Monday, October 18, 2010
There is a Duchamp joke that can be made about this blurry photo of a bride taking a tequila shot.
Curlew, A Beautiful Western Saddle
Morton Subotnick, Gestures; Touch; Sky Of Cloudless Sulphur
William Basinski, Vivian & Ondine
Matthew Dear, Leave Luck to Heaven
I'm writing about rockabilly and have a loose rule of listening to something other than the thing while writing about a thing, to keep critical distance or something, though its really more like not wearing a band's concert shirt when going to see that band. A stupid rule, in other words. While I was getting my bloop and bleep on with Morton Subotnick...
...I heard this amazing music coming from the parking lot. Like blaring. It had a marching band beat and kind of car alarm sirens and a Dr. Dre undulating whine. Totally improbable music. I ran out to bear witness, thinking perhaps it was an actual marching band (it is football season) setting off car alarms but when I got there it was gone. It's probably a song everybody but me knows. Maybe it's music meant only to be heard from an open window. Maybe it's readymade music. Or maybe it was all in my head and was a sign that now is the moment when marching bands and DJ's need to merge and form an unstoppable Voltron of popular culture, one that will save us from the Republicans and Clear Channel and the head-shaking olds and whatever else is stopping us from doing whatever it is we are being stopped from doing. By them.
This, by the Cramps, is a much better Duchamp joke.