LCD Timewarp

I’m back in the boisterous Provo Coffee Pod, a little bewildered. Despite the draw of the Utah Pride Festival this weekend in SLC there are still numerous iPhone metro-bohemians left in Utah County on a Sunday afternoon. I guess the population skews back to the other side of the tracks over the Summer. Much of the ecclesiastically endorsed BYU demographic recedes back out of Zion and we’re left with more tattoos, piercings, and (god forbid) sun dresses. I’m only complaining because I’d rather be tucked away in a nice quiet corner of the public library, but that kind of establishment is considered to be ungodly and an abomination on the Sabbath. Since I’ve lived in Provo so long I had the impression that all libraries are closed on Sundays, to let the dusty, weary books, and their librarian curators, rest their spines. But then I came across a library with its doors unlocked, lights turned on, and literary select diverse – and open on a Sunday. So now I’ve got that pebble in my shoes. Continue reading

If There’s No Music Up In Heaven

…Then what’s it for? I have imagined what life will be like after death. My nightmare is that it will be infinite church meetings, with an infinite playlist of traditional church hymns listed out on the wall with the black and white plastic number placards. I was trying to spend some time outside the house today, a sunny Sunday morning, and I rolled out of bed and dragged myself to a coffee shop. Not being a morning person I was relying on a subdued sanctuary where I could humanely nurture my nerves to some level of public presentation, sipping down one delicious Red Eye. I soon noticed that one person was actually sitting next to another and speaking. Soon followed by another, then another, then another, and so on. (Ironically, it was an ex-mormon recovery group.) What we had was ultimately a boisterous congregation building to a fossil fuel drilling operation in the tender wildlife preserve of my morning. That’s when I assembled my personal sound system and ignited my copy of the Arcade Fire “Reflektor” record – and where I got the idea for the title of this post. Continue reading

If I Were a Cool Kid

For my birthday I received the perfect gift, a gift card. The giver can make a gesture without really committing. It reminds me of the Asian custom to graciously receive a gift without opening it in public. The shame and disgrace of letting pass a slight but uncontrollable wince when you see it’s a tasteless Walmart reject is unbearable for everyone, and must be resolved through self-immolation at a minimum. Thank goodness this gift card was from Amazon, so I could rack up more items from my old wish list without the need for senseless self-destruct just because I’m quietly picky. My Amazon Wish List has gotten dusty, considering how it can take me years to go ahead with purchases, but I was able to go deep and dig up some good material. By an interesting coincidence, I bought a bunch of records (The Clash, Siouxsie, Gang of Four) from right around 1979, when I was a kid. It makes me wonder what could have been if I were savvy and loaded with spending money when I was eleven. Continue reading

The One Where… Dan Shills for Amazon

Sure, it’s great to get trashed on TKK “Christian-Zombie-Vamire,” but after a few hundred times commuting to work with that you’ve gotta detox. I’ve actually made a few stops at Best Buy and fye in town to find something new, to make a connection, and swear off of the trash. These big box record stores are no help! It’s like they want to keep good music a secret and it’s up to you to guess. There are tens of thousands of album covers to judge by, the inventory’s not ordered very well, and the records you want aren’t in stock anyway. There’s the old conventional marketing wisdom that customers will only buy what they see. Put the merchandise out to be noticed, and let voracious consumers like me hear ALL of the music so that they’ll buy the stuff they didn’t know they needed. Continue reading

Listening

There was some day long ago when I became too busy to stop everything else, turn down the lights, and listen to music in the open air. If I plugged in cheap ear buds to listen to WinAmp or iTunes it was good enough as a background for Quake or reading online travel brochures for Asheron’s Call. Standing in front of the giant speakers at dance clubs screaming back at The Prodigy probably lost some subtlety. So now that I got some decent speakers and I unpacked my tuner I have rediscovered the qualities of my music collection. I had forgotten the mortified despair of listening to The Pink Opaque in the dark; the deep, hollow barrage of the synthetic percussion filling and haunting my walls. (Guess who’s goth). Electrafixion is kick ass, and Esthero should not legally be a red-headed Canuck with that kind of soul. That was just up to ‘E’. These records I’d half ignored scores of times sound completely different when I’m actively listening to them. Continue reading