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Wednesday, January 24, 2007
AUSTRALIA
TURN ON ME
SEA LEGS
The Shins
Wincing the Night Away
Sub Pop : 2007
[Buy It]
Due to the wonders of the internet (and an unauthorized promo leak, I'm told), I've had this yesterday-released record since October. I have listened to it my requisite 67 million times; know all the lyrics of my three favorite songs (Australia, Phantom Limb, and Turn on Me); and am starting to sing along to my least favorites (Sea Legs and A Comet Appears), which are starting, now, in the fourth month, to grow on me. The Shins are the only band I've gotten excited about in a long time, and it embarrasses the hell out of me to admit that.
A friend recently said to me at a cocktail party, "I've been reading Moistworks and am liking it a lot," to which I thanked him and blushed, prompting a few other friends to ask what is it (of course they were thinking porn). I explained a bit, and he went on to say, "Joanna has, by far, the most mainstream taste of anyone on there." To which I also blushed, but in a different, much less pleasant way. My god, I thought, what has happened to me? I never in a million years would have described myself as the most mainstream of anything. But I knew he was right.
I have lost my way. The music niche of my youth no longer exists, and I haven't found another. In college, it was all about Pavement and Big Black and Guided by Voices and My Bloody Valentine, in addition to the much more obscure bands we all claimed to have been listening to longer than anyone else (and which I, often, pretended to like). But even to be into the Pixies, as "big" as they were becoming, was still to be a member of a fairly small group.
Now it's me sneaking around with the god damn Shins on my shuffle. I had heard them somewhere, perhaps a store, asked the shopkeeper or coffee server who it was, wrote it down, bought the first two CDs, fell in love, found out they were playing, and, thinking I was one of only a few who had made this find, was surprised that they were playing a venue as big as Webster Hall, and then was even more shocked to find the shows to be sold out. I got a ticket from some guy on Craiglist, went, felt like the oldest person there, stood in back singing along with every single lyric, and crying my eyes out. For how much I loved them, for how lonely I felt, that night and in my life. And perhaps, for how I no longer knew what was on the outside, and I wouldn't know where to look if I wanted to.
I admitted it out loud for the first time the other day. I was having a meeting with the editor of a very now magazine and a writer friend. The new issue of his magazine has a CD in it, which I dutifully looked at in his presence, proclaimed, "I've never heard of any other bands on here, but I love the Shins!"
The editor groaned and mumbled something about keeping the advertisers happy. I grinned defiantly, extolling their virtues: "They're writers! They're smart! The twists and turns of melody on this new record are...."
The editor groaned again, mentioning their "horrible" appearance the other night on TV, Letterman or something. (Why he was watching Letterman to begin with didn't come into question, though, in hindsight, it really should have.)
My writer friend immediately leapt to my defense. He could absolutely not tolerate being known to associate with someone who likes this band. "No, you like lots of other things, too."
"Yes," I said, "Arcade Fire!"
He blanched. (And if I had said the Decemberists he would have actually passed out). "No, but you love Syd Barrett!"
"Yes, and the Zombies," I muttered.
The editor perked up, as I knew he would. He shouted, "Yes! Odessey and Oracle!" and we were back on track. I was okay, we had redirected our cool-compass, and we were able to continue our meeting with everyone's respect for one another (rather, for me) intact.
When did it become cooler to love the British Invasion and Journey than the popular new-ish indie rock band? I suppose it's embarrassing to like something that's on a once-cool label (Sub Pop) and still fits squarely into a category (indie) that no longer has any meaning. Perhaps the kids don't want their cool handed to them in a box. They want to feel as though they've discovered it on their own, years later (and ironically) like Herb Alpert, or dragged out again (and therefore big-kid approved/ironclad) like the Boredoms.
I know what it means to have eschewed everything loved by the populace of Williamsburg, readers of McSweeney's, and all that surrounds. But for now, can I keep my cute boy indie nerdie bands while holding on to some shard of punk rock credibility? Please?
The more astute or psychodynamic thinkers of you might be wondering something, which I'll try to address in future posts (or in therapy): Why, Joanna, need you ask our permission?Labels: indie, joanna
posted by Joanna
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