There are a lot of things I’m not good at. One of them, in fact, is thinking of things that I AM good at. I’ve been accused of being some combination of Eeyore, Puddleglum, and Charlie Brown. More to the point I’m headed for here, I’m not very good at consistency, or at finishing things that I start. Oh, don’t worry (if you care); I’m NOT finished with either Spock’s Beard or Looking at the Lamb. And I guess I do have a SORT of good excuse because it’s the end of the semester, when academics are in even more danger of alcohol abuse than usual.
Anyway, I DID finish something that I started this week, and finished it the same day I started it. It was definitely, as the stereotypical smoker reclining on the pillow puts it with a smirk, very good for me!
Now granted, this is not of the same scope in listener-hours as my discovery a few years ago that I was liking everything I heard by Lou Reed, even the stuff Reed fans would say you shouldn’t like. Or, some will understand how difficult it is to respond to queries regarding what Zappa one should sample first. It’s nothing like that. Still, it’s the first time I’ve done that with an artist for a while. I mean, done it so voraciously.
I’ve complained here before about the “drinking from the fire hose” phenomenon. (Was it Erik who brought that up? Ian? I forget.) Lately, when it comes to the music to which I don’t seem to have time to pay attention, I’m tempted by the image of going for a drink at a huge waterfall with a disposable bathroom cup.
But here, in the rich and deep sense, is something. It started with some ear-opening forays into Matt Stevens” breathtaking solo work, and now I’ve found the most wonderful dram of single-malt (neat). I’ve not been so suddenly and deeply struck by the textures, the moods, the goosebump-inducing wonder of a band’s recordings since King Crimson. I’ve confessed my newfound faith to my “current stuff guru” Birzer, who has bid me write. Hence, I write, though with much more rough effusion than thoughtful creativity (for the moment).
If I’m slowly beginning to build my own small pantheon of current “prog-related” (sorry, I just can’t leave off the scare-quotes) artists, I’m ready to affirm the divinity of TFATD. I gladly join those who look longingly toward autumn, and the promised Bad Elephant release.