Today on the bus, the girl sitting next to me whipped out a tube of Carmex. I swore off Carmex years ago--that shit has crack in it. Never a more addictive camphor product has ever been on the free market, available for sale to children. The odor of the Carmex whipped me back to those heady camphorlicious days of high school and college, when my moist lips were still trying to work out the ins outs and overs of life.
I've also been fondly relistening to my old Lou B. cds. I love Lou. He probably doesn't remember driving me home from the Folk Implosion show in Northampton in the summer of 1997, but that's okay, I do. That was more his wife's doing. It's hard to believe that Lou and all these bedroom recordings have been part of my life for 11 years now, but they have. It's strange--most of the music I bought back then, I still like. I'm glad it's worked out that way.
Bob dislikes the aural aesthetic of lo-fi, but that's what I love about it. It sounds antique, and it reminds me of the antique buildings and the position of the sun in my gorgeous coming-of-age playground, Northampton. I like the rustic, homemade, raw, honest, and therefore beautiful-ness of it. It's okay if you don't. Just don't start harshing on it.
I don't think I have it anymore, but I remember mail-ordering the issue of Option magazine with Liz Phair and Lou on the cover, and they had a two-person interview about the LO-FI EXPLOSION. It's funny that my Marantz flash recorder, my tiny all-techno recorder, sounds so much cleaner and crisper that the rotty distance of the early '90s four-track recorder.
"Batmobile" makes me think of the Baldwin House punchbowl, Masonic Street, the icky carpet at Bay State, and sucking down Omar's coffee at Sylvester's. "Calix Jauntarah" reminds me of my narrow wood-paneled basement room. Who needs a time machine when I've got the collected works of Sentridoh???