Why hello there,
This'll be a long one, probably. It's been a while since I've done an actual, informative blog.
Some serious stuff to rant about, but here's some stuff I be diggin' (if you'll excuse the momentary drop into unneccessary vernacular):
Red House Painters, still. Anyone who throws the slightest glance at this here blog will know of my love for the music of Mark Kozelek, and his old stuff with the Painters is no different. Recently got my grubby little mits (ears?) on their Rollercoaster record, which is widely considered their best. Not sure about that to be honest- I really love Bridge, the one that came after, but Rollercoaster is bloody good. And it has Katy Song on it. Always Katy Song.
The Twilight Sad. Or, in my mind, Part 64 of my utter obsession with Scottish music. Seriously, what's going on there? Frightened Rabbit, Biffy Clyro, Marmaduke Duke, Mogwai, There Will Be Fireworks. It's on a par with the Northern Ireland music boom, and that really is saying a lot. Anyway, The Twilight Sad. Big, white-noisey guitar cut through with hurt, angry but beautiful melodies. Get yerself a copy of their debut Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters, and if you're not dazed by its power, check your pulse.
Reading The Stand, by Stephen King. That, believe it or don't, is not unusual- I have attempted to read that book on more than one occasion. The uncut edition that I'm in possesion of is over 1000 pages long, for christ sake. Determined to finish it this time though. Not the most subtle piece of writing ever produced, but I'm a Stephen King fan, so I love it.
Now,
Here's something that gets on my tits in a big way: 'Laughter is the best medicine.'
Huh?
In the category of most misused phrases, that particular piece of nonsense is right up there with 'I'm nervous, but excited!' and the modern age's tragic demolition of the word 'philiosphy'. I shall say this once, and once only: Laughter is not a medicine, let alone the best. Nuh-uh. No way. Never.
An example is in order, so let's pick a biggie- you have the flu (okay, so not such a biggie, but I can't say something major without being offensive in the most hideous way).
Picture it- you, in bed, probably with hot lemon or some other such thing, miserable. And somebody tells you a joke. Depending on a myriad of different things, but mainly the quality of the joke, you laugh for a certain amount of time. Then you stop.
Now, here's the important bit. When the once humourous words are pushed into irrelevance by time, and your laughter has long since faded, you aren't cured. Your condition may have improved, your morale may be up, but will you see any evidence that laughter is a magical cure-all, not just any, but the best motherfucking magical cure-all ever? No, you won't. Nada. No-how. You'll still feel like shit.
Where then, did this obvious falsehood come from? Easy. You see, it's not that you laughing did nothing at all. What it did do was make you feel momentarily better, by taking your mind off the misery and christ knows what else. Laughing, is not the daddy of cures, but the daddy of plasters- it can cover your wound for a moment, make it invisible. The hard part- the healing process- still has to be done, but it has been postponed, or made just a little easier.
Laughter then, is not all it's cracked up to be. It's so much more.
Er, in my opinion.
Hare Krishna,
S.xxx
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