(THE FOLLOWING POST WAS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN MARCH 18, 2006)
I want to be so artistically advanced that I can appreciate Lou Reed during a present day live concert. But I don’t. I just don’t. I listen to Rock N’ Roll Animal’s musical technicians carefully rocking their jams to new versions of some Oldies But Goodies, and I want to see Lou do this and not the other. Precision Rock usually harshes my mellow but when there’s cocaine up the nostrils of an avant-garde junkie and it’s 1974 and we’re still gonna try to do this rock thing people! – THAT show is where I wanna be. I listen to his first solo and fantasize of singing backing vocals like one of those glam ladies, “I can’t stand it any more, more!” Yeah! Tears welling up, “You’re right and I’m wrong” Can I play that? Can I smoke it? I listen to VU Live and while pondering the formative sex of the ass on the cover, I feel like I’m hearing them for the first time and oh how wonderful that was. Our first date and I was already asking, “Where have you been all my life? I’m so glad you finally found me.” I was 13. I began my obsession with heroin. And I get it. I really do. Heroin is crap. It all is but he really nailed it when he wrote Heroin. He really did.
So what’s tonight’s point? We’re melancholy. The Bush administration is setting up another scene to play for the purpose of forwarding their goals – Iran wants to talk about Iraq only to not talk about their nuclear ambitions. Fuck You. Fuck Bush. Like I’ve said before, said phrase loses its sweet sentiment there. In other news, I’m surrounded by a chronic ennui after listening to so many broken records today. I should go and forget and leave them in the sun. I’m grateful for what I got, I see where you’re coming from, I know to go won’t take the blues away but the thought of burning cigarettes shooting to the center of my head seems so much more reliable than Plenty Fortune but not much more than tiny kittens.