In order to protect the innocent, I’ll refer to her simply as “LC”.
LC is my pen pal from myspace, and it’s fun having a penpal, right? Especially one from the opposite sex! One you can flirt with, and know, with quite certainty, that no matter how much I offer her, she’ll never fuck a stranger on camera while I hold it.
The camera, that is…
Which creates a somewhat warm and fuzzy feeling for me.
Her last message was short and sweet — the part I’m going to show you, anyway.
Right now I’m just being thankful French Surrealism did not survive as a genre of film.
What’s your favorite record right now?
The only background information I’m offering up on LC is she’s a college student, and taking a film class, and I’m laughing as I type this, cause she’s a college senior without a declared major, which, in my book, ranks her as a freshman at best.
And here’s what I said back to her:
I’ll cut to the chase for a quick reply: A Ghost is Born.
Now, let’s see how long I feel like writing, cause it’s been a long, smut-filled day.
My favorite records, at any given moment, change all the time. Over the past however long I’ve been listening to music, there are a few that always seem to make the Top 10.
Then, there’s “period” records — for lack of a better term. Just so I don’t come off like a total dork, let me (briefly) explain:
Middle school was a period, right? And like all adolescent boys my age, I listened to a whole lot of Ted Nugent and Led Zeppelin (II and IV) and Blue Oyster Cult and Boston and Peter Frampton and that sort of fodder.
High school was much of the same (sans Boston and Frampton), but, for some silly reason, more metalesque and all horribly embarrassing: Judas Priest, Ozzy, Aerosmith, Ted Nugent, and Led Zep, and Blue Oyster Cult, and the Scorpions (gasp) and UFO (gasp) and Cheap Trick and I could go on and on.
I’d like to add, that at night, when whatever girl I was dating would sneak into my window at night would sneak into my window, I’d have the blacklights on and it was Genesis (only the records in which Peter Gabriel was still part of the band) or Pink Floyd or Kraftwerk or David Gilmour’s solo record was playing, and I’d pray to Jesus for a handjob.
All of these bands had records that, at one time or another, were “favorites”.
11th grade Pat Crane walks up to me in the parking lot, hears what I’m playing in my car, calls me a name, and hands me London Calling, and it totally changed my life, and the things I listened to, which is, of course, a totally clichéd thing to say.
Sex Pistols and Ian Dury and Klark Kent and Dead Kennedys and Sham 69 and Sex Pistols and Clash and Sex Pistols and Clash and Sex Pistols.
Did I mention Never Mind The Bullocks?
Or London Calling?
College meant X and REM and Suburban Lawns and Wall of VooDoo and Oingo Boingo and The Jesus and Mary Chain and The Replacements and REM and any band on SST or IRS: Fleshtones, Meat Puppets, Minute Men, Husker Du…all of these bands had records that, at one time or another, were “favorites”; the only difference between the college favorites and my adolescent favorites is some of those college favorites are still favorites…except Zeppelin.
It was about this time that I completely dismissed Zeppelin, as well as Pink Floyd. But I realize now how silly that was.
Is any of this making sense?
I think I shall copy and paste this blabber and call it a blog.
I (think I) figured out jazz about a decade (or less) ago: Miles and Coltrane and Coleman and Dizzy and Stitt and Rollins and Thelonius Monk — Monk being my very favorite.
And sure, a decade (or so) ago it was Nirvana and Super Chunk and Hole and The Chili Peppers and Pavement and The Butthole Surfers and Stone Temple Pilots and Archers of Loaf and all the rest of them.
Wait a sec. The Red Hot Chili Peppers happened two decades ago…while I was still in college. Put them in between The Replacements and REM, and place them as the very best live show I think I’ve ever seen…1985, playing Hendrix with nothing but socks over their wieners…the only show I’ve ever seen the cops shut down.
I’m on a Wilco kick at the moment, and it’s very embarrassing, cause, really, it’s all I listen to; specifically, A Ghost is Born (or the live record from Chicago) is all that’s ever on my stereo.
Which, of course, is a lie.
Why didn’t I mention the Velvet Underground? Or Big Star? Where’s The Gorillaz? The Beastie Boys? How about Harry Smith’s Anthology of American Folk Music, which I’m obsessed with (another lie…I’m obsessed with Harry). And how can I blabber about Wilco without once uttering the words Uncle Tupelo?
Which will lead me to the most embarrassing part of this whole deal: I’m stuck on a desert island, and I’m all alone, and I stub my toe on the bottle that releases the genie:
10) Paul’s Boutique
7) Revolver
6) Kind of Blue
2) Thelonious Alone In San Francisco
1) Reckoning
Immediately looking at this list makes me think I need to rework the entire thing, or to delete this all and forget I ever thought about it.
Sometimes I think revealing your true musical tastes is a lot like stripping in front of a stranger and hoping for the best possible reaction there is to expect, which could range from laughter to true love.
