Friday, April 08, 2005

Eyes that light up, eyes look through you.

Earlier this afternoon I felt decidedly Canadian and decided to read some Margaret Atwood, which felt surprisingly good. I also listened to Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, which I thought was vastly overrated when it first entered the public indie music consciousness, but which I have come to appreciate more and more as I grow older and more curmudgeonly, and as, presumably, my tastes mature. It's funny how things sound the same and yet different when you revisit them at intermittent points throughout your life.

Tonight we drove listlessly for about the thousandth time through the same dead end town and ended up in the café at Borders book store (is there a sadder place to be on a Friday evening?) and I was both amused and slightly horrified to spot a middle aged man sitting there, with no drink or bag in sight, seemingly mesmerized with a large hardcover book tilted in his lap entitled SERIAL KILLERS. Only in small town America do I notice these things.

Music: British Sea Power, "True Adventures"

I think the YHF story and album is a very interesting one but it's hardly working yourself into a fever pitch into (whether for or against). The album is decent on many different levels, even genius in parts, and yes Jeff Tweedy should be praised and lauded for creating something so wonderful sounding, especially considering just how screwed up he is. But in the end, take away the story, the hype, the detractors, fanboys and Tweedy's personal messeduppedness and you're still left with a decent album worth listening to a few more times then all the others.

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