Everytime I Sit Around I Find That I'm Shocked

This post was totally going to be about dilettantism and the Leeds indie pop band This Many Boyfriends (<3).

The last time I saw the Halifax band The Grass was three years ago. They were very country-rock, with a few Beach Boys-esque psych pop flourishes that were much better than their sub-standard 'we're not really from the South but we really get fiddles and hoe-downs' tunes. I was mostly impressed by how many pretty teenage girls were wearing their stylized t-shirts. I was 20 or so, it was almost okay.

Earlier today, someone told me The [new] Grass were performing in Ottawa again. They were apparently 'math-rock' oriented and much harder. Laughable. Fuck them, as if a bunch of dudes from Halifax who last tried to really get the chord progression of 1,000 Dollar Wedding down could nail the intensity and intricacy of interplaying interlocking guitars bass drums and melodies and play hard. It was safe. It was going to be empty. And that's the kind of music I like, because I'm empty. I was there.

As Chuck Klosterman famously said, rock music (even Rock Music, or ROCK MUSIC) will not save your life. It will definitely not cure cancer. It might not even have an impact on AIDS. What he unfamously didn't mention is that it doesn't need to do that. Rock Music, no, ROCK MUSIC [and really, MUSIC, BOOKS, FILMS, ARTWORKS], do one thing and one thing only. They make you forget that your life needs saving in the firstplace. I haven't thought about you until now, and that's only because I really want to always always remember. It usually doesn't work that way and it's an accomplishment that cannot be belittled. You [and I and everyone else I know] will not die, not tonight and not in my head [can you tell that I've been watching too much Doctor Who recently?].

Here are a few more words: Nova Scotia, loudness, intensity, the grass, rhythm, clicking, losing control, The Grass, progrock FFFW, regaining a notion of control that is not controlled, chugging beers half jumping on the stage, peanut butter, explosions, too tight to register consciously, loud loud loud fast fast loud fast, A A B B up B A, lockdown, heart, THE GRASS. Do you seriously want more?

For the record, I bought a t-shirt tonight.