4.03.2013

Easier to spot...

Just in case there are any PVD residents reading...

Yeah, I am here.

I was at Unicorn Hard On/Ital/Container tonight. And lol. I have to say, actually, that as I much as I have fulminated against "hipster house", um, Ital's set wasn't bad. Which is to say, well, if 90% of people who make records should just fucking stop, right, now, yeah, Ital should continue. But I still was not that impressed. But I guess that means he is in the 91st percentile of people making music, which is a good thing. He was good, not great, but only Beethoven and Chic are great, so, you know...

Anyways, what failed tonight was not the "house" but the "hipsters". As I said to a friend I was trying to convince to come down, if only to be able to share in my misery as opposed to the self-decption of others: it's a dance music event - come sit or stand.

Ital tried to rock the crowd. I almost felt sorry for him. Except he plays in Europe. And takes his fucking money, I'm sure. So whatever. Sometimes you fuck, sometimes you masturbate. At least one person gets off regardless. If life is meaningless, then "progress" can be defined as such: even the wealthy no longer feel comfortable paying others to wipe their bottoms.

Amazing that these artists are so hip. It's like: take an urban culture, wait twenty years, take out all the emotions, all the opinions, all the oppositional tendencies, all the funk, all the sweat, all the vitality, all the black people, and then get a good agent and a good haircut. And someone will actually be fooled into thinking that YOU are the underground! Why? Because you don't listen to Mumford and Sons? Mumford and Sons fans are actually a minority!  The majority of the people are not in the mainstream. A dirty secret, that. (Of course, people who listen to Mumford and Sons think they are not in the mainstream, either. Because, Lady Gaga, ha. And even Lady Gaga fans probably feel put upon by something!)

I sent an email to a friend recently and I didn't get a response. Probably because that person is really, really busy. But I overanalyze. And in my fantasies, I didn't get a response because either I was too personal or too snobby. Let's just say the latter.

I was complaining about people and their dancing. Let's start from the top, the One: I can't dance. But. I have been to parties. I have been to parties. I will never be President. I have been to parties. And I can say this: what separates the good ones from the bad ones is the way in which people respond to the records. At a good party, the mood changes with the music. At a bad one, the mood stays the same. And you could say, well, as long as people are dancing, but, no. If people dance the same way regardless of the mood of the music, then that means they are not reacting to the music, but something else. And fuck that, that means they are not actually listening. Or maybe listening, but not hearing. And if the most "involved" patrons are not even hearing it, then fuck it. You can book me to DJ, I don't suck. Fly me to Paris. But if I come out there and feel like I could play this or this* and get the same response, then why am I even there? What's the point? Will people feel cheated if they don't have someone to stare at (And why are they staring anyways?)? I'll bring a fucking iPod and cash in my drink tickets. Thanks. I need new sneakers. Get me an agent. I can cut my own hair.

There is no culture, only middle-class people positioning for status amongst themselves. I will never, ever get a tattoo because I AM PUNK AS FUCK! Get it? Didn't think so.








*(Sad sign of the economics of buying vinyl: I actually own the latter record but not the former [yet]!)

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Oh and one more thing. Sometimes convictions can be strengthened when they are challenged and the challenge fails. As a DJ, I can walk into a room, look around, and play accordingly. 1000 people already sweating? Bang it out! 10 people with arms crossed? Well, something else. Live PAs leave little room for adjustment.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

LOL - Brilliant (And right of course...)