Cyclical

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It’s actually been awhile since I’ve been ensconced in music so (and since I did a post on here, apparently!) Blaring it from my speakers endlessly, at home and over headphones alike. Thankfully no complaints yet from my old-lady neighbors. Let’s hope it stays that way! In response to my laments in my old post; no I can’t keep up with the kids anymore. I have to have a whole regimen in place and be careful and pay the price, yadda-yadda-yadda says Elaine. But just because you can’t keep up like you once could doesn’t mean you can’t still hold ‘your own.’ Once you lose that, I imagine, you’re really fucked irreconcilably for reals though, ha!

One of my favourite vocalists singing about short-term memory…

Multiple things lead me back here to full-on music obsession time and time again, and every time it’s such a relief. It’s like coming home to some enjoyment in life one thought may have been lost for good.  Fearfully avoiding coming to terms with some death one dreaded for so long. Those periods where I’m somehow less enthralled by music are the darkest and most troubling of days for me. Leaves me all cut up…. But it’s not this crunchy and groovy!

PS it stinks liking anything popular. Not just due to the embarrassment factor, but being unable to get tickets to live shows. Thanks a lot, PUP. “I fell for the bullshit. And then I started falling apart… What a goddamn bummer. What a waste of my energy…. I know better. I know better than that!” Sounds like it’s way too much fun to be in PUP. I love the part about having never had a day job. Punk dreams of an office minion! Yes. I’m too old for this stuff, but just try to stop me.

I recently made a playlist of much of my favourite heavier post-hardcore etc. things, so I’ve been rocking out to that. This song gets me every darn time. Oh Title Fight, please put out another Floral Green for me and come play Toronto. One of my all-time favourite songs of all-time now.

A new wave group posed the question, “You can only buy The Cure’s Disintegration or Depeche Mode’s Violator, which do you choose?” So there I was listening to Violator for the first time in ages, floored as ever by its pristine 1990 production value. I’ve been singing Sunny Day Real Estate in the bath again too. Caring not it once prompted someone to proclaim, “That’s the whitest thing I’ve ever heard.”

I’m also at an impasse, yet again. Does it ever end? I can finally somewhat safely say that that thing I once said routinely, that stuff “feeling like high school” never ends, may no longer be the case. Now I’m in my mid-30s stuff feels more like my 20s than high school thankfully, ha! It’s all a blur anyway. It’s just the emotions that are triggered somehow, sometimes. 

Today someone caught a typo. The table in this document was from 2021 – the future. I said I guess we’re suppose to learn from it then. What can it tell us? Because we sure enough don’t learn everything we’re supposed to from the damn(ed) past!

I usually don’t repeat myself on here with the music and videos I post (sentiment, that’s another story, ha!) Today I’m hearkening to some faves and the past and the present so I’m being a big sloppy. Can’t be bothered with or hung up on boring notions of cleanliness, propriety, or perfectionism ALL THE DAMN TIME.

The Hot Snakes certainly weren’t. But their shit is perfect anyway. The best kind of perfect is the kind that happens without exerting effort. Effort can be overrated and lame.

The scariest times at times are those when we worry we’ve wished for something for so long, that now that we don’t, it will inevitably occur. It’s impossible not to worry about things going terribly wrong when they start to go well, because experience provides the evidence that this is inevitable. It’s just the nature of life and living. We strive so hard for these ridiculously brief stints of pleasure and success. Only to have to struggle for it, sometimes for years, again. And when we catch that breath of fresh air, we are so certain it will be stolen by some wicked thief. And it is. But focusing on that strips us of the few and far between joys in life. Sometimes a life we never wanted. Or didn’t want most of the time, at any rate. When that turns on its head, that’s quite the surreal trip. Life. A thing to want. WTF.

Cynicism begone! It’s a weeknight and I’m wasting time, hooray! Things are going swimmingly right now. Is it distracting? Is it exhausting? Sure. But it’s worth the price paid. Is it wise? Well… who can say? And as for my leaning, well to that I sat one can’t be wise ALL the time. Life is about balance, guilt-free. Sometimes we go so very long without it. Sometimes we think we’ve left our old selves entirely behind, and mourn the loss in some indirect way, only to have it revive itself and unsettle us again with its unnerving presence. Passion, what a powerful force it is. Laying dormant for years like bedbugs! Maybe not the best simile, ha. You invite one into your bed, and do everything in your power to eradicate the other! Though I suppose both can evoke fear. The kind that sends crabs back into their shells. Wonder what other crabs would think of YCNI:M. This one likes it!

Sometimes you’re reminded why you did the things you did. Stuff you second guessed as possibly bad decisions reveal themselves to have been the right ones. Situations you ended up in that you were convinced were wrong, detrimental to your future, evolve into the right thing, right place, and arguably, the right time. The conspiracy theory becomes lame and cheesy and you’re like some old lady trying to deny such old lady notions.

Mike Krol put out such a great album too. It was all I listened to for months, and capped it off seeing him live.  He was even better than last time, which is kind of beyond me. I thank him for the opposite of a chain reaction of mental anguish. I think his album ushered in all things good and pure. Less cocktails, more Mike Krol. Sometimes this song is my new anthem, but other times it isn’t, I suppose. I’m not sure that I will ever trust enough to get married at this point, but I would marry my beloved Mike Krol in a heartbeat and end the rhythm of our hearts breaking on-and-on-and-on-and-on. Willing to bet he’s some kind of Pisces, Taurus, or Virgo.

Younger old-me comes around to hijack older new-me, but at least I’m aware. Self awareness, that blessed and cursed thing. Stuck between the rock that is paranoia, and the hard place that is realism. It’s funny how things clamor around at once, and the things on the up and up bring a high that, nerves and all, can be so intoxicating, while simultaneously sickening. So very emo. People say “get out of your head” but to them I retort, “where else can I go?”

I recently said that winning is so rare in life. Someone said it was depressing. I said it’s a realistic, I’m a realist! As I had so many times in my youth. They agreed it was true, but that the truth was depressing. And it often is. But such is life! No point pretending otherwise. Better to face facts.

“What else can I do? Can I let it go? Can I let it fade?” We did some lyric guessing game, and I said I only know lyrics to obscure heavy music. This guy I work with hated it, ha. I get that. The truth is, I don’t know the lyrics to all my heavy music, unlike my post-punk or brit-pop. Anyway, after that, someone said Blight and I remembered this, my favourite Trail of Dead song. Such fond memories of Trail of Dead live and their three drummers and the one I was with too. One of multitudes of Jean Francois fellas I’d met in Montreal. But the one that stuck the most, thanks to all the awesome music he shared. Probably the most pristine drummer arms encountered ever too, with all those blue veins tangled throughout such ultra-whiteness.

I’ll be reviewing two new releases from two of my favourite Toronto artists too. A bit of a shift in gears, seeing as I’ve been all rock and now some gothy synthy stuff. Looking forward to seeing these guys in April (along with Moaning) too. Though three shows in one week, two of which are on far from ideal nights (Thursday and Sunday) is risky business.

I’m also officially old now that I concede to go see cover bands play. I was so opposed to them back in my day, but now I get it. I can’t ever go see The Smiths live. Or the White Stripes. And they’ll play all the songs I want to hear too (mostly, still haven’t heard “What She Said” my destructive youthful anthem) so why the heck not? Just a shame there is no nostalgic, asexual, waif of a dreamboat Morrissey at the helm. Still, I’d rather that than go see Marr on his own, or god forbid, Morrissey the nutjob himself now.

“Same boy you’ve always known. I guess I haven’t grown.” I love that line about, “Hope you know a strong man who can lend you a hand lowering my casket,” too.

No. No beloved back-pocket flowers, or a full-on branch, but this is classic nonetheless. What a fetching freak he was. Unlike no other! One thing that hasn’t changed in over half my life, I’d still go back to 1983 and be 19 or so and try to have my way with the young Moz. The stuff dreams are made of. Too bad I still can’t control mine, and my nocturnal hours are filled with nightmares. At least it’s not boring, I guess. Maybe the night the nightmares stop is when I really need to be worried.

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