I’d been listening to Joy Division and Galaxie 500 for years.
Interpol turn on the bright lights 10th anniversary rar full#
So what does any of this have to do with Interpol? Hell, even back then I thought Interpol was full of shit. I still don’t fully understand what happened, though it must be said that my guesses have gotten more educated over time. It wasn’t dignity that kept me quiet though, it was just common sense. At least I had the dignity to leave her alone, not try and hound her for some kind of explanation. Eventually I insisted that we go out, or that she at least come over to my place. I would receive phone calls we would watch television sex would ensue with her both there and not there at the same time. As we kept seeing each other, my heart continued to skip and tumble through the next two weeks until it occurred to me that we never left her apartment. When I went to say goodbye at midnight she insisted that I stay. A few months later we ran into each other and she invited me to a party at her house. Reaching out to see what it was, she pulled back a hand coated in blood. Coming into class the morning after an over-enthusiastic celebration of my birthday, wearing a baseball hat that read ‘YOU CAN ALWAYS TELL A GERMAN BUT YOU CAN’T TELL HIM MUCH’, purchased in South Dakota while on tour with a group called The Guerilla Poets, she noticed something on my ear. I had a mammoth crush on a girl in my fiction class with arctic blue eyes and dyed red hair. You get one story - still no names, though. Keep in mind that in the midst of all these recollections I was attending college full-time (graduated with a 3.8 GPA), working 25 hours a week parking cars/carrying luggage at an expensive hotel, and writing/editing my (subsequently published - link) creative thesis - a 70 page book of poetry. The threat of stability filled me with disgust. Any kindness directed towards me was met with neglect. If I acted tenderly, they quickly vanished. If I acted nasty towards someone, they gave me love in return. To live in Massachusetts that year was to find one’s depression, one’s tragedy, one’s drugs, one’s dark spidery thoughts, constantly being outdone by everyone around you. At the very least, I’m sure I was funny, and I must have said the right thing, either charming or cruel depending on what the situation called for, at some point. I have a photograph of myself taken that year, sitting on a couch and stabbing myself in the eye with a fork. I had been pushing myself at an insane rate for four straight years and was starting to crack. From that perspective, my reaction to Interpol makes perfect sense.Ģ002 was the year I learned that there was no such thing as a clean relationship.
In Boston I finally got the chance to experience a shallower and more meaningless kind of suffering. Up until I left California to go to college in Boston, the first 26 years of my life had meant experiencing suffering in all kinds of deep and meaningful ways. But the stories and events… it’s just kind of personal. It’s odd, given the number of potentially uncomfortable things I’ve shared on Collapse Board and in my books, that I’m reluctant to go into details about that time. And the drama, the desperation, the fear, and the despair I associate with this album have as much to do with my life back in 2002 as it does with the music.
Interpol and I are in very different places than we were 10 years ago. This album means nothing to me now apart from the memories - highly subjective and highly personal - it stirs up when I listen to it. Decrease Font Size Increase Font Size Text Size Print This Page Send by Email
0 kommentar(er)
