Thursday, May 20, 2004
Men Reading Fashion Magazines
I think I’m suffering from newness fatigue, or possibly novelty entropy. I remember Ned Raggett talking about such a similar feeling last year, and I don’t believe it’s abated for him yet. Mind you, Ned is a few years older than I am.
Maybe it’s the heat (man, the sunset out of this window right now is incredible, pebble-dashed clouds turning copper-umber-red) but I can’t be arsed looking for ‘new’ things right now. Maybe it’s also the fact that a load of old favourites are on the cusp of releasing new material (that does not include you, Steven Patrick Morrissey) and that’s enough to deal with at the moment. I think I’ve always had something of the curmudgeon about me anyway; I’m far too happy at the moment to go walking along the coast with my iPod and listen to Orbital or Forever Changes or Bark Psychosis (be it new material or old from either BP or Orbital), and spending valuable sun/enjoyment time ‘dealing with’ new records by new artists seems like a waste. Like… I got hold of the new Bees album the other day, and I’m only just listening to it now, and what’s more I’m listening to it because I’m writing about newness fatigue, and a; I can’t be arsed to pay them much mind and b; I’m actually quite fucking pissed off that they’ve now turned into The Rolling Who as recorded in a dustbin by a man with a Hammond organ. What’s with all these scratchy guitar solos? Is this NME’s New Wave Of Old Psychedelia? What happened to the blissful reggae lilt, the Portuguese folk songs, the summery jazz interludes? Sure Free The Bees is more like Royal Trux’s school of retro (if they were into dope and Pimms rather than smack and bourbon) than, say, Ocean Colour Scene’s. Likewise Louden Up Now which I like and will even rush out and buy a real copy of – I have bugger-all desire to deal with it now. On the flipside that M.I.A. single is fucking top and big hugs go to Alex and Jess for mentioning it on ILM. (hahaha, if Jess reads this he will curse and kick himself and inwardly bemoan my backwards country beach bumpkin status!)
(The Bees – “Chicken Payback” and “The Russian” are cool and weird [thank heaven] and “I Love You” sounds like The Clientele.)
Maybe it’s something to do with writing about music. Or, more specifically, with reviewing the fucking stuff. This thread on ILM was interesting reading, but skirted around the issue without ever fucking hell this Bees record is so 60s it hurts really nailing it. I don’t get (properly) paid for writing about music, I work a full-time job as well, I play football twice a week (and god don’t my joints and muscles know it tonight – two days in a row, tonight in sweltering heat, oh my achy breaky cart[ilage]), I have a girlfriend, I like to go walking, I like to watch films – there’s not much time left for synthesising and regurgitating thoughts about new records. I could write about old ones that I know and/or love all day, almost. But if I’m gonna write about something new right now I feel like I need a LOOOOOONG time to get to know it before I can even start, and to do that means investing effort and I can’t be arsed unless I know it’s gonna pay off; i.e. I’m gonna really enjoy and/or get something interesting out of the record.
Of course, this could all be subject to change tomorrow.
Ah the stench…
It’s difficult to believe that it was only ten days ago that I made the deluge post down there yes Nic Offer’s lyrics are fucking shite but YOU CAN’T HEAR THEM so like who cares anyway, Batman because the weather since then has been outrageously sunny and hot, especially for May. My birthday last Saturday was gorgeous – we ate raspberries and cheesecake on a hillside, and a deer watched me take a pee behind a bush. Exeter in the summer is amazing, and not just because of the proliferation of white linen skirts and dark thongs; the wall, the parks, the cathedral and the university campus are all beautiful. The surrounding area beats it hands down though – the bike ride from Dawlish to Exeter via the canal is wonderful; the canal acts like some kind of heat basin and sunlight mirror, meaning that on a hot day it’s almost unbearable, even for someone like me, who laughs in the face of people who clamour to get in out of the sun and crave cool breezes. However…
For three weeks every summer the place where we play football on a Tuesday (Wednesday now) is closed, and we reconvene to the football pitches at Marsh Barton. Which are next to the incinerator. On hot days… the… stench of burning, rotting, boiling chicken fat and rat bones and human shit and godknowswhatthefuckelse they choose to burn in there because itsnotfittobeburriedorevenfuckingblastedintoouterspace is… unbearable. I’ve had to stop playing to retch into the river before, and at the height of summer this evil, noxious, putriddeadanimalfat stench crawls its way along the river and then upwards, across Topsham road and towards the city centre. It is, in a word, foul.
Also, last night when driving back from football, ther’d been an accident outside the college where we play, and an old (Mark II?) Ford Escort was on its roof, the front windscreen and most of the top of it caved in nastily. There were absorbent mats on the road. I didn’t like to look. Plus I saw another dead badger a couple of miles outside of Teignmouth.
5/20/2004 10:18:00 pm