Finally I had a chance to hear the rerelease of Sebadoh's III today.
And I want to ask: what type of drugs were they on when they wrote that? Either that or Barlow and Co. have a very warped sense of humor.
The record ends with a seven-minute track that juxtaposes the whiny country-twanged voice of Barlow with some post-hardcore screaming.
I'm sort of at a loss for words here... simply that it was a very strange listening experience, and that if anyone's actually reading this, they should do the history of indie rock a favor and pick this record up.
For if you say to me, "I'm an indie rock person" - but you can't tell me anything about Robert Pollard, about Isaac Brock, about Stephen Malkmus, about Britt Daniels, about J Mascis, about the Friedbergs, about Jeff Magnum, about Athens... Montreal... Vancouver... Chicago... Dayton, Ohio... I will then ask, "well, than, what are you?"
(above is probably the snobbiest thing I have ever written here. I remember beginning this blog with the idea to boldface all namedrops in an attempt to make fun of indie snobbery... the idea of me knowing more obscure musical references than thee... and here I sit, writing the hateful words of INDIE SNOBBERY. saying my music has a sanctity, a holiness, a purity that YOURS DOES NOT.
I guess that's what happens when you're the only person whom you know that listens to good music.
You lose any logical grounds. You look at the preppy-looking kid next to you, and think, what's on his(her) Ipod? Nothing good. Abba... [what's he doing with that?] Ben Folds... Hawthorne Heights... [how can anyone listen to this?] Lil' Jon... [both extremes... slit your wrist and get crunk at the high school football game, party, seventeen girls for every guy... side-by-side] Britney Spears... [I thought those people were one-hit wonders] WHERE'S THE REAL MUSIC? )