Saturday, April 24, 2010
Crayon Fields All the Pleasures In The World. Good thing for the Crayon Fields is that the last Clientele record is terrifically awful. They shine, in comparison, in that record's tiny little shadow. Did democracy kill the Clientele? Allegedly he wrote the songs but then the rest of the band filled it out. The Clientele are dying, decomposing, necrotic. The album sounds like an application for employment by suddenly out of work band members. Dreadful. Hey a marimba would sound great here. Not really. Apparently Crayon Fields spent a great deal of money recording this album. I have inside sources, in country. This was relayed in a bitter post on a music message board. It wasn't entirely wasted. I rather enjoy this album. Well mostly. There are times when it seems as if the singer is desperately insecure and imbibes in some locker room bravado that is comically out of place but he's Australian. He's possibly named Dirk and pale yet leathery and possibly deeply embarrassed over this fact. First song is the magnificent Mirrorball, second song isn't but it's rather awesome as well. A falling away to chiming plucks on guitar strings now. Third song. I am not really keeping up. This is the title track. I would have chosen one of the first two tracks instead. What is the thoery behind selecting a title track? Does the title track come first and then the title? Why do bands name records after songs? Does this track reflect the themes of the entire enterprise? It is not much different in essence from any of the other songs on the album. Maybe this song has deep personal meaning to the Geoff. I could analyse the lyrics but there is the bit about necking in the hall. I've seen photos. If these boys are making out with chicks it's because they are famous and in a semi-competent rock band. They're ugly, mainly. Today is Max Planck's birthday, were I witty or charming or any of those things that make the general population swoon and vote for me for President or MP then I would walk up and down the boulevard with a placard proclaiming the man's greatness. "Stand next to me, let's get so close we'll make some quantum gravity if we can get as close as a Planck length". I am reading about Alex Loorz. The lad is best pals with Al Gore. Shouldn't the lad acquire the science before becoming a propagandist? Possibly. Perhaps this is all a ploy to meet Blubird! Smart boy. Recently we had a devastating consequence of the rampant global warming, the heaviest rainfall I've ever seen since I've been in Denver. This is ten whole years, which is only slightly less than a lot of the time frames that other people make imperious claims armed with. But it was lovely. Day long rains are melancholic and graceful. Colorado is strange there is this rampant filling in of a verdant tapestry after even the briefest of rains and then slowly this landscape is consumed by the relentless god Helios. Marsilio Ficino and John Wilkes Booth be warmed. And John Paul Stevens, Yamamoto codebreaker and dissenter against the plan to down Yamamoto is dying or he is retiring. It is now months later. Elena Kagan is the new John Paul Stevens and it is warm. I've taken to hoping that Best Coast is the new Amy Linton. There is an opening. I could mention the oil slick. I could mention the floatilla. I could mention State Senator Wilkerson's cup size. I won't. But on to song four. Timeless. A lone violin. A whisper. Silly lyrics to begin with. The dreamy poetic tenor of Clientele songs is not replicated here. It's basic smaltz with prettiness filled in around the smarmy sentiments. Chorus is seemingly an attempt to come off all Zombies and make it onto adult contemporary radio in Australia. My parents were just here visiting. It was the first i Had seen of them in a year. I didn't go to their home for Christmas because I was in Seattle burying a friend. I still haven't told my parents the truth of why I wasn't there. I told them I had had a vehicle accident and missed my flight. It seemed the right thing to do at the time. I don't tell anyone anything. I've buried two people who I thought I loved more than air. One of them broke my heart into a thousand pieces and then lingered over my crushed spirit for a very long time. The other was the apparition of a last kiss. One committed suicide. The other had a terrible accident. My father has just the one eye now. He has his right eye, the right one. It was a difficult scene when I first saw him. He's had this amazing duel with skin cancer and he's mostly come out on the short end. I feel awful. He isn't vain and his spirit seems buoyant and resilient but at the same time he seems melancholic in his closeness to mortality. He mentions it to strangers. Always. He's only 70, or nearly. He keeps a bible on the bed stand and reads it always. I don't know how I feel about that. My family was not a real religious unit. We attended church but religion was rarely practiced outside the walls of St Pauls church. Now it is his feebleness that is drawing him closer to a personal relationship with God and I can understand but I suppose I am too harsh in hoping for consistency. He is the one with a hole in his face. Graceless is playing now, my sentiments would be echoed in the title. My parents have aged dramatically in the past five years. I am afraid that my father hasn't the will to endure anything serious after this. Will he accept whatever comes his way in resignation or fight to the end? My mother spent hours in tears on the telephone with me this year. Next track, Take Me Where the Light Isn't Cruel. Nice. Rest of record, nice but we'll still mourn for the death of the Clientele.