There's that word again: "nice." "I feel nice inside / And now it's summer again."
I find songs like this stranger even that the back end of Remain in Light or My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, if only because it's notably not compelling. Airy, solid, simple and simplistic. The familiar oscillations between identity and performance are hear, but batted around indifferently. Although I'll go out on a limb and say that the lines "I believe that I was / Born with the things that I know" are hyper-problematic, especially given the virtual fixation on performance and construction. Unfortunately, I can't push through the layers of boredom.
Showing posts with label simplicity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label simplicity. Show all posts
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Sunday, November 26, 2006
77: New Feeling
The opening clarity blurs as it moves forward, smears itself across the time it occupies. Tina Weymouth's bass is the great mirror - the guitar lines double and Weymouth's bass doubles back and surges. (If there is such a thing as a great rock bass player, surely it is she.) This double-figuration swings back at the lyrics and their striving towards the wholeness of irreducible simplicity: "It's not yesterday anymore" is ultra-literal, but depends on the shared illusion of objective time. This is, I think, another concern that resonates all the way through the TH catalog - the lie that makes absolute certainty and irreducible simplicity possible. The exposure of this lie can only happen through its statement in the barest possible terms.
"Why have we kept out own names? Out of habit, purely out of habit. To render imperceptible, not ourselves, but what makes us act, feel, and think. Also because it's nice to talk like everybody else, to say the sun rises, when everybody knows it's only a manner of speaking." - Deleuze and Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus
D & G make me think as well: there is, of course, pleasure in giving yourself over to the lie, to the illusion, to the manner of speaking. The manner of speaking becomes a mannerism, a way of affecting humanness, or a way of exploiting the humanness of others in order to get what you want - "I wish I could meet everyone / Bring them up to my room / Meet them all over again." The pleasure of a first meeting reflected upon from the future is "nice," it is comforting, in a sad way - this is what I imagine it would be like to commit suicide with an overdose of painkillers - because this is what speaking ultimately is.
"Why have we kept out own names? Out of habit, purely out of habit. To render imperceptible, not ourselves, but what makes us act, feel, and think. Also because it's nice to talk like everybody else, to say the sun rises, when everybody knows it's only a manner of speaking." - Deleuze and Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus
D & G make me think as well: there is, of course, pleasure in giving yourself over to the lie, to the illusion, to the manner of speaking. The manner of speaking becomes a mannerism, a way of affecting humanness, or a way of exploiting the humanness of others in order to get what you want - "I wish I could meet everyone / Bring them up to my room / Meet them all over again." The pleasure of a first meeting reflected upon from the future is "nice," it is comforting, in a sad way - this is what I imagine it would be like to commit suicide with an overdose of painkillers - because this is what speaking ultimately is.
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