Today (but not just) the opposite of tomato is 'technically, brain damage'
graphite & putty eraser/20x30cm
original source:
'The Times' 23/06/08 (facsimile of edition dated 21/06/69)
And the third of the 'astronaut portrait' drawings transcribed from the same source & in the manner of the previous examples (see explanation/justification for
#1).).
Again, with recourse to what suggests itself to be the
original photographic source from which the newspaper reproduction was taken, one is able to appreciate the changes & degradations visited upon it during the various stages of its transition (as in the case of
#2, which contains a slightly fuller explanation of the likely process).
Soundtrack:
My Bloody Valentine 'Loveless'
Scritti Politti 'White Bread Black Beer'
Belle & Sebastian 'Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like a Peasant'
This particular listen to
‘Loveless’ was inspired by a recent
post & then a
follow-up (dated Thursday 19th June)
on
Simon Reynolds’s Blissblog, the former in its turn referring to an
online review of the reissues of both of
My Bloody Valentine’s albums, also including the preceding
'Isn’t Anything', where a most thought-provoking theory is proposed.
The view of the sonic invention & overarching aesthetic of
'Loveless' as “poisonous to the British 'rock' 'pool' for half a decade following its release in 1991” - taking in the guitar-based phenomenon of
Britpop - 'inspiring' a generation of bands to merely, indulgently ape its (wall of) sound to a bombastic, formulaic, lazy, (dead) end is something with which I’d concur, having felt this for a long time.
Indeed, going further, I’d argue that
'Loveless' was somehow the album that, essentially, marked the end of whatever 'rock' might be, had been & could ever be, its glorious, brilliant white hot disappearance into the void…of nothing particularly inspiring again: all has subsequently been retro, derivative, second hand, dull - diminished in sonic, sensual thrill & lacking in any real sense of creativity, of invention, of exploration into unchartered areas.
Maybe its just an age thing: my tastes, concerns, requirements from music have shifted, evolved - as one would hope, from experience - but still ’rock’ seems not to have done so in any significant way, as surely it should in order to continue to be of cultural relevance, otherwise new, young listeners are being seriously ill-served by the current, ersatz version(s).
There’s undoubtedly been life in the old guitar as an instrument of passion, desire, emotion, pleasure, inspiration, in the hands of maverick talents such as
PJ Harvey &
Jack White (Stripes), who largely hark back to an earlier incarnation of the Blues tradition anyway, & I’ve found much to love in the mostly opposite-to-
MBV minimalist aesthetic of
Low, for instance (at least before they too turned, disastrously, to dull bombast). Perhaps
Low, indeed, as the other side of the same coin, were, at their properly inspired best, the true, purified, hushed successors following in the wake of
Loveless’s ‘efflorescence & deliquescence’ (to paraphrase the wonderful old
Chills' song), the calm after the blissful, self-effacing storm that claimed
MBV, emerging wide-eyed, innocent, into the light & stillness, a gentle breath of fresh air, whose own occasional gatherings-to-a-crescendo would yet serve as a fond & poignant reminder of & a portent of what the elemental nature of ‘rock’ could rouse itself to be.
Then again, I’ve also believed, as strongly, that
Low were the heirs to the aesthetic of
Galaxie 500 - riders on, particularly, the slow train they had set in motion with much of their valedictory
‘This is Our Music’ &, especially, its closing moment,
‘King of Spain part 2’: no reason, of course, why they couldn’t have been both.
I always regarded
Spiritualized’s
‘Pure Phase’, of all their output, as being a worthy successor, in some way at least, to
‘Loveless’ (no one album could ever do the job on its own, that much has become increasingly clear over time, as the dust has settled), featuring as it does some of those torrents of sound yet mixing in such fragile, quietly flowing moments as
‘The Slide Song’ &
‘All of My Tears’ (especially as they occur sequentially, either side of the raging blizzard of drums, cymbals & guitar of
‘Electric Phase’, a stormier development of
MBV's
‘Glider’), the synthesized interval of
‘Born Never Asked’ & the crackle of electricity in the pregnant pause of
'Let it Flow', separating such essential elements of the
MBV sonic aesthetic, the fused textures of
‘Loveless’, into their own discrete spaces, allowing them, perhaps, to breathe a little, apart from what could be the claustrophobic, all-encompassing fuggy fuzz of those astonishing droning edifices - such is their sheer physical presence - of guitar noise, of electricity.
A grave & critical omission, it seems, on the part of those who followed, plodding, in the wake of
MBV, was that liberating looseness of rhythm that oft not necessarily powered but, rather, co-existed alongside or could at least be discerned submerged beneath the level of the guitar noise on ’Loveless’, especially on some of its peaks like
'To Who Knows When' &
'Soon', enabling them to flow, float, so sensually.
Ah, mere mention of the names of those…soundscapes, sculpted & burnished:
‘To Here Knows When’ - still astonishing, always, yes - is such an erotic experience, more subtly, less overtly sexual, perhaps, than predecessors such as
‘Slow’ (with its injunctions to lick & suck) &
‘Soft as Snow (but Warm Inside)’, all the more sensual, abandoned, profound for all that, its wordless refrain, breathily-sighing, softly-moaning, repeating & repeating, on auto-pilot, its climax endlessly deferred (a suitable metaphor, too, for the perfectionist working practises of
Kevin Shields & non-appearance of any follow-up to
‘Loveless’ - indeed, the constant desire to keep playing with, to keep delaying the moment of closure, might be said to render
‘THKW’ more properly auto-erotic in nature &/or intention), the perfect sonic representation of sensual indolence, submerging under the weight of its own pleasure, slipping in & out of consciousness, that almost disembodied state that precedes the dissolution into orgasm & the cloudburst of pure, sensual, time-space-&-placeless transcendence. Heady & decadent, where could they go from there, really, without becoming a spent force?
Still, there remain few introductory sonic thrills of such viscerality to match the battering, roaring opening salvo of
‘Loveless’,
‘Only Shallow’ (there a misnomer, for one is soon dragged, physically, into the depths of the vortex of noise, wowing in one’s ears & head, there to be crushed under the weight of the sheer heaviness of
'Loomer'), or the insistent swarm of the guitar sound of the yet-deeper vortex that is
'I Only Said' (indeed, one could easily & most appropriately liken the passage through what was, originally, the first side of the vinyl LP version of the album to that descent into
Dante’s ‘Inferno’ of Hell, but one so deep that it emerges the other side into something, somewhere heavenly).
I recall suggesting
Sol Seppy’s
‘Move’ communicated a similar buzz-swarming charge amongst its dynamic charms - which opinion time has little diminished, in fairness - but, amongst the examples of that artist’s oeuvre to date to reference
MBV (mercifully few, to
Sol Seppy’s credit-in-diversity), another, the aptly-named
‘Slo Fuzz’, plods (though not without a certain glittering charm) where
MBV’s buzzing, crackling, thrumming strum of
'Sometimes' floats, free of gravity, timeless: incidentally, what better sonic accompaniment to soundtrack, as in
‘Lost in Translation’, a speeding, dreamlike, late night taxi journey through the electrically-charged, buzzing, neon-lit ‘floating world’ of Tokyo, especially as fleetingly, ephemerally reflected on the car’s windows, than
'Sometimes' - the coincidence of sound & vision is perfect (& how poignant to hear the new song
'City Girl' during the same film, for all it exists, in comparison to the enduring magnificence of
'Loveless', merely as a tantalizing, souffle-light confectionary, an insubstantial morsel, a taste of what might have been).
For all that one can recognize some of the criticisms levelled at
‘Loveless’ in comparison to
‘Isn’t Anything’ during the course of the aforementioned & excellent review of both, still I feel it, of the two, best manifests
My Bloody Valentine’s aesthetic, or at least that for which they were striving - the first album being, rather, altogether too sketchy, unrealised, tentatively exploring the sonic terrain
‘Loveless’ claims as its own & secures, seemingly in perpetuity.
Further to...
Coincidental to making the
‘Man on the Moon’ drawings & posts - & thus recalling not merely
REM’s song but, rather,
Jim Carrey’s compelling turn as
Andy Kaufman in the excellent film of the same title (that somehow transcends the ‘biopic’ genre were it not for the fact that the subject was someone it wouldn‘t be possible to invent, fictionally), fascinating not least for its recreation of many of Kaufman’s performances & alter ego characters (particularly the appalling, monstrous, cabaret ‘singer’
Tony Clifton, magnificently grotesque, a true work of art) within the broader context of their creator’s life story - I watched the recently-purchased DVD of
‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’, also, of course featuring Carrey, written by another
Kaufman -
Charlie - & directed, as is another fondly-regarded cinematic favourite
‘The Science of Sleep’ (cf.
this post), by
Michel Gondry.
A pleasure indeed to enjoy again the intellectual & visual invention of a wonderful work of cinematic art, working with & across, creatively exploring, the scope of the medium & adding a bit more besides. Utterly convincing performances by the 2 lead actors,
Carrey &
Kate Winslet (in their respective ways playing against type), as the narrative of their relationship is revealed, unfolding eccentrically from (new) beginning to end to (original) beginning & back again, & all the other members of the ensemble cast & their various intertwining relationship statuses, issues & complications, over the course of a compelling, thought-provoking, thrillingly inventive disquisition on the nature of memory, remembering & forgetting (& how these play such a large part in the sense & construction of ‘the self’ & its place in the world), romance, love & loss, that is poignant & profound & endlessly entertaining: fabulous stuff.
I sometimes feel as though the films to which I’m attracted, & watch & enjoy, employ a pretty concise troupe of actors: in addition to such an example as above, it occurs that
Paul Giamatti, for instance, appears as
Jim Carrey-as-
Andy Kaufman’s co-conspirator
Bob Zmuda in
‘Man on the Moon’ in addition to his roles in previously-mentioned favourite movies
‘American Splendor’ &
‘Sideways’: a culturally small world, it seems.
