Well well well, here we are once more. Summertime, and the living is easy, or at least not that hard. Although the head aches a little. Unplanned barbequeues of a Monday night are death to happy Tuesday awakenings, my friends, and that information is yours absolutely gratis, a gift from the horse’s mouth. (I got two pale hands up against the window pane I'm shaking with the heat of my need again) So, on and off on the bus in the mornings, I’ve been thinking about the different purposes people put popular music to. It’s all very interesting, at least to a half-asleep brain that’s managed to osmose a little poncy cultural theory over the past few years. Politically and publicly music is used for cheerleading purposes, for entertainment and for proselytizing, but here I’m thinking more about specifically personal and private functions. (Listening to the radio I feel so out of place There's a certain something missing that the treble can't erase) I mean, I refuse to believe that the estate kids hanging out near my house in the evenings think about nowt but shagging, drinking and dancing, just as I wouldn’t imagine that other cardie-wearing, biscuit-nibbling B&S fans think of nothing but tweenage lesbians and Terry Underwear while running through parks, pursued by townies, although these two images would seem to be suggested by the lyrical content of our respective listening matter. But any convenient stereotype (this word comes, interestingly enough, from early machine printing at the beginning of the age of mechanical reproduction) by its nature must involve abbreviation, elision and omission of essential elements in order to present a glib and exclusive surface for those both inside and outside the subculture in question. Pop music is a useful focus for the emerging social identity, augmented and accompanied by foxy corn-rows or, ‘alternatively’, Sanrio hairgrips. Is it something we give up as we slide comfortably into the Gap as we grow older and maybe more confident in our ability to retain our indentities while gradually becoming de-tribalised? After all, middle-aged people can look pretty daft in dolly shoes and Talulah Gosh t-shirts, and feel more comfortable in sensible trainers anyway. Or maybe we just need an easier ride without all that teenage angst to sustain us. (I know you can tell just by looking at my face A word about my weakness I'm totally addicted to bass) Does an instant connection with the booty bypass the brain entirely in the majority of our appreciation of music? I only know that the ticking beat and twitchy rrriddims of glossy UK Garage production are instantly recognisable and utterly attractive, leading to an ass-shaking of global proportions, but most of the lyrics are pure rubbidge, of course, as with 99% of everything. (Woah-woh-oh) This matters not a jot, because after all, most post-listening analysis only serves to provide some kind of semi-theoretical basis for justifying an initial gut reaction, whether positive or negative. Haha, like most cultural ramblings, our reactions say more about us than about the artistic product. (Your bassline is shooting up my spine Your bassline has got me feeling fine It's filling up my mind) Whatever, I’m hoping for some pure pop thrills, as well as something maybe a bit more errr cerebral, at the hugely exciting revival of Tigermilking in only a few short weeks’ time. Do your worst, boys and girls of the decks, and those not so pivileged will, one hopes, turn up in droves to shake their thangs. This here has been written in bitesize chunks while experiencing the wonderful world of work as a (very junior) media ‘ho’, which today has involved sorting out a vastly disorganised and grubby stationery cupboard. So I’m feeeelthy now, but I’m off home to become clean, revise this pile of nonsense, then submit it for your kind attention. It doesn’t include half the brilliant stuff I thought I’d thought about, but like poetry written in the middle of the night, half-asleep bus musings rarely live up to expectations when solidified. Well, au revoir, chaps. Love, Liz :x p.s. Happy impending birthday, Archel! _________________________________________________________________ Use MSN Messenger to send music and pics to your friends http://www.msn.co.uk/messenger +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. 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