I drive a lot these days, to and from work, and man it drains. I do hate driving. But today I had a feeling I haven't had in a long time - where I was so wrapped up in moving along at speed while the music blasted, where I just wanted to keep going, like I used to in California, where I would take the turn around Santa Vittoria an extra time or two or three just to let the sound keep pouring in.
You can't do that in Boston, you'll fall down a ratsnest of one-ways and end up in fucking Quincy, so I had to settle for a sit in a parking garage in Waltham while the track finished out its last couple minutes, reminding me for my walk to the office that friends are better with drugs are better with friends are better with drugs are better with friends are better with drugs are better with friends are better with drugs.
--
I said out loud, quietly but dramatically, a bit sincerely: "this album saved my life this morning", on that drive this morning. Also, "this album is fucking incredible". And that was before I was 4 tracks in! On the way home I picked up where I left off and, 36 years old, cried a little at 65 on 95.
It's been a weird month.
This is peak fucking emo. Toledo yelps and barks like Clap Your Hands Say Yeah // Bright Eyes, guitars chime along Built to Spill // Sonic Youth off-center, the whole thing poring out Modest Mouse // Pavement, soaring like Surfer Blood // Boston, and my namedrop well runs dry, and all those points of reference make for a constellation of striking elevation. Artsy crashes into ramshackle crashes into pop until you lose the thread, and your shields are down, chiming repetition hypnotizing, unexpected shifts destabilizing, wrong chords unbalancing, making sure you're good and defenseless for when the guitars swell enormous, for when the voices double and triple, or when the beat doubles up and yougetsweptupineuphoric pop. punk. ecstasy.
It's fucking staggering, even as the bass hints at Don't Stop Believing, even as the guitars chime Marquee Moon, it's such a spear of sincerity, through Wikipedia's page about depression, through the discomfort of being waytoohigh, through not knowing how to be a person and soaring on the wings of "it'll be alright" delivered with a touch of doubt but no single homeopathic trace of irony.
--
It's the rare beast rock opera. The epic sweep, the disregard for tightness or pacing, the unashamed stage-musical grasps at your heart. It's the kind of thing we need now and again, a Separation Sunday deep dive.
Teens in Denial probably doesn't have the cohesion, the eternal connection-making to have that kind of longevity, but its bold, staggering sweep, its complete fucking fearlessness to go on for X verses, Y repetitions, Z minutes, not giving one solitary shit, while still keeping your rapt attention, is a revelation. It switches up zigging when its supposed to zag, and ZAGGING when its supposed to zag, so even the obvious moments dodge cliche. That it casually drops a flailing 8 minutes in the 2 slot, goes on a 26 minute, 3-song jag near the end, closes out on a nearly-nothing final observation, all without seeming pretentious, all while just blasting you into - - - - -
Fucking brilliant. Rock lives for one day
5/5
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment