Posts from 22nd July 2001

22
Jul 01

TEN YEARS AFTER – 1991 Into 2001

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No, not Nirvana. I could talk about it, but you know, no. In the cold light of history “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is a dividing line for better or for worse, though NWA’s chart-topping feat with Efil4Ziggan or Dr. Dre’s smash success with The Chronic the following year is as much as an indicator, if not more so. Look at the bands of the now, and everything seems perfectly distilled from the implications of all three of those events — hip-hop’s own continuing reach, the explosions of anger=intensity=perceived depth via rough-voiced rage and disaffection and the ultimate combinations of the two that produce bands like Limp Bizkit or Linkin Park.

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ARE YOU GOING? – Simon and Garfunkel and memory

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“And you read your Emily Dickinson/and I my Robert Frost”
— “The Dangling Conversation”, Simon and Garfunkel

The LP Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme came out in 1968: my father bought it for my mother that Christmas, and it was played a lot in our house over the next months and years. They had many records, but not much pop: aside from Beatles, S&G was as out as it got. They were in their early 30s, felt somewhat of the age, but mostly somewhat older, caught already in the rhythm of work and kids. Too late to be freaking out, anyway.

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Darkness In Light

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Tool’s Lateralus and Willful Withdrawal in a New Summer of Love

It is, of course, a brilliant time to be alive. Sure, there’s another idiotic president raising international tensions in hamhanded ways, but this one lacks ol’ Ron’s gift of the gab and is currently finding new ways to screw up and be compromised and attacked by both left and right, so I’m not too worried quite yet. And while part of me is convinced that somewhere somehow right now the past products of American foreign policy are about to result in something horrific, that’s something most people who have put their mind to it have expected for years anyway. So relax and enjoy the music.

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Summertime Rocks And Rolls

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Concerts in the American Sun

Late last night I went to the rock show. Or so was what I was hoping the other day, but I ended up being unable to float along, and thus alas had to miss the Frogs, a severe pity but not life threatening. However, that would have been your usual gig-in-a-club deal, where the drinks were overpriced and where the clink of pool balls would likely have drowned out the quieter moments. I would not be surrounded by about 20,000 of my closest unfriends or rather nonfriends slathering on the sunblock and experiencing that unusual frisson of feedback blowouts combined with fresh breezes and the desperate hope that the speaker stacks would provide enough shadow to mosh in peace with. And yet for all that such a description sounds horrible, I’ve been there more than once and don’t really mind — too much.

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