2010
Sometimes, years just plain suck. An' twenty-ten is shaping up as such a year. First, Ron Asheton and now LX Chilton.
For me, these are the guys, and always have been. The guys who did the coolest shit: the makers of the best music what affected me most.
I'm serious.
And i'm saddened.
Vale, you cool fuckers.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
brothels and historians
Long-time readers have urged me: 'VCH, you write so often about gold-town, why do you never mention its fourth most famous feature?'
Waaaallllll. It's tricky; but it is also an excellent lesson in the vagaries of language vis a vis its historical context: people, stuff is subjective.
Gold-town's fourth most famous feature is its sex workers' residences: its hos [hoes?] homes. Now, were i a not a very competent historian i might call them 'houses of ill-repute' and be done with it. But, as a VCH, it is essential to my professional being that i know stuff is relative. And who am i to say what is their repute? Some might argue said houses have the finest repute available.
Of course, i will never be able to test this modest theory, because, while some of my Gen X colleagues tackle exciting subjects under the rubric of the history of sexuality, i am a prudish historian; best suited to drawing up tables of economic transactions and quoting Toynbee.
And these things are excitement enough.
Waaaallllll. It's tricky; but it is also an excellent lesson in the vagaries of language vis a vis its historical context: people, stuff is subjective.
Gold-town's fourth most famous feature is its sex workers' residences: its hos [hoes?] homes. Now, were i a not a very competent historian i might call them 'houses of ill-repute' and be done with it. But, as a VCH, it is essential to my professional being that i know stuff is relative. And who am i to say what is their repute? Some might argue said houses have the finest repute available.
Of course, i will never be able to test this modest theory, because, while some of my Gen X colleagues tackle exciting subjects under the rubric of the history of sexuality, i am a prudish historian; best suited to drawing up tables of economic transactions and quoting Toynbee.
And these things are excitement enough.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Swamp
Sacred Cowboys.
Remember them?
’80s band!
Rock writers getting all nostalgic for the late ’70s punk era like to relate some lead-singer usually named Joe Damage saying he was invited to become a member of the Sucky Toedogs even though he ‘couldn’t play his instrument.’ What is unmentioned is that all the other members of said band were former Prog musos, virtuosos who could play in 13/17 time but who were now hiding their abilities for the sake of appearing ‘orffentic.’
Bollocks to that (hey, situationist joke)!
If you want lack-of-musical-chops, go ’80s. There were fabulous bands then, none of whose members could play a lick.
The result? Massive reliance on the lumbering, dinosaur-slow thumps of the bass player (usually) or drummer (occasionally).
Cf. Scientists, Gun Club, (The Cure??? aw, crap), Tarantulas (Perth band fer yer interstate and foreign brains). Who else?
Dum dah, dum dah, dum dah…
They called it swamp music.
An’ it was good.
Remember them?
’80s band!
Rock writers getting all nostalgic for the late ’70s punk era like to relate some lead-singer usually named Joe Damage saying he was invited to become a member of the Sucky Toedogs even though he ‘couldn’t play his instrument.’ What is unmentioned is that all the other members of said band were former Prog musos, virtuosos who could play in 13/17 time but who were now hiding their abilities for the sake of appearing ‘orffentic.’
Bollocks to that (hey, situationist joke)!
If you want lack-of-musical-chops, go ’80s. There were fabulous bands then, none of whose members could play a lick.
The result? Massive reliance on the lumbering, dinosaur-slow thumps of the bass player (usually) or drummer (occasionally).
Cf. Scientists, Gun Club, (The Cure??? aw, crap), Tarantulas (Perth band fer yer interstate and foreign brains). Who else?
Dum dah, dum dah, dum dah…
They called it swamp music.
An’ it was good.
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