You Made Me Realise

(Hello, and welcome to My Bloody Valentine Week here at ACOT&AWP! Push your hair in your face, break out the feedback. Pull up a Fender Jaguar and stay awhile.)

Everyone has a favorite band. Back in high school, when I believed my purpose in life was to meet everyone in the world, I followed the sound of an electric bass up to a dorm room, where I met a college kid named Zach. He humored me by discussing music. I listed the bands I was into: "Ride, Lush, Slowdive..." He interjected: "My Bloody Valentine." "Who?" "You don't know My Bloody Valentine?" And so he pulled out Loveless. "You will fall in love with this band within ten seconds." And I fell in love.

One of my favorite moments last night was looking at the faces of the crowd, and realizing that these were all people who had fallen in love with a band. Individually, inextricably. And so it should make sense that these same people would have reactions like mine: Erik Bryan @ The Morning News; Jakub @ IS050; Todd Levin @ tremble.com.

I once bumped into Kevin Shields in the giant record store on Oxford Street. I told him I was a big fan. We talked about the Boombox Experiment. I noticed we were standing at the end of the 'M' section. I said to him: "Are you looking for your own albums?" He smiled and blushed. Kevin Shields went the color of Loveless.

"I've worked here for ten years, and this is the first time I've had to use earplugs," said the woman behind the bar.

Before last week, the sad, graying truth of it all is that I'd barely listened to an entire My Bloody Valentine album since college.

In the past week, I've listened to almost nothing but.

© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.

Now Entering Heaven

Dear 16-Year-Old Me,

You will be so happy.

Sincerely,
32-Year-Old Me

© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.

Tonight I'm Going To See Your Favorite Band

Dear 16-Year-Old Me,

I meant to write before. There are so many things you should know — how the world turns out, how we turn out. But I'm not supposed to tell you too much. It's against the rules. Like wandering off the path and stepping on a butterfly, it might send you looking for a different ending. And I wouldn't want that.

Just know you're happy. You have a good life! You read a lot, but not so much as to be asocial. You have healthy eating habits. And you've discovered some good things, such as true love and Joan Didion. And DVR. But I'm probably not supposed to tell you about that.

They let me send this letter to you to tell you one thing: Tonight I'm going to see your favorite band. I wanted to write and let you know that you'll see them some day, even though it may seem to take ages. It will take ages: another 16 years. But you'll see them. I promise.

Today I even dressed like it's 1992. Not the way you dress now (Censors: am I allowed to tell her not to be upset when she loses those horrid brown pants with the 23 Skidoo patch when our parents sell the Scirocco? Honestly, they were horrid, and she was so needlessly upset...), but, after sixteen years of fashion experimentation, bad choices and minor mistakes, today I'm dressed like the women you always wanted to dress like. And we wear it well.

Can I say it again? Tonight I'm going to see your favorite band.

Your friend Kevin told you that "To Here Knows When" is the song you hear when you go to heaven. I still happen to think he's right. I also think you're right in your conviction that this band is the most important thing in your life. At the moment, it probably is. What could be more important to you than the sound of entering heaven?

There will be more important things. I can't tell you what they'll be yet. That would ruin the experience of figuring these things out for yourself. I can't tell you how the world has changed, but I can give you a bland taste of our life.

The sky is blue today. The air is chilly in this home of ours. We woke up under a nice layer of blankets, brewed coffee, checked e-mail (you'll know what this is in about two years), read a few blogs (eight more years before you figure that one out). On our way into work we saw a man sitting in his car, trimming his mustache with a pair of tiny scissors. City workers feeding metal air ducts into a dump truck, watching the sides bend and crush. A man walking an exotic cat on the end of a leash. There were men in suits on the bus, headed off to work. Reading papers. People still read the papers, walk their pets, take buses to work — everyday things. And you're still an observer. Like you always were.

This may all get censored. Tossed out. I've said too much. Stepped on all sorts of butterflies. So, just in case, here's the clean version:

Dear 16-Year-Old Me,

Tonight I'm going to see your favorite band. I just thought you should know.

Sincerely,
32-Year-Old Me

P.S. If it gets too loud, I'm ducking into the toilets. Don't hate me.

© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.

Fragments: Making Monday Better

News of a My Bloody Valentine reunion. Two songs on repeat: "Challengers" from the new New Pornographers album ("Yes I know it was late, we were greeting the sun before long"), and "Dark Horse" by Bowerbirds (thanks to Wood from Sweet Juniper for an introduction to the latter).

A package arriving from Brahms/Mount, making everything serene and comfy and entirely more blankety. Having farmer's market peaches and half & half for dessert (we're out of cream).

Discovering this literary map of Ohio, which includes good ol' Louie. This Gallery feature on Thomas Allen at The Morning News. People who see the positive side of things.

My sister calling me from a bicycle, laughing at the absurdity of words.

© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.

More Charley, Pie Town, and Other Assorted Ephemera

The full Charley Harper piece is up at Design Observer. I particularly like that the author mentions Harper's titles, titles such as Family Owlbum, Raccpack, Herondipity. They're unbearably smile-inducing, made from the same cloth as the little jokes that made me love growing up in southwestern Ohio, family reunions, church luncheons, my Great-Great-Aunt Peg and her sideways smirk. A reader in the comments links to Dwell's Harper interview from last year. And how close am I to spending $400 on this?

Shorpy (if misplaced nostalgia is an addiction, then this site is my dealer) is having a barbecue in Pie Town, New Mexico. This picture tells at least seventeen stories by my count. I love the man picking his teeth with his pinky finger. And here, the nice folk of Pie Town prepare to say grace.

Nicole Krauss on walking and New York, a piece which reads endearingly like a series of Chris Ware panels. (via The Written Nerd)

I resisted the CD format as long as I could. In 1991, I won The La's single "There She Goes" on CD at a fair, and had a friend copy the CD onto cassette for me. It wasn't until 1992 when I bought my first CD: My Bloody Valentine's Loveless. I've never grown nostalgic for the CD format the way I am for cassettes and vinyl. Fifteen years on, and I just spent all weekend participating in its demise by recycling 300 jewel cases. (via The Morning News)

Why Super Furry Animals are amazing. Number 7 is dead on. We've seen SFA live at least five times, along with one Gruff Rhys solo show, and every time is phenomenal. For that matter, "God! Show Me Magic" is as great a song as anything that came after it. (via largehearted boy)

At Nothing But Bonfires, Holly Burns ponders her own nostalgia while assembling ingredients for a dinner in San Francisco's Chinatown markets. Here's hoping a recipe is soon to follow.

© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.