The headline on the local daily today, in 40 pt type: "PANTYHOSE ARE OUT!"
This, takes presidence over that little Iraq-War-thing, now relegated to thin sidebar snaking down the side of the page. The breaking legware news reported: Katie Couric has made bare legs popular, officially. Shazaam, way to go, K-Dogg.
I wish Jean Cook had that sort trend-power, because then being a spunky asian girl with armpit hair and playing a teflon frying pan in a band might be the ish to temp secretaries and women on the CTA in dirty pink sweatpants and knock-off Uggs.
I spent the half day in the company of DC-enigma Chad Clark, who was passing through on tour with the great Beauty Pill. He is the most naturally-occuring enigma I know of. We spent the eve, sides long to the bar discussing geniuses that make bad records, and marginal bands that sometime shoot out brilliance like an uncapped fireplug - namely Afghan Whigs' Gentlemen "It's about the existential crisis of thinking with your dick," says Chad. We discuss the crucial-ness of awareness of the cock-crisis, and how so many of the bands either brush it off and dive deeper into their dangerously ahistorical fash-n-dance music, or it's just little soldier boys bleeding all over the stage with neon-red ketchup blood.
I told him it's getting harder to listen to records and be reckless and give into the hedonism and the selfish feel good mantras, and just dance. My dogma over rules my taste these days and keeps me stiff. All the punks, they are afraid to bounce on the crystal limbs, save for Ted Leo, and Travis M. and Le Tigre - when LeTigre is not trying to overcompensate for the seriousness of the gender war flag waving with syncronized dance moves and DIY posited as amateurism - as if to head off anyone who might write them off as TOO SERIOUS FEMINIST BITCHES TAKING THINGS TOO SERIOUSLY. I understand wanting to deflect the haters, I do. I also understand and really appreciate the FEMINISM IS FUN! canto, and maybe it comes from all the times I saw Bikini Kill throw the lights in dank basements and lofts, and I walked out sweating and believing anything was possible, and that my latent rage could be coalesced into art or that progress was at hand . I want some thing that is real and raw and fucking fearless, some hot tuffy peoples telegraphing "it's on motherfucker," mashed up over a deep boundless hope for us getting free.
And I do not mean I want a band to "save" us, to save our lives, to change the world, because it's not like I am calling for a punk-ghetto Bono, or some return to Back In The Day When Shit Was UnCut And Pure and No One Sweat The Money and The Dicksuck Fame etc etc... it's not that I am jaded and longing nostalgicly for when things felt a certain way. I still believe in music, and some days, days when I listen to Tv On The Radio a lot, or last night, seeing Beauty Pill - with thier struggle poems and UN-like culturally-diverse line up, I really believe, I chew the myth and do not spit it out. I just want a lot, I want more, I want now, and I know that might be too grandiose of an idea.Posted by Jessica at December 9, 2004 06:08 PM | TrackBack