Last night, we all went to see The Jesus and Mary Chain.
Standing up the back, I held onto the twins in my belly, wondering if they were digging the fuzzy-wuzzy jingly-jangly hurdy-gurdy guitars. Were they thinking (together):
“WOW! We are the coolest kids in town just by the very act of being here and hearing this!”
… like I thought about myself, 19 years ago, in my living room, the first time I saw a Jesus and Mary Chain special on Rage and was in disbelief at the awesomeness that I was certain must have surely been rubbing off on me, too. Like jingly-jangly osmosis.
So last night, I sang along faithfully, cos I knows all the words, and hummed the tunes and bobbed about, minimally. Technically, the performance was faultless. Yet, with the raptures falling well short of what I once felt, back in that living room decorated in the grey and peach soft furnishings inherent to 1989, I finally decided that I much prefer my nostalgia in a can.
And so follows a few vids featuring bird’s nest hairdos and pointy boots.
Blues from a Gun
You Trip Me Up
Some Candy Talking
Far Gone and Out
Just Like Honey