No matter how bad a state of mind you may get into, if you keep strong and hold out, eventually the floating clouds must vanish and the withering wind must cease.
It's Monday. Hello.
Draggy weekend. Watched Last Tango in Paris, which has to be the worst movie ever made, unless watching a smarmy Marlon Brando and an imbecilic Maria Schneider cavorting and spouting really arch faux-existentialist dialogue is your idea of a hot time.
Psychomusicology study: Sheryl Crow.
Although I don't remember what possessed me at the time, last summer I bought Sheryl Crow's C'mon C'mon album. I listened to it straight through once, and then another time, just to make sure I didn't miss anything, and then I promptly put it away and never listened again.
I had my standard Crow/Petty reaction: this is almost good...the songs have a Stones-y kind of feeling, the playing is flawless, and yet ultimately the record loses my interest because the lyrics are bad and the production is ultra-schmaltzy.
Anyway, throughout the year, in various stores and gyms, I'd passively hear this kinda catchy, classic-rock-Pet-Sounds sounding song and wondered who it was. It was always being played faintly enough so that the catchphrase "Soak up the sun..." never registered. But I was in a store this weekend and heard it, and realized what it was, and that I actually owned the record. Yay! So I went home and cranked it up...and promptly put it away and will most likely never listen again.
I guess what I'm getting at here is that some music is meant to be enjoyed from afar, but once you actually regard it fully, it dissolves like cotton candy in a rainstorm.
While that may seem like an obvious lesson, I really have to test these things--I am not content to hold a negative position about a popular performer or work of art based solely on the fact of their popularity. I must find out for myself how bad they are before I can move on.
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