Another Identity Crisis in Boobville
Yesterday I went to a record show with the Shin Hsu in Springfield, NJ. At first nothing there struck me and then I found a table that pleased me. When I asked the large olive-skinned guy behind the table how much was the first CD I picked up, he directed me to a bin down the line in which there were several other "different" selections. That’s "different" with an italicized acknowledgement that he knew my kind and knew that I wasn’t going to be buying any Lita Ford. I found and bought from him the following:
1. a Cat Power session on French radio. The songs are good, not spectacular but good. I was most struck by the vast difference between her speaking demeanor and her singing demeanor. Where is she from? I forget. Wherever, she sounds very North Carolinian. I guess I’d never heard her speak before. I’d heard the tales of live performances rent with stagefright. She begins the session with a couple of strums, then stops to giggle and tell the radio guys she’s made a rule: nobody can look at her while she plays, then more giggling. And then, playing, she morphs into the confident sexy deity she is. Song over, there is more giggling, lots of "likes" flecking vague sentence structures, an odd but funny take-off into German-accented monologue, then more playing. And she talks about making the covers record. I’m glad I bought it.
2. Massive Attack re-mixes. I don’t know much more than this. Haven’t had a chance to hear the whole thing yet. There is a Portishead re-mix and some other notables. Sounds good so far.
3. My Bloody Valentine early tracks and rarities! This one was the kicker. I always want more and more MBV, but there is only so much out there to have. The sound isn’t the best, but that’s no matter. I’ve heard it only in the car so far and need to give it more listens before honestly critiquing; however, much of it sounds like primitive Isn’t Anything and more upbeat. Probably I prefer Isn’t Anything and Loveless, but I’m stoked about this one.
4. The other kicker—there can always be multiple kickers like multiple orgasms—is Brian Eno’s "Here Come the Warm Jets" on vinyl. I haven’t been a vinyl person. I have been chided by vinyl snobs in record stores, and the last record player I owned was Fisher Price. Soon I will have a record player. Meantime, I have this one on tape and CD. In the last few years it’s become one of my favorite albums ever, and I’m happy to now own the big, bad, beautiful vinyl version.
Yesterday, after the record show, my brain was taken over by the ghost of a teenage boy. The boob references were out of control. It began when I pointed out the difference in the boob size of Gwyneth Paltrow in two juxtaposed pictures of her in Entertainment Weekly. On the left she looked about my size, maybe a little bigger; on the right the boobs definitely looked bigger, I think to represent mom-Gwyneth and actress-Gwyneth. Boob-talk continued until I decided to go home: Shin held out an orange that the solicitor in front of Blockbuster gave him (yes, it was still solicitation even though the guy gave Shin the orange). The orange was very big. Here went my thought process: that is a big orange--probably bigger than my boob--I better check. And so I looked down to check. That’s when Tom, Shin’s roommate, called me out. All about the boob. I don’t know why this preoccupation. Involuntary, I say. I went home and did a quick exorcism under the influence of rosemary, thyme, and red rocket juice. Except to tell this tale I haven’t thought boob yet today.
In conclusion, yesterday is a day to remember.
1. a Cat Power session on French radio. The songs are good, not spectacular but good. I was most struck by the vast difference between her speaking demeanor and her singing demeanor. Where is she from? I forget. Wherever, she sounds very North Carolinian. I guess I’d never heard her speak before. I’d heard the tales of live performances rent with stagefright. She begins the session with a couple of strums, then stops to giggle and tell the radio guys she’s made a rule: nobody can look at her while she plays, then more giggling. And then, playing, she morphs into the confident sexy deity she is. Song over, there is more giggling, lots of "likes" flecking vague sentence structures, an odd but funny take-off into German-accented monologue, then more playing. And she talks about making the covers record. I’m glad I bought it.
2. Massive Attack re-mixes. I don’t know much more than this. Haven’t had a chance to hear the whole thing yet. There is a Portishead re-mix and some other notables. Sounds good so far.
3. My Bloody Valentine early tracks and rarities! This one was the kicker. I always want more and more MBV, but there is only so much out there to have. The sound isn’t the best, but that’s no matter. I’ve heard it only in the car so far and need to give it more listens before honestly critiquing; however, much of it sounds like primitive Isn’t Anything and more upbeat. Probably I prefer Isn’t Anything and Loveless, but I’m stoked about this one.
4. The other kicker—there can always be multiple kickers like multiple orgasms—is Brian Eno’s "Here Come the Warm Jets" on vinyl. I haven’t been a vinyl person. I have been chided by vinyl snobs in record stores, and the last record player I owned was Fisher Price. Soon I will have a record player. Meantime, I have this one on tape and CD. In the last few years it’s become one of my favorite albums ever, and I’m happy to now own the big, bad, beautiful vinyl version.
Yesterday, after the record show, my brain was taken over by the ghost of a teenage boy. The boob references were out of control. It began when I pointed out the difference in the boob size of Gwyneth Paltrow in two juxtaposed pictures of her in Entertainment Weekly. On the left she looked about my size, maybe a little bigger; on the right the boobs definitely looked bigger, I think to represent mom-Gwyneth and actress-Gwyneth. Boob-talk continued until I decided to go home: Shin held out an orange that the solicitor in front of Blockbuster gave him (yes, it was still solicitation even though the guy gave Shin the orange). The orange was very big. Here went my thought process: that is a big orange--probably bigger than my boob--I better check. And so I looked down to check. That’s when Tom, Shin’s roommate, called me out. All about the boob. I don’t know why this preoccupation. Involuntary, I say. I went home and did a quick exorcism under the influence of rosemary, thyme, and red rocket juice. Except to tell this tale I haven’t thought boob yet today.
In conclusion, yesterday is a day to remember.
4 Comments:
Thank you for the Eno, it is becomming one of my favorites as well.
ps...i like your boobs, probably better than oranges.
Atlanta. She sounds like my aunt's relatives in North Carolina. I hope that's not as awful as thinking all Asians look alike.
It pleases me to pass on the Eno. I thank Monsieurs Gregg Newsom and Wade Hunter for passing it on to me. And, thanks, I needed to hear that about my boobs. I feel like a real woman now.
In line with the orange and boob comparison, i came home yesterday and found that my deer call was standing upright on the kitchen table with the two plums (from the same guy who gave me the orange) were lying at the base.
don't ask why i have a deer call.
I always come back to this: you ARE my dirty yellow friend.
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