Pacificapocalypse

It’s only an hour.

Just keep telling yourself that.

But it’s not really, it’s more. The lights all wrong for the time of day.

On the 0705 express bus this morning, the bridge is still closed so its more crowded than usual, but it’s a relatively hygienic crowd so the overwhelming sensation of too many people in too little space is not the trial it might be.
Head back. AFX and GMS on the headphones. Eyes closed.
As ‘Outside – Kick Ass (violin solo)‘ comes up, the sun on my face starts to flicker from passing highway signs. Shadow. Sun. Shadow. Sun, and a certain hypnotic quality slips over me. This is like Brian Gysin and Wild Bill’s Dreamachine.
And then my mind separates.
My fore brain is a fighter jet low over enemy territory, 500 knots at 100 feet. Everything flashes by strobe light perfect. (Sun. Shadow. Sun. Shadow.) Then it climbs vertically to 40,000 feet and I can see everything laid out below me in perfect detail. Now it’s GMS and ‘The Crow‘ is building up, layer upon layer like the most beautiful train wreck in the world.
My hind brain is stretched out on a giant cushion, simply reveling in the passage of air through my nose,  the low frequency rumble of the tires over the expansion joints in the freeway have set up a perfect accompanying hum. Extra’s from the tent scene with Xerxes in 300 bring me sensations one by one.
The bus is rocking, now slightly canted to the left as it follows the curve of the freeway.
Someone laughs and it seems to Doppler down too quickly.
It’s only an hour.

I hate the time change.

Always messes with my head.

Spotted over on MissionMission.

Opportunistic? Sure, but do you really think Lux would’ve minded?

I’m phenomenally pissed and depressed right now.

Lux Interior died last night.

I can’t even begin to explain how I feel right now. The Cramps were such a part of me when I was a teenage snot bag trying to figure out what the hell was going on. I never quiet figured it out, but Lux and Ivy made the not-knowing better. Then came the annual pilgrimage to Wolfgangs in the city, every Halloween, to see them play live. I don’t think I missed a show for like, five years running. This sucks.

An ex-co-worker and aspiring writer friend of mine, Chelsea Lin, stated this morning on her Facebook status that:

Liz Phair will make your eardrums bleed. Is ‘eardrums’ one word or two?

Which of course provoked me into the following exchange:

Me: Liz Phair topped out with “Exile in Guyville”… but what do I know? I was only there when the album (black, vinyl, lots of little lines – hole in the middle) was released.
You should listen to a little Polly Jane Harvey or Cat Power.
And get off my lawn you damn kids!

Chelsea: so she was performing only “exile in guyville” last night at the fillmore (i was covering it for spin.com) and i was not impressed… sacrilege, i know.

Me: “Not impressed”
Bah. Your prematurely jaded opinion is tiresome.
Next thing you’ll deny that the 80’s were, without a doubt, the crowning decade of human existence and the pinnacle of cultural and societal achievement.

And so Court and I got to talking; what exactly DID happen to Liz Phair?
“Guyville” was brilliant. Where did that brilliance go and why?
Court opines:

I don’t think (Chris) is talking about “exile in guyville” as being her best material, it’s more along the line of, Liz Phair was at her best at the time she wrote the album and her overall presences at that time. When that album debuted in 93′ she was willing to fully embrace her sound. I would say her second album, Whip-smart she maintained a similar sound but the influence from her Matador label-mates was far to obvious. With the move to Capital Records and her decent into commercial music success, the new glamorized shiny Liz’s sound comes off as vapid and indistinct. Now while she may, as you say make your eardrums bleed, it’s not because of raw passion or even a desire to perform… more likely its a production assistant turning a mic on to an obligatory 11. In short Liz Phair is dead. Lets hope for a resurgence of music not first filtered the digitized, then synthesized into catchy tunes for automobile, energy drink or tampon advertisements.

Brutal. I love it.

Nice post about deconstructing the original cover photo for Grace Jones album Island Life – one of my favorite seminal New Wave album covers. Linky.