July 11, 2004


Courtney Love once advised a young Kathi Wilcox to start a band with the biggest bitches in her town. Thus begat Bikini Kill. Taking this dictum to heart, since I am the biggest bitch in this town (or so the ladies room wall at the Empty Bottle attests), and all the other bitches are doing thier own thing, I started a new band, A Billion Dollars, with the two best-dressed people I know, Miles and Morgan, to balance things out. Miles could pass for a young Lou Reed and dresses like a hustler, he dresses like a man very sure about his sexuality. Morgan is a hair model, professionally. Interpol has taught us all we need to know: have a unified aesthetic, and your mediocrity will be assuaged.

The mission is to have a summer fun band, ala Cupid Car Club or Young Ginns -- ie. make a tape, show up with one classic song on a vinyl only 10" benefit comp, play some house shows, break up by the time school starts back up. Today, we wrote five songs, we are recording our demo later this week and playing our first show at a fashion show at the end of the month. Doing this band, impermanant and half assed, is an extention of our MUY ROMANTICO dogma of non professional, unpolished art work that refuses to honor nostalgia and sentimental ideas.

The way of being in a band in 2004 -- how we are socialized to be in bands, aiming for "career" but casting our eyes downward so as not to get busted, is bullshit. Studiously, earnest ideas are gutted for disco 4/4 and affecting the dark suits of dead men (or the blousey sail-boat outfits of real estate agents that almost OD'd on 'base in 1986,). The latent hedonisme et mode trend in rock is born from the velveteen comfort of irony and deep, deep middle-class white shame. No one will ever admit to wanting to capitalize on emerging markets. We are not really trying to get rich. We are not really trying to be popular. We are not really trying to get signed. We are not really trying to get blown after the show. Really. No, Really.

For the sake of simplicity, everyone should just 'fess up. Capitalism has castrated our artistic impulses, seizes them before we even speak their name. It's terrifying, but a good fight to spend the summer on.

Posted by Jessica at July 11, 2004 09:25 PM | TrackBack