Skip to main content

The conflict of indie

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Talk about conflict? Believe me. You know who I don't want to be? I don't want to be an indie snark purist. You know the ones, the ones who drop a band like a hot potato the moment they get a sniff of success; the ones who when you cheerily mention how much you like a track off a band's third album, say, will sniff at you and state that the only good track they ever did was a cover of a Jesus Lizard track which was the b-side to an early single which is 7" Japanese import only, unless you count the 2-track demo for a label sampler which was A&R only, or maybe the flexisdisc given away at one gig and one gig only where the singer changes the words omg at which point you punch them right on the bridge of the glasses that they don't even need to wear, the twunts. And quite right too.

And yet, and yet..

Look, I think we all have an indie snark-merchant knocking about, maybe we need to make peace with them. Mine popped out this evening when I noted to my horror that apple were using Cake's "Short skirt, long jacket" to shill iphones. And all of a sudden the indie purist leaps out screaming wait a minute, you bastards, I had to put the hard yards in at record fairs, grimy second hand shops, trawling weird websites, watching hundreds of awful, awful bands. I've done my time, and the payoff is I get to listen to stuff which the people who didn't do all this pointless indie nonsense don't get to. I get to have a sense of ownership of my record collection, I feel I've earned it. And here you, Mr Apple, are just giving shit away, letting people know about it, without a care.

I know, awful, irrational, and wrong. Why shouldn't they like it? And yet, and yet...another example: Hocus Pocus by Focus. Not their best, but a thoroughly enjoyable bit of prog craziness nonetheless. Or at least it was until it was being used for some videogame advert and all of a sudden Chris Fucking Moyles is playing it, and it's become a "thing" and y'know, you can NEVER listen to it again without thinking of a sniggering audience of dullards. Which is, of course, horrible horrible elitism but come on, throw me a bone here. Have you ever had something which you thought was yours, you've discovered it, you hold it close, it's a part of you, and then before you know it hey, it turns out that the vox populi think it's pretty neat, too. Which is probably good because it confirms what you already knew, but simultaneously ruins and cheapens it because you, at heart, are an elitist indie snob who's horrified at the thought of anybody else liking what you like? Of course you have.

I don't want to be that person, believe me. But I suspect I probably am, and now I'm going to have to submit myself to a load of Godspeed you! Black Emperor just to prove it, except in certain circles they're probably the equivalent of U2, so maybe I should just go and listen to a tramp shouting at a can and snort derisively at him for selling out because ten minutes ago he was yelling at a pile of shit, which was way more real, now that we COULD have put out on Jeepster...oh bollocks...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Inedible

"He says it's inedible" said my front of house manager, as she laid the half-eaten fish and chips in front of me, and instantly I relaxed.  Clearly, I observed, it was edible to some degree. I comped it, because I can't be arsed arguing the toss, and I want to make my front of house's lives as simple as possible. The haddock had been delivered that morning. The fryers had been cleaned that morning. The batter had been made that morning (and it's very good batter, ask me nicely and I'll give you the recipe some time). The fish and chips was identical to the other 27 portions I'd sent out on that lunch service, all of which had come back more or less hoovered up, we have have a (justified, if I do say so myself) very good reputation for our chips. But it was, apparently, "inedible". When it comes to complaints, less is more. If you use a hyperbolic word like that, I'll switch off, you've marked yourself as a rube, a chump, I'm not g...

Chop chop

I was completely ignorant of the fuss over the edited Trump speech in an edition of Panorama until, one moment later, I wasn't. And the reasons for my ignorance are instructive. I had no idea that the story was even brewing until the surprise Sunday night news of the resignations of Tom Davie and Deborah Turness. As I'm sure you are by now aware, this was occasioned by a clumsy edit in an old edition of Panorama, which has already been on the iplayer for a year. It's a non-story. Except people decided to make it a story. The reason I'd heard nothing of it until the resignations was that I'm not on X, where, apparently, it was all the media classes had been talking about for a week. It was an obsession of the unholy right-wing trifecta of the Mail, Telegraph and Times (who, given that they sent a bloke just last week to interview the wrong Bill di Blasio, you'd think would wind their necks in over factual inacccuracy). It was big news on GB news, all self-contain...

Creepy old men

I note, somewhat wearily, that creepy old men are back in the news, being creepy. Creepy old men, and their apologists and enablers, who argue that their creepiness is somehow the natural order of things. Old men would have you believe that it is difficult to not be a creepy old man. That it is a task of epic proportions. It is not that difficult. It is a matter of intention. As yet more of the grimness of Epstein unfolds, creepy old men are, sadly, a flaccid topic once again. Whether it be pursuing students thirty years their junior, or simply not asking too many questions about the background of the probably legal young woman who you've just been introduced to by your good pal Jeff. To be clear, I am not referring to criminal creepy old men, the ones who actually committed statutory rape, the ones who fucked trafficked hirls. That is not something which is allowed to get away merely with the contempt of the observer.  That deserves prison.  No , I'm referring to the hinterla...