@uspic¡ous Fish¿!
Delirious With Weird

 
Wednesday, August 06, 2003  
Draught...
My five-week goal draught ended last night with a simple tap-in from close range. Hardly spectacular or even notable (considering this is a 'friendly' kickabout rather than a league of any kind), but it is good for my footballing confidence. I thought I'd lost it there for a while since I knackered my hand. On the flipside I am however limping as my right hip has seized up.

Hipsterism...

I hate hipsters. I mean really fucking hate them. The only consolation is that they hate themselves more than I hate them. This whole kerfuffle with the new PFM column has cemented the reasons for my hate, the small-mindedness, the blinkered dismissal of other, the canonisation of the artist over the art itself, the obsession with ranks and lists and etiquette, the unwavering belief that they have somehow stumbled across "the truth", the path, the finishing line, the universal order, when there is no such thing. It twists my stomach and makes my temples clench. The snarling how can you like that, it's shit?, the condescension, the barely concealed disdain. Where does this come from? A projection of deep-seated self-loathing? Possibly. A desperate grasping at some kind of concrete fulcrum upon which to found the basis of one's identity in post-religious, post-social/cultural-stability times? You are not your record collection. And even if you were it would make you a small minded, precious little shit. But you're that already.

It's the fascistic denial of the potential for other people to find joy in anything you yourself cannot (will not?) see as having the possibility of joy within it that disturbs me most. 'Friends' of mine telling me "you can't listen to techno, it's shit" when I was 16, "you can't like dance music, it's shit", "you can't have fun, it's shit..." Well fuck you. I am not about definitions and rules and linear routes. I want to be able to experience and understand everything that I see as worthwhile, whatever it is, wherever it comes from. This adhesion to some kind of indie meta-narrative and prizing of authenticity, belief in the romantic idea of artist as genius, obsession with cliques and movements and 'scenes'. Argh.

Apologies for the complete lack of form and coherence here. This really is just bile-spilling time.

There is no meta-narrative. There is no guidebook, there are no rules. How stupid is it to want one anyway? To have someone else make your decisions for you? Plugging in to the indie heirarchy isn't about discovering universal truth, a system for making essential qualitative judgements; it's about letting someone else make your decisions for you, about giving up your own existential control. Which is inauthentic. Hence, for what it's worth, Justin Timberlake is more authentic than, fuck, The Black Keys, say, or the fucking Field Mice, because hell, Justin's producers might have a lot of influence over his music, he might swoop across the audience at gigs on a guide-wire, but he knows what the fuck he is doing. Whereas these other little fuckers are pissing in the wind, running uphill towards nowhere, hands on their crotches, ideas holding their trousers up, fool fool fool fool fool. Ah, shit. You can't achieve authenticity by proxy simply by thinking you know what someone else is doing. Bitch you.

I am these people's demographic anyway, more to the point. 24, spend a LOT of money on music (send me free stuff, people), tastes that are predominantly left-of-mainstream. But I hate it. So much. Fucking fake, illusiory, no integrity, no joy, no generosity, shit shit shit shit. Chris Ott reviews !!! and what he should have done (what he did) was write out his fucking CV and then bitch "see? i am ALLOWED to say i like this grudgingly!" Wipe your arse with your credentials and authenticy and realness and realise that you have no humanity.

Why don't I ever just sit down and take a few hours to sort this shit out in ym head first, make some notes, formalise it, make me sound like less of a fucking angry young man?

I'm off to watch the ducks and listen to Mouse On Mars.

8/06/2003 11:59:00 am

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home


 



¿L¡nks¡

Stylus Grooves Measure ILX SFJ James in Italy James in Japan Freaky Trigger Marcello Happy and Lost Oli Office Dom Passantino Assistant Colin Cooper Geeta Dave Queen Jess Harvell Gareth Silver Dollar Woebotnik Septum Flux Not Today, Thank You Gutterbreakz De Young Nate Patrin Matos Andy K Haiku War Against Silence I Feel Love Rob K-Punk Nto Vlao Laputa Woebot Tim Finney Ben Robin Carmody TMFTML AK13 B Boy Blues Cha Cha Cha Clem Ian Mathers Meta Critic Blissblog Luka Freelance Mentalists Some Disco DJ Martian Pink Moose Leon Nayfakh Crumbling Loaf Enthusiastic But Mediocre iSpod Auspiciousfish news feed Nickipedia



AusPishFish Arch¡ves
<< current

Nothing Here Is True

Powered by Blogger Site Meter


Nick Southall is Contributing Editor at Stylus Magazine and occasionally writes for various other places on and offline. You can contact him by emailing auspiciousfishNO@SPAMgmail.com


All material © Nick Southall, 2003/2004/2005