You seem to believe that you have a right to live in a world where you still get paid one thousand times a day or even more for the three chords you banged out (by accident, might I add) on an ageing Casio synth in 1986, & which later on was used as an obscure earworm in an otherwise quite uplifting car commercial soundtrack. What’s worse, you seem to think that we (in other words, yr vast and loyal audience) have no right to do whatsoever we choose with those aforementioned three chords, whether that be in irony or jest, no matter how many of us have paid for the privilege of calling ourselves ‘fans’, or else queuing up to have a hand or a breast autographed. To top it off, you appear to be under some kind of impression that yr so-called rights are still enforceable; that those good times will continue on indefinitely, long after yr own deaths (including the accompanying tributes, the repackaging of greatest hits, (none of which we’re allowed to even sing anymore, at our funerals or in these streets. I’d laugh if only for the fact that most of it Is true; I’d only take it back for the sake of a memory you once triggered; & I’d like to explain more but (we’ve moved on, actually.
This sound, that stinks of dirty sneakers (never boots, they’re meant for da smeris speaks of djungel, uprooted flowerpots (never flares, maybe strobelight analysis strewn across the asfalt like the remains (not the actual remains, mind, but echoes of tribal war, racial war – bloooood! Yeah, (not just like Junior Reid, more an actual song of the thrice-dispossessed, sampled (never played, not spat by some kannibal to oblivion! AKA K-Town, Babylon. Chant (but do not actually sing, try screaming -- until I find myself somewhere in Somalia, buying Camels for the old man. Slutspurt.
In celebration of International Women’s Day, here’s some Youtube gold from some of my favourite women musical artists from the late 1980s and early 1990s. First up, Bilinda Butcher sings My Bloody Valentine‘s certified indie-dance crossover shredder, ‘Soon’.