good music just rumbles below the cool molten crag of the surface, moving red hot and undiscovered. Its music though, it isn't this kinks, lets-slash-the-amps **** that puts quality in bad music like ripped jeans at Urban Outfitters.
I can't stand the bad=quality **** that stinks up the emo/hardcore/punk/nuwave forums here. Music is still music, I don't care how much your father was an *******, play your ****ing instrument.
This is an offshoot of my overarching philosphy that the 60's was a giant nuke that hit culture and killed anything that was ever good. Now I have to look at religious statues covered in excrement and call it art. Or bad political poetry someone scrawls on a napkin and debate its insight.
There was a thread started by swim I think in the Folk forum, and it talked about what your favorite folk standard was. I loved it and it was gravely unfortunate no one else did, but to me thats the sort of thing that defines a guy. Take this old battled standard, likely sung before people played golf on St. Andrews, and make it new, and fresh, and breath taking.
If Neko Case's "Wayfaring Stranger" doesn't slay people, if Tracy Chapman's "house of the rising son" doesn't make you flip out, or if Springsteen's "Eyes on the Prize" doesn't take your unborn children outback behind the wood shed and teach them what manners are then you're listening to music for the wrong reasons, and frankly, on behalf of all the dead musicians, my ancestry, and my pet goat Victor - go **** yourself.
Sometimes a good song can make me feel like I'm praying, and sometimes a good song can make me feel one with the entire universe - all its suffering and all its glory - and if when you listen to music you've got an agenda, well, as they say in WoW, "you're doing it wrong." its not all old men on their front porch with an acoustic singing broken-hearted dirges 6 shots in on a bottle of Wild Turkey.
I'll never forget how I felt the first time I heard the solo in Joe Natho's moms car when i was 12 for Enter Sandman. Or sitting 40 rows back at the Aggains Arena two summers ago when the White Stripes took everyone to the Church of old fuzz and made pissy 16 year olds feel a part of something for the first time in their lives. The deep and personal is equal to the brutal passions and fire or wild men on electric axes who can burn stadiums to the ground with well placed arrangements.
[Ending, To Be Ended]
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