of One Beat (2002), but I didn't plunk down any money for it until 2005, in the wake of The Woods and their concert --the concert that rocked my socks off. I had purchased the album between its release date and the concert, but hadn't really made the songs mine yet. It seemed an odd record, sonically orgasmic but...so much more Carrie. And I wanted more of that. Of the 3 times I've seen Carrie perform, twice I was lucky enough to be right there, beneath her. Both times it was like "do I be the weirdo that tries to grope a celebrity he is obsessed with and get thrown out of the concert?" Their break-up in 2006 devastated me (and changed my musical paths).
Sleater-Kinney was definitely my band of the year for 2005. They are forever part of that time, that moment of change and flux. I had finished my first year in college; gotten my first jobs; had a serious relationship; had a falling out with the guy that was my best friend, and the relationship has never even been normal since; reconnected with the John Muir gang. In 2006, with Sleater-Kinney's break-up, and trio influences, Neil Young slipped in. I appreciate my knowledge of him, but he never felt right. As music tends to, there are strong associations with Neil. He sort of dominated things from 06-09, which truly was a dark and blistering time. He definitely was artist of the year for 2009, with the album being Rust Never Sleeps. I wanted to burn out, fade away, do anything but live, and isn't it fitting that Kurt Cobain had alluded similiar thoughts in his suicide note?
But life, real life, positive life, the "Romance" of life, if you will, came back in 2011. I don't think 2010 had any dominant sounds, in any way. Maybe Edward Sharpe and the Magentic Zeroes, which if that was the case would make "Home" the song of that year. But Lady Gaga was also big, at least in my social circles. I was trying to branch out, and I know MGMT was thrown in the mix, too.
2011 was a year of monumental change, and Wild Flag embodies that so much. I've been such an obsessive fanboy about it. I want another album. Badly. I want to know if it was a fleeting one album moment, if they will endure, if Sleater-Kinney will rise again, or if Carrie would go solo.
And, of course, David Byrne and Talking Heads in 2012. The Smiths were certainly artist of the year in 2003, and Morrissey was artist of the year in 2004 (beating out Sun Ra and Olivia Tremor Control, amongst others).
If you read this far, you'll get what the "comedic observation" was, or really, what all this backstory was building up to:
if you combine Morrissey, Carrie Brownstein, and David Byrne, what do you get?
A sexually repressed bisexual vegeterian feminist who is enthusiastic about bicycling, live music, hating Margaret Thatcher, who is lyrically brilliant, and rather humorous?
Because if that is what you get, I'm almost all of that. All I'm missing is the bicycling. Where and how do I learn how to ride a bicycle? Who can help me?