Manny at Sugardisaster hit me this woke-up-late-but-slept-really-great morn with a little thing called a musical baton. The musical baton is this: a set of questions regarding your taste in and current involvement with musique, la musica, ongaku, music. It operates a bit like a chain letter, so you fill it in and pass it on. We are all well socialized in the operation of this sort of conceptual machine. We are so well-oiled. These, for better or for worse, are the ties that bind us to one another.
I give you: The musical baton.
*Total volume of music files on my computer
At this point I have no idea.
BIG YOUTH “Ride Like Lightning: The Best of Big Youth 1972-1976”
Ride like lightning and you’ll crash like thunder. Hunnnnnnnnh!
*Song playing right now
I’m at work and I’m a little overstimulated these past couple of days, so I haven’t been listening to much music. The last song I really listened to- Sunday, I think- was “Discreet Music” by Brian Eno.
That’s a lie. I just remembered that yesterday I got on the train to meet Joe for some Joe at Bread and Chocolate (only to find it closed for construction, its normally open and inviting confines obstructed by the detritus of transformational accoutrements, it’s atypically shadowy dining area dancing to the strobe of an acetylene torch) and needed to listen to “This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)(“I feel numb/born with a weak heart/but I guess I must be having fun”),” followed by “The Nice People Argument” by Ted Leo (“And brother, they just won’t listen/so you’ve got to choose your side/all your talk is just so much pissing/if you’re just along for the ride”). In fact I just put that on my ipod for another listen. I guess that’s what I’m listening to, but I wasn’t when I began this. Digitally mediated narration means the end of linear self-description if you’re honest.
*Five songs (albums) I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me.
This is getting difficult. Acts of inclusion are always acts of exclusion. Ask me at any other day and time and my amoebic mind may have encompassed a wholly otherwise distinguished version of the canon. Caveat in place, know that I am cheating as I continue with…
Now that I’ve done that I know that I’ve left something out.
Manny also saw fit to add a question to compensate for the fact the last question was not really a question. The question he put to me was:
* If you could eat any meal of the day with any 3 artists (alive or dead), what meal, what kind of food, and which artists?
1. Dostoevsky, breakfast, Strong black tea, sproti on buttered bread, breakfast at a cafe on a canal in St. Petersburg
2. Henry Miller, Late lunch, cabbage soup followed by several bottles of wine with a view on a park or a plaza or a river or a teeming profligance of life and furtive, living stupidity.
3. Me, Lunch or early dinner, Ramen or some kind of cold -men out of doors. Beer.
That’s what I got.