Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Sometimes.
Sometimes the past can't be edited enough to work. Sometimes you just have to finish it to be able to move on to the next thing.
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Strummer
I fucking hated The Clash. I heard them years ahead of any US punk I ever met, as I was living my life listening to the World Service of the BBC...back when they still transmited to the US.
Some of the tunes were pretty good, so I read every thing I could on them. Everything went on and on about how much they hated this, that or the other kind of music...or group. I became so annoyed at their on-going whining that I wrote them off.
Then, I met Strummer for about 10 minutes, in Northen California. It was a wreird gig, the audience was mainly like 13 year old girls trying to be hip. It was one of the few gigs where I was tall enough to see the stage from the floor. The band played well, but looked completley perplexed at the crowd. After the show I was ready for an arguement, and worked my way to Strummer. He greeted me with a warm hello and said he hoped I'd enjoyed the show. He mentioned he had noticed me, as I was a foot taller than everyone else down front. I got him right on music, and he was not at all what I expected. he said, "Whatever music you love is great! Just do it like you mean it! I hate all the magazines, they cut so much out of what I said and make it look like I hate all sorts of things. Christ, I wouldn't have started playing guitar if I didn't like what came before me!"
In that monet, I heard The Clash a whole new way. I ended up liking them.
But the bass player was the biggest prick I've ever meet in music. He was walking with a boombox, and thinking I recognized the reggae tune he was blasting, I asked what it was. He gave me a snotty answer that it was reggae. Asshole, I was probably listening to it 10 years before he ever even heard it. Why is it that the wrong one in a band always dies first?
Some of the tunes were pretty good, so I read every thing I could on them. Everything went on and on about how much they hated this, that or the other kind of music...or group. I became so annoyed at their on-going whining that I wrote them off.
Then, I met Strummer for about 10 minutes, in Northen California. It was a wreird gig, the audience was mainly like 13 year old girls trying to be hip. It was one of the few gigs where I was tall enough to see the stage from the floor. The band played well, but looked completley perplexed at the crowd. After the show I was ready for an arguement, and worked my way to Strummer. He greeted me with a warm hello and said he hoped I'd enjoyed the show. He mentioned he had noticed me, as I was a foot taller than everyone else down front. I got him right on music, and he was not at all what I expected. he said, "Whatever music you love is great! Just do it like you mean it! I hate all the magazines, they cut so much out of what I said and make it look like I hate all sorts of things. Christ, I wouldn't have started playing guitar if I didn't like what came before me!"
In that monet, I heard The Clash a whole new way. I ended up liking them.
But the bass player was the biggest prick I've ever meet in music. He was walking with a boombox, and thinking I recognized the reggae tune he was blasting, I asked what it was. He gave me a snotty answer that it was reggae. Asshole, I was probably listening to it 10 years before he ever even heard it. Why is it that the wrong one in a band always dies first?
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