The Scene and Herd

J.D. Salinger is like a good, mopey, eighties pop tune. I like to claim that all of it bores me by now, but just watch me get all emotional when Depeche Mode comes on the radio, and just watch me
get all overwhelmed
by J.D.’s death.

I try to avoid retro music because it seems to keep me from changing. I can’t get older to the soundtrack of 1980s Manchester, that’s for sure. I’d just stay 20 forever. Morrissey Night is an indulgence, but I always leave there feeling guilty and melodramatic and telling myself that if I want to get shit done, I’m going to have to forget about The Smiths for a while.

The Catcher in The Rye was the first book I ever read that was different. It was the first book I read that made me realize that books could be different. Before Salinger, I didn’t understand that writers could do whatever they wanted to do. I was fascinated by the way his characters thought and spoke. It was new and colourful. Good Lord, I thought J.D. was the most quotable writer in history and I read every one of his books, even as they became terrible.
It was an awful romance.

Of course, the newness faded. I realized that there were all kinds of authors out there that did things differently and I forgot that Salinger was the first one to teach me that. I forgot about Salinger completely so that I could change and get older and not get stuck being fifteen forever.

Now he is dead and I’m feeling all guilty and melodramatic. I’m sure we can tell ourselves to forget about our youths for a little while, but I’m not convinced that we can shake them for good, can’t shake the books and the songs that saved our lives.
Yes, we’re older now.
And we’re clever swine.
But they were the only ones who ever stood by us.

There is nothing impressive about this music video. It’s just a succession of randoms. But again, check out the crowds! Haha. Look at the shots of people streaming into the venue at the beginning. Everyone looks so serious. It looks like they’re psyching themselves out for a job interview.

[youtube=http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=Wzpynvxr7tA]

Morrissey’s more recent solo work tends, for me, to go from danceable/melodic tune to unbearably insightful masterpiece in a second! I’ll be listening to a song I like and hear, really hear a lyric for the first time and suddenly, I love the song.

It’s kind of like a miracle.

You have never been in love, until you’ve seen the sunlight thrown over smashed human bones. This did it for me this time. No one else in the world is so boldly melodramatic. Morrissey knows he’s going down to the grave in melodrama. And that must be stressful.

Thing is, maybe I looked pretty serious last night when I was heading over to Morrissey night. It feels serious. It only happens once a year and I get something there that I can’t get anywhere else; a remarkable solidarity. Like I told “John” last night, we grew up together. I like these familiar faces, most of them nameless, that sing obscure lyrics with me, annually. I like that old guy that showed up alone, but wasn’t alone because he had everyone in the room. I like the young’un that kept pretty much to himself, sang every song like serious business and then offered this sombre half wave/half salute on his way out the door at the end of the night (which I returned…I like that too).

On the way home, I told Dar that this is the sort of solidarity that seems so out of grasp at my church. There is a greater acceptance and general ease at Morrissey night than there is a Knox. Everyone seems happier to see everyone else, to be together and love something together. 

But then, I haven’t really slept in ’bout thirty hours. The Australia open final kept me up all night, and I’m mighty tired. I might just be actin’ melodramatic.