Dec
06
2006

All Hail The Three Minute Pop Song

Wednesday, December 6, 2006 - 11:20:12 pm
(Posted Under: Tempe Music Scene Tempe Music Scene, Music Music)
It's funny, I listened to All Pop, No Star, (including Hey Douglas and All Pop, No Star) yesterday, without too much notice that we were at that time of year again. The time of year when the three minute pop song, and all the b-sides, need to be hailed. The day proved to be fairly lame to that end, which I wasn't too happy about. That, however, was remedied tonight.

Despite the lack luster effort during the day, I was reassured immediately that is completely effortless to breath it in. Crank the amp, kick over the tune, that's all it takes. It seems like in days gone by we used to have to go under, as more of a conscious act (which may or may not be true), but over the last few years, it's such an effortless thing, with just those ingredients. With that, all the rest just flows. (Which admitadly may have been the case all those years ago, and the feeling of it being more seemless these days could failing memory.) Breath in the reckless abandon. Fuck perfection. It was never about that, and never will be. And most certainly, not on this day, moreso than any. It never will be. And tonight came the ephiphany. When I go out, take me out playing one of the b-sides. Hold me down, and fucking take me out. At a climatic moment, just do it. If I get to choose how I go out, that's what I choose. Nothing could be better. Dripping sweat, thrasing the strings at the climatic end solo of Hold Me Down, a white flash and the curtins go down....God, if you're taking orders, then sign me up for one of those!

As a side note, particularly playing the solo of Girl's Can't Wait, it really dawned on me - and hasn't really before, at least in this way - that those guys, back then, might as well been in bed with Paul Westerburg and Co. Seriously. Just too cool noticing the trademark Replacements perfectly crafted pop delivered as crass punk juxtaposition in there.

Afterwards, after the physical session came to a close, I retired outside with a mandoritory cigarette and beer (the breeze really helping the situation of pouring sweat from the previous 2 hour frenzy), and was really hit with the fact that this shit doesn't change - one single bit. Every single other thing can (and does), and it makes absolutely makes no difference to the constant that this is. It hasn't changed in 16 years. Everything around it has, but it just hasn't. Similarly it hasn't change (though has possibly become stronger with experience over the years) that everything can fade away, and it'd be fine, just like in the beginning. It still remains the absolute solace.

I also noticed how effortlessly it is entwined with, and get's me back to April, when I was reborn. Y'know, I often - more than often - attribute, and consciously associate the ghetto with that; the time of April and rebirth. As opposed to this, which has been around for much longer than the ghetto was even thought of, let alone witnessed by myself, and hence I instead tend to immediately associate this with porn stars, hangs overs and sardonic mistresses with jet black locks and pale faces. But I guess I forget - how integrally entwined with April the muse is, and how it can get me back to April, serve it up to me on a platter against the dark cool December sky just as, and maybe more seemlessly, than the even the ghetto does.

Your dizzy sugar's never wasted here.

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