Well, much overdue as usual, is my write-up of my attendance at the relatively recent MGMT gig at Manchester Academy 2.
I'm frankly running out of superlatives to describe the music I watch and listen to. I have good taste, I know that. My gig sheet reads like a who's-who of left-field indie nobility. From MGMT to Mercury Rev, from The Doors to Neil Young, from The Arcade Fire to The Shins.
MGMT quite easily have hussled their way into the bracket of great indie outfits. They have the 3 minute usual songs, joyous, explosive, tintillating even, with guitar riffs to make the ears buckle under the pressure of them. But MGMT also have those odd amazing 14-minute rambling spectacular rock odyssey to rely on, so when you think you have them figured out, you don't. They just delight in messing with your head a little.
I guess that's my problem. Music is the primary device via which I allow the world to mess with my head. And last Tuesday, with nothing else outside of music having messed with my head for a long time, I felt almost bored by the pleasure, having felt it all too often, all too often, all too fucking often. There I was, living in this perfect little indie bubble, with my gloriously original music to listen to, my gloriously original TV to watch on my PC, my gloriously original movies to watch, again on the PC and my glorious supportive friends to rely on to be around and experience some little elements of my little world. And I was pretty fucking frustrated, despite everything appearing peachy.
Then a wonderful thing happened to me shortly afterward. When life is going so well that you're bored, you'd better prey somebody rattles your bird cage for you, because if they don't, you will. And if you're anything like me, you'll rattle it so hard, that the door will flip open and the budgie that is your sanity will go flying away, and you'll really fuck your life up. Strained metaphor admittedly, but I think you get what I mean.
Anyway, as a result of the fucked up apple cart/bird cage/end of tranquility, I'm beginning to feel less frustrated, less hemmed in by the happiness. I have a little desire again, to get a fucking move on, to stop arsing around, sniffing the flowers, exclaming the joy of my so-called existence, celebrating the fact that those holding the levers of power are dropping their precious gifts my way, to start actually enjoying great things, like MGMT, like Daniel Johnston to come in July, Neil Young, fuck me The Sugars, Jenny Owen Youngs, The Shins, The Doors, and all the rest of the psychadelic fruitloop musicians I love and adore.
Try canning this experience and you'll only fuck it up. If I'd known this previously, I'd have fucked around with my life way sooner.
Apologies if you're a first time reader, you don't know me, and you don't have a clue what I'm talking about. Any intelligent person only needs his cage rattling once. Rattle it twice and fuck knows what mess will come flying out...lol
Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, free at last. Martin was right.
No comments:
Post a Comment