Fancy a quick look behind the curtain? A glance into the magicians’ circle? A unobstructed look up the wizard’s sleeve?
“Who’s ready to PAAAAAAAAAARTAAAAAAAY?!?!”
I kind of wasn’t going to bother with the Lost Girls’ second album?? I mean, I bothered to an extent: I bought the album digitally the day it came out, because I’m the last person in the world just buying albums because I like to financially support artists I consider incredibly important but that I worry about their work being financially rewarding in late stage capitalism. It’s bullshit, I know, and Bandcamp is about to be stripped for parts, because it’s a gross company like all the other gross companies, but it makes me feel better. Oh, and artists like Olivia Rodrigo who are too big a deal to ever have a Bandcamp page? Yeah, I torrent that shit. We don’t have time to discuss all of this now, what I mean by not bothering is that I wasn’t going to bother putting it on the list this year.
Firstly, am I allowed to say the name of this Jeremy Nutzman project? I feel sweaty. Like, really sweaty.
Oh fuck! They were adopted by a strict evangelical Christian album when they were young as well?? How much of that upbringing has rubbed off on them? Do I really need to watch my P’s and Q’s? As in do I need to watch my Prostitution and Queerness? They really don’t like that shit, do they? Mind you, they later joined the group Marijuana Deathsquads so, I dunno, they probably know how to party?
The Soviets were completely convinced that “Able Archer” was the cover for a real nuclear strike. They believed that starting from this maneuver a strike aimed at decapitating the command, control and communication centers of the Soviet army, the state apparatus and the party apparatus would be carried out with the help of the new ultra-modern and precise tactical nuclear missiles, Pershing II and cruise missiles for which you had a warning time of only five to eight minutes. With these rockets, the criminal gang in the Pentagon hoped to decapitate the Soviet army, so that they — a quote that I myself have heard — “would run around the farmhouse like a chicken with its head cut off.”
I mean, yeah, sure, you had the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, and that was a whole thing, but honestly the Cold War kind of chilled out for a long time after that. The USA and USSR hardly kissed on the mouth afterwards, but they at least came to the conclusion that they should probably take actual nuclear war and guaranteed world destruction off the table for a while. There were still working people attempting to build some sort of Communism all over the world of course, and the USA trying to support the ruling classes to beat these people down – in Angola, Vietnam, Afghanistan, and to a lesser extent Bangladesh and Ethiopia – but the world’s two biggest swinging dicks at least agreed to maybe not spray both of their piss in every direction with such ferocity that it ended all human life. That would, they both agreed, really stink.
Then – whoop-de-fucking-doo – Thatcher and Reagan were elected in 1979 and 1980. They were both united in their shared belief that they were tired of this hippy bullshit. They also both agreed that having to consider workers rights and public welfare to make sure their populations didn’t look too longingly over to the Soviet Union was a lot of work. It also required a high tax rate for the rich. And they thought fuck that. What if, yeah – here me out, OK? – we just stopped caring for 90% of our own citizens, tell them that the real enemy is the ‘Evil Empire’ of the USSR, cut all taxes for rich people so the ruling class has reason to support us, and be done with nearly all public spending apart from shit loads of fucking rockets and shit that we’ll obviously need to protect ourselves against the ‘Evil Empire’? Cool? Cool.
Don’t pull your pants, before I go down Don’t turn away, this is my time Don’t make demands, I don’t take none Just say a prayer that it gon’ get done Don’t pull your pants before I go down Don’t turn away, this is my time Like a shotgun needs an outcome I’m your prostitute, you gon’ get some Like a shotgun needs an outcome I’m your prostitute, you gon’ get some
Hooooooooooooooooooooo mama! That’s some spicy meatballs! Is it hot in here? I know it’s not my central heating, as I haven’t been able to afford that for around two years now.
I still remember my reaction on first hearing the introductory single from Lykke Li’s second album. I had fallen in love with their debut record (#3 in 2008) and had a extremely memorable personal experience/sexual awakening while seeing her live that year. “Sexual awakening”? I dunno, but I vividly remember watching her interpret her agonisingly beautiful and perversely anthemic music through hip movements and overwhelming stage presence and thinking to myself “I would die for this person”. That thought came from deep in my soul. And also my penis. Not entirely my penis, you understand, I’m not a monster. But my penis was still on the board of directors of my soul. It was at least allowed to have a say.
[23.12.12 EDIT: Fuck! I’ve only just clocked that the album title starts with ‘(22)’ and it’s actually landed at #22! Come on, that’s proof of God’s existence, no?]
I recently discovered I want to be goth which is gonna make my next album really fun. Hopefully won’t take 2 years this time
Well, it technically didn’t take two years. And it ain’t fucking goth. It’s a borderline work of genius though.
Usually, when a small, none-more-independent bedroom artists like Elora Faith releases a record that beautifully exhibits their deft songcraft and seemingly supernatural way around a melody, my chief response is to usually lament what world-humping genius they’d be capable of if they had access to the resources. Would this artist be able to produce a record as universally beloved as ‘Desire, I Want to Turn Into You‘ if only the production budget extended to bagpipes? Would the raw, stripped back Strokes trumping GIVE AND TAKE AND WITCHCRAFT really get to the next level if Elora could afford to hire someone to blow a referees’ whistle just before the musical break like Paradise City? What if the budget stretched far enough for Taylor Swift to rap over ANTIBODIES about “Getting down to this sick beat“? Would that make the song better?
I am my father’s daughter in the end He says, “Watch your ego, watch your head, girl You’re so smart, so talented But now the water’s turning red And it’s all your fault, and it’s all your mess
Ah good, enough of that privileged bollocks like Olivia Rodrigo, time to hear from some real artists who have clawed their way up from the very bottom through sheer force of talent. When you’re willing to pull yourself up by your bootstraps like Caroline Polachek (daughter of James, classical musician, MD at Harvard, PHD at Berkley, taught Chinese History at Columbia and Princeton) then anyone can.
I’m being flippant, of course – I know! Me!? Can you imagine! – I just wanted to highlight how any discussion of supposed ‘privilege’ is a bit of a box of wasps, and a lot of people are going to have to get stung. Just be aware that you’re unlikely to sting just the person you intend to complain about if you open that box, and also that advantages exist beyond appearing on Disney shows growing up.
When am I gonna stop being wise beyond my years and just start being wise? When am I gonna stop being a pretty young thing to guys? When am I gonna stop being great for my age and just start being good? When will it stop being cool to be quietly misunderstood?
OK, I’m going to suggest something pretty revolutionary now. No, way more revolutionary than just replacing capitalism with a socially owned system that benefits the working class through their ownership of the means of production. That’s nothing. That’s just, like, the base level sentiment that I hope is evident in every single thing I write. That’s not even revolutionary. It’s scientifically proven and inevitable. Join the Communist Party, you cowards.
So that’s all facts. #Facts, as the kids on X say. Formally known as the kids on Twitter. What I’m about to suggest? You freaks ain’t even gonna be able to see the box anymore considering how far out of it you’re about to be thinking. Stick this in your mind microwave and I promise you one thing: shit’s gonna melt. I’m suggesting that we sit back for a second and consider something far, far, far more mind-blowing and world changing than merely Marx’s recognition of the capitalistic mode of production and his employment of historical materialism:
Do you feel like checking in on Phew? I feel like checking in on Phew.
Oh! Speak of the devil!
You know how I’ve been slowly chronicling Prince’s studio career album by album, year by year since 2018? Well, I never announced this before – or even ever consciously accepted that I was doing it before – but I’ve actually been doing something similar with one of the most exceptionally avant-garde musical artists of the last 40+ years: Hiromi Moritani AKA Phew formally known as Twitter.
Yeah, that’s right, ALL CAPS. Because it’s been RAISED RIGHT. Can we please have a collaboration with awakebutstillinbed? Actually, I know I meant to clean up the capitalisation of ‘chaos take the wheel and i am the passenger‘, but can we just have that?? Honestly, use whatever grammar you want, call is ‘@wa[£b()$tIlInPEG’ for all I care. Can Peggy just produce?? JPEGMAFIA producing an emo album?? Nomnomnomnomnom! Give it to me now!!
Oh and apparently there was a different cover of this record?
This going to be one of those narcissistic overshares that I occasionally dip into, so if you’re not interested in that maybe just skip to the end. And then tell all your friends and family how disappointed you are and make sure they all too click on the article and don’t read it. And get them all to subscribe as well. It’s the only way I’ll learn. I also accept how it heavily features somebody else as a main character, and though I’m going to obscure identities and nobody reads this blog, there’s always a chance that it will get back to them and they will recognise the situation being written about and find it triggering or traumatic. If that happens, I’ll just fucking delete it, whatever, it’s not worth causing someone else that kind of grief. This isn’t a blanket policy by the way: my ex-wife asked me to take down a post I wrote in 2021 and it’s still there, and this post is going to be way softer than that! Oh, and I should probably mention that they’ll be no suicidal ideations in this post. Sorry to disappoint you.
Necessary Evil 