Monday, September 19, 2005

New stuff, IV

Lungfish- Feral Hymns

It’s been a tough couple of months. I’ve been assertive and proactive about making several different projects happen, which should make me happy and keep me busy. I’m busting ass to get everything done and it’s like the void grows larger with every increment, every step. I’m thinking way too much, getting too wrapped up in self-analysis and –doubt even though I have been going for it harder this year than ever before. It’s frustrating, walking around town feeling so critical of myself and my choices. I know that I’m on the right track with things, that I have to be patient- I’m a writer, for chrissakes!- but it’s really fucking hard because I want everything to happen RIGHT NOW and it’s not going to, not a bit.

Getting out of town, away from my desk was good for me, being in an unfamiliar place for a little while. I keep thinking about starting yoga, as well, trying to get some exercise to different parts of my body and mind. Haven’t made it yet, though- my days off are cluttered with errands, lists of tasks. I’ve been meaning to get started, but man, it always takes me so long to start new things- I psyche myself out by thinking too much on a day-to-day basis.

The reason I mention all this, of course, is because Lungfish has a new album. It’s fucking awesome- the same lilting, occasionally jarring riffs repeated for as long as they need to be while Higgs, between reciting lengths of platitude from memorized books of alien scripture, picks food out of his beard with hands covered with charmingly jailhouse tats. I’ve been hypnotized both times I have seen the band, like literally hypnotized, to the point where everything falls away except for the trench-like grooves the band lays down. Everything becomes calm and still, stripped- the kind of feeling that men have started cults around. Maybe I need to get myself a set of headphones that only plays Lungfish records- then I won’t spend so much time freaking myself out.

Van Morrison- Astral Weeks.

So let me get this straight: this non-linear, rambling free-form album of Mr. Morrison babbling is considered a classic, a touchstone of beautiful, emotional expression, yet Jandek puts out FUCKING FORTY-TWO ALBUMS OF NON-LINEAR, RAMBLING BABBLE AND YOU PEOPLE THINK HE’S A HACK? Get your SHIT STRAIGHT! If Ol’ Van detuned his guitar you’d totally gush about how he’s “thinking outside of the box” and “Pushing the limits of artistic form and expression.” You know what would push the limits of artistic form and expression? If you all somehow managed to insert your own penises into your asses (before or after you pull your heads out, I don’t care which) and FUCK YOURSELVES!

Nah, just kidding. This one’s okay.


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