I just spent a couple of hours completely enveloped in music, and the discussion thereof.
I Googled The Courier-Mail‘s music section, after my parents recommended that I read an article written by Noel Mengel about iconic British artist Paul Weller‘s forthcoming tour. Mengel’s (now seemingly dead) blog appeared near the top of the search results – specifically, his review of 2007′s Four Ages of Robert Forster concert series. Nice. A smile remained on my face as I read about Forster’s songs and antics; I ruminated on the handful of encounters I’d had with the man thus far, and anticipated his show later this month.
That wasn’t the reason I went to the site, though. I read the Weller article and made a mental note to download acquire and absorb his latest release. That’s another potential show and review on the horizon: in this case, I’d accompany my parents. My eye was attracted to a headline elsewhere on the Courier Mail’s music page: “Remembering Nirvana, twenty years after the Love Buzz“.
Nirvana. We all know Nirvana. I grew up with Nirvana. We all did. Well, all the cool kids did. Yes, I’m applying the cool tag to myself. Erroneous? Subjective.
The article read well. It was written by Everett True. Everett Who? In the article, he states facetiously that he attempted to distance himself from widely-publicised claims that he defined the genre “grunge”, and introduced Kurt and Courtney. Intriguing. Wikipedia suggested that he’s quite prolific. Google led me to his MySpace page, which led me to his VillageVoice column.
All of this information cascaded within a couple of minutes. A few clicks, a curious expression, and skim-reading eyes. Internet, how ’bout it?
Everett True currently lives in Brisbane. He saw the same Gin Club show as I. His weekly column is highly amusing. Wikipedia suggests:
…some appreciated his enthusiastic tone, while his critics were infuriated by the highly subjective, self-referencing nature of his work.
I appreciate his enthusiastic tone, in addition to the self-referencing nature of his work. One of his posts linked to this video by Those Dancing Days, and damned if I haven’t listened to that song ten times in a row. Shamelessly gorgeous Swedish indie pop.
What am I braying about?
Music. It’s all about the music. Man.
“I love music”. A common and cliché statement. But absolutely true.
I saw bands on Thursday and Friday nights. I’m seeing bands Sunday night. The months ahead are arranged around shows of interest.
This is my life. Nothing excites me more often than music.
In December 2007, I was shortlisted for a VRaw-sponsored assistant journalist internship at Rolling Stone’s Sydney office. Coincidently, Almost Famous was shown on television as I was waiting for the application result. I re-watched the film and allowed myself to get carried away with the romanticised notion of it all. Music journalist. A kind of pre-emptive narrative fallacy.
The internship didn’t happen. But I do still get to call myself a music journalist. The moment that I start using that term in a serious, non-self-deprecating manner hasn’t arrived. If it does, I hope that someone’s around to wake me up.
Music writing is my hobby, not my vocation. It’s my escape, of sorts. See some bands; reflect; write coherently. Repeat. Enjoy.
Sometimes, though – that thought creeps up. You could do this. Full-time. Come on, it’d be fun! The thought is usually dismissed and forgotten.