It's quite an odd experience to lose something that you never knew you had in the first place. Especially when it is something mental or conceptual.
Oh no, is this going to be some web-based lamentation about lost love or a sock?
No, anonymous web-gazer, it is not. I have not had the oomph, the life-force, the libido, the what-the-French-call-a-certain-I-don't-know-what lately to craft blog posts. Previously the majority of my entries were motivated by newly downloaded music and an axe to grind....or maybe an ice-pick....or a decorative hat-feather. Since that awe-inspiring weekend of not one but TWO drool-worthy concerts (if only drool was a currency, I could have purchased all the tickets to the Manchester Orchestra concert and not had all those shoe-gazing assholes present...and that chick whose clicking heels I could actually hear hitting the floor during "I Can Barely Breathe" as she went to the bathroom to drop a log) I have been relatively at ease. There has not been much irking me. At the same time, there has not been any music I've stumbled upon since then that has really struck me on the chin. That being said, must I be in a state of irritation to connect to music in a profound way? Is there a connection between my unhappiness and musical satisfaction?
The band Holy Fuck has been getting a lot of buzz lately (that means since last week's free "alternative" newspapers came out and each had a feature on the band). I decided to download their album. I vaguely remember seeing them open for Metric two years ago, although all I can actually remember about them is Emily Haines saying their name in a forced shout when she was asking the audience to acknowledge the openers (the other of which was a band called Islands that has since long-passed its "alternative" weekly newspaper buzz and has passed on to the indie after-life––that is, working as a bus-boy at the horseshoe and telling people how you used to be in some band they've probably long forgotten). So, upon listening to this Holy Fuck I shall share my thoughts....
(insert noise alluding to relative indifference)
They do nothing for me. Interesting concept for a band, yes. A traditional take on "modern" electronic music: beats and unique sounds without the use of laptops or loops. Ultimately, though, I find it to be a little pretentious. I can only see one feeling the need to create modern music without the use of modern accouterments primarily for the reason I used the word "accouterments" a moment ago: to self-ascribe a general feeling of superiority.
Now, allow me to briefly address the name of the band. I could go on endlessly about my problems with the name, but I shall keep it concise and do so in very plain sentences. The members of Holy Fuck think that they have fooled the general music-listening public. They think they have done so by giving their band a name that stands out and "pushes boundries" and that they are thus making us rethink the weight we place upon names. If they can name their band vulgarly yet not be a vulgar band, maybe everything must be rethought. Fuck off. You are shamelessly bending over for attention as far as your spine will allow. Don't take a shit on a fancy plate and try to tell me it's steak tartare.
Now I'm irritated. Interesting. Previously, I would be irritated by life and enjoy some freshly downloaded music and then in some mild form connect the two. However, this time I am irritated by some freshly downloaded music. The connection is an actual reaction in this case. Thank goodness I have a beard that can now be stroked repeatedly as I ponder.
