Wednesday, March 22, 2006

which sore your eyes

Being Southbound, I decided I ought to buy some Faulkner. Reading it will be another matter, but for now there's a copy of Light in August, whose protagonist - Joe Christmas - shares a name with a stray compilation band of my youth.

What I've been doing is listening to The The's Dusk on cassette. The car I'm borrowing has no CD player; you wouldn't believe how much Libertarian doctrine I've been absorbing from Radio Free Austin. I'm typing with one hand, scraping the fluoride from my armskin with the other.

See Blondie's Frank Infante whoring himself out on the dais? That briefest of kisses from Debbie, a concession designed to shut his lungs. It was a downer, no doubt, but take comfort! They will both be dead in ten years.

Dusk. Sorry... like, Dusk is an Old Pantheon choice for me, even after I read me some Baudelaire and bought a Serge Gainsbourg record. Serge can coo low, but Matt Johnson can feel you up and convince you he hates himself for it. I bought this thing at a Half Price Books years ago based on the cover art and dollar tag; blah blah blah sparse rock record with a basement view. I'm a fool for those "sum-up" songs, the ones that try to sketch a bound for everyone in 20 similarly-structured lines. Pink Floyd's "Eclipse," Hope For Agoldensummer*'s "Laying Down the Gun," the Adverts' "Cast of Thousands". "Lonely Planet" (you have to ignore some of thee titles) is exactly what dips me: self-doubt. Fuck, I love self-doubt. "All the people I have loved/All the people I have lost/All the people I have known/All the feelings I've never shown" - I better stop, because it gets more banal, and it is precisely not so once heard. Johnny Marr welds steel braces on the track. A synth like a collar to an alley wind. Muscular, prowling, faultless. I know we're at the point of the cycle where cheerful jabberwocky and determined raunch carry the day, but when the wave crests, it will bring the dogs of lust. Also, listeners on iTunes are most likely to have also bought In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, high praise if there ever was.

Oh, and I bought four - four! - Popol Vuh records and four more - four more! - Rahsaan Roland Kirk albums. And Glenn Branca's Lesson No. 1 (less fascist than Ascension, as the fossor might say). I'm really working on that period from 1968-1982, guys.

*possibly the only band that will ship lye soap?


Blogger Ian said...

Having heard (and so far, been slightly underwhelmed by) The Ascension, I'm curious to hear a "less fascist" version.

Thursday, March 23, 2006 10:02:00 AM  

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