November 24, 2011


There was so much soloing in my dreams last night. In one dream, I was Time Traveling Carlos Santana, traversing the universe, ala Dr. Who. I went back in time, "discovered" Gloria Estefan and then took her even further back in time--1969 and we had a band with Ravi Shankar. Which, I hate to say it, but was pretty good. Sadly, I was not wearing the outfit Carlos wears on the devotional LP he did with John McLaughlin.
His outfit always makes me think of Christina Billotte c. Slant 6 b/c every time I saw them, she was wearing that outfit, but in diff color combinations. Cable knit and collared shirt was really a style her own during that immediate post-grunge era.
SORRY TO TALK ABOUT THE NINETIES. Enuff z'nuff of that, dudes.

Meanwhile. In my other dream, I tried to join an unwieldy 10 pc ska band that was made up of young critics and Pitchfork writers. I pretended I could play recorder, they let me in, thinking it was a flute. They would point to me--like "hit it" and I could only play these nilly free jazz solos. I got kicked out. Really, the story of my life in bad dream metaphor.

Meanwhile, again. Yesterday afternoon Matt and I went on a date to see Martha Marcy May Marlene, the movie about a rape cult, amongst other themes. Not very "date" movie, not very "light" or "romantic fare". But, certainly it pales in comparison to the time, when Matt, as an undergrad in Iowa took a girl on a first date to see the Bruce LaBruce film Hustler White which, has among other things, amputee-stump anal scenes. He said he thought it was "an LA art film". MMMM was rill good, though, Twilight: Breaking Dawn is still really just stuck in my head. I think I might need to see it again? As I mentioned in my previous post, it's so, so so good-bad, it's the best-worst. I am not sure whats happening to me that I am starting to prefer the schaudenfreud (sp?) of loving a terrible thing. Is it because there are seemingly few genuinely great things to engross me, and there seems so much more content, so much more that begs examination in a Twilight movie, or a live Jackson Browne record, or American Horror Story. Like, last episode of AHS, someone gets their penis bitten off. It's not great TV by any stretch. I could be watching Washington Week instead, surely. But I am not. But I don't feel like it's a matter of settling for "dumb". But maybe that is just wishful thinking? Not all bad is bad, right?

I am trying to think of my favorite records of 2011 that I don't think anyone else paid attention to, for a thing I am writing. My main faves are Lucky Dragons SHAPE TAPE, the Sich Mang tape, Crazy Band "Fuck You" and some other little local tape-tapes. What else am I forgetting? I keep remembering stuff and then looking at the CD and realizing "oh that came out in 2010". Got Recommendations? msjessicahopper at the ol' gmail.
I wanna love some not bad. I wanna love some great.
I wanna love your secret love. "All night all night over and over again, this time with lotion," as the song based on our old saying goes.

I wrote a part of the Rookie advice to teen gals column this month about attending concerts when you are young a female and people want to massage your butt in the pit. It also has a how-to on some dance moves that can be "helpful".

And, PS. I am doing a reading in NY City--that is Manhattan--on 12/8--in the evening, at Housing Works, for the DaCapo Best Music Writing showcase showdown. I will be reading my negative review of the last MIA record, in fact. I will be six months preggo then. Roly-poly. I will have to stand funny behind the lectern to allow for my giant tum. Perhaps on a chair, or a stepstool and just lean down to the mic if there is one.

Posted by jessica hopper at November 24, 2011 09:15 PM | TrackBack