Tuesday, June 28, 2005

P, III

Pet Shop Boys- Singles

I didn’t have any time to sit around and feel sorry for myself because there was too much shit to do before Dennis’s wedding- had to take care of sleeping accommodations, transportation, tux pickup, laundry, etc.

I first found a cheap auto rental place down the street from my house a little ways, then an online coupon which made renting a midline sedan cheaper than renting one of the little cars. I walked down to the office, which turned out to be connected to a gas station, two desks and a bunch of chairs crammed into this glassed-in little room that was maybe ten by eight. The three people who worked there couldn’t have been any older than twenty-one. They were all charming in their complete lack of professionalism, fully and openly talking shit about their recently completed training and the couple that had been in the room before me, a grizzled biker type and his cougar girlfriend. The kid behind the desk was overweight and fairly stuffed into a dress shirt so new I could still see all the packaging creases. He sweated and thwacked away at the computer, sucking on some kind of Dunkin’ Donuts fruit-flavored iced coffee drink which probably didn’t contain a lot of actual coffee. Finally, he informed me that all of the midlines were gone. I’d get a free upgrade. He pointed out the window at a tan SUV.

I’ve never driven anything bigger than a Jetta, I thought. Plus, the whole environment thing.

Fuck it.

Less than an hour later, I was driving up Route One in an air-conditioned SUV listening to the Pet Shop Boys. Easily the tackiest stretch of road in all of Massachusetts- strips of restaurants and stores, a giant orange dinosaur leaning over the road from a mini golf course, the fifty-foot high neon cactus that stands in front of this one steakhouse, flanked by a dozen model cows.

Just like that, things had ended, my plans had changed, and I was in the most absurd place I could imagine- this big, gas-guzzling pimpmobile, listening to this amazingly awesome, silly but deadly serious totally gay club music that I knew every word to. And not only that, but I actually caught myself enjoying the ride up, and more than once, too. I started laughing out loud at the whole thing, the whole awful, wonderful, stupid fucking situation, all of the worry and crumpled emotions and anticipation/dread of the wedding. Sitting there laughing at everything in a rental car listening to the Pet Shop Boys even though I had had this fucking awful week. I can only imagine what that shit sounds like on Ecstacy.

Photek- Form And Function

I can’t speak with any sort of authority about the form of the Photek record, or its intentions in broadening/shattering said form, because the whole techno subgenre thing went right over my head and stayed there. I’ve never had any urge to go out and try and understand the difference between like, deep house, illbient and glitchcore- to me, techno has pretty much always been techno. I know, I’m a crotchety old coot, but fuck the metermaids- that’s just how I feel, man.

Having said all that, though, the Photek record seems to contain a bunch of different styles/forms. There’s a couple songs that sound like driving a rental car on cheap trucker speed- always darting your head around to find out just where that unfamiliar buzzing noise is while at least trying to keep looking forward so you don’t crash into anything, but where the fuck did THAT noise come from?!? Others are a little bit more subdued, more chill, like walking through a wide path with a halftrack clanking behind you, trying to identify the interesting sounds of the wilderness (hey, is that what they mean by jungle? Probably not).

At the very least, these songs do contain a similar function- the bass is there to make you shake your ass. The rental car, of course, has those big subwoofers because you got the free upgrade, and ‘Form And Function’ transforms you into one of those assholes that drives down Newbury Street with the windows down, trying to lure the fly honeys into the pimped out ride by playing music that’s loud enough to rattle fillings out of cavities. Never understood until you were the one flossin’.

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