I've spent the last two hours playing Elastica's first album, "Elastica". I played along with my amp only set to 3; it was loud. I'm deaf now.
I'm feeling my age, which is alright, but I think tonight I wanted to feel 21 again.
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Let's travel back in time to 1996, to a particular Saturday afternoon. It's the spring, and the trees are frothy with bright green leaves. I'm enduring one of those typical boyhood scenarios. I've just been dumped by the girl I took to see Mojave 3 and Lush, and I spend alot of time examining the ceiling above my bed, or drawing. It's the last week of exams at University. I've been letting papers stay unfinished or unstarted. I live in a University building where one half of the residents are Japanese students on exchange (this is their building - there's even a tatami room on the second floor). Tomonori, who I can only describe as the Japanese Johnny Depp, was my best friend, and he had just left to go home for Osaka. Tomo would only leave his room at night to smoke; he could drink anyone under the table; he was quiet; girls would swoon around him; he was only interested in his girlfriend 2,000 miles away; his Powerbook had a Kanji keyboard; he was a considerate friend. I'm feeling twitchy. I turn my amp up, put on Elastica and play along for 5 mins. I pogo while I play my guitar. I can't play long. Afterwards, I receive two letters from the University citing me for noise violations and placing me on residence probation. They could hear me three blocks away. Worth it.
Justine and Annie and Donna were so scorchingly sexy in corduroy flares and black sleeveless t-shirts. I can't believe I'm so lucky to have a girlfriend like that now... They were 1978/95 in a cup. Don't you think? The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and White Stripes know Elastica, and I don't know how I feel about that. I feel like whimpering: "Fuck anyone who confuses Justine with Republica or Sleeper. Grrrr to the shits who never listened to Wire or the Slits and can't even remember Elastica or A Storm in Heaven." But who'd care? That was 6 years ago...
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Okay, I still can't sleep. So now for an hour of reading and maybe listening to some DJ Shadow. You know, DJ Shadow is what I might hear if I were ever to go into Urban Oufitters. I'm still haunted by the line of The Strokes CD's I saw last time. So, that's why I don't want to go there anymore. I never even buy anything there. There are lot's of places that I used to at least peek in that now... now I wont go into at all, on pain of death from those psychic headaches...
Often, playing music on a stereo is as phoney as name-dropping books you've looked though but would never have read without being assured that it was a status thing to do. It's style before substance. Consider the compilation CD's played at H&M that are filled with college radio playlists (Ladytron, DJ Shadow, Flaming Lips), and realise that people's personal music collections are likely worse, because you think that your's must be more authentic. But, really, is yours less dishonest about looking good? I think most of us do this tacitly with our own music collections, and would argue vehemently that we are connaisseurs even though we're sheep to some wierd shepherd or another, and we can't help it. But whatever
I'm feeling my age, which is alright, but I think tonight I wanted to feel 21 again.
---
Let's travel back in time to 1996, to a particular Saturday afternoon. It's the spring, and the trees are frothy with bright green leaves. I'm enduring one of those typical boyhood scenarios. I've just been dumped by the girl I took to see Mojave 3 and Lush, and I spend alot of time examining the ceiling above my bed, or drawing. It's the last week of exams at University. I've been letting papers stay unfinished or unstarted. I live in a University building where one half of the residents are Japanese students on exchange (this is their building - there's even a tatami room on the second floor). Tomonori, who I can only describe as the Japanese Johnny Depp, was my best friend, and he had just left to go home for Osaka. Tomo would only leave his room at night to smoke; he could drink anyone under the table; he was quiet; girls would swoon around him; he was only interested in his girlfriend 2,000 miles away; his Powerbook had a Kanji keyboard; he was a considerate friend. I'm feeling twitchy. I turn my amp up, put on Elastica and play along for 5 mins. I pogo while I play my guitar. I can't play long. Afterwards, I receive two letters from the University citing me for noise violations and placing me on residence probation. They could hear me three blocks away. Worth it.
Justine and Annie and Donna were so scorchingly sexy in corduroy flares and black sleeveless t-shirts. I can't believe I'm so lucky to have a girlfriend like that now... They were 1978/95 in a cup. Don't you think? The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and White Stripes know Elastica, and I don't know how I feel about that. I feel like whimpering: "Fuck anyone who confuses Justine with Republica or Sleeper. Grrrr to the shits who never listened to Wire or the Slits and can't even remember Elastica or A Storm in Heaven." But who'd care? That was 6 years ago...
---
Okay, I still can't sleep. So now for an hour of reading and maybe listening to some DJ Shadow. You know, DJ Shadow is what I might hear if I were ever to go into Urban Oufitters. I'm still haunted by the line of The Strokes CD's I saw last time. So, that's why I don't want to go there anymore. I never even buy anything there. There are lot's of places that I used to at least peek in that now... now I wont go into at all, on pain of death from those psychic headaches...
Often, playing music on a stereo is as phoney as name-dropping books you've looked though but would never have read without being assured that it was a status thing to do. It's style before substance. Consider the compilation CD's played at H&M that are filled with college radio playlists (Ladytron, DJ Shadow, Flaming Lips), and realise that people's personal music collections are likely worse, because you think that your's must be more authentic. But, really, is yours less dishonest about looking good? I think most of us do this tacitly with our own music collections, and would argue vehemently that we are connaisseurs even though we're sheep to some wierd shepherd or another, and we can't help it. But whatever